d. William Roberts
based on material by Rick Endres
poem, "Warriors," by Bev Hoover

2276

-1-

His prison cell was no more than a deep pit dug into the dry, layered, crumbling clay beneath the baked soil. The iron grate that covered the top threw a grid-work shadow halfway down the side of the pit.

How long have I been here now? he wondered as he lay at the bottom, watching a small beetle-like insect scrabble across the hard-packed dirt floor toward him. He waited until it got close, then crushed it under his hand. Without thinking, he picked up the broken carapace and shoved it into his mouth and began chewing. Food was food; you didn't question the source or type in this place.

Admiral Khalian's prison world lacked indigenous life forms. The beetle, a species that craved dying or dead flesh, had been brought from Kazh to clean up the bodies of those who died. They rarely went hungry, since none sent here as prisoners survived long.

How many days have I survived this? he asked himself, looking at the wall with the set of lines he'd carved into it to mark the passage of days. There were thirty or so marks, but he'd finally stopped keeping track. It seemed like it had been forever, the days all melting together in his mind. What is the Earther term for a place like this? A place of eternal torment, filled with burning and suffering? He translated the Earther word Hell into its Klingon counterpart--Kragyr--named after the fabled lair of the demon lord Fek'lhr, guardian of Gre'thor, the place where those who were less than what Kahless had proscribed as being true Klingon went after they die.

He looked at the grate's shadow and noted that it had moved down the wall. Not long till mid-day, when Kragyr's sun lights the bottom of this hole. He looked at the pile of bones--the remains of the pit's last resident--then toward the small, hand-dug cubbyhole where he'd found them. Didn't help that one at all, he thought, noting that already the temperature was rising. When the shadow reached the bottom, Kragyr's blue-white sun would transform the cell into a furnace. For an hour, even breathing would be difficult, only barely letting up a little after its light left the pit, and not fully dissipating until long after midnight.

The eye sockets of the skull sitting on top of the bones stared at him, the timeless smile mocking his presence. The temperature rose perceptively as the grate's shadow got closer to the bottom. His nearly depleted horde of water, gotten from the last rain storm over a week ago, was stored in his boot. He was beginning to hallucinate. The laughing face of his accuser, Khalian, overlaid itself on the bony relief of the skull. Pulling out the blood-stained jumper of his mate, Mara, he remembered the scene where his tormentor had originally tried and sentenced him to this inferno.

Kang shook his head slowly as he watched Korak's reaction to his words. "You are indeed a fool, Commander. Worse, you are a dangerous fool. If you are given half a chance, you will destroy the Empire." He glared at the Kh'myr. "You are relieved of battlecruiser command, effective immediately."

"I don't think so!" a voice thundered from the rear of Kang's small, tidy office even before Korak could voice a protest.

The startled Kh'myr commander whirled around, his dark face breaking into a huge, savage grin.

"Hail, Khalian!" he shouted, raising a fist in salute.

Kang exploded from his lounger, his face clouded with fury. "How dare you come in here unannounced and countermand my orders! Get out of here at once, or I'll--"

"Or you'll what?" Admiral Khalian strode menacingly toward the desk, his muscular, monolithic bulk in full battle armor dwarfing even the formidable Kang. Both of his huge hands shot out suddenly and disarmed Kang, relieving him of his disruptor pistol and his combat dagger. The giant Kh'myr tossed the weapons to Korak.

"Your orders no longer carry any weight with High Command, traitor," Khalian spat. "Your adjutant, Kitan, was apprehended for failing to show proper courtesy to his Kh'myr betters. I thought it might be interesting to put him under the mindsifter to see if you might have some secrets or information that would be of use to me. Before he died, he revealed the existence of a very interesting document you keep in your office safe."

Kang paled as Khalian moved to the wall behind his desk and tore down the perspex star map of the Klingon Empire, revealing the recessed wall safe. The Kh'myr glanced speculatively at Kang.

"I'll never give you the combination!" Kang grated.

Khalian chuckled contemptuously. "I don't need it," he hissed. He gripped the handle and yanked savagely, tearing the heavy, reinforced, dura-steel door off its hinges with a screech of tortured metal. The Kh'myr tossed it aside, then reached into the safe to pull out a plastex document tube. He unrolled the paper inside and read it quickly.

"Well, well, well!" Khalian exclaimed, shaking his great knobbed skull from side to side. "What have we here? This document is an agreement between the Klingon Empire and the Federation planet Serenidad. It would seem that Serenidad has renounced all ties with the Federation and wants to be a Klingon protectorate. It is signed by the Princess Teresa herself. Why have you kept this information secret, traitor?"

"Serenidad!" Korak exclaimed, his eyes widening. "That planet's dilithium stores are immeasurably vast! And he was sitting on this?!"

"It seems so, Commander," Khalian rumbled. He turned his attention to Kang again. "I have asked you a question, Kang. Why?"

"I have nothing to say to you," Kang muttered sullenly.

"I'm not surprised." Khalian clapped his gauntleted hands together, and two Kh'myr security guards appeared in the doorway, their disruptor carbines at the ready. "Admiral Kang is under arrest for treason. I have arranged for him to be incarcerated in the deepest, filthiest hole at the Kragyr penal colony." He turned to Kang. "Feel fortunate, Kang. You'll be permitted to live. At least you fared better than your little be'SIj of a mate."

Kang's head snapped up in alarm. "What have you done to Mara?!!"

Khalian's face twisted into an evil leer. "I had her sent to the Kh'alu'don death camp. She was executed at midday--beheaded."

Kang's face went white. "You lie!" he whispered, his voice a dry, tremulous croak.

"Indeed?" Khalian snapped his fingers. A guard left the office and returned within seconds carrying a torn, ragged, woman's tabard. Kang recognized the tunic immediately. It was the one Mara had been wearing this morning when he had left their habitat. The collar, shoulders and front of the garment were soaked with blood.

With an incoherent, despairing cry, Kang leaped at Khalian, but the big Kh'myr caught him in mid-air and slammed him brutally to the floor. Kang tried groggily to rise. He was too slow to avoid Khalian's savage kick, which took him on the tip of his chin and snapped his head back, while at the same time propelling him across the room. Kang hit the wall, crumpling it inward, then slid to the floor, collapsing like a rag doll.

That was the last coherent thing he remembered until finding himself in this hellhole. He put the remains of Mara's tunic to his face, smelled the blood and silently raged.

When he opened his eyes again, he thought he could see flesh regrowing on the bleached bone of the skull. With rapt fascination, he watched the transformation. It turned into an Earther face, one he thought he remembered. Squinting, he tried to clear up what he was seeing. Kirk? he thought. "James T. Kirk?" he finally croaked from dried, swollen lips. "You son of a targ bitch, so they got you too? At least I won't die before you."

"You got any water, Kang?" Kirk's head said.

"Yes, Kirk," Kang answered though amazed that someone in this condition could talk at all, "but you're not going to get any."

"In the cave, I'll bet," Kirk said, the head turning to look at the cubbyhole.

Kang scrabbled to a sitting position, the exertion causing him to sweat profusely. He looked inside his small cave and saw the set of boots they'd let him keep. Kragyr was a true desert planet, the only rain coming once a week in cloud bursts so intense that for a few minutes those in the pits felt they would drown. But the storm would be as short as it was intense and the nearly scalding water quickly absorbed into the ground. He'd learned to collect the rain in his boots if he wanted extra water, since what beamed in with his food wasn't enough to keep a beetle alive, let alone a full-grown Klingon.

"In the boots?" Kirk smiled, his head sliding through the sand, moving toward the make-shift water container.

"No!" Kang roared, leaping across to the cave. "That is mine." Grabbing up the boot in his hands, he held it close to his chest.

Kirk's head began laughing.

Kang roared back, then drank all that remained. There was only just a dribble anyway. Tipping the boot up to show Kirk's head that it was empty, the Klingon yelled, "You'll not get a drop of it, Kirk!"

"You'll soon join me, Kang," Kirk's head said, then began laughing again, the flesh slowly disappeared from the skull, as the laughing faded away into the background.

Kang blinked his eyes, realization of what had just happened reaching his thirst-craved mind. The grate's shadow was nearing the bottom of the pit. He could still hear the laughing. Shaking his head to clear it of the hallucination, he began to panic when it persisted. Then there was the scream of a female, and he realized the laughing was not really a part of the apparition.

The guards are here, he decided, and not far from my pit. Avoiding the beam of intense light that almost reached to the floor, he stood, listening adamantly. That must mean there's a storm coming, he reasoned. Those two don't ever venture out here during mid-day otherwise. The distant sound of thunder verified his deduction.

"tera'ngan be'SIj, give me the one thing you're good for." The guard laughed.

Kang recognized the voice of Kragyr's commander, Lieutenant N'rak. He knew Sergeant Taarist would be with him; the two were inseparable when it came to this kind of debauchery. He heard the creak of leather and the light clank of metal as one of the two undid the buckles of his battle armor. He knew, without actually seeing, what was about to happen. The fate of the Earther female was of no concern to Kang, but he knew that once they were through with her they would come over to taunt him. He had a plan already in place for that happenstance.

Looking up at the grate, he had to squint, Kragyr's sun was almost overhead. Just barely breaking the ragged edge of the western edge of the hole was the anvil-shaped top of the approaching storm cloud, and he heard a second rumble of thunder.

I'll have to hurry. Kang put his fingertips into the first of a series of holes he'd cut in the pit's side so long ago. The Earther won't distract them for long, and they won't stick around once the storm finally arrives. The hand hole crumbled under his weight, and, for a moment, he thought what he had in mind would fail before he could execute it. Slowly, careful not to disturb the hardened clay, he ascended toward the top of the hole. As he did, he listened to the two individuals as they continued their treatment of the Earther prisoner, so he'd know when to expect their leering faces over his pit.

"joHwI', where will you put your mighty choQ'etlh? Her be'SIj is nothing but a bloody pulp!"

The prisoner groaned, just barely conscious of what was happening above her.

"You were too rough in your attentions, Taarist. Now you've ruined the only thing she was good for," N'rak mockingly chided his second in command.

"jIQoS, joHwI', but I was just too much for her."

Both laughed.

"You give yourself too much credit, Taarist," N'rak responded a moment later, his voice filled with derision.

"No brag, joHwI'. Simply a fact."

Kang heard the clump of clothing hitting the ground.

"Now what do I do with this?" N'rak said a moment later.

"There is her mouth, joHwI'."

"She bit you, didn't she?" N'rak mentioned. "I would hate for her to use her teeth on this. You know what my mate would do to me then."

"Yes, joHwI', I do." Taarist made a wet, squishing sound.

Kang was now halfway up the wall, carefully reaching for the next hand hold. He was only cursorily listening, but he assumed Taarist was making a sweeping gesture across his throat.

"But I will take care of that." This time there was the sound of a fist hitting soft flesh and bone.

The prisoner screamed out in pain.

"See, joHwI'? No teeth."

"You're so thoughtful, Sergeant." Both Klingons laughed heartily.

The Earther female screamed again weakly. Kang, one hand-hold closer to the top, could only guess that Taarist had transferred control of the Earther's head to his commander.

"That's right, be'SIj. Open wide."

There was a muffled, choking sound. Then a grunting, accompanied by Taarist's chuckle.

"That looks like fun, joHwI'. I'm next."

Kang finally reached the last hand hold. With a desperate grab, he caught hold of the grating near the edge. Sweating profusely, he hoped he could hang on long enough to get a chance to execute his plan. The grate was very hot on his fingers, causing him to start slipping. Are you an Earther female, Kang? He clenched his teeth in the effort it took to hang on.

He now could see out onto the dusty plain. The sky above the ragged mountain peaks on the horizon was pitch black, the storm only a few minutes away. Not far away he could see N'rak and Taarist. N'rak was bare from the waist down, his pants piled up around his ankles, his face aimed at the sky, his eyes closed and his face contorted in pleasure. Taarist was hungrily looking on. The victim's eyes were wide open in terror, but N'rak had her by the hair, holding her in place. Her own blood covered every square inch of her naked body.

The beetles will eat well tonight, thought Kang.

With a final grunt and a mighty thrust, N'rak finished. There was an audible and unmistakable crack that came from the victim's neck, and her feeble sobbing ended.

"Hu'tegh, joHwI'! You have broken her neck!" Taarist roared.

N'rak withdrew. "Amazing, aren't I?" He let her body flop to the ground.

Taarist pouted a little. "Now there's nothing left for me."

"You can still have her."

"Oh, no, joHwI'. I'm not that desperate."

Both laughed.

Re-securing his belt around his waist, N'rak motioned toward the open pit with his head. "Dispose of the body there."

"Yes, joHwI'." Taarist grabbed the body by the hair and drug it to the edge of the nearby pit. With only a minimum of effort, the large Kh'myr warrior threw it in, then closed the grate. "Beetle food."

The ambient light, so brilliant a moment earlier, began to dim as the first edges of the storm cloud passed before the sun.

N'rak looked up. "Come on, Taarist. There's another little piece of entertainment left before we beam back to headquarters."

"Kang?" Taarist queried.

"Good guess."

They began walking toward where Kang hung on, watching. He brought his foot up, his toe finding the last hand hold. He knew it wouldn't give him much purchase, but it would take some stress from his weakening hand. I have to hold on, he chided himself. There will only be the one chance.

The two Kh'myr walked right up to the edge of the cell, so secure in their situation that they didn't note the presence of the fingers near the edge.

"Well, Admiral Kang." There was intense contempt in the way N'rak spoke. He finally looked down.

Kang made his move, pushing with his toe into the hand hold. He felt the clay give away, but not before he managed to propel himself forward. Reaching out with his right hand, he caught Taarist's right ankle before the grate stopped his forward momentum. Letting all his weight drop, he pulled the sergeant from his feet and dragged him against the grate.

Taarist roared in surprise. "taHqeq, joHwI'! The targ has me!"

Kang climbed the leg and grabbed hold of Taarist's equipment belt, reaching for the disruptor he knew should be there. Instead, he found Taarist's may'taj--battle dagger. What rotten luck, Kang cursed to himself as he withdrew the razor sharp blade and put it between his teeth. Taarist was left-handed, an oddity among Klingons. Knowing that N'rak was even now recovering from the suddenness of the event, Kang reached upward trying to get at the weapon.

"No, you don't, Kang," Taarist yelled, pulling the weapon free himself and began trying to aim it at Kang.

"Don't shoot him, you fool!" N'rak ordered, "Lord Khalian will skin us both alive if Kang dies any way other than slowly."

Kang had Taarist's leg all the way in now and tried to grab the hand with the weapon.

N'rak quickly walked out onto the grate and took the disruptor from Taarist.

"Help me, joHwI'!" Taarist roared.

"ghuy'cha', Taarist," N'rak chuckled. "You got yourself into this. Let's see who's really stronger: Kang or you."

Kang knew he'd failed. Without the disruptor, he had no way of forcing his way out of the pit, but that didn't mean Taarist would get away entirely. He released his hold on Taarist's leg with his right hand and took the dagger from his mouth, preparing to strike.

Taarist growled and planted his hands against the grate, preparing to pull himself away and let Kang drop to the floor. If he breaks his legs in the fall, it will cause his death to be all the more painful, meeting Lord Khalian's orders, he thought as he clenched his teeth for the effort.

There was a flash of lightening, and a second later, the air shook with thunder.

Kang struck.

Taarist saw the flash of the blade and felt its bite. Screaming in pain, he knew he'd lost his leg below the knee.

Kang watched with satisfaction as Taarist's lower leg fell to the floor of the pit. He prepared to strike again, his knowledge of the weaknesses in Taarist's armor telling him where.

"joHwI'! joHwI'!" Taarist reached frantically toward N'rak. "He cut off my leg! Give me my disruptor!"

"No, Taarist. If you are too weak to get away, then you deserve what Kang is going to do to you," N'rak answered, smiling wickedly. "Come now, Taarist. Are you not Kh'myr? Or did your mother mate with a Segh vav?"

The muscles in Taarist's arms knotted in effort as he tried again to extricate himself. "You son of a ..." A flash of the blade caught his eye, and he screamed.

Kang saw the blade slice through the leather of Taarist's pants and cut into the flesh of the Kh'myr's groin. A second slice changed Taarist from loQ' to be'. The sergeant's life blood sluiced out in a steady flow, covering Kang from head to toe. He drank of it, its energy strengthening him.

Taarist was going into shock; his eyes were white all-round. Frantically, he began to try to pull himself from the iron grip of the demon in the pit.

N'rak began laughing out loud. "Sergeant, he will have your heart next, and you know we are not to give him that much food. Lord Khalian's orders."

Taarist reached plaintively again toward his commander. "joHwI'!"

Kang struck again, driving the blade just below Taarist's armor, pulling downward until the blade came to rest against the Kh'myr's pubic bone. He pulled himself up on it and felt it cut through with a click. Grabbing hold of the equipment belt again, he watched the sergeant's bowels fall out and hang down into the pit.

Kang knew he had finished Taarist. The sergeant had collapsed against the grate, his chest armor the only thing keeping him from being pulled entirely through the bars. He knew he'd only get one more cut in, then he'd have to face a rough landing.

The first of the rain began to fall. It fell hot onto Kang's face, scalding the skin, then onto the hand still clutching the belt, mixing with the blood and causing him to lose his grip.

Kang drove the blade into the hip joint, cutting the leg completely from the body. His hand slipped from the belt, and he began to fall. Reaching frantically for anything to gain purchase on, he grabbed a handful of the intestine hanging nearby. As it tethered out from inside the sergeant, it slowed Kang's fall. The landing was still rough, driving the wind from his lungs. Blood mixed with hot rain fell onto his face as he struggled to get his wind. He heard N'rak's laugh and saw the remains of the sergeant dragged from the grate, the length of gut pulled up as well. Then he heard the lieutenant's voice.

"Very good, Kang," N'rak said with honest admiration. "It is very enlightening to see that the Segh vav can muster up a Kh'myr's level of courage and viciousness now and again."

Kang got his wind back as N'rak laughed again. There was the sound of a disruptor firing and Taarist's groans stopped short.

Lightning and thunder flashed and boomed right on top of each other. The water was a torrent now. Crawling painfully toward the small cave, still unsure about whether he'd broken anything yet, he grabbed his boots and placed them in position to collect the fall of hot rain water.

N'rak walked out onto the grate, fearless now that Kang was back at the bottom. Taking careful aim with his disruptor, he fired.

Kang saw the stream of disruptor energy hit something nearby and then saw the dagger glow and change instantly into a gaseous form. Silently cursing himself for not securing it better, Kang sat back against the now slimy wall of the pit. "Me next, N'rak!"

"No, Kang. That is prohibited, per Lord Khalian's orders." N'rak yelled above the roar of the storm. "I should burn the parts of poor Taarist you've got down there as well, but I think you deserve a small reward for your courage. But remember this when your next ration delivery does not arrive as scheduled."

Cursing his bad luck, Kang looked down, the rain's temperature causing the skin on his face to sting. He heard the rattle of N'rak's equipment belt. He looked back to see what was happening. N'rak began to urinate into his cell. His aim was good and much of it went into the boots.

"You filthy mantril!" Kang roared up at the shadow that was only clearly visible when the lightening flashed.

"Thank you, Kang." N'rak roared back, then trussed himself back into his leather pants. Pulling out his transmitter, the lieutenant contacted his headquarters. Kang couldn't hear what he said, but a moment later, N'rak disappeared into a column of sparkling red transporter energies.

Looking around, he shakily got to his feet. Thank Kahless I didn't break my legs, he observed to himself. He thought to dump the boots out, but then he noted that the rain was already beginning to slow. The sky above the grate was getting bright. There would not be enough further rain to refill them so he kept what was there, putting from his mind the mixed contents.

He collected up Taarist's left leg, both parts, leaving the sergeant's manhood for the beetles, keeping them busy while he devoured the rest. Later, he would have to fight them for what he couldn't eat right away. There was a small amount of disgust niggling at his mind at the concept of cannibalism, but he quickly shoved it aside. Meat is meat, he thought as he stripped the remnants of the sergeant's leather pants away. It will keep me alive until Kor can find and liberate me from this hell.

*****

"Entering the asteroid belt," reported the first mate of the light cargo vessel, Oshota.

"Any sign of him?" asked the only other person on the small ship.

"Not on these sensors, but they're only just a little better than standard navigational."

"With the money we're making from these deals, we'll be able to fix that pretty soon, won't we, Mike?"

"I should hope so. We're taking a big chance with our present security," the one called Mike answered. "And don't use my real name. You almost slipped the last time we met this rascal, Corrid."

"Ah, what's to worry about, Mike?" the one called Corrid Fikes responded, staring at the viewscreen as he made a few small course adjustments to avoid a large, iron-nickel asteroid in their way. "Who's looking for small potatoes like us?"

Mike took his gaze from the same viewscreen just long enough to study Corrid's face to see if his partner was serious in his flippancy. He saw no worries on the Centaurian's deeply tanned face, which only served to deepen his worries all the more about this business. "Just about anybody whose anybody in Starfleet Security, Corrid," he said returning his attention to his navigation board.

Mike Collins was a nondescript Human with hair and eyes of almost the same brown color. He and his family had moved out to the Federation colony on Psi Scorpii VIII when it had first opened ten years earlier with the idea that he could escape the pressures of modern society. Life on a colony was no better, if not more stressful, and Mike Collins had found it harder and harder to provide for his growing family.

He had some talent as an astronavigator, a skill learned during a time when he'd thought about signing up for Starfleet. That organization's very competitive entrance exam had ended any of his aspirations toward such a career choice. Though his skills were less than expert, they had been enough to attract the attention of Corrid Fikes, his business partner, and presently the master of the Oshota.

Collins continued, "Topaline is very rare, and absolutely necessary for the life support systems of starships and starbases. Because of this, it is one of the most heavily regulated substances in the Federation."

"Don't I know it!" responded Fikes. "That's why it's so valuable." He rubbed his hands together, a smile lighting up his face.

Corrid Fikes was almost pure Centaurian, sporting all the characteristics of that particular off-shoot of the Human race--the brown, almost black eyes and the natural ability to pilot a starship. He had no family. The reason, as he told Collins often enough, was that he didn't want anything to keep him from escaping if things got tight.

"Precisely why we should be more careful. After all the shipments we've made, we really don't know who this Illyeekeek is."

"He's Yridian. You know how they are--rabid free traders, interested only in the bottom line. I've done lots of business with Illyeekeek. He's always been square with me and always resulting in a tidy profit for both of us. And you know what? We've never come close to being caught. Never." Fikes' hands were flying through the air, saying as much as his mouth.

"At least not yet," responded Collins. "Who does he sell the topaline to? And are they friendly to the Federation?"

"So many questions, Mike." Fikes' face lost its humor. He made a new set of course changes to avoid another large asteroid, then turned toward his nervous partner. "One thing you've got to get used to in this business: You can't ask too many questions or be too curious. Last, but not least, you can't have a conscience. You don't need one when you're rich." Fikes studied Collins' face for a moment. He doesn't have what it takes to be a good smuggler or black marketeer, he concluded to himself. He's going to try and bail out on me soon, and then I'll have to liquidate him. But until then, I'll get as much use out of him as I can.

"I don't like him, Corrid. He reminds me too much of the rats we keep finding down in the hold," Collins concluded.

Fikes chuckled and nodded his head slightly before responding. "You know something, my friend? You're right."

The comm station beeped, signaling a hail.

"Speak of the devil." Fikes brought the Oshota onto its final approach heading as she cleared a cloud of stony debris, the crescent of a large asteroid becoming visible dead ahead. In a standard orbit above its surface was the familiar shape of the Yridian's ship. "Open the hailing frequency."

Collins couldn't say why, but every time he saw the trader's ship, it reminded him of something Klingon. It looked nothing like that empire's warships, but something about its basic triangular lines said "Klingon." As usual, he assuaged the worry with the thought, He probably bought it from them. As a free trader, Illyeekeek probably has contacts across all interstellar borders. Still, being within weapons range of the trader's ship made Collins nervous, despite all of Fikes' assurances.

The slightly snouted face, with its gray, elephant-like folds of skin that formed a line down to just above a mouth with protruding, chisel-like front teeth, came onto the viewscreen. He began speaking, and the Oshota's translating device took over. "Welcome, Free Traders. I glad to be able to do business with you."

"And with you, Free Trading Brother," Fikes responded.

"Do you have it?"

"As requested. And you the payment?"

"As set in our communication."

"We'll meet in the specified location for the transfer."

"As agreed. Illyeekeek out." The Yridian's face faded from the screen.

Fikes turned to smile at Collins. "See? Easy as pie, but much more lucrative."

Collins tried to put aside his worries and see only the gold-plated latinum at the end of the transaction rainbow, but he couldn't. He had an overwhelming premonition that they would get caught. "So you say, Corrid, so you say." Collins noted the Oshota's position on his navigation board, "Ready for orbital insertion?"

Fikes punched in the appropriate commands to the ship's main computer. "Ready."

"Execute."

The Oshota entered orbit around the large asteroid. The Yridian ship was now out of sight on the far side.

Fikes stood up and stretched. "Ah, now for the easy part of the trip."

"Transferring power to the transporters," Collins reported after flipping the necessary switches.

"When this is done, we'll have to see about upgrading this ship so the transporters are functional all the time." Fikes snapped his fingers as he walked toward the back of the bridge where the two circular transporter pads had begun to glow. "Better yet, we should consider getting a new ship. Yeah, a new ship, maybe with a cloaking device. What do you think, Mike?"

"One thing at a time, Corrid," Mike answered glumly. He grabbed an outdated laser pistol from the rack to the right of the transporters. "You want one?"

"Nah. I trust Illyeekeek." Fikes shrugged as he said this. "Besides I have you, and I can't carry all that latinum if I've got a weapon in my hand, now can I? Is the cargo ready on the cargo bay's transporter pad?"

Collins nodded his head as he took his place on the other pad. "As usual, Corrid, ready for our subspace signal to begin its transport sequence." He returned to the subject of whether they should trust the Yridian after all. "You know, you shouldn't trust that guy. He's only in it for himself. He could care less what happens to us in the long run."

"Can you honestly say we're any different than him?" Fikes became serious; the conversation was beginning to irritate him.

"Yes. I'm in this to support my family. I'm not sure of Illyeekeek's motives."

"That's easy, Mike. He's in this for the profit margin, pure and simple. Energize."

The computer registered Corrid Fikes' command, and two beams of sparkling energy formed around the two men, transmuting them into energy, ready for transport to the set of coordinates Collins had preset.

Almost simultaneous with their disappearance from the Oshota, the two began to coalesce inside a small room deep within the rocky mantle of the asteroid. Its furnishings were simple--a table big enough to hold articles of trade, and two chairs, each facing the other on opposite sides.

The transport cycle completed, and the two Humans stood alone in the room.

"We beat him in," Fikes said as he walked toward his side of the table, pulled the chair out from underneath with a scraping sound, then took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and began dusting off the seat before sitting.

"Yeah, that's unusual," Collins responded, looking nervously around, rechecking the charge on his laser.

They heard the sound of the Yridian's transporter a split second before the beam arrived. It had the high frequency scream both Humans recognized as being of Klingon construct, as well as the blood-red hue. This served only to accentuate Collins' suspicions, as he raised his laser to aim it at the incoming individual.

Illyeekeek arrived, his head turning slowly to look the other two occupants of the room. His whiteless brown eyes centered on Collins' weapon, and he began to speak very slowly, his words in standard, but heavily accented. "Why weapon, Free Traders?"

Fikes sat up in his chair, motioning for the Yridian to sit as well. "Don't mind him; he's really very harmless." Then, in order to get the trade moving, he turned to glare at Collins, his voice sounding very agitated. "Put that thing away." He remembered not to use any names.

Collins complied, but only after returning the glare.

"Good." Fikes returned his attention to Illyeekeek. "Are we ready?"

"Yes." The Yridian moved slowly toward his side of the table. He hobbled with a pronounced limp, his breathing very airy through the small nasal openings beneath a roll of skin.

"I see merchandise?" the Yridian croaked, the inflection of his voice identifying his words as a question, and not a statement.

Fikes pulled out his communicator and opened a channel to the waiting ship's computer. "Transport cargo."

In response, the room filled with the sound of a Federation transport beam, and three barrel-shaped objects, each a meter tall, appeared.

"There is product, Illyeekeek. I see payment?" Fikes mimicked the syntax and accent of the Yridian.

Illyeekeek stood up, and hobbled over to the closest barrel. Breaking the seal, he looked in to see the grey powder. Using a clear vial, he reached in and took out a sample. From another pocket within the robe he produced a tricorder, flipped a button to open the sample analyzer's compartment door, he placed the vial inside. A moment later, a set of readings came onto the analyzer's viewscreen.

The Yridian's face broke into what his race called a smile. "Good quality. I send."

He put away the analyzer and pulled out a communicator. Speaking quickly in the Yridian language, his command ordered the transporter on his ship to beam down a small pseudo-wood chest. "Payment, as agreed," Illyeekeek pointed at the chest with a long, clawed finger.

Fikes picked nervously at the lock, unable to open it. "Key, my Free Trader friend?"

Illyeekeek clucked impatiently. "Forgot. I locked." He fished around in a pocket, finally finding the key. "Thieves, you know." He tossed the key onto the table, and it slid toward Fikes.

"Thanks, Free Trader." Fikes caught the key as it fell off his end of the table. Placing the magnetic square against the lock's face, he heard the mechanism click inside. He opened the chest and looked inside. There, in a nice, neat pile were the twenty bars of gold-plated latinum agreed upon. He picked up the chest and showed its contents to Collins. "See, you can trust Free Trader Illyeekeek."

"That right, Huu-man," the Yridian emphasized the 'U' sound in the name. "You trust Illyeekeek."

"I do," Fikes responded, closing the chest and tucking it under his left arm. "I apologize for my friend's attitude."

"We all careful be, yes," Illyeekeek replied, a chortling sound following the words, his body shaking visibly. "He quiet." Illyeekeek nodded at Collins.

"Not a man of many words," responded Fikes. "Until next time?" He stepped around the table and offered his hand.

Illyeekeek hesitated to grasp the proffered hand, but, after a second, reached out tentatively with his own paw-like hand. "Yesss, Free Trader Fikes, next time." He bowed slightly, his head and neck just barely moving, then took hold of the Human's hand.

The strength of Illyeekeek's hand surprised Fikes, not to mention the way his hand felt tiny in the other's grasp though his eyes told him the Yridian's appendage was no bigger than his own. Movement about the Yridian caused Fikes to look back at Illyeekeek's face, and, for a moment, he thought he saw a wavering, a distortion, but it passed, and he withdrew his hand. Nerves, he thought as he turned around to leave. He noted a perplexed look on Collins's face. He saw it, too, he deduced, but decided not to say anything until they were back on board the Oshota.

At Collins's side now, he turned to face the Yridian. With the chest of latinum still under one arm, he pulled out a communicator and contacted the ship's computer. "Energize."

The two Humans disappeared into a drum-shaped enclosure of sparkling blue energy and were transported back to their ship.

Illyeekeek stood his place until the shimmering energies dissipated. Then, with a movement that belied his size and age, covering the distance in two steps, he approached the storage containers of topaline. Putting his hand on top of the nearest container, he began to laugh, but instead of the chittering laugh of a Yridian, it was a full basso sound.

A series of beeps sounded, growing more insistent as Illyeekeek continued to laugh. Air shimmered around him, but he ignored it as he reached into his robes and pulled out a communicator. The beeping became more strident, and the distortion deepened, completely blurring the Yridian's shape. He began to speak into the subspace transceiver, but now the voice held no trace of Yridian twittering. Now it was a full guttural bass. "jolyIchu'."

The beeping turned into a full electronic scream, but Illyeekeek ignored it as he began to laugh again. The distortion intensified. As the red energies of a Klingon transporter surrounded him and the cargo, the scream went off, and the Yridian's shape disappeared. In his place within the transporter beam was an individual who stood just over two meters in height, dressed in full Klingon battle armor. Illyeekeek was now Durit, of the house of Durit, a Kh'myr warrior in the height of his glory.

The transporter's carrier signal drowned out his laugh, and soon the room, located deep within the asteroid, was empty.

The warning klaxon of his ship's main computer filled his ears as his form fully solidified. "What the...?"

With the long stride of his stature, he left the transporter stage, headed for the bridge of his ship. The air-tight doors opened in front of him with a heavy metallic clang, and he stalked into the center of the room, standing next to the command chair. But he didn't bother sitting. "Computer!"

The ship's main computer responded in deep male voice. "Computer enabled."

"Reason for alarm?" Is Fikes stupid enough to attack me in an attempt to get both the cargo and the payment? he asked himself as he waited for the computer's response. If so, then he'll be in for a big surprise, he thought, absentmindedly patting the back of the command chair. The Yovtarg is an even match for one of the fleet's K't'inga or D-7 cruisers and will chew his small cargo ship up in less time than it would take for me to give the order.

"Sensors have picked up a group of patrol ships nearby," the computer reported.

"Identity?"

"Caldonian."

"Confidence of match?"

"Ninety-nine percent. Configuration is that of a Caldonian security patrol sloop."

Durit pictured the vessel being described. "Put one on the screen."

"Targets are presently located behind asteroids nearby, but the record of the one detected a moment ago as it approached is available."

"Proceed." Durit was more curious than worried. The Caldonians were strictly neutral, dealing with Klingon, Romulan and Federation equally. Normally they let all other species alone, choosing to pursue their own private scientific investigations. So why was one of their security patrols watching this place, at this time? Unless... An explanation began to form in his thoughts.

The computer put the picture of the ship in question on the screen. He was puzzled when all he could see were two crater-covered, irregularly shaped asteroids. He was about to question the computer concerning this when he saw the bow of a ship poke out from behind the left rock. "toH!" he exclaimed, watching more closely. The ship in question had tried to use a line of asteroids to stay out of sight while at the same time getting closer. Durit could only see a small part of the ship at a time as it passed behind the second asteroid. "Computer. Extrapolate that ship's full form from visual and sensor records."

The computer projected a full picture of the ship onto the screen.

"taHqeq!" he exclaimed. "That's Caldonian, all right. Where's that one right now?"

The viewscreen panned further along the path the visual record had shown the sloop taking.

"That's too close," Durit hissed as he punched in the course his ship would use after leaving the meeting place's orbit. "So'wI'chu'." The lights on the bridge went from the normal dim white variety to a dull red. Not that one sloop worries me, he thought as he chuckled. My ship has enough fire power to turn it into nothing but a cloud of constituent atoms, but... His thoughts paused as he began maneuvering his ship out of orbit ...there's no reason for me to lead them to my base.

"Computer. Execute escape program."

"Program enabled," the computer responded.

"Sensor sweep of area surrounding the colonists' ship."

"Active sensors will give away our position," the computer warned.

"Do it..." Durit began to say, then changed his mind. "Visual search only."

"Visual search," the computer said. "Multiple contacts found behind the Oshota."

"Display."

There was another Caldonian sloop moving through the asteroid field, being very careful not to expose itself for too long to the colonists' ship. As he watched, the computer showed that there were numerous ships behind the Oshota.

"How many?" he asked the computer.

"Nine ships behind the Oshota and one now investigating where we activated the cloak."

"baQa'!" he exclaimed. "That's the end of that source of topaline!" He shouted at the screen. He was more than a little upset over losing such a profitable source of the rare material.

"Yovtarg is now clear of the asteroid field," the computer reported.

"Continue evasion program. Factor one graf speed," Durit responded. No use giving them too large an ion trail to follow.

The thought of turning around and destroying the entire police force coursed temptingly through his intellect. "Computer, plot best attack course to take out Caldonian force."

There was only a short pause before the computer's gruff male voice responded. "Course on viewscreen."

That would do it, he thought, a smile building across his face at the prospect of a battle. He was just about to order the computer to take it, when another thought came to him, smashing through the adrenaline induced thoughts. These ships are acting under the orders of Caldonia Central. I would have to destroy the entire planet to wipe clean the information of what "Illyeekeek" has been doing here. He shook his head, his smile fading. "Return to forward angle to screen."

"Status of attack assignment?"

"Not today."

I have many other sources of topaline for my Romulan friends, his thoughts concluded. More than enough to make me the richest Klingon in the Empire. A chuckle escaped from his throat at this thought. And with riches I can purchase power, and eventually..."

A laugh began to build in his throat, one that he wanted to release, but first, "Computer. Status of the search for us?"

"They have discontinued their search. That ship has joined the others."

"Good," Durit yelled at the screen, "Good. Continue at this speed until we're out of sensor range, then, disengage the cloaking device and proceed to the rendezvous point with the Romulans, then back to my palace, on my planet, jImIplaH,* with my harem.

(*Klingonese: "I'm Going to Be Rich"--a class M planet in the Klingon Star Empire, registered to the House of Durit)

"Speed?" the computer queried.

"Normal cruising speed. No need to get there before the Romulans."

"Course plotted and locked."

"Engage." Durit began to laugh, deep and long as he let himself sink back against the durasteel back of his ship's command chair.

-2-

Starfleet Sector One General Hospital stood as a gleaming tower of care and healing one block away from Starfleet Headquarters, in the new downtown area of San Francisco. Orderlies and physicians bustled through its hallways bringing the light of modern medicine to those in need.

Though, in general, the weather could be controlled, the residence of San Francisco wanted an occasional fog, and the controllers had obliged them this morning. Thick, heavy fog sat on the city, only her tallest towers breaking through the top. Though it was cold and damp outside, there was one place within the hospital where the temperature was about to approach that near the surface of the yellow dwarf star which held Earth in its bondage.

"I think the Giants are going to go all the way this year, Leonard," quipped Doctor Raul Sanchez, a senior Starfleet physician who'd served during aboard the Enterprise during its first five year mission.

"Hah, hombre. They haven't had any kind of schedule, playing against the Tokyo Stars and the London Kings, but you wait. In two weeks, they'll play the Braves in Atlanta. That meat-grinder defense will eat them for lunch. And Sally Drysdale is going for her fourth Cy Young this year. She'll be serving up some chin music," Doctor Leonard McCoy countered, allowing his hands and arms to be bathed a full second longer under the sterilite beams.

Sanchez always made it a point of discovering the mood of whomever he was working with at the time. With most of the other senior staff, this was only a sociable trait, but with the infamous Doctor McCoy and his explosive temper, it was a survival trait that had served him well in the past. If you wanted to test the weather of McCoy's temperament, talk sports. Today, there was a storm on the horizon.

"I don't know, seņor. The Giants are pretty good. And Sally might find herself losing out to Ito Noguchi," Sanchez continued.

McCoy finished his scrub and stood ready to enter the surgery, but his blue eyes sparkled with the prospect of a good, intense discussion about one of the few subjects, other than medicine, he held an interest in. "Y'all just wait and see," he said, allowing his southern drawl to surface. "The South ain't dead yet, and Johnny's marchin' home."

"Ay carumba." Sanchez chuckled, following McCoy through the swinging doors and entering the surgery. "It'll be a good game."

Doctor McCoy stopped for a moment, noting who his assigned assistant was, groaning just under his breath. It wasn't the Andorian nurse who bothered him. He recognized Shrell from earlier operations and respected her efficiency. It was the Human, Theodore Parker, the medical technician who would hand him the tools of his trade, who bothered him. He'd had problems with that one before, and, if he'd had a choice, wouldn't have put him on this team.

The doctor walked up to the patient. Maybe it'll be different this time, McCoy thought, dismissing his irritation grudgingly. Maybe he's learned from his past mistakes. Shrugging, he forced his mind to the problem at hand. It isn't often I get a call to use the experience I gained on the Enterprise, he thought as he inspected his patient. Earth is such a sterile, safe, environment, but now and then...

His random thoughts stopped as he found the injury caused by the crash of the shuttlecraft the patient had been riding. A quick glance at the patient's vital signs told him he was indeed ready for the operation. "We'll have to palaver more about that subject once we're through here, okay, hombre?"

"Si, seņor gringo," Sanchez responded as he took his place on the other side of the table.

McCoy's attention went to the med tech who stood at the head of the table. "Is the patient prepped and ready?"

"Yes, Doctor," answered Parker, whose two meter height caused him to loom over most he worked with.

I hope everything really is, thought Sanchez, because there'll be hell to pay if something out of the ordinary happens here.

"Okay, let's get started, shall we?" McCoy said, all business now. The first thing to do is to expose the site of the actual injury, he thought before putting out his hand. "Scalpel."

Parker nervously found the requested instrument and placed it into the waiting hand.

McCoy felt the scalpel hit his fingers instead of his palm, and he had to make an effort to get it firmly into his hand. "We're not going to have a repeat of the other day, are we, Parker?" McCoy let the perpetual anger he was feeling these days edge into his voice.

"N-n-no, Doctor. I'm sorry, sir." The technician bowed slightly trying to make amends.

"Good."

Parker looked quickly to Sanchez for support and found it in the Latino's brown eyes.

"We'll make the incision right about..." McCoy flipped on the power switch to the laser scalpel and nothing happened. His growl was loud and noticeable this time; his anger built and exploded almost instantaneously. Slamming the obviously uncharged laser scalpel back onto the tray, he charged ahead. "Damn it, Parker! I'm fed up with your incompetence! Get the hell out of my surgery ward! Now!"

Parker paled to a hue closely resembling the unconscious patient that lay beneath the surgical shell, but he made no move to leave.

McCoy brushed past Nurse Shrell and glared at Teddy Parker eye-to-eye, a remarkable feat considering the technician was taller than him. "I said," he let the heat of his intense anger boil up into a soft, but dangerous tone, "get out."

Parker glanced quickly at Sanchez and saw the other doctor nod for him to leave, then found McCoy's angry, bright blue eyes. "Yes, Doctor." He spun on his heal and quickly exited.

McCoy pivoted and took his place beside the patient again. "Nurse Shrell, get me the laser scalpel from Surgery Five."

As the Andorian nurse silently retrieved the discarded scalpel and followed in the wake of the technician, McCoy continued. "And write that bastard up. I don't want him on my team again, you hear?"

"Yesss, Doctor," the nurse said as she left.

"Lighten up, Len," Doctor Sanchez murmured sotto voce. "Shrell doesn't control the duty roster, and besides, it might not have been Teddy's fault. Those charge units are old. Sometimes they don't hold a charge..."

"I don't need any lectures from you!" McCoy interrupted with a baleful glare. "I was practicing medicine before you were a gleam in your daddy's eye."

Sanchez nodded solemnly. "So you have. That's why I put up with your gringo, dixie bullshit, but not everyone has my tolerance for it."

McCoy met the younger physician's gaze, relaxing just slightly as blue eyes locked with sable. Despite the verbal sparring, there was something calm and accepting in Raul Sanchez's expression, something that reminded him of...

"Doctor McCoy, report to the Hospital Administrator, stat," came a voice over the ward's loudspeaker.

"God damn it! When it rains, it pours!" McCoy snapped, in a rage again, his previous thoughts gone. "She knows better than to call me out of surgery! I'm a doctor, not a..." His muttering trailed off as Sanchez raised an eyebrow, reminding him again of the good friend he'd lost touch with in the last few months. "Go ahead, hombre. Finish this one for me."

Sanchez chuckled, not sure what he'd done to put the fire out. "Sure, gringo. Give my regards to the boss." He watched McCoy head for the automatic doors and saw Nurse Shrell come in as the chief of surgery left.

"I'll tell her where she can shove her damn..."

The pneumatic swish of the surgery's twin doors drowned out the last of the doctor's retort, and Raul Sanchez shook his head, returning his attention to the patient.

"Get Parker back in here, Nurse Shrell," Sanchez said as he began his work.

"Yes, Doctor."

*****

Leonard McCoy was not a terribly happy man these days. Working in Starfleet's Sector General One Hospital was, for lack of better words, boring as hell. The one day he'd found his skills as a surgeon needed, the administrator called him away. "Bitch," he grumbled as he entered the elevator. "Administrator's office," he snapped, immediately surprised by the venom in his voice. When did I become so vicious? he thought.

The car shot up sixteen levels quickly, and then the doors parted. For a moment, McCoy stood and stared down the long hallway, his thoughts churning. Probably when I accepted this posh assignment. I thought an assignment to Earth would allow me to finally get to know my daughter and her family, the heat of his thoughts rose with this, but that husband of hers dragged her off planet just as I got here, and now all I've got is this. He grumbled, "This shitty job."

McCoy stormed out of the lift and down the hall, ignoring the panoramic view of the bay that the hallway's window-filled expanse afforded. In no time flat, he was in the administrator's outer office, facing her receptionist.

"Ah, yes. Doctor McCoy. Go right in. She's waiting for you," the receptionist said, just barely looking up from the monitor that held the report she was completing.

The solution to his present problem had just appeared in his thoughts, the rightness of which already was serving to cool his temper. What had Spock said to Kirk about this sort of thing...His thoughts trailed, his voice completing the thought. "First and best destiny?"

"What was that, Doctor?" the receptionist asked.

"Nothing. Just thinking out loud," McCoy's smile was weak, and he shrugged. "Thanks." He walked through the open door with Doctor Susan Blair's name on a plaque positioned at eye level.

"Leonard, so nice to see you. How have you been?" Doctor Blair greeted him pleasantly. She was his contemporary in age and surgical experience, having earned her position as administrator with over thirty years' experience as a surgeon aboard several destroyers, highlighted by a six-year stint aboard the Lexington. She was an excellent surgeon and a top notch administrator, with a keenly sharp mind and a natural diplomatic streak.

Leonard McCoy couldn't argue her qualifications, nor did he begrudge her the position, but he felt her promotion had caused a tragic waste of a perfectly good surgeon. "I'm all right," McCoy growled, his anger rekindling as he remembered what was waiting for him back in surgery. He plopped himself into a chair before her desk. "I have three shuttle crash victims backed up in triage. Could you dispense with the crap and get to the point? I have work to do."

Blair could not have missed the sarcastic innuendo in McCoy's voice, but she chose to ignore it. "I'm sure Doctor Sanchez has matters well in hand," she dismissed his argument succinctly. Her voice remained even and polite with just a hint of firmness in it, discouraging any further snipes from McCoy. "As you know, I've been thinking about retirement lately. Frank and I want to relocate to a backwater planet, hang up our shingles and live out our lives in the simplicity of colonial life."

Oh, God, he thought as his mind made a quick, intuitive deduction. She's gonna offer me her job.

She had paused to stand and walk to the front of her desk. As she leaned against it, she continued, "That will leave this position vacant, Leonard, and they'll be needing a qualified doctor with administrative experience to serve as the new director."

Here it comes, he grimaced internally. And this after I thought I had my mind made up.

She dropped her bombshell on him. "I do not intend to recommend you for that job."

"Well, don't look at me. I'm not interested. I don't consider sitting in an ivory tower..." He paused, waving one hand toward the bay below. "...practicing medicine." His brow furled as he realized what she'd actually said. "Wait a second. What did you say?"

"I said, I don't intend to recommend you for that job," she answered with uncharacteristic impatience. "I just don't think you're the right man. Hell, I don't even think you're the right man for the surgical ward, but when the Surgeon General gets my resignation, I'll just bet he's going to appoint you to take my place."

She was right of course. He could feel the walls closing in on him as he dropped back into the chair. "Damned nonsense," he said under his breath. "Phil just can't be thinkin' straight these days if he thinks he can nail Leonard McCoy to a desk."

Blair leaned back onto her feet and crossed her arms. "Doctor Boyce insists that you're..."

That was all it took. "Look, Philip Boyce may be Surgeon General, but he doesn't order Leonard McCoy around!"

Blair looked amused as she walked back around to stand behind her desk. "I'm afraid as your superior officer, the admiral..."

"Screw the admiral!" McCoy roared as he regained his feet.

Blair's mouth dropped open at the blatant disrespect for a senior officer, but she never got the chance to react.

McCoy's intellect was working hard on a solution to this problem. Then he remembered something he saw in the latest Starfleet personnel bulletin. "Is the Reliant still in need of a chief medical officer?"

"Uh, well, the last I heard, yes, but..."

"But nothing. I'm getting out of this system in a hell of a hurry. Where's she at?"

"Who?"

"The Reliant, damn it!"

"Leonard, you can't just report to the Reliant! You have to be assigned there. Which, by the way, requires the approval of the Surgeon General. We both know where he wants you."

She's been behind that desk too long if she believes there's only one way to process out of a chicken-shit outfit like this, he thought shaking his head, the course he was laying for his career becoming clear in his head. "Admiral Boyce can be bypassed, and I intend to do that right now. You better find a replacement for me. I won't be back," he warned as he turned toward the door.

Blair's eyes widened with the disbelief she felt at what McCoy was about to do. "You're going to Nogura?" she harrumphed as she sat in the plush chair. "The commanding admiral would never..."

"I'll put my next two paychecks on it, Susan," McCoy said as a smile began to cross his face. "But I know that's one bet you won't take, because you know me better than that. Mark my words: find a replacement...now...because you're not going to see me around here any more."

As he exited her office, McCoy heard her say, "He's right; I can't afford two of his paychecks," before the doors to her office closed. He crossed the reception area to the lift doors and they opened to accept him, a car waiting. "Transporter Station," he announced, and the doors shut.

The car began its rapid descent to the basement level. He felt better than he had for months--since taking this job, in fact. It was like the sun peaking through after a really dark storm; everything looked so much brighter now.

The lift stopped, and the door opened. Across the hall was the familiar crescent pattern of circles on the floor that was the transporter station. The familiar fear of being disassembled and changed into energy entered his mind, but the intensity of his thoughts kept it from bothering him.

"Destination, Doctor?" the young ensign called out from behind the mechanism's control station.

"Starfleet Headquarters. Now!"

"Emergency, Doctor?"

"If there isn't one now, there soon will be, believe me," McCoy explained with all seriousness.

"Okay, Doctor," the ensign responded as he punched in the coordinates. "Standby."

Damn it, Jim. Why'd you chose now to get assigned to that mess involving the Nelson? You picked a hell of a time to be halfway to the Orion Barrier, McCoy thought as he waited.

"Energizing."

And the room dissolved in a wall of sparkling energy.

*****

"I just got a call from Phil Boyce, Leonard," Nogura commented as McCoy entered his office. "I don't have to tell you how upset he is with you."

I guess Susan must have called him right after I left her office, McCoy thought as he prepared himself for a fight with Starfleet's most senior officer. I still don't understand women. She said herself I wasn't the one she'd pick to become the senior administrator, so why did she warn Boyce? "I'm just trying to head off a big mistake on his part, sir."

"And that is?"

"Tying me to a desk."

A small smile appeared on Nogura's normally inscrutable face. "I see."

"You know me. I'm just an old-fashioned family physician, the one that makes house calls on families, is known by two and three generations, having delivered half of them himself. I could never retire the horse and buggy." McCoy hoped his argument was good, because it was all he had.

"What about your career?"

"In Starfleet?"

"Yes. As your superior officer, it is my responsibility to insure that you have every opportunity to rise through the ranks, to gain the experience needed to get your next promotion. You know, I can see you as a future Surgeon General."

McCoy snorted at the thought. "It'll be a cold day in hell, 'Chiro. And you know it"

"You say that now..."

"And I'll continue to say it until I die."

Nogura shook his head as he sat back in the chair. "Okay, Leonard. You have my attention. What is it you want?"

"Assignment to the Reliant, sir."

"Hah!" Nogura exploded. "They're headed out on a Romulan Neutral Zone patrol in the Triangle. Not a mission for the faint of heart."

"Not one of my traits," McCoy responded.

"That is true," Nogura admitted. "And if I refuse your request?"

"Then I'll resign and go back to the private practice I was yanked out of before that V'ger thing. It was profitable enough."

He was working practically for charity while translating the Fabrini medical journals, remembered the commanding admiral as he tested the waters with his next comment. "I don't see you doing that."

"Just watch."

He would, too, concluded Nogura, and I'll be out the best prospect for a future Surgeon General I've seen in years. That is, if he survives that long. Nogura shook his head at the thought. "Can't have that, now can we, Leonard?"

"I thought you'd see it my way."

"I think those were my words when you returned to Starfleet for the V'ger mission."

"You have a good memory, 'Chiro."

"Remember that, Leonard McCoy, because one day I'm going to come looking for a favor, and you owe me a big one now."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Without breaking eye contact with McCoy, Nogura spoke aloud, "Computer."

"Working," the female voice of the computer said.

"Open a comlink to the Starfleet Personnel Officer."

A moment later an electronic beep announced the completed connection.

"Personnel, sir. Commander Po, speaking."

"Cut orders transferring Doctor Leonard McCoy, presently assigned to Starfleet General One Hospital, to the U.S.S. Reliant, Commander."

"Aye, sir," replied the officer on the other side of the connection. "Effective date?"

"Immediately."

"Thanks, 'Chiro," McCoy said as he relaxed.

Nogura became all business. "Don't thank me, Leonard. I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into, but if you want to voluntarily put your head into a meat grinder, then be my guest. Just don't try to hold me responsible for you coming up one foot shorter at the top afterward... Or six feet under."

"All the same, thanks."

"You're welcome. Now get out of my office. Can't you see I've got really important things to do?"

"Hah."

*****

"McCoy, eh?" asked Clark Terrell, present captain of the Federation frigate Reliant.

"Yes, Kyptin," responded Lieutenant Commander Pavel Chekov, the Reliant's second in command. "I've served vwith him for some time now. He's a good man."

Terrell leaned back in the center seat. The orders for his new chief medical officer were only a few hours old, cut just in time for their scheduled departure time. That in itself was not odd, but the signature on the orders! Heihachiro Nogura himself? Impressive, thought Terrell.

The addition of Leonard McCoy to the ship's crew was an unexpected, but welcome, event. Ships the size of Reliant rarely drew such a senior and heavily experienced medical officer. Usually they got someone just out of Starfleet's medical school, still wet behind the ears, and green around the gills.

"We've just received our departure orders, sir," Lieutenant Commander Kyle, the communications officer, interrupted from his station.

"It's about time, eh, Chekov?"

"Yes, sir."

Terrell heard the turbolift doors open, but it was a common event on the bridge, and he paid it no never mind. "How long's the wait?" he directed toward Kyle.

"Our departure slot for leaving the system is in thirty minutes."

"Wow," Terrell exclaimed sitting up in the command chair, then turned to Chekov. "That doesn't give McCoy much time to get here."

"Already moved in and ready to hang up my shingle, Captain Terrell," replied a voice from behind him.

Terrell saw the smile on Chekov's face and the direction in which he was looking. Turning the chair around, he found the good doctor standing on the other side of the railing that surrounded the central command well. "Well, so you are," his eyebrows shot up. "How do you like Sickbay?"

"Small, inefficient, and over-engineered," McCoy responded, no emotion showing on his face at all.

"Meaning?"

An alarm went off at the comm station. Kyle cut it off quickly.

McCoy ignored the slight commotion. "Situation normal, as I expected it would be," the doctor answered.

"Good. I'd like to take this time to welcome..."

"Sir, Starfleet just received a distress call from the colony on Psi Scorpii Eight," Kyle reported. "They are under attack by unknown forces."

"That's just outside the Triangle and within our next patrol zone isn't it, Exec?"

"Aye, sir," replied Chekov.

Standing at his usual perch at the rear of the bridge, McCoy wasn't bothered by being ignored by those busy doing their jobs.

"Starfleet just informed us that they're ordering the Molock and the Shaitan to meet us at Psi Scorpii Eight," Kyle added a moment later. "We're to depart immediately, and have been moved to the front of the queue." The British comm officer winked a greeting at McCoy.

"It sounds like more than a border skirmish, Kyptin," Chekov made a quick analysis.

Terrell nodded his head as he punched the button on his command chair to activate the ship's log. "Ship's log, Stardate 7631.4. We are ordered to the Psi Scorpii Eight colony right out of refit. They report that they are under attack by a force of ships, registry unknown. The destroyers Molock and Shaitan are already en route. All conjecture will have to wait until we've arrived. The Psi Scorpii system is close to both Romulan and Klingon Star Empires, as well as the Triangle, the area of space where the Romulan Neutral Zone and the Klingon Treaty Zone meet, creating an area rife with piracy and chaos. Captain Terrell, commanding the U.S.S. Reliant, out."

Terrell paused for only a moment, then began issuing the orders that would take the Reliant out of Spacedock. "Helm, take us out; thrusters only until we clear the structure, then full impulse. Navigator, plot and set a course for Psi Scorpii Eight. Communications, acknowledge our orders and request a full intelligence dossier on the Psi Scorpii system."

The bridge came alive, executing the orders.

The Reliant slowly edged forward out of the structure that a moment earlier had appeared like a large spider on the starship's back. As soon as the warp nacelles, mounted on stanchions below the saucer-shaped hull, cleared the last of its spindly arms, the Reliant turned toward the standard jump point located near the orbit of Saturn. All starships leaving Sol's family of planets on anything less than war emergency went there before accelerating to warp speeds. With her impulse engine exhaust coming to a brilliant orange, she sped off toward deep space.

"Plot calculated and locked in, ready to be activated at the jump point, sir," the navigator reported a moment later.

"Warp Six at the jump point, Mister Walking Bear," Terrell added.

"Warp Six, aye, sir," the Comanche helmsman replied after entering the speed into the computer.

"Estimated time of arrival jump point?" Terrell asked.

"Fifty minutes, full impulse," the Edoan navigator responded.

Terrell nodded and turned his seat so he could look at Chekov. "Are the engines ready for warp speed?"

"Aye, Kyptin," Chekov answered. "The modifications during the refit were not too extensive. Chief Engineer Sonn informed me that no shakedown would be necessary."

"Right," Terrell responded with just a hint of sarcasm edging his voice. "Just the same, maybe you'd better be down in engineering to hold things together, just in case our lieutenant is in error."

"Aye, sir," Chekov answered, glancing quickly at McCoy with an I knew that look.

Terrell saw the glance and turned his attention to McCoy as well. He waited until Chekov had disappeared behind the doors of the turbolift before saying anything. "So, Doctor McCoy?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Late of the U.S.S. Enterprise."

"No, Sector One General Hospital." McCoy glanced around the bridge, noting the familiar faces from the Enterprise: the communications officer Kyle had been the transporter chief; the helm officer was Lieutenant Dawson Walking Bear; and the navigator was none other than Lieutenant Arex. "Of course, I spent a total of eight years aboard the Enterprise before that."

"Ah, yes. That's right." Terrell's eyes lidded as he nodded, pursing his lips. "You come well recommended."

"I've seen my share of service."

"And then some," Terrell smiled.

McCoy had seen that kind of smile before now. It usually meant that the owner knew more than he was letting on and that he was reserving judgment. It was a common treatment of him since he'd been on Serenidad during the Klingon invasion and takeover of that planet.

"Well, if one likes it quiet, one doesn't join Starfleet," McCoy answered. He decided to stand with his hands locked in the small of his back, and his fingers fidgeted a little, a slight indication of the nervousness he was beginning to feel around Terrell.

"Nor do they allow themselves to be assigned to Starfleet's Sector One General," Terrell responded, quietly, with little emotion shading his voice.

"Not my first choice," McCoy replied. "I just go where they tell me."

"Good answer, Doctor." Terrell's smile was genuine this time.

I guess I passed his first exam, thought McCoy before continuing. "Thank you, sir, but I didn't know this was a test." Got to keep him on his toes, McCoy's thoughts continued as he made his first impression of Captain Terrell. Let him know the bridge is not the place to continue this interview. He gave the Reliant's captain his most charming smile.

Terrell cleared his throat. "It isn't. Just passing the time until warp. You understand."

More than you think, Captain. You might soon be trusting the well-being of each member of your command to the talents of my profession, and you want to be damn sure the man behind those hands is still competent, McCoy thought before answering. "I understand, sir."

Terrell turned to stare at the engineer station for a moment. Lieutenant Arex reported crossing the Mars orbit.

"Then, welcome aboard," Terrell stood and offered his hand.

McCoy stepped down into the command well and took the offered hand. "Glad to be aboard, Captain."

"I like my ship's surgeon to be as close an advisor as my exec. Is there any special nick-name you prefer?"

McCoy recalled the name Kirk had hung on him so many years earlier, one that he had not minded one bit. "My friends call me, Bones." He met and held the gaze of Terrell's dark brown eyes with his steel blue.

'"Bones' it is." Terrell shook the hand of his new surgeon.

McCoy felt the firmness of the grasp, another indication of the character of the man behind it. "Thank you, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a sickbay to report to. First warp flight after refit is always a bit dicey."

"That it is, Doctor. Again, welcome aboard." Terrell returned to his command chair, ending the conversation by turning back to look at the viewscreen, just in time to see a large asteroid flash by on the starboard side.

Remembering where the ship was heading and, slipping into his best pessimistic mode, his smile slipped into a bit of a frown as he entered the waiting turbolift. Answering the 'lift's query he gave it his destination: "Sickbay." Then as the doors shut, he muttered, "Hell of a time to sign aboard this ship."

-3-

Spreading out across the plain of K'tin'yotlh, at the foot of the Kurnach mountain range, The First City--the largest city on Q'onoS and the location of the empire's throne--sweltered happily under the attention of the twin orange orbs that heated this world and supported the planet's dominant life form--the Klingons. Only a few months earlier, the world had been known as Kazh, as it had been called for millennia. With the rise of the Kh'myr race of Klingon, the standard dialect had changed to pIqaD and so changed the name of an entire world.

The First City had many fortresses whose turreted spires reached for the hazy, smoke-filled heavens, boasting the most in the entire Klingon Empire. The largest of these occupied the center of the city and was the home of the emperor and his staff. Surrounding this mighty edifice was a circle of other citadels whose owners constantly aspired to--as demonstrated by the size of the structures and the continued construction--change this fact.

In one such fortress, the one closest to the emperor's in size, Admiral Khalian paced the confines of his inner sanctum furiously, roaring abuse at the walls. "Why in Gre'thor do I surround myself with fools? What was Korak thinking? He had Serenidad in his grip, and let it get away. He died too easily. A pity that the Earther commander allowed him to take his own life. I would have had him in searing agony for weeks before allowing his spirit to depart into the next world!"

The computer on his desk beeped with an incoming message, but Khalian was too involved in his diatribe to notice, mumbling, growling and roaring his frustration. "Now my whole career...no, my life rests in the unique ability of my adjutant to erase any evidence of my involvement in this thing. If Kudan Kuras gets even the slightest inkling of my involvement, he'll have my head. What those Segh vav weaklings on the council wouldn't do to see that. And what would happen to the Kh'myr if I, the most powerful of my race, fell? Would my race begin the long fall to extinction under the cleansing ray of the racial hatred of the Segh vav?"

The computer beeped again.

"No!" Khalian roared to the ceiling. "This shall not be! By the blood of Kahless the Unforgettable..." He drew his battle dagger and drew its razor sharp blade across the palm of his left hand, opening a deep cut, blood spilling out to drip onto the floor. "No, by my blood, I swear an oath: I will not fail, and the Klingon species will be cleansed of the weakling Segh vav once and for all."

The computer beeped again, and Khalian finally heard it. Ignoring the pain of the fresh cut on his hand, he enabled the computer station. It was his adjutant, Commander Kirst. "Well?"

"It is done, joHwI'."

"All evidence gone?"

"You are cleared, joHwI'."

"That is not what I asked, Kirst." Khalian glowered at the screen. "If you wish to continue in this plane of existence, answer my question: Is the evidence gone?"

"Yes, Admiral. It is gone." Kirst appeared calm and untroubled by the open threat.

For the first time this day, Khalian smiled. "Good. Who?"

"General Koord, joHwI'."

"Very good." Khalian glanced at the chronometer in the right corner of the computer screen, noting the time. "And just in time I might add. The emperor has ordered me to attend the next meeting of the council, which begins in one rep."

"Qapla', joHwI'," the Kh'myr warrior responded.

"And you with me, eh, Kirst?" Khalian sneered at the other.

"I only serve, joHwI'."

"Remember that, Kirst."

Khalian watched the image of his adjutant fade from the screen and knew that Kirst would depose him in a second if the opportunity arose. After all, he was a Klingon, more importantly, a Kh'myr Klingon, almost as powerful and as clever as himself. Khalian never let his guard down concerning this member of his command. Tapping in a few commands on the computer, he insured that there was a safeguard in place in case Kirst was convinced, or forced, to reveal all he knew.

"Yes, joHwI'." The Klingon on the screen saluted, and the connection ended.

Then, he contacted his chief of security. "Assemble my body guard outside my office."

Inserting a memory chip into the computer, Khalian downloaded the information that would damn Koord as the culprit behind the embarrassing debacle on Serenidad. He knew that Kudan Kuras would at least remove the aging Segh vav general from the council--maybe even have him executed--leaving a vacancy. If he played his cards right, he could insure a Kh'myr was placed into that opening, advancing his race's ambitions. This prospect brought a smile to his face. "I love executions."

*****

"He thinks himself very clever," Valkris reported.

"Humph!" Admiral Kusan snorted in derision. "He is reckless. His political moves have as much finesse as his followers have loyalty." Kusan shook his great knobbed head as he read his master spy's report. "Was it hard to get this information?"

"Hardly, joHwI'. An apprentice of my order could have done it." Valkris sneered. "His people are more than willing to spill their guts concerning his affairs. It makes me wonder about the honor of being Kh'myr."

Kusan stared hard at her, and she dropped her smile. "We, you and I, are of the same race. You would do well to remember that, Valkris." He wagged a finger at her. "Khalian is rash and forgets his place. He believes his size and strength is all he needs to gain him what he strives for. He forgets that even the most fearsome targ can be brought down with a single disruptor shot, his size and ferocity not withstanding."

"Yes." Valkris became contrite.

"We will have to cover for him," Kusan continued, "so that he doesn't disgrace the Kh'myr with his clumsy maneuvers."

"Yes."

Changing the subject, Kusan looked out the window, feigning interest in something down below. "So, the emperor will appoint a new member to his council today."

"I hear congratulations are in order, joHwI'."

"Too bad about old Khurl, eh?"

"His death came unexpectedly," Valkris stated, dead-pan.

"Hmm," Kusan said, a slight smile curled up his lips.

"Your appointment to the council, joHwI', will be a good way to end a glorious career."

Kusan shook his head. "I'm not that old. A Segh vav has grown only one knot on his forehead by my age."

"So?" Valkris left the question unasked. "With Koord disgraced, who do you suppose Kudan Kuras will appoint to his place?"

"Probably a Segh vav admiral from the forces loyal to him," Kusan responded. "I doubt that his bigoted mind will allow more than one Kh'myr on his council at a time."

"One never knows," Valkris said, hiding the spark of knowledge from her face.

Kusan neither missed her comment, or its only slightly hidden meaning. "What have you heard?" he snapped.

"Nothing more, joHwI', but someone of my training never limits themselves to just one trail. We try to see all the possibilities."

She's hiding something, Kusan decided, but I trust her loyalty enough to know that if she thought it would harm me, she would let me know. He smiled at where this thought led. As long as I continue to pay her price...

*****

The cavernous central keep of the imperial fortress echoed loudly with the roars and challenges of the councilors. On a raised dais that extended from the wall opposite the large, swinging doors, rested the throne where generations of emperors had ruled the Klingons; Kudan Kuras being the latest.

And perhaps, the last. He was aging and lacked heirs. His Segh vav forehead had gnarled itself so many times now that he was almost indistinguishable from the Kh'myr race of Klingons.

"Isn't there any other way, voqjup--my trusted friend? Must I put one of their kind on my council?" Kuras almost pouted, despite his great age. "I've already replaced the Segh vav ship commanders with Kh'myr; I've posted Kh'myr in half the admiralty; I've even issued the change in our language, so that even Kazh is now called Qo'noS in that insipid pIqaD dialect of theirs!"

"Yes, sire. We've discussed this already. Your concessions have been the only thing that have prevented a civil war. The Kh'myr are a powerful influence in the empire. It is due to their bravery that the empire has reached its present size, larger than it has ever been in the recorded past."

"That is true," Kuras growled, the fire of pride burning bright in his eyes for a moment, then he closed them, his countenance changing with a thought. "But they are too quick to turn their predatory ways onto their fellow Klingons. Look what they've done to the Kh'yrlov. I think Mara, Kang's mate, is the only Klingon with blonde hair left in the Empire after the Kh'myr baited them into starting that race war."

"Agreed, sire," Gorkon answered, nodding his head. "After that war, the Kh'myr lost the inhibitions toward attacking fellow Klingons, hating and mistrusting all others. As you know, sire, the Kh'fjin have all but disappeared as well."

The mention of the Kh'fjin brought Admiral Koloth's face to the Kuras' mind, especially the pale, almost white color of his skin, the identifying feature of that race. "Now that you mention it, voqjup, the Kh'fjin have become scarce. When did this all occur?"

"Over the last few years, sire. The Kh'myr at first tried to lure the Kh'fjin into the same open war that destroyed the Kh'yrlov, but when the Kh'fjin didn't take up the bait, the Kh'myr began slowly, but surely, smoking them out of the woodwork. I dare say, that except for Koloth, the rest have secluded themselves in deep hiding. I've received word that many have taken refuge in the Halee system. Now the Kh'myr are turning their bigoted attentions to the Kh'teb."

"The Kh'teb are the most numerous of the Segh vav," Kuras said, emotion beginning to edge into his voice, color rising into his olive-tinted skin. "I am Kh'teb! Do they think they can take me from the throne, me, a direct descendant of Kahless himself?" There was a growl to Kuras' voice, his temper rising.

"As was my mother, sire."

"By Kahless, I will not let this happen. I was going to appoint one of them to the council today, but not now. Why did you talk me into it in the first place?"

Gorkon bowed slightly before his emperor's building wrath, not at all surprised by his liege's unique way of changing directions on any subject in the middle of the strongest current, without thinking through all the consequences. He would tactfully get him back on course. "Sire, it is imperative that we placate them in this way. They are more powerful than you might think. If we do not do this of our own volition, they will force it on us, with some one of their choice."

"By my father, I will destroy them, declare them outlaw, hunted by every other Klingon in the empire!" Kuras began to pace, striking the palm of his hand with his closed fist.

"And they will destroy you, sire."

"What?!"

"As I said, they would unite their forces, leaving us ill-prepared to fight them. This would be just the excuse they need to finally declare open war against all the Segh vav, eliminating the parent race from existence."

Kuras' face flushed deep purple under his dark skin as he wrestled with the inevitability of his situation.

"At least," Gorkon continued, "in this way, we appoint the least severe of their commanders to the council. Admiral Kusan is a moderate."

"Though I suspect him in the death of Admiral Khurl?"

"It was an honorable...retirement. Khurl was nearly sixty years old," Gorkon shrugged. "Of course, there is always Khalian."

The color returned to Kuras' face. "He is of the Kalut cell group, isn't he?" Kuras remembered the intelligence report he'd read some time ago concerning the most intense individuals within the Kh'myr race. If any Klingon could be said to be a berserker, it was all of those born from that particular crčche.

"And among the most dangerous of them," Gorkon added.

"But predictable."

"What about the Serenidad debacle, my emperor?"

"His involvement has never been proven, voqjup," Kuras said, slitting his eyes

"He hides his tracks well, sire, but his responsibility is certain."

Kuras nodded his head. "So my sources have said as well, but there is no proof that would stand the light of a full inquisition."

"That is true, sire," Gorkon responded, bowing slightly.

"He is careless. His slip-shod work will eventually be his downfall."

Gorkon responded by shaking his head slightly, choosing to remain silent, though the information he had on Khalian's latest escapades flashed through his intellect.

"Ah, well, voqjup, the meeting of the councilors waits, and, by the sound of it, they are wearing hard on each other's nerves," Kusan observed. "You will take your usual place?"

"As you wish, sire."

"Good." Kuras' mouth set in a line as he nodded his head. "Observe and be ready with your valued opinion."

The emperor's voqjup bowed slightly. "Yes, my lord. I serve."

"And very well, I will add, Gorkon."

"Thank you, Kudan."

The two left the ante-chamber through a well-used hallway, but only Kudan Kuras came out onto the throne's dais, Gorkon secreting himself away into his usual observation station, without even the trace of movement of the heavy tapestry to the left of the door.

Kudan Kuras stood silent on the dais, the group below too involved to note his presence. While he waited, he found and identified each of his councilors.

Kor, the mighty Kh'teb admiral whose exploits on the borders were epic. He had only one shadow on his record. He'd failed in his mission to secure Organia for the empire. Kuras himself had forgiven him his failure upon consideration of the Organians' power.

Koloth, a Kh'fjin admiral with a large and loyal following in the Klingon fleet. Kuras remembered the trick the infamous Earther, James T. Kirk, had played on Koloth once a long time ago and chuckled inwardly when he remembered what it had taken to finally clear the hated tribbles from Koloth's battlecruiser.

Kumara, the youngest Segh vav admiral on the council, his dark, olive skin identifying him as Kh'teb. Kumara's fame came from his exploits as a warrior assigned to other Klingon borders and during his time spent as an exchange student on Earth had become an acquaintance if not friend of James T. Kirk.

Then there was the oldest of his councilors, the great many knots convoluting his forehead demonstrating how long he'd survived. General Koord had once been the most powerful man in the Empire, the ranks of military following him easily securing his position on the council, but of late his forces had shrunk, his influence in the empire ebbing. Kuras knew from the intelligence reports of his secret police that he was the next target for the Kh'myr.

Kuras noted the continuing absence of Admiral Kang, outside himself, the most powerful Kh'teb in the empire. This was the third meeting of the council that Kang had missed. Kuras frowned at this thought. He would ask Admiral Kusan, the Kh'myr they would shortly install to the council of the admiral's whereabouts.

But for now... Raising the scepter of his office--the fang of a dragon that legends said Kahless himself had killed--he drove its gold-plated tip hard against the durasteel floor of the dais. The resounding "boom" of its impact, amplified by the dais' architecture, filled the vaulted room with its sound, silencing the councilors as they took their places before the throne.

"We serve, Kudan Kuras," they chorused as one.

"I lead," he returned, then continued. "First in order. The replacement of Councilor Khurl." He knew Admiral Kusan was waiting just outside the huge double doors of the throne room. "Guard, admit Admiral Kusan."

The room filled with the grumbling of the councilors in the room, the loudest of which was, "He's a damned Kh'myr."

Kuras silenced the muttering with a glare and watched the doors swing open.

Kusan marched in, his knobbed head held high, his steps sure and steady. Walking right up to the first step of the dais, he executed a precise Klingon salute, snapping his blade weapon--the only weapon allowed into the chamber--out, bringing his heals together. "Admiral Kusan, reporting as ordered, sire."

"Admiral Kusan, I have noted your service and loyalty to the Klingon empire and to me, and it shall be rewarded."

"I am but a Klingon, sire, doing his duty."

"Nevertheless, you are worthy of the promotion. From this day forward and until your death, you are duly recognized as a member of the Klingon High Council, taking the late Khurl's place in securing my control of the empire."

"I am honored, sire."

"As you should be, Lord Kusan. Take your place with the other councilors."

"Yes, sire." Kusan moved, but instead of moving toward the end of the line of Segh vav leaders, he began a new line on the other side of the room's center.

Kudan Kuras had suspected this would happen. The emperor had suspected that as a Kh'myr, Kusan would not be comfortable standing with his Segh vav contemporaries, but he felt he had to ask for an official explanation. "Why do you separate yourself from the rest?"

"Because I am different from them, sire, and wish not to be included in their ranks."

"But we are all Klingons in this room."

"Yes, sire."

"I am Segh vav as well. Does this mean you object to my presence?" Kuras felt his emotions suddenly well up in him.

"No sire. You are emperor, lord of us all, but I do object to the presence of the rest."

Kuras' anger kindled inside him, but he maintained control of it. "You will leave those opinions outside this room, Kusan. In here, we are all Klingons and are concerned only with the good of the Empire."

"Understood, sire." He remained rooted to the spot he'd selected.

He is as brave and controlled as voqjup said he would be, thought Kuras. "We will discuss this later, Lord Kusan, but, for now, it is settled." The emperor turned his focus to the entire group. "The first order of business concerns a rumor I've heard concerning a system named by the Earthers..." He paused to take a long breath. "...Serenidad."

Kor stepped forward, volunteering what he knew. "Three attempts, including an invasion, by Kh'myr leadership to 'persuade' the people of Serenidad to accept a protectorate from us have failed miserably due to Kh'myr ineptitude and the incompetence of their leadership."

"Do you know whose hand was behind these attempts?"

"I only have suspicions, sire," Kor replied.

"And whom do you suspect, Kor?"

"The one who commands the Kh'myr, sire. Admiral Khalian."

"What proof do you have, Lord Kor?" Kusan jumped to Khalian's defense from his place on the other side of the room.

"I have none, but who else could be so stupid as to allow a world to slip through his hands so often?"

"Proof, Kor. Present your proof," Kusan continued, determined to cover for his fellow Kh'myr.

"Enough!" Kuras ordered, and the two obeyed. "I have heard the same rumors and have ordered Admiral Khalian here today." The emperor paused to bring his focus on the guard. "Let Admiral Khalian enter."

The huge double doors opened slowly, silently, the smoothness of their movement belying their weight. Admiral Khalian could be heard arguing loudly with the guard in the hall.

"I am Admiral Khalian, and I will not surrender my weapon!"

The guard answered, threat oozing from his voice. "No weapon other than your taj--your dagger--may be brought into the throne room."

Kudan Kuras quickly stepped down from the dais and crossed the room. The councilors fell in step behind him.

"I'll give you my weapon, you filthy targ, the business..."

"Hold, Khalian!" Kudan Kuras roared as he entered the hallway.

Khalian hadn't even cleared the weapon of its holster. "Sire." He obviously hadn't been aware of the huge doors opening, or the arrival of the august body. For a moment, there was a strident temptation to pull it out and destroy the whole lot of them, but reason took over, and he resisted the enticement, instead pulling the disruptor and handing it butt first to the guard.

"You know my rules regarding weaponry in the Great Hall, Lord Khalian," Kuras muttered, loudly enough to be heard.

"No, sire, I did not," he lied. "This is my first time visiting the throne room." Hopefully, not my last, he thought as he waited the emperor's pleasure...or displeasure.

Kuras made a slight movement with his hands, and the guard placed the weapon on a shelf built into the wall nearby. It disappeared as a powerful disruptor beam snapped on for just a second. Kuras turned around, walked through the body of councilors, and back to the throne dais.

Once there, he turned and waited, while the councilors resumed their places. Kusan was still on the far right, by himself.

Khalian stood in the center, between the two factions, easy and confident of his position.

"What do you know of Serenidad, Admiral Khalian?" Kudan Kuras asked, coming straight to the point.

"That it is rich in dilithium and has an unaligned government. Under the terms of the Organian Treaty, if we can convince them to ally themselves with us, we will be free to benefit from its wealth." Khalian stopped, seducing the emperor to ask for the rest.

"And, Khalian?" Kuras took the bait.

"Well, sire, the clumsy attempts of inept commanders has badly embarrassed the Empire in their attempts to bring it into the fold of your empire." Khalian maintained his eye contact with the empire's ruler.

What will be your ploy, Khalian? Kuras asked himself, feeling there was a lie coming. "I have heard that these commanders did so under your orders, Khalian. Is that true?" Might as well get this out into the open right away, Kuras thought after asking.

Khalian feigned surprise and half slid his taj's blade from its sheath. "Who says so, sire?"

"I have my sources."

"Obviously someone who seeks my downfall. I have many political enemies within the empire, sire."

"That much is certain, Khalian," Kuras continued, barely holding in the laughter that welled up inside him as he watched the Kh'myr's brazen performance.

Knowing you were guilty until you could prove yourself innocent in the Klingon system of justice, Khalian forged forward. "I have proof of my innocence."

Kuras became very serious suddenly. If Khalian could show proof of someone else's involvement, well maybe this Kh'myr wasn't quite the rogue his sources had painted him as.

"I had assumed this might be the reason for my invitation to your majesty's throne room, so I had the proof put together on a memory chip, sire." Khalian fished the chip from a hidden pocket within the familial sash that he wore as part of his uniform. The grumbling of the Segh vav councilors gratified him. As he held out the chip, he stole a quick glance at Kusan, the only other Kh'myr in the room, and saw only a hint of a question on that inscrutable face.

Having thought he knew where this was going to go, Kuras now felt awash in the turmoil of conflicting thoughts. For a moment, he thought to adjourn the council so that he could review the evidence in private with Gorkon, but then changed his mind, knowing this would be a gross breach in the Klingon system of justice. Once you made an accusation, it had to be followed up quickly and openly and with the evidence that would conclude the proceedings, or all charges would be dropped forever. Besides, he was curious to see the evidence. "Thank you, Admiral."

"I only seek to serve you, my Lord Emperor." Khalian filled his voice with contrite tones.

Kuras handed the chip to a throne room aide without leaving his position in the center of the dais. A moment later, a viewscreen mounted on the wall nearby came to life, filling with white video noise. Then it cleared and a picture, obviously taken through the lenses of a security video sensor, came onto it. Centered in it was Admiral Kang, seated at his desk.

"Hold," commanded Kuras, and the recording stopped with Kang still seated at his desk. "When was this holo-record made, Khalian?"

"I believe three months ago," Khalian answered with the truth this time.

"The court hasn't seen Admiral Kang in as many months." Kuras had wanted to ask Kusan the next question, but now it appeared Khalian might know as well. "We have ordered his recall several times, and he has ignored us," the emperor said in his most official court voice. "Do you know where he is?"

Again, Khalian felt he could tell the truth. "Yes, sire. If you will give me a few minutes' indulgence, you will have all your questions answered."

"Let the recording proceed," Kuras ordered.

The holo-record began again to play.

There was the sound of the door's chime indicating someone wishing to see Kang.

"Come." Kang answered without looking up.

Kang's adjutant came in with a document tube in his hand. "Here's the document, admiral."

"Thank you," Kang responded, taking the tube and opening one end. Pulling the document out, he rolled it out and read it to himself, then a smile appeared on his face. "Do you know what this is?" He projected his question to the adjutant.

"Yes, lord."

"With this treaty, signed by the princess herself, we now hold protectorate rights over Serenidad and all her dilithium."

"Won't this please the emperor?"

"Yes, it would...if he knew of it," Kang said as he rolled the document back up and slipped it back into the tube.

"What are you saying, Lord Kang?"

On the throne room floor, standing with the emperor's councilors, and watching the doctored recording himself for the first time, Khalian could only congratulate himself for having such a clever adjutant who could produce such convincing evidence. He could see where the holo-record was going. His only surprise now would be how it would implicate Koord as well.

Kang answered as the recording proceeded. "With the riches of this world at my disposal, I can be emperor."

"Hold!" Kuras roared, and the holo-record stopped playing. "This is very hard to believe, Admiral Khalian. Kang has always been a loyal follower."

Khalian bowed ever so slightly, his gaze not leaving the face of the emperor. "So I thought as well. When I received this recording, I was as surprised as you, sire, but not half as surprised as when I saw what comes next."

"There is more?"

"Oh, yes, sire." Khalian gestured toward the screen.

"Proceed," Kuras ordered, and the holo-record continued.

"Thank you, Adjutant Kitan. You are dismissed."

The officer left Kang's office. Kang took the tube and approached a chart of the empire on the wall nearby. Behind it was a safe, which Kang opened, then placed the tube in it and closed the door. "My ticket to the throne," he said in a whisper.

Returning to his desk, he tapped a code into the computer, then waited. The wait was short, and the connection made. Another face, familiar to the court, appeared. It was General Koord. None could mistake the gnarled forehead of the oldest member of the council. "What is it, Kang?"

"I have the document."

"Hold," Kuras hissed, turning his attention on Koord.

General Koord was turning a brilliant purple with his rage. "This is preposterous, sire. The recording is a forgery. Neither I nor Kang would ever conceive a plot to overthrow you."

"Computer," Kuras said to the air around him.

"Enabled," came the computer's gruff voice.

"Verify validity of holo-record chip," Kuras commanded.

"Working," there was a pause, then, "checked and verified. Ninety-nine percent chance of complete accuracy."

Kuras turned and glared at Khalian, then spoke to the computer. "What does the other one percent represent?"

The computer answered. "There is a slight indication that there has been some erasure on the holo-record chip."

"Enough to indicate a forgery?"

"Unable to determine Inconclusive evidence."

Khalian began to breathe again. My adjutant did his job well. I must reward him later, he thought. "Shall we finish viewing the recording, sire?"

Kuras' mind seethed with rage at the betrayal. To think that two of his closest advisors were traitors, and, on top of that, they were Segh vav...it was enraging him. "Yes," he hissed. "Finish the recording."

"But, sire--" Koord tried to interrupt.

"Be silent, General."

General Koord obeyed, but the anger inside him was as obvious as the anger in Kuras'.

"Computer. Continue with the holo-record." Kuras ordered, and the drama on the screen continued to play through.

"Will it be enough for you to complete your plans, Kang?" Koord asked.

"That and more, believe me, Koord. The riches of Serenidad are beyond our wildest expectations. With it, I can build a fleet large enough to overthrow the weakling Kuras and take the throne for myself."

"You won't forget all the assistance I have given you will you?" Koord could be heard to say.

"Of course not, my old friend. the interference you have run has been most helpful in keeping the emperor's attention--as well as the other members of the council as well I might add--on Kh'myr activities, giving me the chance to get everything in place," Kang responded, then smiled.

"Good, good," Koord answered, then, "Success, Emperor." Koord saluted, then the screen on the communications device went blank.

"Success indeed, you old targ," Kang said, "and once I'm on the throne, I'll dispose of you as well." Kang chuckled evilly.

The holo-record ended, and the screen filled with snow.

This overjoyed Khalian. What a great little addition that ending had. Not only did my adjutant implicate Kang and Koord as traitors, but he also drove a wedge of distrust between the Kh'teb, Khalian thought. "What are your orders, sire?" He exaggerated his bow.

Kudan Kuras' anger was brilliant white in its heat, totally disregarding the small voice of reason that recommended calm. Though he knew he should consult with Gorkon first, he tossed that thought aside as he made the first of his commands. "I want Admiral Kang arrested and thrown into the deepest hole."

"But, sire," argued Kor from the gathered Segh vav councilors, "on the word of one holo-record?"

"Be silent, less I suspect you as well." Kuras glowered at them, completely ignoring the faint, but clear sound of Gorkon trying to get his attention from his hidden observation point. A small voice inside him whispered, Slow down; you don't really think Kang and the rest of the Segh vav are traitors. But his anger out-shouted them in its quest for vindication.

"As for you, General Koord," Kuras signaled to the captain of the guards to come forward. "I don't know what your full part in this is, but that you are involved is obvious. Until I can get a full disclosure, your membership on the council is rescinded. Furthermore, you will be remanded to Nimbus Three to serve as governor there until further notice. If I get even the slightest rumor of further problems out of you, I will have you executed immediately." Koord tried to speak, but Kuras cut him off with a slashing movement of his hand. "Get him out of here."

By sheer weight of numbers, the guards quickly overwhelmed Koord and took him, kicking and roaring, from the room.

"Now to find the real villain here," Kuras paused thinking. "I will give Kang's seat on the council to the person who finds and arrests him."

Even better than I had imagined! Khalian thought, his soul filling with the joy created by this little piece of serendipity. He cleared his throat loud enough to get the emperor's attention. "As it happens, sire, I have already accomplished this."

Multiple hisses came from the three remaining Segh vav councilors.

This shocked Kuras. It went a long way toward quenching the fire within his breast. How could Khalian have known I would react the way I did? Unfortunately, he had made a pronouncement, and by so doing, had already signed the death warrant of Kang. To back down now would be a great sign of weakness on his part, leaving him lawfully open to attack from whichever of the councilors had enough strength to overwhelm him. He knew there weren't many here who could mount a force large enough to do this, but it would plunge the empire into a crippling civil war. "Go on, Khalian."

The Kh'myr admiral dug out the holo-record chip with the arrest of Kang on it and gave it to the emperor.

Kuras accepted the first holo-record from the hand of the aide, putting it away safely into his pocket for later storage. Though he was still very angry, he knew it would be important as evidence against Khalian if these charges did eventually prove to be false. Handing the new chip to the waiting junior officer, he gave his order, "Begin!"

The scene was again from Kang's office.

Seated behind his desk, Kang had a Kh'myr commander sitting in a chair on the other side of the desk. It was obviously not a social call.

"For the last time, Commander Korak, you are to confine your forays to this side of the Klingon-Federation border for now. Starfleet has stepped up patrols on their side of the boundary near your patrol sector thanks to your recent raids."

Commander Korak's smile dripped contempt as he leaned back in his recliner. "It is more than luck, Admiral. I leave nothing to chance. In the service of our wise emperor, I have totally obliterated three major Federation outposts, weakening their strength in that sector. Always, I have completely jammed their communications before they could report and left no survivors. I have punched a hole in their defense perimeter big enough to send our entire battle fleet through. We could destroy the Federation utterly if you and the other weak fools at High Command would give us free rein and serve our Empire."

"So you and your allies can strengthen that weak fool who pretends to be an emperor!" Kang snarled. The Kh'teb admiral shook his head slowly. "You are indeed a fool, Commander Korak. Worse, you are a dangerous fool, giving more glory and honor to a fool like Kuras. Given half a chance, your plan will strengthen him to the point I dare not challenge him." He glared at the Kh'myr. "You are relieved of battlecruiser command, effective immediately."

"I don't think so!" a voice thundered from the rear of Kang's small, tidy office even before Korak could voice a protest.

The startled Kh'myr commander whirled around, his dark face breaking into a huge, savage grin. "Hail, Khalian!" he shouted, raising a fist in salute.

"Hail the Empire and its wise emperor!" Khalian answered.

Kang exploded from his lounger, his face clouded with fury. "How dare you come in here unannounced and countermand my orders! Get out of here at once, or I'll--"

"Or you'll what?" Admiral Khalian strode menacingly toward the desk, his muscular, monolithic bulk in full battle armor dwarfing even the formidable Kang. Both of his huge hands shot out suddenly and disarmed Kang, relieving him of his disruptor pistol and his combat dagger. The giant Kh'myr tossed the weapons to Korak.

"Your orders no longer carry any weight with High Command, traitor," Khalian spat. "We apprehended your adjutant, Kitan, for conspiring to start a race riot between the honorable Kh'myr and your treacherous sub-race, the Kh'teb. I thought it would be useful to put him under the mindsifter to see if to what extent you were involved. Before he died, he revealed the existence of a very interesting document you keep in your office safe."

Kang paled as Khalian moved to the wall behind his desk and tore down the perspex star map of the Klingon Empire, revealing the recessed wall safe. The Kh'myr glanced speculatively at Kang.

"I'll never give you the combination!" Kang grated.

Khalian chuckled contemptuously. "I don't need it," he hissed. He gripped the handle and yanked savagely, tearing the heavy, reinforced, durasteel door off its hinges with a screech of tortured metal. The Kh'myr tossed it aside, then reached into the safe to pull out a plaster document tube. He unrolled the paper inside and read it quickly.

"Well, well, well!" Khalian exclaimed, shaking his great knobbed skull from side to side. "What have we here? This document is an agreement between the Klingon Empire and the Federation planet Serenidad. It seems that Serenidad's monarch has renounced all ties with the Federation and demands to be a Klingon protectorate. The Princess Teresa willingly signed it herself. Why have you kept this important information secret, you traitor?"

"Serenidad!" Korak exclaimed, his eyes widening. "That planet's dilithium stores are immeasurably vast! This information should have been sent to our wise emperor the moment it was received! And he was sitting on this?!"

"It seems so, Commander," Khalian rumbled. He turned his attention to Kang again. "I have asked you a question, Kang. Why?"

Kang muttered sullenly, "One day, I will kill that impotent fool Kudan Kuras with my bare hands, but I have nothing to say to you."

"I'm not surprised by your treachery. My sources have long since indicated that you have been secretly fomenting hatred between the Kh'myr and the Segh vav." Khalian clapped his gauntleted hands together, and two Kh'myr security guards appeared in the doorway, their disruptor carbines at the ready. "Admiral Kang is under arrest for treason. I have arranged for him to be incarcerated in the deepest, filthiest hole at the Kragyr penal colony." He turned to Kang. "Feel fortunate, Kang. I will permit you to live. At least you fared better than that little be'SIj of a mate."

Kang's head snapped up in alarm. "What have you done to Mara?!!"

Khalian's face twisted into an evil leer. "I had her sent to the Kh'alu'don death camp for her complicity in your treachery. I believe she was executed at midday--beheaded to be precise."

Kang's face went white. "You lie!" he whispered, his voice a dry, tremulous croak.

"Indeed?" Khalian snapped his fingers. A guard left the office and returned within seconds carrying a torn, ragged, woman's tabard. Kang recognized the tunic immediately. The collar, shoulders and front of the garment were soaked with blood.

With an incoherent, despairing cry, Kang leaped at Khalian, but the big Kh'myr caught him in mid-air and slammed him brutally to the floor. Kang tried groggily to rise. He was too slow to avoid Khalian's savage kick, which took him on the tip of his chin and snapped his head back, while at the same time propelling him across the room. Kang hit the wall, crumpling it inward, then slid to the floor, collapsing like a rag doll.

He did not get up again, but muttered, "One day the empire will be mine..."

"Take him away," Khalian growled. "Put him on the next prison ship to the Kragyr colony, and put the tunic in his cell to remind him of his equally treacherous wife."

The two guards unceremoniously dragged Kang from the room by his heels, trailing a ribbon of blood from the unconscious admiral's split chin behind them.

Commander Korak set Kang's weapon down on the desk. "Khalian. Mara--did you really..."

The Kh'myr admiral sneered. "Korak, my friend, you're a fool indeed if you think I'd let a sweet, little prize like her slip through my fingers! I made her a proposition. If she would agree to be my ship's whore, I would spare Kang's life."

Korak snorted. "You drive a hard bargain, Admiral! Did Mara actually believe you would keep you promise?"

"She had little choice, wouldn't you say?"

The recording ended.

"Now we know where Kang and Mara have been these past months," Kudan Kuras commented. Then he turned his attention on Khalian. "Why didn't you report this before now?"

"I am sorry, sire," Khalian pretended to be contrite, "but I did not think the incarceration of a traitor and his wife was important enough to report to you. If I was wrong, I apologize." He hated even admitting this, but there was too much to gain not to pretend to abase himself.

"Admiral Khalian, you have done me a great favor in breaking up this traitorous plot. Step forward." Kuras descended the steps slowly, subconsciously knowing this was probably a mistake, but a promise is a promise, especially when made by the emperor.

Khalian stepped forward, prepared to receive his reward, still somewhat shocked by the turn of events.

"Admiral Khalian, I promote you to the High Council of the Klingon Empire." Kuras drew his taj and held it out.

Khalian took the knife's blade in his hand and felt its razor sharp edge bite into his flesh. "I accept the position and responsibility and will serve to the best of my ability, sire."

"Serve loyally." Kuras withdrew the blade from Khalian's hand slowly, the Kh'myr admiral's blood now flowing freely. Then turned his back on Khalian, stepping back up the stairs to the top of the dais. During the entire time, his flesh crawled in the area between his shoulder blades as he waited to feel the bite of Khalian's knife. The conscious part of his thoughts dismissed the feeling, but he couldn't completely put aside the thought that someday Khalian would be his downfall.

Turning, he faced the room full of councilors. "Is there anything else to be discussed at this time?"

Khalian had joined Kusan on the opposite side of the room as the three remaining Segh vav councilors.

The room remained silent, surprising Kudan. He had expected more resistance. "Then I dismiss you." As he turned, heading for his ante-chamber, he knew Gorkon would already be in there waiting to take him to task for what had just happened. But what had happened had happened, and there were not many ways of retracting them now.

Just before entering the side room, he glanced back into the room. The two new Kh'myr councilors were already departing, roaring together in their victory. The Segh vav on the other hand hadn't left their position in front of the dais. I wonder what they're planning now? he thought. I hope it's not more treachery; I'm running out of councilors of my race.

He entered the ante-chamber, and he'd been right; Gorkon was indeed waiting. He didn't look happy.

*****

Khalian separated from Kusan as soon as they left the palace. He bared his teeth in a viscous smile. My luck has finally turned, his thoughts were racing. After last year's debacles left me in shame, I'm now a member of the emperor's council. Who could have predicted this turn of events?

He quickly reviewed the turn of events, and his smile became more vicious. When he came to the part where he'd handed the holo-record chip of Kang's arrest to the emperor, his spirits soared. I must have the power to discern the future, he thought, to have known to bring that with me. Then he remembered something, and it stopped him in his tracks--Mara, Kang's mate.

Qel--Battle Surgeon--Kronn had reported that she'd died after he'd finished with her that fateful night. His loins stirred slightly at the memory, but ceased at the next thought. I have not seen Kronn since then. Now where did that Segh vav healer disappear to, and what is he up to now?

He began walking again and soon arrived at his citadel's entrance. I'll have to begin a search for him, he concluded as he returned the salute of the guards. For some reason, his disappearance bothers me. Putting that at the top of his list of things to do, he leapt up the stairs that headed for the floor where his adjutant waited.

-4-

"Come, Lady Mara. It's time to wake up!" Kronn said as he lifted the limp form of Lord Kang's wife from the healing tube onto the med-table. He noted right away how much weight she'd lost during her three month internment. With tender, loving care, he put her body down onto the examination table. In any language--Human: Battle Surgeon; Segh vav: Nada; pIqaD: Qel--he was one thing above all others: a doctor.

Quickly, with a practiced eye, he checked every inch of her, inspecting his work. The wounds given her by Khalian had healed without scarring. When he'd seen her in Khalian's quarters, her blood had soaked through every square inch of her clothes; her jaw and nose had been smashed, disfiguring her face; during her recovery, nearly every inch of her skin had shown bruising, and the part of her that made her female had been so badly torn and mangled.... Kronn shuddered at the thought of what Khalian had done to her.

Extensive surgery and nearly three months in the healing tube had fixed that. There was no swelling left, no scarring, not even on her face, where he'd had to do major reconstruction surgery. It was on her face that his gaze lingered. Such beauty, and how jealous he was of Kang to have won her love. More so was her rarity. The long, straight blonde hair that framed the face identified her as a member of the Kh'yrlov sub-race, for all intents and purposes, a race exterminated by the Kh'myr.

Pulling out a linen sheet from shelves under the table, he let it unfold and tucked one end under the end of the table's thin mattress. As he pulled it over her, he let his gaze wander over her feminine physique, for a moment allowing the male in him to enjoy it. How could Khalian think to hurt you? he wondered admiringly. He shook his head and finished pulling the sheet over her.

"Computer, stimulate her cerebral cortex," he instructed, beginning the procedure to bring her back to consciousness.

"Rate?" the computer's male voice asked.

"Two percent every ten minutes," he instructed, knowing that at this rate it would be nearly two hours before she'd regain consciousness. "After all you have been through, I do not need to add neural shock to the list."

Leaving her to the ministrations of the computer, he went back to the bridge of his ship. It was only a ketch-class vessel, sporting a single graf drive unit and three rooms inside--the bridge, his quarters, and the med lab/examination room. It wasn't much, but it did the job. As a nada, his kind was rare amongst the Klingons and held precious by them. He used the ship to make his rounds, much of which passed through the colonies of the Empire, spending most of his time with those on worlds whose technology was greatly below that of the central worlds.

"Computer, status of course?"

The computer's voice answered, "No variance; still on course for Boreth."

"Good. Arrival time?"

"Two hours and fifteen minutes at present speed."

"I will wait until I am closer to contact them, then keep it short," he discussed his plan with himself again.

He'd maintained communications silence since leaving Khalian's ship with Mara's broken body, knowing that the use of the ship's communication equipment would tell any who intercepted it where his location was. He knew that Khalian would be looking for him by now and what would happen to him if the Kh'myr admiral found him...and more importantly, what would happen if the admiral found Mara still alive after he, Nada Kronn, had certified her as dead. The Kh'myr were a ruthless race and only just barely followed the restrictions of civilization. He wasn't sure his status as a healer would stop Khalian from shoving him out the nearest air lock.

But Kronn wasn't Kh'myr; he was Kh'teb, the same race as Kang, and had been Mara's family's physician long before the Kh'myr rise to power. He had witnessed Mara's birth and had refused to let Khalian's ministrations kill her. That was why he had headed for Boreth. The planet was where a small grouping of Klingon intellects of all races had settled, choosing to study and worship the ways of Kahless, the founder of the Klingon way of life. They had built a monastery there and spent long hours studying his philosophies, as written by those who served him those centuries long past.

Though life on Boreth was spartan at best, Kronn knew the acolytes would not harm the Lady Mara and would keep her safe. He also knew the temple to be a safe haven. Even the Kh'myr did not want to chance the wrath of Kahless' spirit.

After he left her there, he would erase all reference to her on his ship's records and get back on his normal rounds of scheduled stops at the peripheral colonies. Then it wouldn't matter if Khalian found him. Staring out at the stars, he watched the trails they burned in the ebony background as his ship's graf drive powered the ship past them. He passed the time lost in his thoughts, wondering where the Klingon species would find itself centuries from now.

After what seemed only moments later, a low moan broke Kronn's thoughts. A quick check of the ship's chronometer told him how much time had passed. Lady Mara is waking up, he thought as he stood and stretched the cramps from his back, then headed back into the medical bay.

Her eyes fluttered open just as he arrived. At first there was no recognition nor any realization of what had happened to her. She cannot focus her eyes yet, he guessed, a normal reaction to such a long time in a healing room. He quietly took up a position next to her. "Good morning, Lady Mara."

"I feel so weak. What is wrong with me? Who are you?" Mara croaked, her vocal chords unused to their job.

She remembers her name; a good sign that she is not suffering from amnesia, he thought as he moved up beside her recovery table. "I am Nada Kronn. Do you remember me? Your family's physician?"

"Oh, Kronn...yes. I remember...you," she mumbled almost incoherently as her eyes scrunched shut and her mouth became a straight line.

He wasn't sure if he should come out with everything, at least not just yet. Let her mind recover more from the stasis. "You've been very ill and in a healing tube for quite some time."

Her hand moved, then her arm lifted slowly, faltering. She groaned with the effort. "So weak." Finally, she managed to get her hand to her chin. "Some pain, stiffness here."

"Yes, you will feel some discomfort and in many places." Kronn answered only what he felt she needed to know. He knew that in a moment, as her nervous system finally came back to normal, her memories would come flooding back and would threaten to send her into shock. He prepared himself for that possibility.

"What was wrong with me? Where is Lord Kang?" she continued to query, her movements becoming more coordinated.

"He is not here, my lady. Your memories should be coming back shortly, and they will explain everything." Kronn faltered in telling her what he knew she would momentarily remember without his help.

"What?"

"Take your time, my lady. You've been in a healing tube for three months. It will all come to you momentarily." He was already empathizing with her, knowing the pain would come, wishing he could spare her from it. Then Kronn heard a growl that formed around her on the table. She's remembering, he concluded.

The growl became more audible, and her face contorted into a wicked smile as she bared her teeth. She roared her rage, her arms immediately wrapping themselves around her chest as she moaned with pain.

"My lady, please! There was much damage." Kronn touched her shoulder supportively. Her eyes opened, and her gaze found him. Its intensity was so malevolent, he felt he could feel the hate for all things male in it, and wished for a moment he wasn't of that sex.

"Khalian!" she roared the name, only just wincing at the pain it caused her. "That Kh'myr mantril!" She explored all the rest of the remembered injury sites. Her explorations stopped at her femininity, the memories most painful around that area. Then her eyes got very wide.

Kronn knew from the moment he'd finished his repairs what her reaction to them would be. "There was much damage, my lady."

"But this, Nada? You had to do this?!"

"My lady, I..." He couldn't find an appropriate explanation, unable to ascertain what a female would feel upon discovering what he'd had to do.

"Kang will be..." There was another growl filling the air around her.

"I know, my lady. He will not be happy, but he will find you alive." Kronn's head began bobbing as he wrung his skilled, healing hands, trying to look as contrite as he could.

Mara's fierce gaze found him.

He felt his spirit melt, his stature shrink.

"You, son of a targ, you've made me a virgin."

He was quaking so much, he missed the ending of her comment. "I am sorry, my lady, but..."

Then she began to laugh.

Kronn was beside himself with confusion and wondered if maybe she was only just now slipping into neural shock. "My lady, you must calm yourself."

"I am sorry, Kronn, but I just thought what my mate, Lord Kang, will think when he finds out I'm a virgin again." She began to laugh again.

Kronn joined her in her merriment, amazed at her abilities to mend, psychically as well as physically. How I envy you, Lord Kang.

*****

"Kragyr?!"

"Yes, Lady Mara, that's where Khalian sent him."

"How long have I been in the healing tube?"

"Three months."

Mara was sitting at Kronn's work station, staring into a dark computer monitor, her thoughts becoming morbid. "Not many survive three days in that hole, let along three months. Khalian may as well have signed my lord's death sentence."

"I believe, my lady, that was precisely what Admiral Khalian had in mind."

"Does the emperor know?"

"Does it matter, my lady? The emperor, after all, is Klingon. We live while we are strong, and die, when we weaken, most often at the hands of someone we thought loyal. The emperor believes this philosophy. Kang's absence will only serve to allow someone strong to be appointed to the council."

"Khalian might get picked," Mara speculated.

"It did not surprise me, my lady," Kronn felt Mara was ready to hear the news he'd gleaned from the command frequencies only just a little while before deciding to revive her.

Her face clouded with anger. "You mean it has already happened?!"

"Yes, my lady, only days ago. In reward for arresting your lord after he was accused of some sort of treason. They did not say what the charge had been, and I could not ask."

"He is not a traitor, Kronn. Khalian must have manufactured the charges and created evidence to support them."

"Agreed." The physician nodded his head. "But you must show proof of this or the first time Kang appears in the throne room, he will be summarily executed. That is, if he is still alive." Kronn knew the reputation of the prison colony. Then he became very serious as he continued, "There is one thing you must remember, my lady."

Mara was staring off into the distance, thinking about how to procure the needed evidence.

"My lady?"

She barely heard him. "Ah, yes?"

"You must resign yourself to Kang being dead by now."

"Why? He is strong. If anyone can survive, he will."

"But, Kragyr, my lady! You've heard all the rumors. Believe me, they fade by comparison with reality. I know. I have been there. I have seen the conditions. Kang cannot have survived this long. You must live out your life in hiding."

Mara grimaced, baring her teeth. "I will not live out my life skulking around in burrows. I am Klingon."

Kronn bathed luxuriously in her aggression as he waited for her to quiet. "Yes, my lady, but you will need a place to make your plans for revenge. Someplace where they won't suspect, or search."

Mara read his facial features and knew he had that place in mind. "And where, dear nada, is that?"

"My ship is presently in orbit around Boreth."

"I have heard of it. Many below use severe fasting, fire-watching, and self-inflicted pain to coerce Kahless' spirit back to this plane of existence to retake his rightful place as the leader of the Klingon Empire."

"Yes, my lady. That is their cause, and they do search diligently for the answers to what is a true Klingon." Kronn reached out and took one of Mara's hands in his, catching and holding her gaze with his. "They do not believe the Kh'myr are on that path and will not cooperate with them."

"You say I can trust them?"

"As much as you can trust any Klingon."

"If my mate is considered a traitor, will they not turn me over to the emperor?"

"There are many Maras in the empire."

"But only one who is Kh'yrlov."

"I have many friends here, my lady. Trust me, and trust them. Most there will not even notice your presence. They search for the truth of Kahless and nothing else."

"I will be careful."

"As you should be."

"What will you do once you leave me here?" Mara changed the subject.

"Continue my rounds, my lady," Kronn answered.

"Will not Khalian be looking for you?"

"Maybe. My departure from his ship was sudden, and I have been out of touch during your time in the healing tube. I will know as soon as I show up at my next stop."

"You will need to delete all record of me in your logs and computers."

"My lady, please, do not insult me. You see the knots of wisdom on my brow? That doesn't mean I'm Kh'myr; I'm an old and wise Kh'teb."

She blushed with the embarrassment she felt, having unintentionally, in her concern for her rescuer, insulted him. "My apologies, nada, but they will be looking for you, and these Klingons will stop at nothing to get what they want, including the mindsifter."

Kronn laughed, then pulled back the shoulder length, oily, black hair that hung over his left ear. Behind it was a short, metallic stub, indicating something was surgically embedded there.

Mara recognized the identifying plate of the confidentiality device. Most healers and their staff had them installed to maintain the secrets kept between healer and client. At the first hint of a mind-scanning device, it would detonate, killing the individual instantly, destroying any information he might have.

"Let them try."

Mara softened her expression as she let the realization of the risks Nada Kronn had taken for her sink home. "I, my family and Kang's family, owe you a deep debt, Kronn. You have but to ask..." She let her eyes and her expression say the rest.

He stood, ending the conversation. "Let us get you to safety."

*****

Half an hour later, he was back on board his ship, already regretting not asking her for the one thing he had wanted. Punching the coordinates to his next stop into the ship's navigation program, he cursed himself for his timidity.

"Course accepted and computed."

Kronn hesitated. I could go back down and get her, he thought. No, I will wait. After all, what if Kang is not dead? He would kill me, overlooking my healer status. His thoughts continued as he locked the course into the guidance program. She is safe here, and once I know for sure Kang is dead, then I will return and court her.

With the decision finally settled in his head, Kronn put the final touches into the computer. "Engage course, exit orbit, sixth level sub-graf."

"Sub-graf sixth level," the computer repeated.

The ketch Kohl left orbit quickly and, an hour later, reached the Oort cloud of the Boreth system. Dodging through the chunks of galactic debris, it was shortly through and clear to accelerate.

"Sixth factor graf speed," Kronn ordered.

The ketch distorted as it accelerated, then passed light speed and disappeared with a flash of silent, subspace energies.

-5-

"You look in the peak of strength, Khalian," Admiral Kusan said as the other Kh'myr councilor approached from the back of the throne room.

"Yes, yes, thank you," Khalian responded absent-mindedly.

"What is bothering you?" Kusan said, noting Khalian's distracted look.

"What bothers me is what should bother all Klingons."

"And that is?"

"The quest for more power," Khalian growled as he glared at Kusan.

"How much more power do you need?" Kusan returned.

"How much power is there?"

Kusan thought about this a moment, wondering if Khalian could indeed be already looking to take the next, albeit very dangerous, step. "I suppose you could find yourself in the emperor's family."

Khalian's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He brought up his right hand, waggling his index finger at the admiral, about to say something else when he saw Kudan Kuras walk out onto the dais. "Later, Kusan."

I wonder what that means, thought Kusan as he turned to face the dais.

*****

My spies tell me that Kor and Koloth are up to something, thought Kudan Kuras as he waited for the throne room to quiet. They report extensive activity around the heavy freighter Admiral Kor liberated from the Orion last year.

"Who is that, brother?"

Kuras' ears heard the words his sister was whispering to him from his left, but his brain did not, it being too wrapped up in other thoughts.

voqjup says this activity started right after Khalian announced his incarceration of Admiral Kang. Of course, that was after he'd tactfully let me know what he thought of making Khalian a councilor. Kuras' mouth turned down at the memory of that conversation. What is done, is done, he said to himself. voqjup and I have come to the same conclusion regarding this activity. He let his gaze find the two new Kh'myr councilors on the other side of the aisle. And if we have figured it out, then they must have as well. A sharp poke in his ribs abruptly interrupted his thought train. "What is it, sister?" he responded sharply upon identifying the culprit.

"Who is that?" she responded, brazenly pointing at a dark, young lieutenant standing at the back of the room with the rest of Admiral Kusan's aides.

Kuras didn't recognize him. "I don't know, Marschut. I've never seen his ugly Kh'myr face in my throne room before." He looked at her and saw a familiar fire burning within her dark eyes. It set off a racial trigger within him. "You can't be serious. A Kh'myr?"

"Kh'myr, Kh'teb. There's no difference where it counts." Her eyes unfocused for a moment, she licked her lips, then continued. "Well, some difference."

"Phah!" Kuras responded, his male psyche offended by her reference. He started to say something about it not being the size that counted, but he found she had already turned to the Lady Kali standing at her other side. She was pointing out the same individual to her. Just as long as she doesn't give me a half-breed for a relative. Kahless would send me to the torments of Gre'thor if his line was diluted with a Kh'myr's engineered gene structure.

*****

"Tell me, Kusan," Khalian sidled up to his fellow Kh'myr councilor, talking low, his face away from the dais.

"If I can, Khalian."

"I know everyone in the fleet and most of the underlings that hold offices in the dark recesses of the palace, but..." His voice slid off to nothing.

Kusan looked hard at Khalian's face. What is this? he thought. Khalian at a loss for words?"Come on, Khalian, what is it?"

"You know how I hate to admit to a weakness."

"Kahless, yes."

"What?!"

"toH, Khalian. Don't take offense. You are who you are, and that's what makes you such a powerful ally."

Khalian knew he was being humored and decided he liked the feeling. "I don't know the members of the royal family."

I really can't say I know them all either, but, Kusan thought. "I've spent some time in the First City..."

Khalian interrupted him. "I've noticed."

Kusan didn't know how to take this. Indignant rage sprang up in response. He kept it reigned in concerning this powerful Kh'myr. "Is there someone you need identifying?"

"Yes." Khalian turned his back on the dais before continuing. "Who is the female standing next to Kuras?"

"You mean the one talking to Kor's mate?"

"The one."

Kusan noted a small degree of color edge into Khalian's face. Why would a female cause Khalian to react this way? he asked himself. "That is the High Lady Marschut, sister to Kudan Kuras."

"Ah!" Khalian's eyes lidded for a moment and a small smile formed on his mouth. "What would it mean to an individual to mate with one such as her?"

The scoundrel. One week in the emperor's court and already he's conspiring to improve his position. I knew he was ambitious, but I'm afraid this might prove to be his undoing, he thought before answering the question with a question. "Physically, or politically?"

Khalian threw his head back a little and let loose a knowing laugh. "I am not an adolescent, Kusan. I've had my share of matings and have no doubt that I'd enjoy a pairing with that one. What of the other side? The political side?"

"I imagine it would go a long way toward furthering the career of the warrior that could establish a mating with Marschut, but..." Kusan saw Khalian's attention was elsewhere, though his eyes still stared at him. He began to laugh. Which did exactly what he had intended for it to do, returning Khalian's attention from his groin and back to him. "As I was going to say, she has no interest for an old targ such as yourself."

"And why not!" Khalian exploded. "And watch who you are calling old."

Kusan saw how this immediately perturbed his colleague. Careful Kusan, don't challenge his masculinity. "It is not that the thought of your attentions would not set any female on fire, Khalian, but that one's tastes run a bit younger."

"What?" Khalian blustered. "Then she's never been courted by a master of the arts of mating."

Kusan tried hard to hide the smile that forced itself onto his face. "toH." He quickly hid the smile with his gauntleted hand. "Yes." Slapping Khalian on the shoulder, Kusan decided to stop trying to counsel his fellow Kh'myr onto a more profitable line of conduct. "Good luck, veStargh,^* and my condolences to all your conquests."

*VeStargh--literally, "War Targ"--akin to the Terran "Dog of War" or even "Wolf"

Khalian's face instantly clouded. "Now what do you mean by that, Kusan?"

Kahless, what a temper! Kusan thought, stepping back. "Nothing more than wishing you the best in all your court endeavors."

Khalian nodded, bowing his head in thought as he turned around to face the dais.

What is he planning? Kusan thought. I hope it's reasonable. Looking up at Marschut, Kusan followed the hungry gaze she was giving someone behind him. Looking in the same direction, he found the focus of her attentions. Well, he thought, her attentions are for Lieutenant Worf, the newest member of my personal staff. His mind already began clicking on how he could take advantage of that. In his thoughts, he only just barely registered Khalian's call on a communicator.

The boom of the Imperial scepter on the dais grabbed all their attention as it echoed through the upper reaches of the great throne room. Kusan took his place nearest the aisle, on what was now the Kh'myr side of the room, with Khalian taking his place on his left.

*****

The sound of the scepter's first strike, brought the court to silence for her brother but did nothing to break Marschut's visual attention on the young Kh'myr she'd spotted. Her heart quickened as she let her thoughts drift to what she'd do with that young warrior. The second strike of the scepter broke the spell, if only for a moment, as it caused the targeted warrior to move out of her sight. I'll have him, she promised herself as she attended to what Kuras was saying.

"This meeting of councilors has begun," Kuras announced.

"We serve," the room echoed.

"First item for discussion," Kuras opened. "This latest incident between the Federation and the Orions."

"The Federation destroyer Nelson destroyed an Orion passenger liner that had crossed into Federation territory," Admiral Kumara offered up from his position on the Segh vav side of the room.

"Put the incident on the viewscreen," Kuras ordered.

The screen came to life with the record, and Worf changed his position to get a better look. Marschut immediately found him again, and all interest in the incident disappeared. She moved closer to Kali and whispered into her ear. "Are you really interested in this?"

Kali's eyes reflected the sight of a Federation destroyer firing on an Orion passenger liner. "It is interesting," she responded, only making eye contact with Marschut long enough to say this, then a flash on the screen regained her attention.

"Not to me." Marschut pouted, then she looked back out toward the back of the room and rediscovered Worf. "Come on, Kali."

"But, my lady, the Federation destroyer--" Kali protested.

"They destroyed the Orion. Didn't you hear Kumara?" Marschut took hold of the sleeve of Kali's tunic. "Now come with me."

"Yes, my lady," Kali responded, following Marschut's departing back, but not letting her gaze wander from the screen. She stopped when the Orion passenger liner changed into an expanding ball of gas and debris. Her hand clenched into a tight fist as if she were stabbing a helpless enemy, her Klingon blood surged at the sight of such a glorious victory, even if it was the Federation which had gained it.

"See, I told you," Marschut was back at her side, pulling her toward an open door. "Follow."

"Yes, my lady." Kali barely kept her emotions from flooding into her response.

The viewscreen went dark. Kali heard Kudan Kuras response. "That commander must be a Klingon! Glorious. Glorious."

The room erupted with the growls and roars of the councilors.

Marschut led Kali into the ante-chamber, but Kor's mate could still hear the throne room's discussion.

"And the Federation will waste his talent," Kuras continued, "punishing him."

Kali heard the room erupt in raucous laughter before the door shut, cutting off the tumult.

"Let the males beat their chests over another warrior's exploits. We have better things to do, don't we, Kali?" Marschut led the way to the door on the other side of the chamber.

"As you wish, my lady." Kali felt the surge of emotion created by the visual record ebb, and attended to Marschut's doings. The emperor's sister was speaking to a guard.

"I want you to deliver a message for me," Marschut said to him.

"I serve," the guard responded.

"Yes." She let her gaze wander over his physique. "So you have."

Kali knew Marschut's sexual appetite was virtually unlimited, and the guard before them had been but one of her many conquests.

"Do you know the newest lieutenant in Admiral Kusan's entourage?"

"The dark one?"

"Yes."

"My lady, are you sure you want someone with so little experience?" The guard leaned toward Marschut, his own interests plain to see in his eyes.

"You were once so inexperienced." She impaled him with a glare.

The guard nodded understandingly. "His name is Worf, my lady."

"So I've been told."

"And what do you wish me to tell him?" He was all business now.

"Tell him to report to my quarters." Marschut turned away and began walking down the hallway. "Come, Kali."

Kali saw the guard give his compatriot on the other side of the door a knowing look, then he left his post to deliver the message. Marschut was already well down the hallway. Kali trotted to catch up to Marschut, whose suite of rooms were not that far away.

*****

The door chimed.

"That must be him, my lady. Shall I return to the throne room?"

"No, wait for me in the next room," Marschut responded, quickly pulling a sheer shift over her head. There wasn't much to it and it revealed much more than it covered, designed not to survive encounters such as this.

"Success, my lady," Kali struck her breast in a salute.

Marschut growled in response, walked over to the door and stood square in front of it. A quick glance showed her that Kali had already departed. "Open," she commanded, placing as much emotion as she could into that one word.

The young officer she'd seen in the back of the throne room was standing at attention in the hallway. "My lady wished to see me?"

He hasn't sensed it yet, she thought, though she did note his reaction to seeing her as she was. Good, he's getting the idea now. "Come in, Lieutenant Worf."

The moment he entered the room, the scent took over. Produced by her estrus glands, extracted and concentrated, her pheromones overwhelmed the young Kh'myr quickly and totally.

*****

Kali heard the heat-filled roar of the Kh'myr warrior and the resulting squeal of pleasure of Marschut. She tried not to think about what was happening, but her longing for Kor became almost unbearable. He's in for a pleasant surprise tonight when we get back to our fortress, she thought as she squirmed. There will be some roaring there tonight as well. A fierce smile spread across her face.

There was a great thumping and bumping going on in Marschut's bed chamber, but Kali only thought Marschut was getting exactly what she'd asked for and her own fantasies took on a whole new light.

The sound of a crash broke the fantasy. This is getting out of hand, she decided as she left the room and entered the hallway to the bed chamber. She could see the door to the hallway hanging from its hinges, ruined. She heard Marschut scream and a male's roar. There was the slapping/thudding sound of a fist hitting flesh, and Worf sailed backwards into Kali's view. The wall next to the door stopped his brief flight. A nasty set of deep, ragged slashes marking his cheek was already pouring out blood, and his neck and head canted at an unnatural angle. He sank to the floor with a moan, then onto his face.

"Animals!" screamed Marschut.

"She mates with every warrior in the castle, and she calls us animals," came a menacing voice Kali didn't recognize.

Kali heard the metallic scrape of a blade being released from its sheath. "I'll take your maleness and shove it down your slit throat," the tone of Marschut's voice said she meant business, and Kali knew the emperor's sister was more than capable of carrying out her threat. She pulled out her own blade and prepared to join the fight.

"Be careful, bu'; she may sting you," Kali heard a second voice say and three different voices chuckled.

There are four of them at least, she thought, her intention of charging in and joining the fight waning. If I die, then who will summon help? she thought as she backed up a bit. Worf? No, without an eye witness, the emperor will believe he was involved and have him executed, despite his protests. No, I must live to alert the guards.

"Get her," the bu' said, and Kali heard the clatter of the armor as the rest of the warriors followed his orders.

Marschut screamed with rage. Kali heard the distinctive sound of a knife cutting leather and a yelp of pain. "I'll do the same to anyone else who touches me," Marschut yelled.

There was the clattering sound of warriors trying to get to a better vantage point. Then a rush--Marschut's yells--more auditory evidence of woundings.

"Come on, you bunch of dirty targs, come get me." Marschut challenged them.

"What's the matter? You going to let a female get the better of you?" the bu' roared.

"But joHwI', our orders forbid us to harm her in any way, and she has a weapon," a voice responded, followed by the grunts of the others.

"Who's your master, you mantril? Who is it who employs such worthless trash and orders them to interrupt the emperor's sister in her play?"

"That'll be enough of that, be'SIj." Kali heard the bu' say. A disruptor fired, and she heard the thud of a body hitting the floor.

"Get her, and let's get out of here," the bu' ordered.

Kali saw a warrior enter the other end of the hallway. He was Kh'myr, but outside of that, unrecognizable. His armor and uniform were lacking any recognizable emblem that would identify his unit. She slowly backed up to a point where she could watch without silhouetting herself. I need to alert someone, she thought as she turned to run.

"bu'! There's another!" he yelled as he crashed after her.

She tried to make it to the door, but the warrior pulled out his dagger, clicked open the bleeder blades, and drove it into her side. A moment later, laughing, he rejoined his colleagues in carrying an unconscious Marschut from the citadel.

*****

Pain filled her awakening dreams like the demons of Gre'thor itself. There was the cloying taste of blood in her mouth, but this was only a minor annoyance when compared to the pain she felt in her side and chest.

Where am I? she asked herself, her memories a blank. She reached up with her hand and pressed it against her side. She felt a warm liquid and then the slit from where it was coming. Her breath came in sharply, then she remembered.

"They've kidnapped the emperor's sister." She tried to sit up. The pain was both immediate and intense as she felt a glut of blood pile out onto her chest. She opened her eyes and looked at her wound, seeing how severe it was. "Kahless, how did I survive that?"

"Because I wished it."

She turned her head and saw a ghostly figure in full armor standing nearby. She instantly recognized him. "Kahless. You've come to take me to Kh'eloz--the afterlife."

"No. I am leaving you here to relay a message to my people."

Pain lanced through her from her wounds. She raised her chest, closed her eyes and screamed as loud as her wounds would let her. For a moment, she thought she would pass out, but in a moment it subsided. She was able to look around again, half expecting to find herself in the warrior's paradise. Instead, she found the ghostly warrior on one knee, with his spectral hand over her wound.

"The pain cleanses you and prepares you for the mission on which you are about to embark."

She felt warmth spread from his hand and realized she wouldn't die. "I serve, Great Lord Kahless."

"I know." He smiled and began talking.

*****

Kali found herself waking up again. Had it all been a dream? Rolling over, the intense pain returned, and she groaned. But now she had the strength to overcome the pain and get unsteadily to her feet. "I have to tell Kudan Kuras what has happened."

She stumbled to the bed chamber and found Worf, still laying on the floor where he had collapsed. His dark skin was ashen. Knowing her own total collapse was imminent, she didn't stop to find out whether he was dead, too intent upon getting to the throne room,.

It seemed to take forever to reach her goal. To her shock-ridden perception, the hall seemed to stretch on forever, forbidding her to get any closer. Finally, she turned the corner and ran right into one of the guards.

"Nuq?!" he roared as she fell into him. "What?"

"They've kidnapped Marschut. I must report this to Kudan Kuras."

"What is this?" he asked, taking in her condition with a quick glance, then looking over toward his partner. With a nod of his head, he indicated that the other should check out her story, then bending down, he slipped one muscular arm behind her knees and the other behind her shoulders, lifting Kali into his arms.

"I must speak with the emperor!" she whispered.

"And you shall."

*****

"Then it is settled. We will protest the destruction of the Orion ship by the Federation," Kuras announced to the council.

He heard the door to the ante-chamber open and saw every eye look that way. Admiral Kor immediately roared and leapt toward the dais.

"What?" Kuras looked to what everyone else was looking at and saw a guard with the blood-covered Kali in his arms.

Kor took hold of her hand. "Who did this to you, my wife?"

She didn't acknowledge Kor's presence, repeating her request. "I must talk to the emperor." Her voice was only a whisper, but it seemed like a shout in the supernatural silence of the great hall.

Kudan Kuras stood before her. "What has happened, Kali?"

"They took her."

"Who?"

"Marschut."

"My sister?!"

"Yes, my emperor."

"Who?!"

"Kh'myr warriors. I don't know who..." She passed out.

Kor took her from the guard and went to the center of the dais, glaring at the two Kh'myr councilors. "When I find out which one of you is responsible for this, not even the underside of a slimy rock a thousand kellicam under a sea will protect you from me!" He stalked from the dais.

Kuras took his place, also glaring at Kusan and Khalian.

Khalian's hand went to his dagger. "He cannot threaten me like that," he retorted. "He has no proof that I was involved."

"My sister," Kuras hissed menacingly. "My sister!"

Khalian didn't flinch under the withering glare of the emperor. "You have no proof, sire."

"MY SISTER! MY SISTER!" Kuras roared, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. "By Kahless, I will have the head of the one who is responsible!" He yanked free his dagger with his right hand and laid its razor edge against the palm of his left. With a quick pull he opened a deep slash. "By my blood, I swear, I will not rest until those responsible are dead!" He lifted his bleeding hand above his head. "By Kahless, I swear!" he roared again.

Kusan took hold of Khalian's arm and pulled him toward the back of the room and the mighty doors that were opening and disgorging a troop of Segh vav guards.

At first, Khalian resisted, tempted by his anger to mount the stage and cut Kudan Kuras' throat. How could he know? he thought, angry that the emperor seemed to already know. Then he looked at Kusan.

"Did you do this?"

"No!" Khalian lied. "Why should I?"

"What was it you said as we entered the throne room?"

Khalian began a hot retort, then remembered what he'd said and that he'd indeed tipped his hand. He stopped short, realizing he needed to make some sort of explanation. "But a thought; nothing more, my friend."

Kusan's eyebrows came down, forming one line above his angry eyes. "I hope so," he finally said and released Khalian's arm, "for the sake of all Kh'myr."

They were out into the hallway before Khalian said anything else. "And what do you think those weakling Segh vav can do to us?"

"I will have all their heads on a spear!" They both heard Kuras' voice echo out of the throne room.

"Do not think our position is anything but tenuous as yet, Khalian," Kusan announced.

"But--"

"But, nothing! We are strong, yes, but our position is not total," Kusan continued. "We can take on one of the councilors, but not the emperor himself. He has but to invoke his blood line and even many of the Kh'myr will join him...including myself!"

Khalian glared at his fellow Kh'myr leader. "So I see."

Kusan glared long and hard at the brown eyes of Khalian and saw the lie there. "I see as well, Khalian."

"You see what?"

"You are on your own, Khalian. I want nothing to do with you."

Khalian grabbed Kusan roughly with a strong hand. Putting his face right up to Kusan's, he began to talk in a voice so low only Kusan would hear it. "Do not get in my way, Kusan. I would kill you as fast as a Segh vav." Releasing his fellow Kh'myr, he turned and stalked down the hall.

Kusan glared at the retreating back of Khalian, his thoughts in turmoil. Khalian wasn't out of sight yet when Kusan finally recovered from the threat. Pulling out his communicator, he opened a secure channel back to his headquarters.

"nuqneH?" came the challenge from the other end. "What do you want?"

"Get me Valkris," he said in a very quiet voice.

"I serve," the person on the other end answered, cutting the connection.

"And I will kill you, Khalian," Kusan finally uttered, beginning to walk down the same hall, "for all of ours sakes."

-6-

The two K't'inga battlecruisers--mainstay of the Klingon fleet for many years--appeared from nowhere, their cloaking devices fully hiding their ambush until it was too late for Kronn to evade. The plasma torpedo tubes in the nose of their round primary hull's glowing brilliant red with menace, as did the disruptor batteries located on the wings of the secondary hull.

"This is Commander Khurl of the Imperial battlecruiser Seng of Lord Khalian's first battle group." Khurl paused to let that sink in before continuing. "You will surrender and allow us to board your ship."

"Lord Khalian?" Kronn responded.

"Are you deaf as well as inferior, you Segh vav dolt?" Khurl sneered. "Do you surrender?"

"Not until I can confirm your identity."

"Then we will destroy you," Khurl threatened.

"You would break the Klingon nada tradition-as well as Imperial law-by killing a healer?"

"I am Kh'myr, and not one bit superstitious. I will do whatever it takes to accomplish my mission."

Kronn frantically began to input evasion commands into his navigation computer, but he needed time, and it didn't look like this Khurl was a patient Klingon. "And what is your mission, Commander?"

"To find and apprehend you," Khurl responded. "You have one tup to comply before I open fire."

"But then you won't have accomplished your mission." Kronn tried to use logic to confuse the commander, while at the same time frantically putting the finishing touches into the computer.

Khurl laughed and turned to face someone just outside of the range of the video pickup. "Do you hear this? A Qel deigns to instruct me on tactics!" His facial features changed from amusement to dead seriousness as he faced back toward the screen. "You will surrender or die, Healer!"

He means it, Kronn thought as he punched the last course change into the computer. "Ready to comply, Khurl. Right...now." He punched the enable button on the console in front of him and the evasive program took over. His ketch disappeared behind its cloaking device, then pivoted down and to the right, accelerating straight to full graf speed, cutting off his subspace transmitter at the same time.

Kronn watched Khurl's reaction to his sudden maneuver on his viewscreen, his subspace radio's receive channel still active. He would need any and all information on how this commander would react if he were going to make good his escape.

"He has a cloak in that thing!" Khurl yelled.

Kronn heard a muffled response he couldn't understand.

"Find him!" Khurl yelled, then looked right at the video pickup and roared. "It won't be that easy, Qel. When I catch up to you, I will prolong your death personally." He cut the transmission.

Kronn reached up and touched the lump under the skin behind his ear. The anti-interrogation device would detonate at the first use of a mindsifter. Of course, he could detonate it himself at the first indication of capture. All he had to do to commit suicide was to manipulate it just so...he went over the procedure in his mind...to start the countdown. He might not be brave enough to be a warrior, but he knew he could do that.

A bolt of green energy flashed across his bow, the disruptor beam's central charge missing his ship, but its side splash savagely shaking the ketch.

A lucky guess? wondered Kronn. "Rear video pick-ups," he calmly requested. He checked the status of his cloak and saw that it was working as designed. He can't actually see me, he thought, his confidence waning as a second bolt crashed by on the other side.

The sensor report came up on his central viewscreen. The two K't'inga's were zig-zagging along his trail, randomly firing their weapons. He saw two more bursts of energy pass by far beneath him. Let's see just how much of this is luck, his thoughts were racing as he input an adjustment to his course.

The ketch jinked onto a variable of the same basic course he wanted. "Let us see what that does."

For a moment, the disruptor shots all passed to the right of his vessel, getting further away with every second. "Lucky..." He hissed as he began to relax. The first K't'inga reached the point where he'd changed his course, changing as well as once again the disruptor bursts began to flash by.

He can't see me, Kronn decided, but he can follow my trail. My engines must be leaking something this older version cloak can't hide. That means that eventually...

The computer interrupted his thoughts. "Two incoming torpedoes," the computer's male voice announced.

Well! Kronn thought. "Will they hit us?"

"Not directly," the computer answered.

"How close will they pass?"

"One kellicam."

Kronn knew the specifications of all the Klingon weaponry. The weapons might not be able to see his ship well enough for the proximity fuse to activate, but they could be command detonated and even at ten kellicam the resulting shock wave might damage his small, ambulance vessel. He punched in a new course and enabled it.

The ketch pivoted onto a new heading.

Five seconds later, Kronn saw twin flashes erupt along his old course. "That would have gotten me," he deduced. He smiled. This was all too easy. Then common sense reminded him that the only thing he'd done was to dodge a mindless weapon. As he watched, the K't'ingas reached the location of his course change and changed course as well. They are still on my trail. Sooner or later, they're going to get lucky. My shields would buckle at even a glancing blow from their disruptors, let alone a near miss from a torpedo. I have to find a way to shake their pursuit.

Then he had an idea. "Computer."

"Enabled."

"Check our trail. What form of radiation or exhaust are we leaking?"

"Scanning. The cloaking device is functioning according to its design. There is trace ionization being left behind."

"And Khurl is able to track it."

"The K't'inga science sensor platform is capable of such sensitivity," the computer responded.

"Just my luck," Kronn replied.

"But not the targeting sensors," the computer added.

"That explains why I am not a ball of expanding gases and component parts yet," Kronn said to himself.

"Unable to respond to that statement."

"Disregard."

There was an audible click in response. Four flashes of disruptor energy passed him on all sides, one coming close enough to shake his vessel.

Kronn sat back in his command chair and thought for a moment. What can I do to obscure that trail?

Again, the computer interrupted his thoughts. "Sensors have picked up two more torpedoes."

What I would not give for just one battery of disruptors on this ship, Kronn thought wistfully. I will have to outsmart these Kh'myr ruffians. Then something on the forward pickup caught his attention, and he smiled. "Something a lowly 'Segh vav' like me shouldn't be able to do on even the bleakest day," he said out loud. With renewed energy, he punched in a new course and enabled it.

The ketch turned toward a glowing mass of gas and dust, the remains of an ancient nova.

All I have to do is fly through that, maneuver close to the neutron body in the center, using its gravity well as a sling shot to accelerate well passed the limits of my ship's engines. Not only will I be able to speed away, but the nebula will serve to hide my trail.

"Warning."

"What?!"

"Unsafe levels of toxic radiation detected in the clouds of the nebula. There is only one course that will do as you've requested without exposing you to a deadly dose."

"And that is?"

The central viewscreen changed to that of a computer generated navigation chart. A red, parabolic line showed the recommended course. An especially close shot from the pursuing K't'ingas rocked the ketch, reminding Kronn he didn't have much time to think.

Do I have a choice? he thought, making up his mind. "Enable!"

*****

"Weapons are fully recharged, Commander, the Seng's weapons officer reported.

"Fire," Khurl ordered.

The lights dimmed as a new set of disruptor pulses flashed forward, reaching for their target coordinates.

"Another course change, Commander," the sensor officer reported.

"QI'yaH! Why did you wait until we fired to tell me that?" Khurl responded, his glare enough to peel the paint off a battlecruiser's hull.

The sensor officer ignored the glare, choosing to continue. "His new course is on-screen."

"Toward the nebula?"

"Yes, Commander."

"But what does he think...." Khurl began twisting the end of his long mustache, a nervous quirk the entire bridge crew noted. "toH!" Khurl said a moment later, his eyes widening and a smile broadening with his excitement. "He knows he can't outrun us, and that we can follow his outdated cloak, so he tries to hide his trail, getting a boost at the same time.

"But the good healer underestimates our abilities to figure this out, and, my knowledge of this area of space." Khurl paused to think only a moment. "Communications, get me the commander of the 'etlh." Turning toward his tactical officer, he gave his orders. "Change our course to stay on his tail. Continue to fire."

"I have the commander of the 'etlh, joHwI'."

"Put him on the screen."

"nuqneH, Khurl?" the 'etlh's commander demanded.

"Listen closely..."

*****

"Factor five. Factor five point three. Factor five point six," the computer ticked off.

Kronn faced the viewscreen and his face glowed with the swirling colors of the nebula's gases. "Where is the Seng?" he asked the computer after another moment.

"Indeterminate. Nebula radiation is producing a scrambling affect."

Isn't that wonderful? thought Kronn. "I can't see them, and they can't see me."

"Affirmative," answered the computer.

I should shut down and enter an orbit here and later sneak out on an entirely different course, he thought, nodding his head with the correctness of the idea. "Request course correction necessary to enter orbit around the neutron star," he asked the computer.

"One-one-two-five point eight-eight."

His instincts affirmed that this was the best thing to do. "Change..."

"Warning," the computer interrupted him.

"What is it?"

"Internal sensors have registered low levels of toxic radiation."

"Is it getting through the shields?"

"Affirmative."

Kronn knew his biology could absorb some amounts of this radiation without too much affect, but larger doses could quickly prove fatal. This scrubbed his plans to stay within the nebula. But what if one of those battlecruisers is on the other side waiting? he thought. "Forward sensors?"

"Indeterminate. Speed now factor seven. Factor seven point three."

Kronn listened to the computer tick off the increasing speeds, trying to think.

The swirling nebula clouds thinned on the viewscreen, and the ketch broke into the nebula's central region, where the neutron star was located. He couldn't actually see it because it wasn't emanating any visible light, but he could see what it did to the nebula. Its rapid spin and strong gravity above and below its axis was like an invisible spoon, stirring it up and charging it with the excess energies produced by the strong gravity well.

"Closest point of perihelion reached; present speed graf factor nine," the computer reported.

Kronn's small ship creaked and groaned under the stress.

"The ship is passing through the nebula's equatorial region."

A super bright light hit the ketch, and it bucked as if a weapon had hit its shields.

"Computer, identify?"

"A flaw in the neutron star's gravity and surface is allowing a stream of raw radiation to escape along the equatorial region."

"Period?"

"Two seconds."

"How long until we leave the equatorial region?"

"Six seconds at the ship's present speed."

Three more hits, Kronn deduced. "Effect on shields?"

"Down to sixty-three percent."

The light hit the ketch again.

"Shields are down to thirty-five percent."

"There is nothing I can do but..."

And again.

"Shields are down to fifteen percent. The cloak is off-line."

I hope Khurl is as dumb as the Kh'teb like to describe the Kh'myr, he thought as he waited for that final hit before they were out of the beam's angular range. Because I'm going to come out of here with nearly collapsed shields and plainly visible.

The ketch was hit again.

"Shields are down to five percent. Collapse is imminent. The cloak is still off line."

"Position within the region?"

"Leaving the nebula's equatorial region. Speed, graf factor eight point nine five."

"How long to recharge shields?"

"Sixty minutes."

"How long before we can cloak again?"

"Sixty-two minutes."

"And how long till we're clear of the nebula?"

"Fifty-nine minutes at our present rate of speed."

I cannot avoid leaving the nebula, but I don't have to do so on a course a Klingon boy still in training could predict, he thought. "Adjust course five degrees to the right at a downward angle of twenty degrees."

"Warning!" the computer chimed.

"What is wrong?"

"Changing from the pre-planned course will take the ship through regions heavy in toxic radiation. With shields at present strengths, deadly levels will flood the ship."

Kronn threw himself into the back of his chair. My course is charted and locked in. Now it is in fate's hands.

Fifty minutes passed without notice as Kronn let the nebula's intense colors hypnotize him. It was the computer's voice that woke him from the trance.

"Nearing the outer edge of the nebula," the computer reported. "Radiation levels within the ship falling."

I will need to detoxify as soon as I am clear of this, Kronn thought, knowing that though he hadn't received an immediately deadly dose, he had absorbed enough to exhibit standard radiation sickness in a few weeks. That is, if the Kh'myr do not kill me first.

"Leaving the nebula," the computer reported.

The multi-color clouds of dust and gas thinned and then disappeared, leaving the forward view clear of everything but stars. More importantly, there was no sign of a battlecruiser.

"They are as dumb as reported!" Kronn said to himself, letting a smile cross his face. Tension emptied from him like water down an opened drain.

*****

"The Qel's ketch just came out of the nebula, joHwI'," reported the 'etlh's sensor officer.

"Target engines," her commander ordered.

The 'etlh came out from behind an eddy in the nebula's cloud, right behind the fleeing ketch.

"His shields are only at half strength, joHwI'. Whatever knocked out his cloak must have attacked his shields as well."

"Logical, since both are created through the same projector."

"The disruptors have a lock. Recommend half-strength."

"With his shields at their present depleted level, a full power hit would destroy the whole ship. Lord Khalian wants him alive." The commander nodded his head in agreement. "Do it."

"Disruptors ready."

"baH!--Fire!"

Erupting from the disruptor cannons, located on the forward tip of each S-2 graf unit of the K't'inga battlecruiser, the balls of green, plasma energy streaked toward their target. The range was short, and, a moment later, the bolts hit dead center on the rear shields of the ketch. The shielding buckled instantly with a bright flash, the destructive energies of the weapon continuing to destroy the ketch's graf drive, flipping the small ship end over end, dropping it instantly out of the sub-space envelope those engines provided.

"Its shields are down," reported the sensor officer. "Its graf drive is destroyed."

"Life signs?"

"One found. Male, Segh vav Klingon. No damage to life support systems detected."

The commander turned to his engineering officer. "Get a tractor beam onto him and prepare to beam the good Qel aboard."

"Yes, lord."

The ketch disappeared.

"What?!"

"He has cloaked, joHwI'," the sensor officer reported.

"I thought you said his shields were down." Unveiled menace filled the commander's voice.

"They are, joHwI', I do not understand this at all."

"Fire disruptors along the last course."

Coruscating bursts of energy flashed from all the battlecruisers forward batteries, but finding nothing in their path.

"Where is he?"

"Unknown, joHwI'. Sensors are unable to penetrate his cloak."

"Search for the same neutrino signature we followed before."

"Searching," the sensor officer reported as he stared intently at his readouts. "Nothing, lord. He's on impulse power, and the cloak is masking all evidence of its use."

"The Seng just exited the nebula, joHwI'."

baQa'! the commander thought. He will want to know where the ketch is.

"Commander Khurl is hailing us, joHwI'."

"Put him on the screen."

The screen filled with the face of the group's commander. "Well?"

"Nothing, joHwI'. Nothing came from the nebula."

The bridge crew looked at each other. Their commander had lied to his fellow commander. A few smiled and winked. After all, this hadn't been the first time.

"taHqeq!" Khurl roared. "Where did he go?" But he didn't really expect an answer. "Begin a search pattern around the nebula's boundary. Kronn must have come out someplace else."

"Yes, joHwI'."

The screen returned to the stellar background of before.

"First officer."

The 'etlh's second in command came forward from his station in the rear of the bridge. The commander signaled with his hand for him to come closer, then talked to him in a very low voice. "Edit the ship's records regarding this."

"Already begun, joHwI'."

"You are a good first officer," the commander said, dismissing him, but not trusting him. I will have the second officer follow up on this and detect how many copies were made before he erased the official record, he decided as he faced the screen again. "Begin the search pattern."

*****

Kronn's eyes smarted from the smoke in the air, the emergency lights making the bridge dusky. "Computer. What is the ship's status?"

"Graf..." There was a burst of static from the speaker, some clicking then the computer's voice returned, conspicuous holes filling its report. "...non-operational. Impulse function...powering cloak...trical at fifty...support is down to...struct...hull integrity is...comp...grity...thirty percent."

The computer went silent. Kronn knew it was only because it had finished its report and not that the obvious damage to its circuits had shut it down. "I guess they're not as dumb as I thought," Kronn said as he tried to get his ship back under control. Dabbing with one hand at a cut he'd gotten on his forehead when he'd been slammed into the control console, his other hand flew across the thruster controls trying to stabilize his poor craft. He felt them fire. One look at the viewscreen, and the star paths streaming across them, confirmed that the mad, end over end tumble continued.

"Computer. Assist me in stabilizing the ship."

"Attem...gram now."

"Damn, the computer's incomplete reports are frustrating."

He was about to once again attempt a manual fix when the thruster panel lit up under the computer's control. A complex series of thruster patterns nearly stopped its gyration.

"Good. Show me the other ships."

The screen shimmered and the backsides of two K't'inga battlecruisers formed. By the way the angle was changing he realized his ship was drifting in an upward angle from their course. The important aspect of all this was that he was also drifting away from them.

The two warships changed course, coming about. For a moment Kronn thought maybe they'd detected him. He had no idea how long the cloak would last under these conditions. It wasn't until the K't'ingas passed him, split up, each taking a course back toward the nebula, that Kronn finally breathed easier.

"Computer, report on our heading and all possible destinations."

The speaker clicked, followed by a long, uncomfortable pause. Then, "...omulan terri..."

He'd heard enough to now know he was heading for Romulan space. That's not altogether a bad thing, he thought, then aloud, "As long as life support is maintained, and the ship does not break up." There was one other critical item on the ship he needed if he were to continue owning his freedom.

"Computer, what is the status of the cloak?"

"...oak functioning at one hundred percent."

The computer sounded better, probably doing a lot of internal rerouting.

"Can I use the impulse drive?"

"...pulse is damaged. Power generation...oaking device. Ten...cent avail...momentum, but will use up...serves in three..."

In other words, he deduced, I can move away faster, but in full view, or, I can continue to drift and remain unseen. He made his decision. "Continue present heading and status."

The computer clicked a couple times. "...imminent in eight..."

"Computer, repeat."

"Damage to...pulse...fail...in...eig...hours."

"Just my luck," Kronn said to the air around him, extrapolating what he couldn't hear. "The impulse will fail in eight hours, and then I will drift, visible to any who want to find me, helpless to even the lowliest pirate." I would consider it an amazing piece of fortune if a pirate found me, at least then my death would be quick. His free hand wandered back to the lump just behind his ear.

"Many things can happen in eight hours," Kronn said as he stood up and walked back toward the doorway to his clinic, "and bleeding to death should not be one of them."

Entering his clinic, he pulled out the tissue stabilizer/cauterizer and began working on the gash. "Who knows," he said to himself as he worked, "maybe I will be picked up by a merchantman. They are always looking for healers," he said to himself, knowing his duty to the Imperial Fleet was at an end now. But he felt no remorse for what he'd done. On the contrary, he felt a deep sense of honor. The scar he'd get from the injury would be his medal of honor.

-7-

Brown and cold, its fusion reaction miserly in its consumption of fuel, the brown dwarf slowly made its way along the path that circled the bright galactic center, its location at the very edge of the Romulan Star Empire. She had only one rocky child--a planetoid, stunted and loosely held together-- moving in an orbit through a zone of dust and debris.

It was here that the merchantman, wejyapHuch--literally, "Insufficient Funds"--came out of the subspace arena of faster-than-light travel, into regular space. It appeared typical for a civilian cargo hauler--blocky and ungainly to the eye, appearing to be only a series of warehouse super-sized connexes connected together with great duranium straps. Powering its systems and pushing it through the vacuum of space was the single glowing eye of a standard appearing impulse. On either side, half hidden by strategically located hull plates were twin graf drive nacelles, the real legs of the ship. It was not as it appeared; false panels and pseudo bulkheads hid many secrets.

Durit, the wejyapHuch's lord and master, guided her down a twisting and turning channel through the debris to the orbital path of the single planetoid. He'd cleared the trail himself years earlier, knowing that once completed, it would allow him to enter a place invisible to all but the most powerful sensors.

"Conduct a sensor scan of the rendezvous point," Durit ordered.

The computer's voice responded, "Sensors enabled." A moment later: "No ships within sensor range."

"Good," he commented to himself. "I like getting here first, and watching the romuluSngan petaQ's attempts to get in here unseen." A chuckle followed close on the heels of the comment.

"The ordered orbit has been established," the computer reported.

I only wish I could cloak now, he thought, but my cloak has problems with the micro-debris that saturates this orbit. "Begin silent running program," he ordered instead.

"Silent running enabled," the computer announced. Active systems throughout the ship began to shut down, including a few on the bridge, leaving only the low hisses of the passive sensors and the light sighs of life support.

"Now I wait," he said to himself, checking the chronograph. "The romuluSngan is usually precisely fifteen minutes ahead of the agreed upon arrival time," he commented, "that's why I am expecting him even earlier this time."

He hadn't waited long before the computer bleeped a warning.

"Where?"

"Narrow beam transmission from sensor satellite three: movement detected."

Durit recalled the coordinates of that satellite and laughed. "They came in on the far side of the system. It's just like those back-shooting Romulans to come in from the rear. Orient the visual pick up on where they'll first become visible."

"Enabled."

The viewscreen's surface seemed to waver, and the image on it changed. Centered on it was the planetoid, close to being eclipsed by the brown dwarf. There was an ellipse of sparkling energy moving through the outer zone of heavy debris.

"qoHpu'. Do they really think their cloak is hiding them?"

"Insufficient data..."

"Disregard."

The Romulan warbird entered the planetoid's path, but the ellipse still gave them away. A wavering along its surface precluded the Romulan dropping his cloak, exposing the warbird's true, green- tinged form. Durit recognized its design as a modified Klingon D-7 battlecruiser, probably one of the ones his Empire traded them in return for the secret of the cloaking device.

"Computer."

"Enabled."

"Energize weapons, but do not open portal covers."

"Warning. Weapon energy can be picked up by sensors," the computer announced.

"Only if their sensors are looking right at us to see it. Enable."

"Weapon systems energizing."

Under the neutronium hull plates, high power disruptors came alive. The twin plasma-torpedo launchers in the bow and the single one in the stern began to glow a dull red with readiness.

"Weapon systems energized," the computer reported.

"Just in case," Durit hissed under his breath, rubbing his hands together. "My brother Duran may trust these vulcanoid throwbacks, but I don't. Computer, enable visual targeting."

"Warning. Energy usage will be picked up by sensors."

"A negligible risk. Enable."

"Enabled."

A set of cross-hairs appeared in the corner of the viewscreen. Durit moved them until they were on the back of the D-7's wing shaped secondary hull, dead center on its engineering section. "Lock and track."

"Tracking."

Sitting back in his seat, he watched the cross-hairs follow the Romulan, content in the knowledge that every weapon on board the wejyapHuch was ready to disable the other starship. With a big smile, he relaxed and watched the other follow the orbital corridor toward him.

"Warning. Scanning radiation detected."

"What are the chances of detection?"

"One hundred percent. Their weapon systems just went on standby."

"End silent running."

The systems that had been dead a moment earlier came alive, and the merchantman became illuminated within her running lights.

"Full power to the weapons. Drop portal covers. Engage mini-cloaks, but maintain visual targeting lock."

Though neutronium plates moved into hidden bays, the weapons remained hidden behind miniature cloaking devices similar to the one he had used to disguise himself as Illyeekeek.

The Romulan warbird changed its course slightly, now on a precise heading for the wejyapHuch.

An alarm went off, and the computer announced, "Subspace hail detected."

"Enable firing button on the command chair, then open the channel."

A button under the index finger of his right hand lit up, and the viewscreen wavered, forming into the visage of the warbird's commander. He was shorter than the security guard behind him and only half the mass.

"Hail, Commander Nanclus of the Imperial Romulan Empire, commander of the mighty warbird Haakona."

"Hail to you, Durit."

Durit noted Nanclus' failure to use a honorific. The Romulan knew Durit was a wealthy Kh'myr from a powerful house by his own right, with many possessions, not the least of which was the deed to the planet he used as a base of operations. It irritated him to think that after everything he provided to this Romulan, he couldn't acknowledge the fact. I ought to blow him into the next dimension, but his payment would go with him. Holding his Klingon temper in check, he smiled. "You are early, my friend."

"Not as early as you, I see," Nanclus responded, irritation detectable in his voice.

"I found it pays to be one step ahead. Do you have the requested payment?"

"And you the merchandise?"

"Of course. Of finest quality, the best I have ever seen, and well worth the price you are paying," Durit commented smugly. He is not going to try and talk me down this time. Maybe it is time I raised the price, now that I have lost one of my key sources. Durit's smile became larger.

"Simultaneous transport?"

"As usual."

Durit pressed a button on the left arm of his command chair, keeping his right hand on the firing button. On a small viewscreen monitoring the transporter, he saw the barrels of topaline disappear, and, in their place, a large wooden chest appear. "Computer, scan chest."

"Scanning. The chest contains one hundred bars of gold-plated latinum."

Nanclus commented first. "Our scan of the shipment is complete. As usual, the quality is first rate. The transaction is complete."

"Yes," Durit said, not bothering to comment on the payment. "I serve."

"Can you get more?"

"For the right price," Durit responded. Might as well prepare him for a higher price while I am here,he thought before continuing. "I will contact you."

"I will be waiting for your message." Nanclus was smiling now.

"Until then." Durit cut the channel, and the viewscreen returned to the view of the Haakona. "I still do not understand what my brother sees in you," he said to himself. "I can smell your vile, bigoted odor even here. If it was not for the fact that you pay well for my merchandise, I would just as soon scatter your molecules throughout this system as have anything else to do with you."

Temptation to push the button under his right index finger once again plagued him. He was already rich. With the loss of the Psi Scorpii topaline connection and its high quality ore, it would be hard to fill the Romulan order. More so, since the Caldonians seemed to be onto what was going on. It would only be a matter of time before every Starfleet patrol in the quadrant would be looking for Illyeekeek and the wejyapHuch.

I should bring this matter to an end. The pressure of his finger on the button increased. And once the Haakona leaves this system, I will never get another chance like this to silence him forever. The warbird's maneuvering thrusters fired, and she turned in preparation for departure. He knew he could destroy the warbird with a single burst. All he had to do was push the button.

Then the viewscreen displaying the chest of latinum caught his gaze, and he pulled his hand away from the firing button. "Computer, power down weapons and store them away."

"Powering down."

"I am rich, but I can always use more...just in case." He gave the retreating stern of the Haakona precise Klingon salute. "Maybe next time, romuluSngan Ha'DIbaH."

He waited a full hour after the Haakona warped out of the system, the sensor satellites outside the debris' radiation scattering affect reporting that it had indeed left the area before piloting the wejyapHuch down the trail. No use giving them its location, he thought as he piloted his ship along the corridor. Let them continue having to make their own path.

"Computer. Compute and lock course for jImIplaH. Graf factor four."

"Computed and locked."

"Enable."

Neutronium plates pulled back, revealing the true nature of the wejyapHuch's main drive. Instead of the standard civilian graf units used by Klingon merchantmen throughout the Empire, capable only of a slow, factor two crawl, these were state-of-the-art military graf drives, attaining factor eight easily. The dull red glow of reserve/standby changed to a bright scarlet, and the wejyapHuch accelerated toward factor one, her lines beginning to smear.

"Warning. Sensor contact," the computer barked.

"All stop," Durit ordered. "Cloak."

The whine of the engines fell away, and the bridge's white lights changed to red.

toH, Nanclus has decided to end our commerce. Durit's anger kindled and he grinned. "Now I will have to destroy him." Addressing the computer, he continued, "Locate sensor contact."

"Located. Coordinates on the screen."

A map of the region appeared on the screen. Most obvious was the wejyapHuch's marker. Coming in from the direction of the Klingon frontier was the contact. It was on a course that just barely cut through the furthest extent of the merchantman's sensors, on a heading for the Romulan frontier.

That cannot be Nanclus, he deduced.

It disappeared.

"Computer. Reacquire sensor contact."

"Unable to comply. It has cloaked."

Then it appeared again, further along its straight course.

Could it be a derelict? Durit wondered. "Computer, any report of missing ships in this area?"

"None reported."

It disappeared for a moment, then reappeared.

Yet, this has all the earmarks of a derelict, he thought. Most likely it is only the shell of something someone has already gutted in salvage. He tried to decide whether to approach it. Then why did they not take the cloak? The last thought made up his mind for him. "Compute the intercept course. Lock and enable."

"Computed and enabled."

The wejyapHuch changed her course and was quickly over taking the sensor contact.

"Visual contact," the computer reported.

"Show me."

A small ship of Klingon design appeared as the screen stabilized at its new magnification setting. It was slowly rotating diagonally through its horizontal axis.

"That's a medical ketch," Durit said, making an identification.

An arc of energy spread across the area just outside of the damaged ship's hull, and it disappeared. Another burst of energy preceded its re-visualization.

"Make a sensor scan for life signs."

"Enabled. There is one," the computer reported. "Life signs indicate sleep."

"Good. He hasn't seen me," Durit decided. "Open hatch to the large storage bay and power up the tractor beam."

"Enabled. Tractor beam has a lock."

"Activate, then do an identity search of its registration."

The ketch jumped as the powerful graviton beam stopped its rotation. The cloak tried to activate once, but was unable to cut through the tractor beam and flashed off with a visual pop.

"Registration of the ketch is to Qel Kronn."

"I know that name. Search all recent subspace radio intercepts."

"Search complete. Lord Khalian of the Klingon High Council wants the healer named Kronn for questioning concerning the disappearance of Lady Mara, Lord Kang's mate."

Durit remembered seeing Mara once before. She was one of the Kh'yrlov race-blonde-haired with olive skin. He'd been instantly smitten with lust for her uniqueness, especially since the demise of most of her race at the hands of the Kh'myr. If this one knows where she is, I might be able to earn some extra income by turning him over to Khalian, he thought, then a new idea made itself known. By Kahless, I will keep her for myself. I do not have any blondes in my harem at this time. "Kahless, what a find!

"We are being hailed," the computer reported.

Kronn's smudged and blood-crusted face appeared. "Identify yourself."

"You are in no position to give orders, Qel."

Kronn's face showed the surprise he must be feeling. "I am a healer. Klingon law requires you to give me aid."

"Quite right. Exactly what I am doing."

"Identify yourself."

Durit thought about this a moment, wondering at the wisdom of telling the healer who he was. Obviously he does not know who I am, or my reputation. Besides the only thing I want from him is his ship and the knowledge he has in his head. After that, the vacuum can have him. "My name is Durit, son of Durin. Prepare to be boarded."

"What are your inten-"

Durit cut of the communication. "You will find out soon enough, Healer. Computer, stow the captured ship and reestablish atmosphere in the bay. Magnetically seal the craft until I am there to take custody of her owner."

"Magnetic field established."

Durit stood up and stretched. "Finally, I will get to use my new toy for something other than pleasure."

Moving toward the back of the bridge, he walked through the open hatch and down a long hallway, his steps echoing loudly. It wasn't long before he stopped before a doorway. A green light next to it told him that it was fully pressurized. Walking toward it activated its opening mechanism, and it slid to the side with a loud metallic clank.

There before him was the ketch. The hull, charred and melted in many places, showed quite a bit of damage. He ran his hand down its side, his expert mind estimating what it would cost him in repairs, and how much he could get for it on the common market here in the Triangle. He came to the stern of the vessel and stopped. "Will you look at what they did to the engines?" He didn't know who had done it, nor did he care. "That will be the most expensive part of the repairs."

He finished his tour of the outside and stood looking at the access hatch. "Computer, disengage the magnetic seal."

"Disengaged."

The door immediately opened, but there was no one on the other side.

"Come, come, Healer. You have nowhere to hide."

There was no answer.

What a fool, Durit thought as he realized Kronn wasn't coming out on his own volition. "Computer, scan and locate this ship's life form and transport him to the coordinates right in front of me."

"Enabled. Scanning. Located. Transporting."

The transporter beam's carrier wave formed a red cylinder in front of Durit, then rebuilt the healer.

"How dare you!" spat Kronn, his voice full of rage and indignation. "I am a nada."

"So you are." Without telegraphing his intent, Durit punched the doctor dead in the center of his gnarled forehead, and dropped him to the floor. "Let us see if you can heal that."

Picking up the unconscious body of the healer and throwing him over one shoulder, Durit left the bay and turned back toward the bridge. Entering a doorway located two doors down from the bridge, he took the healer to a durasteel examination table and laid him none too carefully on it with a thump.

"Let us see," he mused. "Every healer I have ever known has some sort of anti-sifting device near the brain stem." He picked up the healer's head by his hair and felt around at the point where the skull and spinal column came together. "toH," he said as he found the tell-tale lump.

Flipping the healer over onto his stomach, Durit pulled his dagger free from its sheath. Taking care not to cut any of the major arteries nearby, he cut the device free and put it in a pocket. Blood began to ooze out, but stopped when Durit pulled out a laser cauterization unit and sealed the wound. Then, flipping him back over, he strapped him down. The next step would have to wait until the healer regained consciousness. Which, by the way he was breathing, Durit could tell was going to be soon.

"Now, Qel. Wake up."

"What?" Kronn said, still in a stupor.

"Wake up!" Durit slapped him sharply across the cheek, hard enough to snap his head to one side, but not enough to permanently injure him.

The healer's eyes suddenly opened. After a momentary bout of struggling against the restraining straps, he settled down to glare at Durit.

"Where is the Lady Mara?"

"I do not know what you are talking about."

"A poor lie, Healer. You are Qel Kronn, late of the Lord Khalian's staff. You are reputed to have been the last to see the Lady Mara, and the good lord admiral wants to speak with you about her. Now, where is she?"

"Dead."

"Indeed. Then you will not mind if I use this little toy to verify that." Durit stepped back, a sweep of his arm serving to indicate a machine rolled up against the bulkhead.

"A mindsifter!" Kronn hissed, then glared at Durit. "It will do you no good. My knowledge is protected."

"By this?" Durit pulled out the small explosive device he'd removed from Kronn's head. "I don't think so."

Kronn's mouth dropped open, but then he recovered, the bright fire of anger in his gaze intensifying. "I will tell you nothing."

"Such contempt in the face of the inevitable," Durit said in response to the Qel's bravado. "I commend you, Segh vav garbage.You almost remind me of how a Kh'myr would face his end."

Durit wheeled the mindsifter over and positioned its sensor head over Kronn's head. The healer squirmed in an attempt to break from his constraints, but his efforts soon exhausted him, and he settled down to face his fate, glaring at Durit.

"That's better, Healer." He turned on the machine, setting it for a low-level scan. He heard the healer groan and turned to see him staring straight ahead, not seeing anything. A scene appeared on the sifter's small screen-a K't'inga battle cruiser of the Klingon fleet firing on him. "So that was how your ship was damaged."

He turned it off and came over to look at Kronn. His eyes were still open, but now they focused on him, and there was fear in them. "I see this is your first experience with the sifter. There is much pain associated with the forceful withdrawal of memories, at least so they tell me. Is that so?"

"No more," Kronn whispered.

"Of course." Durit smiled sympathetically. "Tell me where Mara is."

"She is dead."

"So you are sticking to that story."

"It is true."

"Then where is the body?"

"I set it adrift on my way to my first stop in the frontier."

Durit looked deeply into the healer's eyes. At first he saw only anger and defiance, but as he continued to stare, that changed to fear and worry. Sweat beaded up on the healer's forehead. "Why do I not believe you, Kronn?"

"I am telling you the truth, you Kh'myr animal."

"We shall see." Durit turned on the sifter again and began a thorough scan. It took an hour, and Kronn quickly passed into unconsciousness from the intense pain of the forceful violation. When it was over, the only memory left in the healer's head was of pain.

Taking the record chip from its slot in the machine, Durit slipped it into the same pocket as the sift-protector. Rolling the sifter back to its place against the wall, he then unstrapped the healer and lifted him from the table. The eyes were blank and unseeing. The body was still alive, but the brain was empty and useless, all synapses burned out.

With Kronn's shell over his shoulder, he walked back to the cargo bay where the healer's ketch was sitting, passing it on his way to the forcefield sealed opening to the vacuum of interstellar space outside the ship. Taking hold of Kronn's shell by its clothes, he easily tossed it through the blue-tinged field where it was immediately swept away like any other unwanted trash.

"Boreth. She is on Boreth with those pious but worthless monks of Kahless the Dead." He turned to walk past the ketch. "I shall add her to my collection of treasures back on jImIplaH. as the last of her kind." He smiled, his mind wandering through a fantasy. "How wonderful it will be to make her totally mine."

-8-

"The Psi Scorpii colony is a class M planet, first discovered some twenty years ago by a Starfleet survey vessel. The Federation opened it for colonization a year later. Mountainous terrain and thick forests cover its surface, complete with a flourishing population of fur-bearing animals. The first colonists were survivalists--mountain men, as they like to call themselves--unhappy with the quality of life provided by technology in the Federation." Commander Beach rattled off the background data on Psi Scorpii VIII from memory, his eyes never leaving the face of the person he was briefing. "The colonists were actively trapping the animals for their furs and selling them in the black markets within the nearby Triangle."

McCoy remembered the furor those court cases had created. Because of its close proximity to the Triangle--a region of space where the neutral zones of the Romulan and Klingon Empires met the Federation's borders; a region not controlled by any government, rife with pirate enclaves and illegal markets--Psi Scorpii had been a wild place to live. He respected the pioneer spirit of those that had chosen to live there, despite their Terran-centered viewpoints. He listened with interest as the Reliant's science officer continued to brief Captain Terrell.

"The Federation Council tried for years in court battle after court battle to stop the practice, but they were all unsuccessful due to Psi Scorpii's independent status." Beach paused and the picture on the screen changed from the gray-brown and white orb to one of a modern mine entrance, with a small neat village in the background. "It was the discovery of large deposits of high-grade topaline eight years ago that attracted others to the colony. When the new brand of colonist came, the trapping ended. It wasn't until three years ago that they sued for a protectorate status with the Federation."

"Are there still a lot of these survivalists in the general population?" Terrell asked.

"A few, but most moved on. Many are now on the third planet of the Nimbus system, well within the Triangle."

"Thank you, Mister Beach," Terrell tacitly suggested he could return to his seat. The next officer to report stood up and approached the end of the table. "Mister Kyle, any updates on the situation?"

McCoy sat up in his seat, his attention perked. He'd always enjoyed Kyle's proper British accent.

"The Caldonians broke off as soon as the destroyers Moloch and Shaitan arrived. As it turned out, it was more of a blockade than an attack, but it scared the colonists pretty badly."

"Any idea as to where the Caldonians went?"

"Yes, sir. While the Shaitan maintained a guard orbit around the planet proper, the Moloch began patrolling the edge of the system. They found the Caldonians in a position just outside the system's Oort cloud."

"Any communications with them?"

"None that I could pick up, sir. As you know, the Caldonians are a very closed-mouth, strictly neutral race. Normally, they have very little to do with any civilization outside their own, considering them all to be inferior."

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm just a bit surprised by all this. The colony's been there for some time, and they've ignored it, until now that is."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Mister Kyle." Terrell waited until his communications officer sat before he began drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "This doesn't make sense. Mister Walking Bear, how long till we reach Psi Scorpii?"

"Two more hours at our present speed, sir."

"Could you put a chart of that region of space on this screen, please?"

"Aye, sir."

Walking Bear accessed the miniature console built into the table's surface in front of him. A chart appeared on the screen. "I've included the regions surrounding Psi Scorpii, sir."

"Thank you, Mister Walking Bear." Terrell studied the chart, drumming his fingers as he did. "They are pretty close to the fire."

"Close enough to toast marshmallows," McCoy commented, needing to say something to feel like he was part of the briefing.

Terrell's gaze coldly met his for a moment. He snorted lightly and began drumming his fingers again.

I wonder if he knows how tell-tale that nervous quirk is, thought McCoy, deciding he'd keep his comments to himself until he go to know the captain better.

"If the Caldonians are strictly neutral politically, what is their trade position?" Terrell asked those in the room.

"They trade vwith whomever has vwhat they vwant," Chekov offered.

Terrell's fingers stopped drumming, and he stared at the chart for a moment before continuing. "Politically and commercially, they may be neutral, but their homeworld is uncomfortably close to the Romulan frontier."

"That is true, sir," Chekov returned, "but it is a relatively quiet frontier. The Romulans have only the odd patrol in that region...at least as far as Starfleet Intelligence knows."

"But that's in the opposite direction from Psi Scorpii." Terrell yanked them all back onto the subject. "It's important that we know the Caldonian motivation here. Why would a strictly neutral society all of a sudden attack a Federation colony?"

An idea flashed through McCoy's thoughts. It was so simple, actually too simple, but experience had taught him that many times these were the most accurate solutions. He raised his hand, feeling like he was back in grade school again. "Ah, sir?"

Terrell chuckled when he looked at the doctor. "Yes, Doctor?"

"This may be way over-simplified, and I must admit that looking at the chart, way in left field, but...." He paused, unsure of his ground.

"Doctor McCoy." Terrell sounded a bit impatient. "I shouldn't have to remind you that that's what are all about--brain storming. What have you got?"

"The Caldonians feel threatened by the colonists of Psi Scorpii?"

Terrell's eyebrows scrunched together, giving him a cross look. "How? They're nearly a full day from the colony at our best warp."

"I don't know, sir." McCoy felt he needed to back-pedal. "It was a bad idea...." He stopped when Terrell cut him off with a swipe of his hand.

"Nonsense, Doctor. It's as good an idea as any of the others." The captain turned his attention back to Commander Beach. "Does Psi Scorpii have any kind of defense force that could be used as raiders?"

"Not that Starfleet knows, sir," Beach answered. "They have a few ships capable of limited warp speeds, but they're ore freighters; not likely candidates for conversion to warships of any kind."

"Let's try another source of information before leaving this train of thought," Terrell said as he let his gaze turn to the room's ceiling. "Computer."

The Reliant's main computer responded in the female voice common to all Starfleet ships. "Working."

"Search all intelligence messages for any indication of weapon sales to the Psi Scorpii colony."

"Additional criteria needed. Category of weapon--strategic, tactical, or individual?"

"Tactical. I doubt they can afford any strategic weapons, and I'm not interested in their hunting weapons."

"Working." The computer paused only for a moment, then began speaking again. "No intelligence reports meet those search criteria."

"So much for that," Terrell commented.

"Is there anything else about Psi Scorpii that would threaten the Caldonians?" the doctor continued, feeling this was the right tact to be taking without knowing any reason why.

Beach offered an answer. "Other than being rich in topaline, the colony has very little else to offer outworld markets now that they're under Federation control."

"Not that the product of blood sports would pose a threat anyway," the captain commented. "Topaline is a necessary element for our life support systems, isn't it, Chekov?"

"Aye, sir. Where water is a universal solvent, it is a universal scrubbing agent," Chekov answered. "Nothing else has ever been found that can clean the air of the impurities created by the mixed populations of species found on Starfleet ships."

"Which means the colony is rich?" Terrell posed the question.

McCoy had the answer for this. "Actually, no, sir. Ever since the devastating dilithium embargo created by the Orions some years back, and the way that the Barrier Alliance controls the pricing of that necessary element, the Federation brings all new elements discovered to be so important quickly under their control. Topaline, being what it is to starships and starbases, has a heavy price control on it."

"That so, Doctor?"

"Yes, sir. It's a sore spot with all the topaline suppliers. They can see the riches reaped by the Barrier Alliance dilithium operators, and know they'll never see it themselves. Maybe the colonists got themselves a new buyer...."

Terrell shook his head. "That's interesting, Doctor, but I don't think that's the reason the Caldonians attacked them." He looked around the room. "Any other thoughts?"

There were no more comments.

"Keep the problem in mind as we approach the colony, because unless the Caldonians have suddenly embraced expansionist policies, there's got to be a logical explanation for the attack." The captain stood, as did everyone else in the room. "Dismissed."

They all started to leave, headed for their prospective stations. Captain Terrell stopped McCoy at the door. "A moment, Doctor."

"Aye, sir."

Chekov was standing nearby.

"I hope you didn't believe I blew off your suggestion, Doctor," Terrell offered.

"No, sir. I admit it's a bit far-fetched," McCoy answered.

"Nonsense. The more I think about it, it's actually the most plausible explanation, but there's nothing in the way of evidence to support your conjecture. May I ask how you know so much about topaline?"

"I have a...god-child...on Capella Four."

"Hmmm, I see," Terrell said, nodding his head. "Thank you; you're dismissed, Doctor."

McCoy walked out into the corridor, but could still hear the captain talking to his executive officer. "Pavel, have Kelowitz dig deeper into the topaline thing."

The image of Steven Kelowitz, the Reliant's chief of security, came onto McCoy's mental viewscreen. He remembered him from the Enterprise. He'd noted this earlier, but Kelowitz's name was yet another reminder that many of the Reliant's officers had served on Kirk's Enterprise. Probably the doing of Chekov as the executive officer, McCoy thought.

"I'll have them check anything in the intelligence work-ups for this quadrant," Chekov answered.

Before he got completely out of range of his hearing, the doctor caught Terrell's next response. "Who knows? Maybe only the ships are Caldonian..."

Everything else was lost. Who else could it be? thought McCoy as he entered a turbolift. Klingons? "Sickbay," he ordered the lift's computer.

*****

"I'm going to tell you the same thing I told those destroyer captains," Prollet Mod told Terrell. The colony's chief administrator was a heavy-set Catullan who obviously enjoyed the benefits of his position.

Behind him, and conspicuously quiet, was a middle-aged woman, also Catullan, this being their only likeness. Where he was portly, she was painfully thin. Where he displayed his emotion to its fullest, she remained constant--quiet and reserved.

Yet, for some reason, McCoy felt she was a permanent part of Prollet. Though he'd just met them, he felt that his was always the case as he heard Terrell answer Prollet's question.

"I've read the transcripts of that meeting, Chief Administrator, but since the full investigation of this incident is my job, I wanted to talk to as many of you, face-to-face, as possible. Written records can be so barren of emotion and context."

Prollet sighed, resigning himself to the fact that this newest arrival from Starfleet wasn't going to go away soon. He shuffled over to stand in front of the plush, swivel-based chair behind the desk, and sat heavily onto its comfort, sighing.

The woman maintained her position, behind him and off to one side, as precisely as a starship navigator would maintain an orbit around a planet. She sat down quietly and carefully into a hard, straight-backed chair, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her face showing absolutely no emotion, her gaze steadfastly held to the floor.

McCoy was more interested in her than Prollet Mod. She was the mystery in the room, her feelings cloaked as well as any Romulan warbird. But she was not the one the captain was interested in right now, and the doctor's attention changed when the chief administrator began to talk.

"All right, where do you want to start?"

"At the beginning, of course," Terrell responded.

McCoy saw Kelowitz activate his tricorder, and he took his cue to do likewise. He remembered what Terrell had said when he'd ordered him onto the landing party:

"Kelowitz will be making an official transcript of the meeting, but I want you to be monitoring their physical reactions to the questions."

"You mean you want me to act as a lie detector?" McCoy responded.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Terrell answered.

McCoy's attention returned to the present as Prollet Mod began to rattle down the events of the attack. "We had just started the first shift at the mines when they--"

"The Caldonians?" Terrell interrupted. He wanted the record to be accurate.

"Yes, yes, the Caldonians. Who else?"

McCoy's tricorder registered the rise in Prollet's vital signs, but it was only agitation the heavy man was feeling. He unobtrusively let the tricorder scan the woman as well. There was nothing there but standard readings for a Catullan female.

"I'm sorry, Mister Prollet, but I want to make certain the record is precise."

"Yes, yes, of course. I'm sorry, Captain." Prollet wiped his forehead with a cloth then continued, "As I was saying, the Caldonians arrived in the system at the start of the first shift. We--"

"And who are 'we'?"

Prollet sighed heavily. "We. We." He gestured widely with his right hand and arm. "The colony, everyone."

"Okay, I'm just...."

"I know, I know," Prollet interrupted. "Insuring accuracy. They ignored all our attempts to contact them, choosing instead, to spread out in equidistant orbits around the planet. They boarded the mining conglomerates transfer station, shutting it down."

"The Caldonians never explained any of this?" Terrell probed.

"Until that point," Prollet answered, "not one peep. I told this to the destroyer's captain as well. Can't you just read his report?"

Terrell looked at McCoy.

"Outside of his agitation, no change."

"That's right!" Prollet exclaimed. "I have no reason to lie."

Terrell returned his attention to the administrator, smiling. "I know, but we have to start somewhere. Then what happened?"

"They put everyone on the station into one room, under guard."

"And?"

"And?" Prollet's face turned even redder. "And they came down here and blew the topaline processing plant to rubble. That's what they did."

"Was anyone hurt?" Terrell asked, maintaining his calm in the face of the emotional storm that was forming around Prollet.

"No, thank the gods, but some could have been, considering the damage." Prollet was beginning to calm down a bit.

"They didn't ask any questions? Give any statements?"

"Nope."

"Then what did they do?"

"Only one other thing, though it's nowhere near as bad as what they did down here."

"And that was?"

"They downloaded the computer records. First at the station, then down here as well, using the station's command override."

"Hmmm." Terrell began drumming his fingers on the table top.

Prollet looked at McCoy, his face registering a question. The doctor shrugged and smiled, trying to relieve some of the tension.

"Then what?" Terrell finally asked.

"Then, nothing," Prollet answered, his voice filled with more than a little agitation. "They held the station until the destroyers showed up on the long range sensors, then left. We monitored their departure with our sensors, but lost them soon after they left the system."

"And you can think of no reason why the Caldonians would do any of this?"

"None," Prollet answered, shrugging at the same time. "You know how the Caldonians are: strict neutralists. They think themselves too superior to be bothered with non-Caldonians."

McCoy noted the bigotry in Prollet's voice and recognized it for what it was. Will sentient beings ever get rid of those emotions? he thought.

"Precisely, sir. That's why we're so interested in this," Terrell responded, nodding his head. His mouth was pulled down in a deep frown. "Okay, Mister Prollet, that's all. You may leave."

"That's it?" Prollet stood up, his face red with anger and agitation. "Just a bunch of questions? When are you Starfleet guys going to get out there and run those bastards down?"

Terrell's gaze found the administrator's and held it. "One thing at a time, sir. One thing at a time. We will get this side of the conflict's story first, then theirs."

"But they're getting away!"

"No one was hurt. The Caldonians only damaged equipment." The captain began to drum his fingers again. "That will be all, Mister Prollet."

Prollet Mod huffed and began to leave. The woman, already on her feet and in a position three paces behind Prollet, was prepared to leave as well.

McCoy tapped the captain's shoulder to get his attention.

Captain Terrell tilted his head toward his chief medical officer, eyebrows raising. "Yes, Doctor?"

"What about her?" McCoy asked, nodding his head, but refraining from actually pointing with his finger.

"Right, Doctor," Terrell said as his attention returned. "Ahem, ma'am?"

Prollet Mod answered instead. "You said I could leave. Now what, Captain?"

"Your assistant?" Terrell indicated he was talking about the woman who was trying her best to become part of the wall behind her.

The chief administrator knew right away to whom Terrell was referring. "Her? My assistant?" He guffawed once. "You must be out of your mind if you think I'd let my spouse have any say in my business." He turned and pulled her roughly in front of him. "Look at her! Do you think this--" He shook her slightly at the end of his reach. "--could do anything that would serve to rile the Caldonians?"

"I would just like a word with her for a moment," Terrell insisted.

Her head turned slightly as she silently implored her husband to intervene, her while form seeming to wilt.

"I refuse your request." The administrator pulled his wife back and shoved her behind him. "Catullan custom allows me that."

"I'm aware of the customs of your race," the Reliant's captain responded. "But I also know that if she wishes, she can override it."

Prollet turned and confront his wife. "Surrit, do you wish to talk to this...this ship captain?"

She glanced at Terrell for a brief moment, then looked back to her husband, her gaze dropping to the floor. She shook her head and murmured something in her native language. Even though her words were softly spoken, the universal translators performed. "No, Mod."

Prollet turned back to face Terrell squarely, effectively hiding his wife behind him. "You heard her. Do you want anything else of me?" The administrator's entire body language spoke of a challenge.

"At the moment, no," Terrell responded, then looked at McCoy.

The doctor shrugged.

"Send in your assistant," the captain continued, still staring at McCoy.

"She is my assistant."

"But you said--"

"It doesn't matter what I said," the administrator answered, his hands clenched at his side. The skin on his face changed color quickly from pasty blue to a dark indigo.

For a moment, McCoy thought there was going to be a physical altercation between the two.

"All right then." Terrell sighed, backing down. "Send in the next person in your colony's hierarchy."

"Hmph!" Prollet exploded. "Damned stuffed uniforms. Don't give a damn about what happens to working stiffs like us!" The door opened allowing him and his wife out, then closed, cutting off any further expletives.

Terrell looked to McCoy. "Well?"

"I must remind you my equipment is not specifically designed," McCoy began to explain, amazed at how much like Spock he was sounding, "to be a lie detector. If you'd like, I could get a psych tricorder and do a regressive memory scan...." He saw Terrell's look of impatience and forged forward before the captain could vent it. "But everything I got from my 'corder looked like he at least felt that he was telling the truth."

"And the woman?"

"For a moment there, all her readings jumped."

"You mean she might know something? Did she become scared when she thought she might have to talk to me?"

"No, sir. Her readings show fear all the time, but for that moment, when he asked her if she wanted to talk to you--"

"She got even more scared?" Terrell interrupted. "Lord, I hope I didn't cause any permanent injury!"

"No, Captain," the doctor answered, ignoring the asinine remark. "All signs of her fear vanished."

"What?"

McCoy looked at the reading he'd gotten on her again. It definitely looks like she calmed down,he decided, making a few adjustments on the sensitive medical tricorder, but then again I haven't had much contact with any Catullans lately. I might be misreading this. "Can I get back to you on this after I've reviewed my references on Catullan physiology, sir?"

"Hmm, I guess so, Doctor, but make it quick," the captain responded, turning his attention to Kelowitz. "What do you think, Steven?"

The security officer pursed his lips, then answered. "Though showing some specism bigotry and agitation, he didn't act like someone hiding a big secret."

"Hmm," Terrell repeated, his fingers returning to the drumming pattern before he continued. "He did say one thing I agreed with."

"And that is, Captain?" McCoy perked up.

"It's so unlike the Caldonians to do something so outright in its interference. Normally they treat all outworlders with total disdain."

McCoy nodded his agreement. "It is odd that after years of ignoring us in this region that they would choose now to react to our presence."

The door chime sounded, indicating to them that there was someone on the other side waiting to come in.

"Well, let's get on with these questions. Then we can see if we can find and talk with the Caldonian force responsible."

"The Moloch's report says they took up a position just outside the Oort cloud," Kelowitz volunteered.

"That was when they arrived earlier today," Terrell responded. "I'd be surprised if they're still there." The captain saw the incredulity on the young officer's face. "I'll bet they've packed up and gone by now. Go ahead, have sensors check it out though."

Kelowitz went off into the background and made the call.

*****

The next three hours went by fast as they questioned the rest of the colonists that may have had anything to do with the incident, one by one.

Terrell stretched and yawned as the last one departed. "That was an uninteresting way to spend an entire afternoon." His gaze found Kelowitz, remembering his last request to the chief security officer. "What did you find out about the Caldonians?"

"You were right, sir. They're off long-range sensors now. "

"Any idea on their heading?"

"None that long-range sensors could discern. They simply withdrew from the sector."

"I don't think they'll be hard to find in the long run," Terrell commented, turning to gaze at McCoy. "They didn't act like someone who thought they were committing any kind of wrong-doing." He paused only a moment. "Doctor, did you find anything during the questioning?"

McCoy cleared his throat before speaking, then tapped his tricorder as he reported. "Everyone but one came through with flying colors, sir."

"One didn't?" Terrell sat up. "Which one?"

"The Human named Mike Collins."

"The computer operator from central control? Why didn't you tell me something about that when it happened?"

"The ambiguity in his readings wasn't really strong, and he doesn't seem to be someone who would have anything to do with this."

"You let me be the judge of that, Doctor." Agitation tinged Terrell's voice. "We'll have to get him back in here, and--" The communicator's beep interrupted the captain's commands. He pulled it out and flipped it open, answering the call. "Yes."

"Kyptin Terrell?"

"Yes, Commander Chekov, what is it?"

"One of the Caldonian ships must have had some kind of engine trouble. She was leaking baryons and left a trail a blind Cossack could follow on a crippled mule."

McCoy chuckled at the description, noting Terrell's smile.

"Okay, Mister Chekov. We've got a loose end here to tie up before we can follow that lead."

"I don't know, sir. The trail is fading fast."

"Damn," Terrell said under his breath, letting a glare go McCoy's way, then adding under his breath, "I guess he's not going anywhere."

"Vwhat vwas that, Kyptin?" Chekov said.

"Nothing, Exec. Just one of those little things. Prepare the ship for departure. We'll be up in a minute."

"Aye, Kyptin. Reliant out."

"Get Prollet back, Commander Kelowitz," the captain instructed.

"Aye, sir." Kelowitz left.

Terrell turned to McCoy. "If you'd said something when you first noticed his lie, we could have rooted it out then. But now, if he is involved somehow, he's going to have a lot of time to hide his tracks."

"Now wait just a minute, sir," McCoy found his voice, his emotions sparked. "I didn't say he lied. I said there were ambiguities in one of his responses. I'm a doctor, not a detective."

"You will keep your voice down, Doctor, and keep the insub--"

Kelowitz's return with the colony's administrator interrupted any further response by the captain.

"So," Prollet opened the conversation, "did you find anything new?" His challenge was open and outright.

"Not really, but then, I didn't expect to. I just needed--"

"--to get the record accurate," Prollet finished the sentence for Terrell. "I know; you said that earlier."

"And I meant it," Terrell continued. "We've found evidence we can follow to the Caldonian force responsible and are going to do just that. With any luck, they won't have gone far, and we can find out why they did this."

"I'm more interested in them paying for what they did, not why."

"All the same, we'll be back." He indicated for McCoy and Kelowitz to join him in the standard transport pattern, then opened a channel to the ship. "Three to beam up."

"Aye, sir. Sequence beginning," came a disembodied voice on the other end.

"Until then, Administrator," Terrell said as a column of sparkling energy formed around him.

"Useless stuffed shirts," Prollet responded, and began to say something else, but the room was empty.

*****

Chekov was standing next to the transporter's control console, waiting.

"Are we ready to depart, Exec?" Terrell inquired as he stepped down from the transport pad.

"Aye, Kyptin, vwe are. The trail is already almost gone."

Terrell walked up to a nearby ship's intercom and opened a channel. "Bridge, this is Terrell."

"Bridge, aye."

"Set a course to follow the Caldonian trail."

"Speed, sir?"

"Best speed, but not so fast that we lose the trail."

"Aye, sir."

"I'll be there in a moment," He punched the kill button, then turned to Chekov, ignoring the doctor. "Come on, Exec. We have work to do."

Chekov noted the snub, looked to the doctor, then back to the captain. "Aye, sir."

"Get me a copy of this Collins' interview, Doctor," Terrell said as he walked through the door. "I wish to review it."

"Yes, of course, Captain," McCoy answered, then found himself alone with the transporter chief.

He saw that the chief didn't seem to have noticed the slight friction and was already busy shutting down the transporter. Shrugging, he walked into the busy corridor himself. He didn't get far when he heard the Reliant's engines come to life and knew they were on the Caldonian's trail.

-9-

"Will she survive, Nada K'cir?" Kor growled as the healer came out of the bedroom.

"I don't know why. The wound should have killed her, but I think if she makes it through the night, she will survive," the doctor announced.

Kor grabbed the physician, his mighty hands on either shoulder and stared him intensely in the eyes. "I am in your debt, Healer."

"You are not the only one this day, Lord Kor," the healer responded.

"Yes, nada. What of the other, that young Kh'myr they found near death in the room?"

"He owes his life to these." The physician held up his hands. "And to the strength of your mate. If she had passed out before explaining how he'd had nothing to do with the abduction, his head would already be on a spear, decorating the throne room. As it was, I knitted the crushed vertebrae of his neck back together again, and he should be his old nasty Kh'myr self in a matter of days, with only a slightly stiff neck as a reminder."

"Good," Kor said, relaxing as he let K'cir go.

"Yes, it is extraordinary," the physician continued. "They both should have died."

"What's that you say?" the admiral growled.

"Both received mortal wounds, yet both survived."

"A credit to your skills, Healer." He grinned, slapping the doctor hard on the side of the shoulder.

Nada K'cir shook his head. "No. As much as I want to take the credit, I cannot. Their wounds should have been instantly fatal. Someone-or something-intervened."

Kor's hackles rose with the supernatural suggestion. He was a pure and simple warrior, with no understanding of unseen things. "What is it you are trying to say?"

"Nothing, I guess. Only Kahless himself could explain this I guess."

K'cir's invocation of the Klingon patriarch caused a chill to run up Kor's spine. It was every warrior's belief that Kahless had gone to Kh'eloz to prepare places for every Klingon who died being a good Klingon. But like all other beliefs of this sort, he had a hard time believing them to be true. It was things like this that served to remind him of the possibilities. He nodded, letting his gaze drop to the floor. "Kahless," he whispered, then returned his attention to the healer. "Can I see her?"

"Yes. But," added the healer, explaining, "if she is asleep, don't wake her. She needs the rest."

"I shall not, nada." The admiral walked toward the half-opened door and entered the darkness within.

The room's lights were dimmed, but he could see his mate laying on the bed, a very large bandage covering the trunk of her body, a small dark stain showing the location of the wound. A moan followed each ragged breath.

Rage filled him, though he kept it sealed within. His hands closed into fists at his side, and a low menacing growl emanated from his throat. "Kali, my wife. I will make those responsible for this pay. I will draw out their pain and deaths for an eternity."

She opened her eyes and found him. "Kahless?" she whispered.

"No, my wife. It is only me."

"Oh, Kahless, I serve."

He knew she wasn't really seeing him, her mind lost in the pain of her injuries, but the reference to Kahless struck fear in his warrior heart. Am I going to lose her? his thoughts screamed as he ran to the side of her bed. "No, my beloved mate, do not depart from this world."

"I serve, my lord," she whispered over and over again.

Deep emotions filled his heart as he stood there, looking down at her. She was the only one to invoke such emotions in him, and they devoured him there. "Kahless, save her. She has earned a stay." Dropping to one knee, he gently took her hand, turning it so the underside of her wrist faced him and placed his cheek against it, drawing in her scent. "Kahless, save her."

Time passed without notice until he felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder. In time, there was a voice as well.

"We must talk, Kor."

He recognized the voice of an old comrade-in-arms. "About what, Koloth?"

"The rescue of Kang."

"I don't care."

"We must act now."

"I must stay with Kali."

"Kor, the opportunity will slip away if we don't act now." Koloth let his voice rise.

The Kh'fjin councilor's voice sounded like thunder in the room, and Kor thought it would wake Kali. He jumped to his feet, murder in his eyes. "You disturb her, and I will...."

"You will what, Kor?" Koloth set the hook.

"I will kill you. Right where you stand," he hissed, emphasizing each word.

"Now that's the Kor I recognize. The one who will stop at nothing to avenge his wife, to rescue his friends, and to serve the emperor all at the same time."

Anger seethed through Kor, anger that wanted release. For a split second, he thought to lash out at the figure in front of him. And then, out of friendship, he put the anger on a back burner. "What do you want, Koloth?"

"Come with me, and I will tell you."

Kor turned his head and stared at Kali. Some time during his vigil, her breathing had become more regular, less tortured. Her face was calm, no longer showing any pain. "She sleeps."

"Come. She would want this."

Kor picked up Kali's hand once more, kissing it lightly. Putting it down, he turned and left the room with Koloth right behind him. "To the galley, my friend. My rage needs food and drink."

"Not too much drink, Kor. I need your head clear," Koloth commented as he followed.

Kor turned on Koloth once they got in the hall, a strange light in his eyes. Koloth saw the berserker insanity that hid deep in Kor's eyes which needed only a spark of provocation to explode to the surface. He'd seen it there many times before when his friend was in a tight spot. He bowed his head slightly.

Kor slapped him hard on the back. "Oh, come now, Koloth. Stop being so serious. We've action on the horizon." He walked down the hallway.

Koloth followed him, shaking his head, surprised at how mercurial Kor's emotions could be. He personally felt he needed to think through everything, find its source, work out the problem. He knew Kor's philosophy: If you don't understand it, destroy it. If you can't change it, ignore it or work with it.

They entered the galley, and Kor walked right up to a shelf with row upon row of brightly colored bottles on it. "Hmmm," he hummed.

Koloth went to another location, preferring a snack to some brand of intoxicant. After a short search, motion caught his eye. "Gagh. Fresh gagh," he hissed with pleasure.

"Yes. Caught fresh daily. Get a bowl full, and bring me some as well," Kor commented, finally making his choice of beverage. "Ah, Gellian vitz. I'd forgotten I had this vintage."

Turning, he noticed Koloth with one bowl of squirming gagh in one hand and dipping out a second bowl with the other. Grabbing two glasses, he sat at the table in the center of the room. Koloth joined him, placing both bowls on the table's smooth surface.

Kor poured out one glass of the hot pink beverage and slid it in front of Koloth, then poured one for himself. Raising the glass, he held it out toward Koloth. "Victory!"

Koloth picked up his glass, sniffed at it, recognizing what it was instantly. I must keep him from drinking too much of this, or he'll be out for days, he thought while offering Kor his cup in return salute. "But you don't know what I propose."

"Does it matter?"

"Not really." Koloth clinked his glass against Kor's. "Victory!" He took a very small sip of his drink.

Kor downed the entire glass and was already refilling it.

"Slow down, Kor."

"You're worse than an Earther, Koloth. Worrying all the time."

"And you're a stinking targ, charging in without thinking first."

Kor beamed. "What a team we make! Now, down that, and let's get started!"

Koloth succumbed to the other's ferocity, throwing the drink into his mouth and swallowing it. The liquid burned fiercely all the way down his throat and momentarily sat like a lit coal in his stomach before disseminating into his blood stream like phaser fire. "Ahh," he breathed, "a good year."

"Nothing but the best."

They both laughed.

"Now, what about this plan to free Kang...." Kor refilled Koloth's glass.

"He's a prisoner on one of the prison worlds--Kragyr."

Kor took a mighty draught of his drink. "This I already know."

"Its defense's are massive: a large garrison of Kh'myr warriors, high-power disruptor batteries, and a defensive shield comparable to what defends Kazh itself."

"Again, common knowledge. So how are we going to smash it? Some secret weapon from some here-to-fore unknown civilization?" Kor bobbed his head flippantly.

Koloth sipped his drink. "Something older, and much more reliable."

The statement caught Kor in mid-drink. He paused. "And that is?"

Koloth pointed at his head. "Intelligence and natural wiles."

"Phah!" Kor exploded. "The weapons of Earthers and weaklings."

"Granted, but remember what Kahless said."

Kor's gaze was blank.

"'If you cannot strike at your enemy from over his shield, strike from beneath.'"

"Ahh." Kor raised his finger. "There is more than one way to gut a targ."

"Exactly." Koloth took another sip, beginning to feel the effects of the intoxicant.

Kor stared at him for a moment, waiting. When nothing seemed to be forthcoming... "Well?"

"Ah, yes. My adjutant found out who the commander of the Kragyr colony is."

"That's not so difficult. His name is N'rak."

"Correct, but he's not important. It's his second-in-command that's the key."

Again Kor's gaze went blank for a moment. "And he is?"

"Sergeant Taarist."

"Wasn't he killed by a prisoner?" Kor offered, then smiled. "My spies say Kang was the one who finished him." Then his smile faded as he tried to tie this to where Koloth seemed to be going. "What good is a rotten corpse?"

"None. But he has a brother--Sergeant Taaren of the battlecruiser Eglon."

"That's a ship of Khalian's force. So?"

"Are you drunk? He'll be expected to swear an Oath of Blood over Taarist's death."

Kor began stroking one end of his mustache with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. "Hmm, true enough, but what of it?"

"If we can get close enough to the Eglon to grab him--"

"The Orion freighter we're converting?"

"Exactly." Koloth could see the gears churning within Kor. Give him enough time and drink, Koloth thought amusedly, and The War-Targ will figure it out.

"We kidnap Taaren, 'convince' him to join us, use him to get Kragyr to drop their shields, and we're in." Kor began to laugh, finished his drink, laughed some more, and refilled his glass.

"Simple, eh?"

"Quite," agreed Kor.

"Then what?" A weak voice from the kitchen's doorway startled them.

Kor turned and saw Kali leaning against the door's edge. "What are you doing out of bed?" He was on his feet and at her side before he finished the question.

"I woke up and heard your discussion. Koloth has a good plan, but then what? There is much to do, and I cannot afford to be in bed."

"But your wounds...."

She stood up straight, ignoring the pain. "They are nothing!" She walked over to the table, sitting in a third chair. "Again I ask, what do we do after we've rescued Kang?"

"Do you think this wise?" Koloth asked calmly.

"Come, Kali. Back to your bed."

"Stop treating me like a Terran female, Kor! I am Klingon!" she snapped, her glare stopping any further attempts by him to get her up.

Kor looked at Koloth. "Quite right." He walked over and got a third glass, and another bottle of the vitz. Filling the glass, he put it down in front of Kali."

"What is this for?" she asked.

"If you're going to get involved with this, you might as well be in the same frame of mind. Besides, it will help with the pain."

"There is no--"

"Do not lie to me, my wife. Now, what are your concerns?"

"What will happen after we rescue Kang?"

"We bring him back here. What else?" Kor answered with a shrug.

"To be beheaded by the emperor?"

"N-no," Kor stammered. "But...what..." He looked to Koloth for help.

"That is a problem I haven't solved yet, Kali," Koloth shrugged. "I like to take on each problem one at a time. Do you have an answer?"

"Yes." She grimaced as a spasm of pain caught her off-guard.

Kor nudged her glass toward her. She took a long drink, her face twisted with the pain. "You shouldn't be out here, Kali." He got up, ready to pick her up from her chair. "Let me carry you back to bed."

She raised her hand. "Hear me out, husband."

Kor sat down, giving Koloth a worried look as he did.

"The problem, as I see it, is not getting Kang off Kragyr. That will be simple." Kali paused to take a sip of her drink.

"Easy for her to say," Kor scoffed.

Koloth disdained from following his example, seeing Kali's reaction. Kor saw her fingers clenching a stiletto and cut his laughter in mid-chuckle.

"As I was saying," she growled, "the hard part will be getting him back into the emperor's good graces and reinstated on the council."

Kor thought for a moment. "Obviously," he hissed, resigning the fact.

"Do you have a solution or not?" Koloth demanded after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Yes."

The two males sat up, more than just a little interested.

"Find and return Marschut."

Kor whistled.

"When she said it wouldn't be easy, she was right," Koloth responded.

"Leave it to my mate to come up with something difficult," Kor added.

"Someone has to keep you males working along the right lines," Kali quipped.

Kor downed his drink; Koloth followed hard on his example. Kor began to refill their glasses, but the bottle was empty. He had the second bottle open in short order.

Once everyone's glass was full, Kor posed the next query. "Now the question is: Where is Marschut?"

"In order to answer that, we need to know who is responsible for the abduction," Koloth stated matter-of-factly.

"Is there any doubt?" Kali countered. "Those were Kh'myr warriors."

"They did follow that young aide of Kusan's into Marschut's room," Kor added. "Do you suppose he is the one behind her kidnapping?"

Koloth's eyes became slits as he pondered this. A moment later, he let the others in on his thoughts. "This kidnapping is not Kusan's style."

"Are you saying the Kh'myr have a style other than being crude and ruthless?" Kor interjected.

"You know Kusan better than I, Koloth. Do you think he is capable of this?" asked Kali.

"Capable?" Koloth answered. "Yes. Do I think he would?" He paused, looking at his glass, then at Kali. "No."

"Why?" Kor jumped in. "He's been on the council the longest, and his men would know the palace the best."

"Yes, but despite popular opinion among the Kh'tebs and Kh'fjin, some of the Kh'myr do have style, and this isn't his. He's much more subtle. Now, if she'd been drugged with an aphrodisiac, falling head-over-heels in love with Kusan, that would be within Kusan's style. But to just go in and take her?" Koloth shook his head slowly from side to side.

"Khalian?" Kali proposed.

"Now that is his style," Kor grunted.

"But he's only recently been installed as a councilor," Koloth argued.

"Do you think he would already be plotting an overthrow?" Kali questioned.

"Oh, yes, my mate. I've had my share of run-ins with that one. He is not one to waste time once he forms an idea."

"Before we settle on that, let's first look at the possibility of it being Kumara or Koord," Kali interposed.

"Kumara?" Kor and Koloth said at the same time.

Kali rejected that. "Nonsense. It's not his style. That Earther sense of humor of his..."

"Besides, he doesn't have any Kh'myr on his staff," Koloth argued. "And your uncle, Koord, is too much of a drunkard to be a part of this. Besides, he's got too many other problems right now trying to clear his name to be tempting fate with the abduction of Marschut."

"Then, assuming Khalian is involved," Kali continued, "where would he keep her?"

The room became silent again, all three occupants working their drinks at graf speed.

Finally, Koloth broke the silence. "I guess we should start by having our agents begin looking right here on Kazh, watching Khalian's staff's comings and goings. I doubt they'll find anything. He's ruthless, sometimes careless, but not stupid, and as we saw, good at covering his tracks. If he is indeed involved, he'll already have Marschut somewhere far from here and in a place that can't be readily tied to him."

"Then the plan to get our intelligence networks working on getting information?" Kor asked.

"I'll take care of that part of the operation," Kali volunteered. "Intelligence was my specialty in the fleet before I met Kor."

"And it can be readily done from your bed," Kor added, "while Koloth and I continue preparations for the rescue." He ignored Kali's glare.

"Then it's decided," Koloth concluded as the door chimed, interrupting any further discussion.

"Now who can that be?" Kor got up, heading for the hallway and the front entrance of his quarters.

Koloth was hard on his heels.

With a punch of a button on a panel next to the door, a small viewscreen came to life. On it was the scene outside the door. A pair of Kh'myr warriors stood, supporting the weight of a third, on the threshold.

"Now what do those Kh'myr want at this hour?" Kor roared, pulling his blade from its scabbard.

"Isn't that Lieutenant Worf they're holding up between them?" Koloth demanded.

"I don't care who it is. They're Kh'myr," Kor snarled, preparing himself for combat. "Open!" he roared at the door.

The door opened, and Kor charged out, ready for a fight. "What do you want, Kh'myr?"

"My brother wishes to join you," the larger Kh'myr that was supporting Worf said.

"And you are?"

"I am Murd, and this Togh, younger brothers of Worf, son of Multogh," the warrior responded. "I've tried to talk some sense into my brother, but his wound has made him insane; he has ordered me to bring him here."

Kor remembered the description the nada had given him concerning Worf's wounds--a broken neck. Looking closely at the brace that immobilized the warrior's neck, he added, "How do you know we're going to do anything? And if we are, of what help can he be in his condition?"

"Phah!" Murd snapped. "He is Kh'myr; he will heal quickly."

Worf straightened but wobbled in place, obviously under the influence of a powerful analgesic. "What you are up to is common knowledge. As a member of Kusan's staff, I can be of some assistance."

"You Denebian slime devil!" bellowed Kor.

"Accept his assistance, Kor," Koloth whispered into Kor's ear.

Kor blustered, trying to find a reason to disregard Koloth.

A second voice--Kali's--whispered in his other ear. "Let him help, my lord."

Kor growled, "Bring him in and put him in the first room on the right."

It wasn't until after Worf was placed on the bed shelf in the guest room and his brothers had left that Kor approached Koloth and Kali. "What good is having a Kh'myr with us? He's probably a spy for Kusan."

"Yes, but we can use him, while at the same time limiting his access to any information Kusan might want." Koloth smiled. "Besides, did you take a close look at him? He will make a powerful ally in a fight."

Kali walked into the galley with them, ignoring the drinks, and activated a viewscreen. "Computer, put up a chart of Kragyr."

Moments later, she was staring at the requested chart. The two males stood behind her, looking on.

"Now, where do you suppose they would keep him?" Kali wondered aloud after a long moment of silence.

-10-

On a mountain top, deep inside the Migh mountains, on the far side of the Klingon homeworld from the First City, sat an ancient fortress, literally carved from the granite it sat atop. Far from the nearest population center and only approachable by a narrow trail or from the air, it guaranteed seclusion to any who occupied it. Inside the dungeon, a light burned late into the hazy Klingon night.

"Those are the last of her memories, joHwI'," the tuQDoq--mindsifter-- technician reported, handing Khalian a memory chip.

Khalian accepted the chip and slid it into an inner pocket of his robes. Turning, he looked at the individual from which the mindsifter had taken the data. The emperor's sister, Marschut, was still just as his warriors had taken her, nothing hiding her natural beauty. Only Kahless himself knows how much I want her, he thought, his loins stirring as he caressed her physical gifts. Almost as a side thought, and without letting his gaze leave her, he questioned the technician, "Is her head empty?"

"No, joHwI'. I did as you ordered. Complete interrogation, but copies of the memories only, no wipe. Her memories are still all there, but I have placed a barrier-trigger so that until you invoke it, she will remember only what we want her to remember."

"Did she feel much pain?" Khalian asked, for some odd reason, hoping that she truly did not suffer.

"No, joHwI'. We heavily sedated her before entering. There should have been no perceived pain."

"But there may have been some pain?" Khalian didn't understand his reaction, but for some reason, he didn't want this female to be in pain.

"There is always pain when the tuQDoq enters a mind. It's the method of extraction that dictates how much. We were slow and careful, so as not to hurt her...at least, not too much."

Khalian's gaze returned to Marschut as he walked to the head of the table. Her eyes were open, but unblinking, empty. He reached out with a finger and traced the beginnings of the ridges on her forehead. Kahless, she's beautiful. I could accept bondage to one such as her, he confided to no one but himself, allowing himself to taste a fantasy.

The technician chuckled.

Khalian heard the inflection of the technician's reaction to his attention and turned quickly on him. "Ha'DIbaH, keep your mind out of the sewer. She is a direct descendant of Kahless himself. Unless you want to spend eternity in torment under his powerful attention in Gre'thor, you will clean up your act."

The technician's lurid smile disappeared, and his gaze dropped to the floor. "qatoy', joHwI'."

He knows too much, Khalian frowned, contemplating killing the technician right there, feeling that he somehow been insulted. "Remember that."

"Yes, joHwI'," the technician said contritely. "What memories do you want her to retain?"

"Hmm." Khalian pondered a moment.

"May I make a suggestion, joHwI'?" the technician cautiously offered.

"You may."

"Do you remember that Orion slave girl we sifted a few weeks ago?"

"The one who entertained every warrior on my flagship?"

"The same."

Khalian remembered some of those lurid scenes with fondness. "Oh, yes. I most definitely do remember."

"Wouldn't it be nice if--when--you finally can have her, she would respond like that?"

"Yesss," Khalian hissed--his loins on fire and standing at attention--at that thought. Then, he remembered her station, and it doused his emotional fire with a bucket of reality's cold water.

"Should I input those memories, joHwI'?"

"Not all. Just enough to make her compliant. After all, I don't want her becoming as wanton as the Orion. If too many see her, it won't be long before word gets back to the emperor of her whereabouts."

"Understood, joHwI'." The technician approached the mindsifter and placed a memory chip into the appropriate slot.

"Make certain her real memories remain intact, overlaid by those of the Orion. She must still be Klingon, you targ."

"Of course, joHwI'."

Khalian's personal communicator buzzed. He pulled it from its holder on his equipment belt and opened the channel. A beep sounded, signifying a scrambling device in use. "nuqneH!"

"The search intensifies, joHwI'," a voice, distorted by the security scrambling, reported.

Khalian recognized the voice of his adjutant despite the effects of the scrambler. "How much time do we have, Kirst?"

"By the end of the day, the search will have reached your position."

"Qu'valth! They're making better time than I thought they would," Khalian snorted.

"Kudan Kuras has invoked Dunwam--The Great Hunt. The entire population of Qo'noS is responding."

"I understand," Khalian answered. "Don't worry, Kirst. We're almost finished here."

The technician cleared his throat with a rumble. It had the desired effect, gaining Khalian's attention.

"Just a moment, Kirst." He turned his attention his attention to the technician after muting the communicator. "What is it?"

"I need a word or phrase to trigger her real memories, joHwI'."

Khalian held up his index finger in front of the technician's face, then made a cutting motion across his throat. The technician, getting the message, returned to his station at the mindsifter.

"Where are you sending her? For safe-keeping, I mean, joHwI'?" Kirst asked.

"The less you know, the better off you'll be, Kirst. Must I remind you of how we got to Kang?"

"jIyaj, joHwI',"

"I hope so, Kirst." Khalian cut the communication and put the transceiver away. Now for the trigger words, he mused. "Hmmm." He returned to the table where Marschut lay. It must be appropriate for the situation.

"I've established the acceptance of male authority that is in all Orion females, but with an Earther female's aversion to being bedded. I need the trigger to release her real memories."

"I know, I know!" Khalian was becoming flustered by the challenge. It couldn't be too obvious, he realized, or someone might inadvertently blurt it out and release Marschut from her internal prison cell, ruining everything "Ah, I've got it!"

"And it is?" the technician asked, handing a small com-mic for him to use to input the words

In a voice thick with amorous emotion, trying to sound as un-Klingon as possible, Khalian whispered the trigger into the microphone, "jIH bang SoH."

The technician sputtered, holding in a laugh while he closed the channel to the comlink and then sent the phrase through the sifter. "I love you..." he repeated, chuckling.

"What are you laughing at, you rotten, measly piece of dead gagh?" Khalian wasn't sure how to take the technician's reaction.

"I'm sorry, Lord Khalian, but you sounded just like a pathetic, lovesick Earther."

Khalian let his anger flare for a brief moment, then exploded in laughter himself. "You're right. I did, didn't I? Well, that ought to keep her memories safe while she remains in the empire."

"At least as long as she remains in Klingon hands, joHwI'." The technician punched one final button on the sifter, sending Marschut into a near-comatose sleep.

"Is she ready to be placed into her transport?"

"Yes, joHwI'," the technician responded as he undid the restraints on her ankles and wrists. "It's a good thing she's unconscious."

"Why's that?" Khalian growled.

"That individual transport tube is normally used to transport prisoners and is none too comfortable."

"It can't be helped. There's no other way I could get her off the planet, now that the emperor has invoked the Dunwam."

"I suppose not, joHwI', but she will still need medical attention once she arrives at...." The technician became contrite. "What destination, Lord Khalian?"

Rage boiled up in Khalian--possessive rage that normally surrounds the hoarding of treasure and power--and enveloped his whole being. He struck the technician with a savage right cross, knocking him across the room to land on his back, nearly unconscious. "That is none of your business. Remember that if you try to find where I've sent her once I've left, it will spell your doom."

Khalian went back to the sifter's table and gathered Marschut's limp form in his strong arms and carried her out of the lab.

After the mighty Kh'myr lord had departed, the technician sat back up, rubbing his chin and the back of his neck at the same time. "I should be glad he didn't break my neck," he mumbled to himself, then smiled. "My benefactor will pay more for what I can tell him now. If I can find out the exact destination of the transport tube, I'll be set for life." He smiled as he got to his feet.

*****

Khalian stormed down the empty corridor. First, he stopped at the door of the room where a harem could be kept. None of his females were present, but many of their clothes were. It took longer than he wanted to find a shift that would fit Marschut. She was larger than the majority of females that normally occupied the suite of bed-chambers. Soon he had her dressed, and he was once again on his way to his final destination--the fortress' defense battery.

The stand-by weapons crew were on duty and looking into the modified photon tube. With the emperor's sister flung over his shoulder, Khalian exploded into the room. They came to attention, chorusing "qatoy'," and saluting.

Which one is a spy for one of the other lords, or even the emperor? wondered Khalian, suddenly obsessed with the treasure laying limp over his shoulder. "All of you! Out!" he roared.

The bu' in charge of this watch took over. "You heard the Lord Khalian, you slimy mantrils. Get out!"

The group left, winking, nodding and jibbing at each other at what was going to happen in their battery. In minutes, only the bu' was left. "I serve, joHwI'."

"You, too, sergeant. Get out. What is going to happen here, only I need to know about."

"Understood, joHwI'." The sergeant bowed slightly and left through the same door as his men.

"Secure and lock the door," Khalian said to the room's computer pick-up.

"Clearance," the computer responded.

"yISoQmoH," Khalian clipped off. "Close."

The door shut with a loud, metallic clang. A second clank, and it was secured.

"Shut down all security surveillance devices this room."

"All surveillance devices disabled."

I wonder if that is indeed all? Khalian thought. Or, did Kirst have enough time to place an independent system. Then his thoughts turned to the modified torpedo. "Computer, scan tube for covert homing devices."

"Scanning." Then, "One device found."

That damned Kirst, thought Khalian as he laid Marschut into the padded compartment of the tube. "Location of device."

"Navigation computer."

Khalian lifted the access plate and found the tube's navigation packet, then found a small electronic device there, no bigger than a button on his robe. "toH," he whispered.

His communicator beeped, interrupting him as he opened the channel. "nuqneH!"

"Lord Khalian, a Dunwam search team has just beamed into the fortress' great hall. They want to search the grounds. Should I allow them, joHwI'?"

"Do they know I'm here?"

"I don't think they care, joHwI', but, no, joHwI', I don't think so," the disembodied voice of the fortress' commander responded.

"Allow the search, but stall them from coming to the defense battery until last."

"Yes, joHwI'."

The channel was closed from the other end, and Khalian went back to work. That means they are watching the fortress, Khalian thought, from both the ground and orbit. How am I going to get her out unseen? Where am I going to send her? It's now obvious that all my estates are going to be under the emperor's intense scrutiny.

Again, his communicator beeped. He opened the channel, tension filling him as the time he had remaining to dispose of the emperor's sister shortened with every tick of his chronometer. "What is it now, ra'wI'--Commander?"

"An off-planet message from someone called Durit."

Khalian instantly recognized the name. Durit had been but one of the bridge crew of his first battlecruiser command. He'd busted him from the service then because he'd shown more loyalty to making money than to him as the commander. "Tell him I'm busy," Khalian said as he began to close the channel.

"But, joHwI', it's about Qel Kronn."

"Patch it through to me here."

"Yes, joHwI'."

In the moment it took, Khalian's gaze caught sight of a target drone sitting in its cradle at the far side of the battery area. An idea on how to get Marschut out unseen began to grow in his thoughts.

"Lord Khalian? This is Durit. I must speak with you about a matter of grave importance. Do you have mISmoHwI'--scrambler--capability?"

Khalian could hear the sincerity in the smuggler's voice. "Standby, Durit, while I activate the device."

"Standing by."

A flip of the switch did the trick. "nuqneH, Durit?" Khalian ran over to the drone and activated the antigrav lifts under it.

"You are interested in the whereabouts of Qel Kronn?"

The admiral lifted the drone from its storage rack and walked it to a launcher. "I might be."

"I have his ketch in my cargo hold," Durit reported.

Khalian set the drone's controls and activated them even as he was talking to Durit. "And the good healer?"

"Nowhere to be seen, Admiral, but there was extensive damage to his ship."

That's not what those two battlecruiser commanders reported, thought Khalian, digesting the new information. I will have two more candidates for my tuQDoq soon. "Too bad." Khalian finished setting the drone and was returning to the probe with Marschut in it. "I would have paid well for his return to me," the admiral added as he placed a life support mask onto Marschut's face, and then closed the probe's access hatch, sealing it.

"I do have the contents of his ship's log," Durit continued.

Khalian activated the probe's antigrav units and began walking it to a launcher next to where the target-drone now sat. "Of what value is that?" Khalian walked to the control console of the defense battery and started it, the electronics of the room began to hum with excitement.

"It seems the good healer made a stop at Boreth."

One by one the battery's weapon systems came on-line, green lights on the console proving their readiness. "What of it? Kronn always was a religious fool."

"Maybe, Admiral Khalian, but he left more than a donation to their coffers on this trip."

Everything was ready. The only thing left for Khalian was to figure out what safe place to send his special package to. "And that was?"

"Something I think you will find very valuable, joHwI'."

Khalian paused, still trying to decide where to send Marschut. He sighed, "toH, Durit, what was it?"

"Not what, joHwI'. Who."

Khalian was becoming very angry with this bartering game; it was so dishonorable--so Earther-like--and he found it giving him a bad taste in his mouth. "Durit, I will pay whatever you want, but only if your information is indeed valuable."

"Mara, Kang's mate."

Khalian's thoughts shifted for a moment to that fateful night when he'd had Kang arrested and sent to Kragyr, and the ecstasy of what he'd done to Mara later. "You called to report a corpse's location to me, Durit? Of what value is that?"

"None, if she were indeed a corpse."

That got Khalian's attention and got it well. He stood behind the weapons console, every ounce of his being focusing on the communicator in his hand. "What?"

"A package, very much alive and well, was left in the hands of the capable monks of Boreth for safe-keeping."

"And you're sure it was Mara?"

"He said so himself..." Durit paused a moment. "...in his log, that is."

Khalian decided his battlecruiser commanders would be let off a little easier. Apparently they successfully killed Kronn in their attempt to capture the healer. He was about to respond when his communicator beeped again, signaling a call for him on the other channel. "You're right, Durit; that is valuable information to me. I have another call to answer. Think about how much you want while I have you on standby." He changed channels. "nuqneH?!"

"The search team will reach your location momentarily, joHwI'."

Khalian could hear apprehension in the other's voice and could feel the same feeling creeping into his own psyche. A brief glimpse of his severed head gracing one of the ceremonial spears in the throne room came onto his mind's viewscreen. With the macabre scene came a solution. "Let them come, ra'wI, I am almost finished here."

"HISIaH, joHwI'."

Khalian closed one channel and switched back to the other. "Durit?"

"Yes, Khalian?"

The admiral noted Durit's disrespectful tone, but chose to ignore it...at least for the time being. "I need a favor from you."

"I serve, Lord Khalian."

"You can name your price, and I will pay it."

"Be assured, I will."

Khalian could already see his coffers emptying, but it would be worth it if his plan worked. "I want you to go to Boreth and take Mara into custody."

"Consider it done, Admiral."

Khalian realized that had probably been Durit's intention all along, and that Khalian's offer provided a way to make a profit at the same time. "Do you know the Hurgh nebula?"

"Yes, Khalian. It's not far from Boreth."

" You will proceed there and wait for a package I'm sending you."

"A package?"

"A modified probe. The item in it is a million times more valuable to me than Mara. If you can safe keep it for me until I can pick it up, you can have Mara as well as whatever price you ask."

There was a long pause in the conversation. Khalian thought he could hear the footsteps of the search team echoing down the corridor outside the battery, then realized it was only his heart. Come on, Durit. Make your decision.

"Agreed, Khalian."

The admiral punched the nebula's coordinates into the probe's navigational computer. "The package will arrive in twelve hours. Can you be there, waiting?"

"I believe so, Admiral."

"It is imperative you be there when it arrives. The contents have...a short shelf life."

"Understood. I will be there."

"Good." Khalian closed the channel and put the finishing touches to what he was about to do.

There was a knock on the door, followed closely by a command. "Open this door in the name of the emperor!"

Just in time, thought Khalian. With a jab of his finger, the target-drone launched with a roar.

A heavy banging began on the door. "Open this door!"

Khalian saw the target drone enter the cross hairs of every weapon's targeting computer. He purposely left the lock off as he began firing the heavy disruptors at it. Another punch on a button fired every plasma torpedo available and, with them, the probe containing Marschut.

The display of destructive energy lit the sky around the fortress. He heard cursing on the other side of the door and knew in a moment it would be blown. He set the computer to launch another volley, then left by way of a corridor leading to the next battery. He knew the probe's departure would be hidden from both visual and non-visual sensors by the detonation of so many high energy weapons. Behind him, he heard the second volley fired, then a massive explosion as the door was blown.

Just in time, Khalian congratulated himself, but the first doubts entered his plan. What will Durit do when he realizes who it is he has? Khalian had no doubts that Durit would recognize Marschut and what she represented. Then he realized he had no idea where Durit would take her. This problem bothered him all the way to the great hall.

"What is the meaning of all this?" he said with all the mock outrage he could dredge up.

Khalian's sudden appearance in the great hall took the commander of the Dunwam team completely by surprise. They didn't know whether to salute or attack. Instead, being the good Klingon warriors they were, they came to attention and saluted.

*****

"In three weeks, Khalian has torn asunder every gain I have made in three years concerning the emperor and the council," mumbled Admiral Kusan.

He stared mesmerized by the flames that leapt from a large fire in the center of the cubicle. He had shed his armor for the simple sack clothing of those who wished to call upon Kahless the Unforgettable. Unlike the monks here on Boreth, he didn't altogether believe that if one was penitent enough while withstanding the deprivation of food and water and the unbearable heat of the nearly totally sealed room, Kahless would appear and give the individual guidance. He did find the experience physically and psychologically cleansing, allowing him to work through what he felt was an unsolvable problem. He'd been here often in his career climb to the council, but never for a problem as disturbing as what bothered him now.

"He stumbles onto the council by allowing his personal biases to control him and then he proceeds to tear down every piece of confidence I've managed to build within the mind of Kudan Kuras concerning the Kh'myr race. "baQa'," he swore as he threw another log on the fire. He needed more heat.

Kusan had originally come here to work on the problem posed by Khalian's rash actions and how to solve it without destroying everything he'd done in establishing the Kh'myr race as a respectable element of the Klingon Empire's hierarchy. Now, with the receipt of a communiqué from his agents back on Qo'noS containing a transcript of a subspace conversation between Khalian and a worthless, money grubbing embarrassment to the Klingon species called Durit, the problems he had to consider here had doubled.

Durit was naive to think no one could defeat the scrambler. Khalian should have known better, and Kusan couldn't figure out why the newest member of the council had spoken so forthrightly. But he had, and now Kusan had another problem to work through. Though Khalian had never come right out and mentioned Marschut's name in the communication, it hadn't been hard to deduce that the Lady Marschut had been within the probe that Khalian had sent to Durit for safe-keeping. He cursed himself for not having figured it out soon enough to have stopped what Khalian had done, but he hadn't and now the probe was well on its way to Durit.

The only consolation he could find in the final portion of the message was that Durit might be heading for Boreth to collect up someone or something else--that part of the communication has remained scrambled--Khalian found valuable. Kusan felt he could intercept Durit here and claim this person as well as the Lady Marschut.

"baQa'!" he roared as he realized that although this would solve the immediate problem--regaining Kudan Kuras' confidence in him personally--it would still damn the Kh'myr sub-race in the eyes of the emperor. Kuras might even feel justified invoking a race war against the Kh'myr. Kusan threw yet another log onto the fire, stoking up its radiated heat and feeling the sweat begin to freely flow under the simple robe.

Then there was the activity of the Segh vav sector of the council. It didn't take a military genius to figure out what Kor and Koloth were up to with that Orion freighter, though he doubted Khalian had worked it out yet. Despite the wretched conditions, Kang still survived on Kragyr. Soon he would be free, and his vengeance would be severe. There was no way to stop his species from plunging into a race war that was sure to destroy everything the Klingons had built, and the Empire could well disappear as a viable power in the galaxy.

The temperature of the room was now higher than any he'd ever produced before, and sweat was liberally flowing down his face, but it could not compare to the fire that burned within his mind as the flames were reflected from his eyes. Yet, he threw another log into the flames and began chanting an ancient war song written by Kahless himself. He began to suffer from the heat and to believe there to be no solution to what was happening. Maybe these monks were right after all. At least he hoped so, because only Kahless would have the power to draw his people back together as one empire.

Gaining his feet, he began to dance around the fire, the volume with which he sang the ancient march, growing. The heat robbed him of his reason; he no longer knew where he'd seen the dance's pattern before, nor did he care. It felt good just to release it from his soul, to let it burn away the worries and aggravation he was feeling. His pace quickened, and his voice roared louder. All the religious dogma he'd learned as a child from his warrior father, which he'd discarded as an adult, returned. He now called on Kahless for help, truly believing that it would really happen.

With a final leap that landed him on the edge of the fire, he stared into the flames whose flickering tops were now level with his eyes. He roared the final phrases of the march and raised his fists and eyes to the room's stony ceiling. To his surprise, the flames instantly turned from orange, to green, throwing the room into an eerie light. A column of smoke began forming on the opposite side of the small room, but the vapor had no connection with the fire. It seemed to have a life of its own as tendrils formed and began twisting together much like the vines that covered the walls outside, but in a much more animated fashion. A voice, though faint and airy, began to emanate from the column of smoke, beginning again the march he had just finished.

Suddenly, his vision blurred...

"Kahless," Kusan hissed as his vision cleared, and he watched the form take shape with fascination.

Now that it was happening, he feared what he'd done, but couldn't help himself when he joined the voice that was gaining volume even as the form gained solidity. Again the march rose in volume and as the two of them reached its tumultuous ending, Kusan found himself staring into the eyes of the Klingon patriarch.

Kahless roared and with a sweep of his hand, the fire went out, yet the room remained fully illuminated. Kusan saw what Kahless held in his right hand and quaked--the first batlh'etlh, the sword of honor--that which Kahless was reputed to have created by taking his own broken shield from an ancient battle and dipping it into the molten lava of a volcano.

Kusan backed away from the apparition, fears gripping his soul. "How?" he murmured.

Laughing maniacally, Kahless leapt, bringing the meter long, bat-wing shaped weapon, with its four long, razor-sharp points, around in a wide arcing swing that whistled through the air with its speed.

Kusan yelled and ducked, hearing the blade pass only centimeters above his head. He looked for his own weapons and found them with his armor in the far corner of the room. He thought to dive for them, then realized who it was that he fought. He is Kahless the Unforgettable, he quaked internally, a spirit. How can I kill that which is already dead?

With another deafening roar, Kahless stepped closer, swinging his blade in a diagonal swipe aimed at gutting his opponent.

Kusan stepped backward, his flesh just barely out of reach of the weapon's last point, but felt it cut through the robe. Suddenly, the room was freezing, the heat of only a moment earlier completely gone.

Kusan just barely dodged two more great swings, colliding hard with the wall. He tried to dodge right only to see the blade thrust at him hit the wall, raising blue-white sparks. He tried to dodge left with the same results. Kahless came at him with the uppermost point poised in readiness in a great upper cut. Kusan closed his eyes, waiting to feel the bite of the weapon in his throat.

When it didn't happen, he opened his eyes, hoping it had all been a delusion caused by the heat. Instead, he was looking right into the rage-filled eyes of Kahless, the father of all that Klingons hold dear.

"Why do you work to split my people?" Kahless roared the question.

At first, Kusan was too fearful to answer.

"Why do you work to split my people?" the apparition repeated, this time easing the point to touch the soft flesh behind Kusan's chin. "Answer me now...or die."

"I...I..." Kusan stammered. "...don't."

"Of course you do. You are born with the ridges of wisdom, but show none of it. Why do you fight your fellow Klingon?"

Kusan searched his mind for the answer that would save his soul from the torment Kahless obviously had planned after he killed him here on this plane of existence. A sharp prick of the soft skin of his neck by the batlh'etlh destroyed any concentration he had on the answer.

Kahless roared in frustration and impatience, then yelled, "Your ridges are nothing but show, you son of a targ. Answer me this. What am I?"

"You...you...you..."

"Spit it out, weakling!"

"You are Kahless."

"Not who, what? What? WHAT?!!!"

Kusan felt the business end of the sword prick his throat again and obeyed. "You are a Segh vav."

Kahless shifted the point of the sword and laid open a small cut on the side of Kusan's neck, then returned it to the front of the Kh'myr admiral's throat. "Wrong! What am I?"

Kusan's mouth dropped open, the sweat running down his neck stung the wound on the side of his neck. His mind might think this an apparition of Kahless, but his weapon certainly was real enough. He had no doubts that it would end his life right here and now if he didn't get the answer right, and that quickly. "You are a spirit."

Another cut, this time on the other side of the neck. "Wrong again, impudent whelp! I ask you once more and if you don't get it right this time, I will kill you and go to someone with more intelligence than a rodent. What am I?"

What is the answer? the question screamed through his intellect, What is the answer? Kahless was not reputed to be a trickster, asking stupid riddles. He was but a simple...

"You are Klingon!" Kusan blurted it out, then cringed, waiting to feel the final cut that would open the great artery in his neck.

Instead, he heard the clink of metal on stone. Opening his eyes, he saw Kahless standing there, batlh'etlh resting on the stone floor, the Klingon's gauntleted arm leaning on it.

"You are not as stupid as I thought," Kahless began. "And what are you?"

"I am Kh'myr."

The weapon came back to the ready, accompanied by a threatening growl from Kahless. "Maybe I was wrong."

"Very well! I am Klingon!" Kusan changed his answer.

Kahless relaxed and laughed. "Correct. Now, what are we?" he said, suggesting them both.

"We are Klingons!" Kusan responded, feeling an odd sense of pride swell up in him at the answer.

"Not parent race or Kh'myr?"

"Well, yes..." He wasn't able to finish that thought before the point of the sword was again at his throat. "No. We are Klingons," he amended his tack.

"Correct," Kahless returned. "Whether we are born with the ridges of wisdom, or develop them later as we gain knowledge and experience, we are still Klingons." The apparition turned to face the fire's flame, now rekindled, holding his hands to them like some warrior returning from patrol on a hostile front. "We are one people and as such, unstoppable."

"But we are so different," Kusan ventured to say after a moment.

Kahless sat. "Ah, a fire. It feels so good after a long patrol." He turned to gesture to Kusan. "Come, sit next to me. I have much to discuss with you."

Kusan obeyed. "I serve, great lord."

"Now you serve," Kusan chuckled, "when all your life you have worked at cross purposes to what I spent a life time starting?"

The fire felt good physically, as well as psychologically. Kusan mimicked Kahless' example of rubbing his hands in its radiated heat. "I have survived, great lord. Nothing else."

"Not so." Kahless reached out with a gauntleted hand and saw Kusan flinch away. "Be calm, my servant. I will not harm thee."

Kusan felt the hand touch his arm and the warmth of well-being spread from the contact. "How may I serve you, lord?" Kusan asked in Holqempa', the ancient Klingon formal language, stumbling through its intricate sounds.

"Ahh, the language of my time is music to these old ears. The language now spreading through my people is so different: short, guttural...." Kahless seemed to unfocus a moment, then returned. "But it is of no importance. What difference is the language as long as all in the galaxy speak it, eh?"

"True, great lord. How may I serve you?"

"You must begin the healing process that will once again unite my people."

"But the Segh vav hate us."

"And you them. I have observed that the pattern is insidious and destructive. I am working on this as well. I have made contact with members of their race as well. Keep your eyes open for them. They will radiate the light of my wisdom."

"Yes, lord," Kusan bowed his head.

"Honor is the key, Lord Kusan. It is the power that will guide our race through this troubled time." Kahless again reached out and touched Kusan. "My people have forgotten honor, preferring self servitude and treachery."

"But you taught us to always seek upward, to eliminate weakness wherever we find it, using any means, including treachery."

"Yes, and you should continue this quest to eliminate weakness, but do so with honor, not treachery. To vanquish an equal in combat is honorable, but to squash a rodent simply because you are larger and can, is not. Do you understand?"

Kusan's eyebrows scrunched together and there was confusion in his eyes. "No, sire. I do not. If it is weaker, does it not make sense that I should kill it?"

"Not if it would matter not to you if it remained alive. What is a mouse to one as great as you? It is dishonorable to kill it simply because you can."

A spark of knowledge lit inside Kusan. "So, if there is a world, or a people, that is weaker than us, and it poses no threat, we should not destroy them?"

"Not simply because you can. It is not honorable," Kahless answered. "You are perceiving my wisdom now."

Kusan nodded his head, understanding beginning to spread through his intellect. It was so simple, this concept of honor, and yet, so powerful.

"I serve, joHwI'."

"Good." Kahless stood, beginning to hum an ancient Klingon battle song. "Come, join me in a song, and we will seal our compact with blood."

Kusan joined his basso voice with the baritone of the Klingon patriarch. They sang loud, and he felt his soul's release in its beat. It ended with a trill, during which Kahless spun the batlh'etlh over his head. Then, as the song ended, he held its point out to Kusan.

"Take hold and swear you will mend my people's wound."

"By my blood, I swear!"

Kahless withdrew the blade quickly, neatly opening the skin of Kusan's hand, blood smearing down the length of the point and spilling to the floor.

"Ah, it is good to be Klingon, Kusan. Join me in another chorus of that song."

Kusan raised his voice in close harmony with Kahless' lead. As the song ended once again in the trill, he saw Kahless' form melt and transform back into a cloud of smoke and energy, finally disappearing completely.

In Kahless' place, stood a Kh'yrlov female in a monk's habit, holding a tray with a bowl of fresh-baked bread and a pitcher of water. Her face was titled downward; her eyes focused on the floor in front of her. He instantly fell in love with her differences--the blonde hair, the fair skin. Before today I would have killed this female, finding it my duty to the Kh'myr race, but now I glory in her. "Hail, Klingon."

The female's face looked up, and her green eyes spoke of her confusion.

Kusan recognized her. "Mara?"

It was as if she'd awakened from a deep sleep, and fear spread across her face as she dropped the tray with a clatter. "What? she stammered as she spun around looking for escape. "How?"

"Kahless, be praised," Kusan held out his arms to embrace her. "Mara, Lord Kang's mate, it is you." He walked toward her.

She backed up, hissing, her hands held defensively in front of her, with teeth and nails ready to rend.

Let it start here, Kusan thought as he slowed his approach. "I will not hurt thee, Mara."

"But you are Kh'myr," Mara spat, hatred flashing in her body's silent communication.

"No, Mara. I am Klingon." He reached out and touched her hand tenderly, and a spark crossed the gap. "As are you."

She visibly relaxed and allowed him to take her hand. "But...."

"We are Klingon," Kusan said softly at first, then repeated it over and over, louder and louder. "We are Klingon." Then, he released her and turned to the fire. Kneeling, he picked up the spilled tray and collected the bread then sat. "Come, sit next to me."

She complied more quickly this time, sitting in the fire's warmth.

He broke a piece of bread and handed it to her.

She accepted it.

He took a bite and chewed.

She did likewise.

"We have much to talk about," Kusan said after swallowing the bread. "Much to do."

She joined him.

-11-

"Course and heading is constant now, Captain," Arex's soprano voice reported.

"Odd that the Caldonians would allow a ship with a leak of this sort out of their space docks," Beach remarked from the science station.

Terrell sat in his command chair, his right hand drumming a rhythm on the arm. "It is unlike them, that's true, but then again so is hostility, such as a surprise raid on a Federation colony."

"True, sir," the science officer responded, continuing the small talk as they waited to see where the trail would take them. A new anomaly appeared on his forward long range sensors, capturing his attention.

"Now if this was a Romulan force..." Terrell paused, a thought making itself known in his psyche. "What is our position compared with the Romulan Neutral Zone, Mister Arex?"

"Our course is taking us closer to it, but in an oblique way."

Terrell punched the intercom button on his chair. "Bridge to Engineering."

"Engineering," came the response a moment later.

"Get me the exec."

"Standby, sir."

Terrell drummed his fingers as he waited, his gaze never leaving the viewscreen.

"Vwhat's up, Kyptin?" came Chekov's voice a moment later.

"Can you see where we're headed, Exec?"

"Aye, sir."

"Any recent reports from Starfleet Intelligence referencing this region?"

"None that I can put my finger on at the moment, sir, but let me do a little research on it from auxiliary control, and I'll get back to you."

"Thanks, Exec. Bridge out."

"The trail seems to have gained a target system, sir," Beach reported, still staring into his sensor hood.

"And that is?"

"Small white dwarf," he began his report. "UFC registration 267774. No survey available, but sensors are picking up a band of class D bodies in a wide band, two AUs from the star."

"Any sign of the Caldonians?"

"Not...." Beach paused, returning to his sensors, then started again. "Yes, I'm picking them up now." A silent alarm went off at his station, and he turned it off. "They scanned us, sir, and know we're coming." He went back to what he was originally reporting. "They seem to be concentrating around one especially large class D body within the asteroid ring."

"What the hell?" the captain murmured.

The intercom at his chair came to life. "Bridge, this is Auxiliary Control."

Terrell answered from his chair, recognizing the voice. "What did you find, Exec?"

"No security reports, queries, nor anything else on this sector, Kyptin."

"Hmm." Terrell tapped his fingers on the arms of the command chair. "Thanks, Exec. Bridge out." Turning toward the communications station, he announced his decision. "Since they already know we're coming, let's get this ball rolling, folks. Mister Kyle, hail the Caldonian force."

"Aye, sir." Kyle opened a channel via subspace. A moment later, "they're answering our hail, sir."

"Put them on the screen."

The head and shoulders of a being came into view on the screen. The blue and white mottled skin and the larger than Human brain-pan were easily recognizable as a Caldonian. "This is Senior Enforcer Fulastoven. Identify yourself, Federation starship, and state your intentions."

Terrell didn't let the emotions that sprang into being in his thoughts at the other's arrogance tinge his response. "I am Captain Terrell of the U.S.S. Reliant. I'm investigating your...recent visit to the Federation colony on Psi Scorpii Eight."

The senior enforcer chuckled, obviously amused by what Terrell had said. "We did not 'visit' the colony, Captain. We simply raided it to insure that they would no longer be able to produce topaline. I assure you that our intentions are quite honorable in this matter, and I point out that had we so chosen, there wouldn't have been anything left on the colony for the Federation to use to learn who had raided it."

"I suppose that could be true, Fulastoven, but you did damage much of their equipment and disrupted their activities."

"Can we discuss this in a more comfortable location?" Fulastoven responded.

"One moment, Enforcer," Terrell answered. Turning to Kyle, he made a slight cupping signal over his ear, his established signal for him to mute the audio pick up, then turned to Beach. "Any indications that they're not exactly what they appear to be?"

Beach reported without taking his face from the sensor hood. "None, sir. No power transfer to weapons...no defense shields. There is some activity on the asteroid's surface, and..." He paused, focusing the sensor beam. "...in a chamber four kilometers beneath the asteroid's surface."

"Can you tell what they're doing?"

"Not at this range, sir."

"Is there any reason I shouldn't accept the senior enforcer's invitation?"

"None that I can discern, but I advise you take two security guards with you, sir."

"A wise recommendation," Terrell responded, then signaled to Kyle to reopen the audio channel. "I accept your invitation, Senior Enforcer Fulastoven. Where would you like to meet?"

"I noted your sensor's attention on the chamber below the asteroid's surface," Fulastoven answered.

"Yes, we found it."

"It contains an atmosphere and design compatible to both our species. Would that be acceptable, Captain?"

A quick check of his bridge officers showed Terrell that they could produce no reasons to turn the offer down. "Yes, that would be acceptable, Senior Enforcer. Shall we say, five minutes after we establish an orbit?"

"That is acceptable, Captain Terrell. I think you will be interested in what I am about to show you."

"We'll see. Reliant out."

The enforcer's face wavered and dissolved on the viewscreen, replaced by the bright white orb that was the star they were approaching and the now very visible ring of asteroids that circled it. Dead ahead, and obviously their destination, was an especially large asteroid, its surface covered with craters of all sizes.

"Walking Bear, Beach and..." Terrell punched up the ship's intercom. "Bridge to Sickbay."

"Sickbay, Captain."

Terrell recognized Doctor McCoy's southern accent. "I will need you to accompany me on a landing party."

"What's the occasion, Captain?"

"The Caldonians wish to explain their actions," Terrell answered.

"And you wish me to insure they're not lying?"

"That's the gist of it, Doctor."

"I'm not as up on Caldonian readings as I am on Humans, sir."

"I know you'll do your best, McCoy."

"Aye, Captain," the doctor said, sighing at the same time.

Terrell knew there would most likely be a formal complaint coming from his chief medical officer, and he didn't care. He needed someone who could discern whether an individual was telling the truth or not. Someday they'd manage to enlist the help of empathic beings into Starfleet to do this, a people more sensitive to these kind of feelings than the Vulcans, and then he wouldn't need to use his medical officer in these matters. Until then he would have to continue in the practice. "Be in Transporter Room One in ten minutes."

"Aye, sir, Sickbay out."

Hitting the intercom button again, he reopened the channel. "Commander Chekov to the bridge."

It wasn't but a moment before his exec responded. "On my way, sir."

Chekov arrived, accompanied by the relief of the other two officers of the landing party. Terrell turned the bridge over to him with instructions. "I'm not expecting any trouble from the Caldonians, but just in case, bring the ship to yellow alert and raise the shields as soon as we're away."

"Aye, Kyptin," Chekov responded as he sat in the command chair.

"Walking Bear, Beach, you're with me," Terrell said as he entered the lift.

They turned their stations over to their reliefs and joined the captain.

*****

The chamber under the asteroid's surface shimmered into view as they materialized. Terrell noticed right away that it was a simple affair; two rooms, one with the machinery necessary to provide life support and the other containing a table and two chairs--one to each side of the table.

The Caldonian senior enforcer was waiting for Terrell, seated on the far side of the table. Caldonian enforcers were busy in both rooms, placing small boxes everywhere.

Beach had his tricorder busy right away. He leaned over to talk to the captain as soon as he got his first reading. "Those are the same charges they used to destroy the mining equipment on Psi Scorpii Eight."

"I'm sure this is all part and parcel with the entire operation," Terrell whispered in response.

The senior enforcer stood up and motioned with his hands for the captain to take a seat. "Shall we start, Captain Terrell?"

"Beach, find out the extent of their preparations. Walking Bear, McCoy, with me," Terrell ordered, then walked toward the seat.

The two commanders sat and faced each other. Fulastoven was typical of the Caldonians-- inscrutable and unemotional--waiting for Terrell to open the conversation.

Terrell broke the silence. "Well?" he asked, not knowing where else to start. "You offered to explain, Senior Enforcer?"

"The Caldonian government finds interference in the affairs of inferior species such as those of the Federation completely undesirable," Fulastoven responded.

"So we've observed in the past, Senior Enforcer."

"But we will intervene if it is the only way."

"Is that what you call the attack on Psi Scorpii? An intervention?"

"We did not attack Psi Scorpii," Fulastoven replied, his voice full of indignation. "We but did Starfleet's job in enforcing the law."

"What law?"

"The selling of topaline on the black market."

Terrell's eyebrows scrunched together. His gaze turned to McCoy. "Did we get any indication from the colonists that they might be doing something illegal?"

"None that I could discern, sir," McCoy answered. "But if the Senior Enforcer is right, then I don't think we even started to ask the right questions."

Terrell's face relaxed and he nodded his head. "True, true." He returned his attention to the Caldonian senior enforcer. "Do you have any proof of your allegations?"

Fulastoven put on his most patient look. "Of course." He pulled out a data chip and put it in the center of the table. "As you know, we have dealings with all governments in our neutral status."

"Yes."

"But whenever one or the other begins to build offensive capabilities too close to our territory, we take note."

"Of course."

"The Romulans have begun an aggressive starbase building program right on our borders."

Terrell turned to Walking Bear. "Confirmation?"

"Starfleet Intelligence bulletins haven't had anything concerning this in them, Captain," Walking Bear answered.

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure, Captain, but I'll check anyway."

"Are you trying to say you have no idea this is going on, Captain?" Fulastoven became irritated.

"Why shouldn't it be a surprise?" Terrell responded, returning his attention to the Caldonian.

"Because we sent a complete report to Starfleet many of your months ago, providing all the facts necessary to prove the claim."

Terrell again turned to Walking Bear. "Are you sure we've not heard about any of this?"

Walking Bear broke away from reading something on his tricorder, "Positive, sir. I've just rechecked the subjects of all Starfleet Intelligence bulletins for the past six months. There's nothing there about a Romulan build-up in the Caldonian sector."

"We sent it to Admiral Yves-Gervais himself," Fulastoven continued.

"Make a note of this, Mister Walking Bear. We'll make our own report."

"Aye, sir."

Terrell returned his full attention to Fulastoven. "But what has this to do with the colony or this asteroid?"

"That information is all on that chip, but I'll review the most important part of it with you now."

"Thank you."

"Of all the materials needed to build starbases and ships, only one is rare enough to control the rate of construction. Psi Scorpii has it."

"Topaline?"

"Exactly, Captain Terrell."

"The Romulans have their own sources of that material. How can you be sure it's coming from Psi Scorpii?"

"Each source of the ore has its own unique amounts of inert elements, the amount and type are much like your fingerprint, identifying it. The topaline the Romulans are receiving to put in these new bases is Psi Scorpii topaline."

"How do you know this?"

"As I said, we have contacts with all governments. We noted the growth and the evidently close source of topaline. It was easy enough for one of our investigator ships to get a sensor analysis."

"Hmmm," Terrell's fingers beat incessantly on the table top. "So why are you setting explosives here?" Terrell pointed at the floor of the room.

"Because this is where the transactions occur between the colony's ship and the Yridian trader that sells the topaline to the Romulans. Again this is all on that data chip."

Terrell ignored the other's change in emotion. "Have you identified the parties?"

"Yes, it's on...."

Terrell interrupted the enforcer. "I know, but I'd like to know now."

"The Yridian's name is Illyeekeek."

Walking Bear offered an explanation before Terrell could turn to ask. "That name has occurred on more than one bulletin, as well as a hologram of him. He's suspected of all sorts of contraband operations, including weapons and technology, but never anything about buying and selling topaline."

"Well, now we have a new item to add to the report, don't we, Mister Walking Bear?" Terrell responded.

"Yes, sir." Walking Bear began whispering notes into the tricorder for future reference.

"We almost caught both parties," Fulastoven started, then stopped, his face mirroring the fact that he was at a loss for words. "How do you Earthers say it? Red-handed? In the act? Two days ago. Illyeekeek managed to evade capture. He has some very advanced cloaking technologies on his ship. So we tracked the other ship to Psi Scorpii. We eliminated their mining and refining capabilities. Now we'll destroy their meeting place as well."

"But wouldn't this be the best place to catch the Yridian?"

"He certainly detected us here, and he doesn't have a reputation for returning once this has happened. He is a most elusive target."

"So it would seem."

A beep from the Caldonian's equipment belt interrupted the conversation. He took a report, then closed the channel. "I trust the Federation can take over this investigation?"

"You can count on it," Terrell answered, also getting to his feet.

The look on the Caldonian's face suggested grave doubt. "Thank you, Captain. Now, I suggest you get at least two hundred thousand of your kilometers from here. Our explosives are set, and ready to be detonated."

"Thank you, Senior Enforcer Fulastoven. We'll be in touch."

"Don't bother." Fulastoven reopened the channel to his ship and gave a command.

Moments later, Terrell and his landing party were the only ones left on the asteroid.

"I guess we should follow suit, gentlemen," Terrell ordered, pulling out his own communicator. "Standard transporter formation."

The landing party fell in behind Terrell as he contacted the Reliant.

Chekov answered, "Ready, Kyptin?"

"Yes, Exec. Four to beam up. Lock in a course back to the colony and get us under way as soon as we're back."

"Aye, Kyptin. Reliant, out."

A column of blue sparkling energy surrounded each member of the landing party as they were transported back to their ship.

*****

The Reliant left its position, on a course back to Psi Scorpii. They had no sooner crossed the two hundred thousand kilometer mark when there was an immense explosion that changed the iron/nickel asteroid into dust and meteors.

The door to the bridge opened, and Terrell marched in.

"What was their explanation, Kyptin?" Chekov asked as he relinquished command.

Terrell tossed the data chip to him. "Evaluate that for authenticity, Exec, and be ready to report by the time we return to the colony."

Chekov nodded and headed for the science officer's console to begin his task.

Staring at the viewscreen, Terrell made a comment. "Those colonists have some very tough questions to answer."

Already viewing the chip, Chekov whistled in response, then cursed in Russian.

-12-

What has come over Lord Kusan? Valkris asked herself as the engine flare of the probe she was following in her small scout hypnotized her. He knew well enough its heading to tell me where to meet it, and then he orders me....Her thoughts went back to that conversation.

"No, Valkris, don't pick it off. It isn't some sort of secret weapon, sent off to destroy something. It's much more valuable than that," Kusan said.

"Then I should collect it up and bring it back to you?" she asked, confused.

"No. All I want you to do is follow it and report to me where and who meets it. Is that understood?"

"I serve, joHwI'," Valkris responded.

"Yes, you do and quite well. Then, once it's picked up, tell me where they take it."

"Understood, joHwI'."

"Thank you, Valkris."

The communication with her employer had terminated, leaving her more confused then ever. Thank you, she heard him say again in her head as she continued to stare at the probe's flare. Thank you? An Earther term? Since when does Kusan use Earther terms, especially ones as soft as that?

"Approaching the Hurgh nebula," the computer's voice announced.

This was where Kusan said the probe would be met, she said to herself. As if on cue, its engines shut down, leaving it to coast.

I wonder if he knows who's in the probe? I scanned it the moment I got onto its tail and have some ideas myself. What other Segh vav female would be traveling so secretively?

That brought her logically to the most confusing conclusion she had ever come to in her entire career as a q'laI assassin. Why did he order me to only observe and not pick her up for him to return to the emperor? Such an action would gain Kusan an immeasurable position of power. The emperor would be forever in his debt. This argument had twice threatened to force her to violate his orders and intercept the probe. Unless the person responsible for the probe was another Kh'myr?

Her thoughts were in a turmoil. No! I won't, she finally decided. I will obey my orders. Kusan is a genius in these things. Why else would I work for him? Am I not the most powerful q'laI in the empire and the most expensive?

"There is an object directly in the probe's path," the computer reported.

"What?" Completely involved in her problem solving, Valkris had almost missed the announcement. "Computer, repeat report."

"There is an object directly in the probe's path," the computer repeated.

"Nature of object?" she asked, not believing it to be natural. The odds against that were too astronomical.

"Unknown without use of active sensors."

And possible detection if it is a ship, as I suspect, she thought.

"Sensor scan detected," the computer reported.

That proves it. "Slow with the probe; engage the cloak." No use being seen at this juncture.

The lights on the small ship's bridge dimmed to red, and the ship disappeared.

Now to see who this is. Flipping a record crystal into a console on her left, she activated all the ships' data collection devices.

The probe's course remained straight.

"Full magnification on forward viewscreen, center on the ship in the probe's path," Valkris ordered the computer.

The screen shimmered and shifted, and when it finally settled, showed her what appeared at first to be a Yridian heavy freighter. At least that's what its captain wants it to appear as. Her expert eye picked up the differences, piquing her interest. Further study betrayed its Klingon lines.

A tractor beam snapped on and locked to the probe, slowing its velocity.

"Adjust ship's speed to full stop," Valkris ordered the computer.

"Full stop," it returned.

With a flurry of her maneuvering thrusters, easily masked by the cloaking device, the small ship came to a stop.

"Computer, ship identification?"

The image of the freighter froze in place, it was spun around as the computer searched for the identifying aspects of its design. Once done with this it started the search of its data banks for a match. "Possible match found," the computer reported a moment later.

"What ship is it?"

"The wejyapHuch, a freighter of Yridian registration, reported to be owned and operated by a being calling itself Illyeekeek."

"Source of information?" Odd that a Yridian ship should have a Klingon name, a pIqaD one at that.

"Federation registration files."

"Nothing on the Klingon, or Romulan databases?"

"There are older records of a ship closely resembling this one, but this match was made from a recent intercept of a Starfleet security report generated by the starship Reliant, one day ago."

Now what interest does Starfleet have in a Yridian? She shook her head at this thought. There is no such thing as a trustworthy Yridian. They would sell their grandsire if the price was right. "toH, what is this one up to?"

The freighter gently pulled the probe to it, eventually pulling it through the open hatch of what she assumed was a small cargo hold. Thrusters fired, and the wejyapHuch turned onto a new heading. False panels moved to reveal its true engine configuration. The graf drives fired, and the freighter moved quickly away from the rendezvous point.

Why doesn't that surprise me? Valkris prepared her ship for faster-than-light travel. "Computer, list possible destinations along the new course on viewscreen."

The list was short, the last entry a set of coordinates where it crossed the Klingon/Romulan border. One location in the list caught her attention. Boreth? There is only the monastery of Kahless there. Why would a Yridian want or need there?

It really didn't matter when she remembered where Kusan had been when he'd sent his instructions to her. "That's where Kusan is, or at least was." She chuckled knowingly. "That wise old targ. No wonder I love working for him."

The freighter broke into warp space with a crash, followed at a discreet distance by a small cloaked ship.

As soon as they were well on their way, Valkris opened the narrow, side band subspace channel she and Kusan used, heavily scrambling it, just in case. Her employer answered quickly after the first hail.

"nuqneH, Valkris?"

"A heavily modified Yridian freighter has picked up the probe."

"A Yridian was it?"

"It appeared so, though it bears a Klingon name. There was also the feel of Klingon technology about it. I am following it as you ordered."

"Possible destination?"

When she'd opened the channel, she'd expected to see the virgin granite walls of the monastery behind Kusan, instead she saw that he was once again in his office, on the home-world. If he's not on Boreth to pick up the contents of the probe, then what's this all about? Shadows of doubt began nagging her normally sharp mind. "Boreth, joHwI'. Isn't that where you were when you assigned me this mission?"

A shadow crossed Kusan's face as he heard her question, then he relaxed and an easy smile formed. "You are my best operative, Valkris," he responded quietly, "probably the best in the Empire."

Valkris understood he wasn't going to answer her question. "Do you doubt my qualifications, joHwI'?"

"Not in the least. Keep me posted as to the freighter's final destination."

"Yes, joHwI'."

"Thank you, Valkris." He closed the channel.

He said it again! her thoughts screamed. Thank you? I wonder if he's contracted mISrop* now that he's getting older. The freighter was making a straight heading for Boreth now. As she settled back to watch, her thoughts raced through all the possibilities of Kusan's actions. She shuddered at the thought of dying of old age and contracting the diseases that plagued those that somehow were unlucky enough to survive. Kahless, help me to die valiantly in battle.

*Klingon "confusion disease"--similar to the Terran Alzheimer's Disease or the Vulcan Bendii Syndrome.

*****

The hairs on the back of his neck and along the bony ridges of his spine were still standing on edge as he sat watching the stars streak by on his viewscreen. "Computer, scan back along our trail."

"Scanning." The feeling he had that someone watched him would not go away. "No contacts."

The computer might say that, but I don't believe it, Durit thought, growling under his breath. He'd felt uneasy from the moment he had accepted Khalian's job, but that had been nothing to the trepidation he felt now. There was someone, or something, on his trail. "Computer, scan for evidence of a cloaking device."

"Restriction," the computer warned. "Short range sensors only."

"Enable," Durit's command was short and curt, his temper flaring.

"Scanning."

There is something out there! his thoughts screamed.

"No evidence of a cloaked vessel."

"taHqeq!" he cursed. "How much time till we enter the Boreth system?"

"One hour."

I'll shake that shadow after I've made my pick-up, he decided. The opportunity on Boreth is too tenuous, and I can't waste any time evading now. Afterward, is another story.

He sat and simmered for a moment, the sense of being followed continuing to prick at his consciousness. Then, when he could stand it no more, he jumped to his feet, roaring. "I must do something to take my mind off this." He paced the bridge. It wasn't until after he'd circuited the bridge ten times that he remembered what it was that he'd picked up back at the rendezvous point. "I guess Lord Khalian can't fault me for inspecting the treasure at this point. Not that he has anything to say about it."

Striding off, he left the bridge on a straight course for the cargo bay and the probe interred within. Turning toward the door, its locking mechanism sensed his approach and opened the door. He entered and immediately spotted the probe. It was in the middle of the floor, right where the tractor beam had deposited it.

Rubbing his hands together, he walked up to the side where the keyboard for the locking mechanism was. "Ah, Khalian, what treasure have you sent me for safekeeping, and how much am I going to charge you for doing so?"

Tapping out a coded sequence on the small security panel located toward the nose of the probe, he heard it beep twice as it accepted it. With the hiss of equalizing pressures, the probe opened. Slowly, the hatch lifted, revealing its contents to Durit's gaze.

His breath caught in his throat as he realized that Khalian hadn't sent him anything inanimate, but an individual. The life support mechanism obscured the figure. As he removed the tubes and wires, he soon realized that this was a female. Removing the face mask allowed him to further identify her as being a Segh vav Klingon, her skin and hair coloration indicating one of the Kh'teb race.

With the last of the support mechanism removed, he stepped back, admiring what he saw. Even from this angle, he could tell she was taller than any other Kh'teb he'd seen before. He took time to admire her figure through the unflattering robe she was wearing and immediately fell deep in lust. His gaze came to her face and his heat diminished, the leer of a moment earlier fading. She looks familiar, but I don't know where I've seen her before. He cocked his head slightly to the left, thinking hard but failing to make any identification. I'll give Khalian credit for one thing: she's definitely a treasure.

Reaching into the probe, he gently lifted her into his arms and left the cargo bay. Turning left, he headed back toward the bridge and the crew's quarters. They were empty, as usual, since he didn't trust anyone else to be onboard during business. He eventually entered the small stateroom right next to his personal quarters and placed the female on the sleeping bench. She moaned as he did this, and he stepped back to watch her wake from whatever sleep Khalian had put her in before sending her on this journey.

He was still watching her attempts to wake up when the computer's voice came over the ship's intercom. "Nearing the Boreth system; commander to the bridge. Nearing the Boreth system; commander to the bridge."

Durit knew the message would continue to repeat until he went back to the bridge, or they passed the target system, but he couldn't stop watching the female. The computer made two more warning statements before he could finally drag himself away. Later, my beauty, later, once I've picked up yet another treasure. Then I will discover who you are and why Khalian holds you so tight.

Turning, he exited the stateroom and secured the door, just in case she awakened while he was away. The computer was just about to make another announcement when he arrived at the bridge. "Computer, report."

"Five minutes from arrival at outer regions of Boreth system."

"Prepare to drop from warp. Full impulse to destination."

"Instructions received."

The stars slowly stopped streaking by and became pin-points of light. Dead ahead, one star was especially bright.

"Entering Boreth system," the computer barked.

A cometary body came into view and passed by on the right side as Durit's ship passed through the system's Oort cloud. Smaller, bright points of light--like dilithium crystals on an Elasian noble-woman's necklace--strung out from the star. Durit accessed the viewscreen control program and a set of cross hairs appeared. Centering them onto the fourth bright spot, Durit adjusted the screen magnification. A brown and green orb wavered into view.

An alarm went off. "Boreth space control is hailing us," the computer announced.

"Answer hail," Durit responded.

A young Klingon acolyte whose smooth forehead and dark, olive-colored skin identified him as a Segh vav of the Kh'teb race came onto the screen. In Holqempa', the ancient Klingon dialect, he challenged Durit. "Incoming ship, we have you on our screens. Provide identity and purpose."

Durit had trouble at first with the ancient dialect, but could understand enough to get the gist of the request. Carefully translating his pIqaD into the high language of the monastery, he answered. "I am Durit, son of Durin, commander of the heavy freighter wejyapHuch. I request permission to enter a geostationary orbit above the monastery of Kahless."

"State reason."

Durit saw the disgust this Segh vav youth felt toward him and his Kh'myr ancestry, and chose to ignore it. "To pay tribute to Kahless the Unforgettable and to make a small contribution."

"Stand by, wejyapHuch." A graphic displaying the crest of the monastery replaced the face of the acolyte on Durit's viewscreen.

"Dirty Segh vav whelp," Durit whispered, just barely keeping the anger he was feeling under control.

The acolyte reappeared. "An orbital slot for your ship is available. We are sending the coordinates for the Worship Hall to your computer. Acknowledge."

A green light began flashing on the transporter control console to his right. "Acknowledged, Boreth. wejyapHuch, out."

*****

The red haze of transporter energies faded from before his gaze and he found himself in deep dusk. His eyes, still accustomed to the bright lights of his ship's transporter station, could discern very little of his new environment. "baQa'," he hissed under his breath. Regularly spaced torches lit the great hall. He could hear the deep, rhythmic chanting of a group of acolytes wafting in from some unknown place.

From his position, he could see the entire length of the large room. It wasn't full, but there were worshipers kneeling at various locations on the bare rock floor. At the far end was a three-step dais with a bank of torches on either side illuminating a two-story tall tapestry with Kahless stitched into it.

"You are Durit, son of Durin?" a whispered voice said.

A touch on his elbow accompanied the voice. Durit almost instinctively lashed out at the shadowy form, but held his defensive reaction in check. "Yes," he answered. His eyes were finally adjusting to the low light levels, and he could see the robed and hooded person who stood next him. Most like he'd been there the whole time.

"We were told you were coming. I am here to serve you," a voice that came from the darkness within the hood said.

They sent a female? Durit recognized her gender from the sound of her voice. I might just decide to convert, depending on how well you treat me. He grunted once in his humor. But first....

"Would you prefer a private prayer room, or would you rather plead your case with the rest?" she ended with a flourish. The robe-covered arm had no hand protruding from the end.

His eyes had now fully accustomed themselves to the gloom, and he searched the large room for the one person he was here to collect. There were no Klingons there with the blonde hair of the Kh'yrlov. "Private prayer room," Durit requested in a low voice. Then wanting to see as much of the place as possible and wanting to get as far from the watching eyes he felt from every dark recess, he added, "A room far from the noise of this place. I find I can concentrate better in silence."

"I serve." The acolyte turned. Her walk was silent and slow, making her appear to glide over the floor, the hem of her robe swishing against the stone floor.

Durit felt himself intrigued by this female. Whether he wanted to or not, he found himself trying to find some way to penetrate the darkness under the robe's hood. Following closely behind the robed figure, he tried to discover as much about her as he could by watching her walk in front of him, but the robe defeated all of his efforts, effectively masking everything about her.

She led him out of the great hall and down a series of long, arching walkways. It was darker here than in the hall, with torches few and far between and only at the entrances of what Durit assumed were private prayer rooms. He could hear murmuring and roaring behind them. Finally, they arrived at a doorway with its metal banded wood door sitting open into its small interior.

"I hope you will find this acceptable, warrior," the acolyte guide said. "There is wood for the fire if you need more heat; well-sharpened blades if you should wish to make any oaths; the room is, for the most part, sound-proof, in case you should lose yourself in your worship."

Finding Mara was the last thing on his mind at that moment. Durit had to know more about this one in the robe. As the guide started to leave, he spoke. "One moment."

"I serve."

"How did you get to this place?"

"By starship, like the rest. Boreth has no indigenous life forms of its own."

"Yes, yes, of course, but how does one who sounds so young decide to spend the rest of her life with the old warriors that usually occupy this place?"

"I was near death and found by a kindly Qel. He healed me, and since I had no home, brought me here. The followers of Kahless accepted me willingly into their ranks."

And I think I know why, Durit's thoughts rang out, the fire of his curiosity flaring brighter. The lust he'd felt for the female on his ship had not had much chance to dissipate yet and this one had his attention. He reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder, letting it slide slowly down her arm. Through the robe's material, he felt her shoulder and estimated she had a moderate size frame. She tensed at his touch, and he felt good muscle tone respond. She stepped back.

"Warrior Durit, I have brought you to your prayer room. Now I must go."

"But you said you would serve."

"Yes, warrior, I serve, but..."

"Well then, serve me."

"But don't you wish to talk to Kahless alone?"

"My thoughts now are for the living, not the dead. Come with me." He let his voice's volume rise with the frustration he was feeling. "And serve."

He reached out quickly catching her by the upper arm and pulled her to him. There was only light resistance. Now that he was closer, he could see some of her facial features under the hood and was not disappointed, though she was obviously not Kh'myr.

*****

Mara played the part as best she could. This Kh'myr targ had arrived exactly when and as Lord Kusan had said he would. She didn't understand everything the Kh'myr leader had said to her not more than a day ago, nor why he hadn't taken care of it himself. Now he had returned to Qo'noS, leaving her to...What had he said? she thought as she felt herself being pulled toward Durit. Serve Kahless and prevent a civil war within the Klingon Empire? She remembered his intensity, as if he'd talked to Kahless himself, and now she believed him. It still amazed her how easy it had been to decide to follow the Kh'myr lord, especially after what they had done to her people.

"Now, what treasure hides under this hood?" Durit whispered.

Mara let her gaze fall to the center of his massive chest, hoping this would hide her face from him.

"No, no, no, my treasure, no more hiding." His hand reached under her chin and lifted. She closed her eyes as she felt him angling her face up toward his, feeling the hood fall free. "ghuy'cha'!" he hissed.

Instead of feeling his mouth on hers, she felt him push her to the end of his arm's length. She opened her eyes and looked at him. What she saw was more fearful than feeling his kiss. He was smiling wickedly.

Now I'm in for it, she thought, fearing the worst. The Kh'myr had, as a race, sworn to end the existence of all Kh'rylov. When he released one hand, maintaining a tight hold on her shoulder with the other and reached for his equipment belt, she knew her end was near. I'm coming, Kang, to meet you at Kahless' side. She prayed as she waited to feel the bite of a taj.

"jol yIchu'!"

She knew she'd been wrong the moment she felt the disorienting affects of a transport beam. He'd pulled a communicator from his belt instead of a razor sharp blade. The dark, stony prayer room began to fade into a bright, crimson mist. As it disappeared, she thought she saw a familiar face smiling at her from the wall itself, then the bright lights of a ship's transporter station began to build around her. She stood still, waiting for his next move.

"Mara," she heard him say as the transporter completed its cycle and released them.

She made her voice become halting and nervous. "What did you call me, my lord?"

"Mara. Your name is Mara."

"I have no memory of being called that, my lord." She forced her eyes to look at the floor. "The Qel who found me gave me the name of Torost when he found I had no memories."

"Qel Kronn was too clever for his own good." Durit hooked his thumbs into his belt.

She feigned surprise as she let her gaze meet his. "How did you know his name?"

"We met not long ago, and he told me of you."

The tone of his voice and his body language told her that the healer was dead. How much more does he know about me? She was not convinced that he knew enough to see through her faked amnesia. "Was he a friend of yours?" She took a hesitant step toward him, putting all the hope she could muster onto her face.

"I don't think you could call us the best of friends, but we knew each other for a short period of time."

She stopped and let her gaze fall to the floor, the dutiful servant. "I serve."

Durit wasn't sure what to think of the female he had standing in front of him. This was Mara, Lord Kang's mate, thought by Lord Khalian to have been dead, but resurrected by the dead Qel. How lucky he had been to have had the one person he'd been searching for be the one to escort him into the far reaches of the Boreth monastery where it would be easy to abduct her unseen.

Too easy. His naturally suspicious nature questioned his good fortune. Can she really be suffering from the memory loss she claims to be suffering? His smile changed to something much more serious. I'll have to keep a close eye on her to see, he decided after only a moment.

"Torost?" He watched her reaction to the name Kronn had supposedly given her.

"Yes, my lord."

Her reaction was immediate, as if that had been her name all along, he thought. Maybe she doesn't remember being Mara. A much more pleasant thought followed closely on that one. If she doesn't remember being Kang's mate, maybe another warrior can win her affection?

"Your name is not Torost."

"It isn't, my lord?"

"No. It is Mara."

"Mara?" she repeated.

"Yes, and I am Durit, son of Durin," he continued, deciding on another test. If she were truly faking her memory loss, then what he was about to tell her would certainly register throughout her body language, "I am your espoused mate." He regarded her closely.

Mara inwardly laughed as she continued to play the scared and confused female. This is going to be dangerous. Lord Kusan said that my Lord Kang was still alive but unless I could pull this off, wouldn't stay that way long. With that thought at the top of her mind, she began playing the part expected of her.

Slowly, she approached Durit, every part of her playing the submissive female. When she'd gotten very close, she tentatively reached down and took his hand in hers and pulled it to her face. Bringing the part of his wrist where a ring of glands produced his personal scent to her nose, she growled, "My lord..."

"I have found you at last."

"How can I serve you?"

"I have another treasure, a female, like yourself. I want you to watch over her."

"What is her name, lord?"

"You won't believe this, Mara, but she suffers from amnesia, just as yourself. I took her from a lifeboat with a failing life support. One more second, and carbon dioxide poisoning would have taken her. Now she remembers nothing of her past life."

"Then, we are sisters by circumstance."

"Yesss," he hissed, pulling her wrist to his nose, where he took in a long draft of her scent. "Sisters. I will bring you to her, and you will take care of her for me."

"I serve, my lord."

He gazed long into her eyes before continuing. "Come."

Mara followed. He's taking me to Marschut, just as Lord Kusan said he would. Her low evaluation of Kh'myr in general rose a bit as she realized how much the council member knew and had planned for. Her thoughts ended as he turned and walked through a door that had just opened. As she walked into the room, she saw him looking at a figure laying on the bed shelf.

"I have named her Koolas, though she doesn't know it yet. Your first task, when she wakes up, is to tell her this and find out as much about her as possible."

"She has the fine features of a Kh'teb from the one of the higher Houses, lord."

"Mmmm." Durit's hand stroked his chin. "Quite right, Mara." He took her in his arms. "I am reminded why I decided to take you as my mate. Find out who she is, Mara. Who knows? Perhaps the family has a substantial reward for her return. Just think of what we could do with that!"

"Yes, my lord," she responded with all the eagerness she felt a newly espoused female should feel for her mate, pretending this was Kang in front of her. Now began, what she felt in her heart and mind, the biggest, and most dangerous, adventure of her life.

-13-

"Have they seen us yet, Kor?" Koloth asked from his station on the converted freighter's bridge.

"I don't think so," Kor responded, rechecking the sensor record, "though I would think they should have."

"If it had been a ship under my command, we would already be returning fire," Koloth scoffed.

"And missing every shot, I wager," Worf retaliated. "In order to dodge a Segh vav ship, all one has to do is sit still, because to dodge might put you accidentally into the trajectory of a badly aimed torpedo."

Kor's face reddened. "Why you insolent pup, I'll--"

Worf got to his feet, growling, ready to fight.

"Kor! Worf! Not now!" Kali stepped between them. "We are allies."

"We don't need such allies," Kor responded. "We can do this without his help."

"But it would be very expensive, Kor," Koloth entered the conversation.

"More so than that last purchase we made?" Kor grumbled.

"The Izarian Dream Water was absolutely necessary for our plan."

Worf's slight already forgotten, Kor turned to face Koloth. "If you hadn't been in such a hurry, we could have talked that Orion thief down several thousand klingots."

"And we'd still be there." Koloth dismissed the complaint with a cut of his hand. "No, Kor, it was better this way."

"I should have just cut the rogue's throat as soon as he made delivery and gotten our money back," Kor mumbled under his breath. "After all, he is criminal."

Koloth snorted in derision. "And we'd still be fighting to get clear of that place."

Kor's frame straightened and he seemed to grow two inches. "Ah, yes, but it would have been glorious." A smile spread under the long hairs of his mustache.

Kali stepped up to him, taking his hands in hers. "The Orions are not the ones we want to fight. Every minute, hour, or day we delay is one more that Kang must endure in Kragyr."

"You are right, Kali." Kor found her gaze and held it. "If anyone can survive, it will be Lord Kang. He is mightier than a Capellan Power Cat."

An alarm went off at Koloth's station, ending any more posturing. He silenced it before finding out what had caused it. "The Eglon just scanned us."

"It's about time." Kor strode toward his station.

"Your warriors do know what to do?" Worf adjusted the weapon system's lock.

"Don't you worry, you Kh'myr bastard. My warriors were doing this before your cręche-mother cut you from the umbilical cord."

Worf growled, and his body language indicated he wanted to do more in response to this latest attack on his self-esteem, but he remained at his station.

Another alarm went off. "They have challenged us," Koloth reported.

Kor stood up and centered himself before the screen. He had one last question. "What will they see once your contraption changes my appearance?"

"An Orion trader."

Kor's face wrinkled up in disgust. "Why must it be an Orion?"

"Because we didn't have time to alter your ship to look like something else, and there is no way of disguising its lines now."

"I'm sure the Romulans are working on something to alter that situation," Kor grumbled under his breath. "Very well, respond to their challenge."

The commander of the Eglon appeared on the screen. "This is the Imperial Battlecruiser Eglon patrolling this sector of the Klingon frontier. You are crossing into Klingon space. You will come to a stop and prepare for inspection."

"He is changing course and speed to intercept us," Worf reported. "His weapons have a lock and are coming to full charge."

Kor didn't appear to notice the report. "I am Starcex Bren, commander of this worthless freighter. Our cargo is not worth inspecting, oh great Klingon commander of the mighty Eglon."

The individual on the screen smiled in response to the groveling. "Orion cargo is always worth an inspection."

"But, great one, I must protest; we have nothing such as you would want. Look at the condition of my ship. Does it look like something someone would transport valuables within? Nay, lord, you need not come over."

"What is your cargo, worthless Orion?"

Koloth peered back at Kor, wondering how his explosive compatriot was taking the insults. One look told him Kor was seething inside, wanting to respond in ways other than he was. "Cloth and beads for the Gellians. Nothing but pretty-colored cloth and beads."

"He is within disruptor range and slowing," Worf reported in a low whisper.

"I don't believe you," the Eglon's commander retorted. "Prepare for my boarding party...or for your ship's destruction."

"Oh, mighty Klingon commander, is there anything I can do to dissuade you from coming over here?"

"Hmmm." The Kh'myr commander let himself relax into the back of the command seat. "Now what could a trader, as poor as you say you are, possibly offer me in return for not inspecting his worthless cargo?"

"I...I...I don't know, mighty one," Kor responded, trying to sound fearful.

"Where was your last stop?"

"Izar Two, lord."

The commander responded exactly as expected. "Ahem. You say you have nothing of value to trade to me? You lying scum; I'll bet you that if I inspected your hold now, I'd find at least one keg of 'ISar'ngan naj bIQ--Izarian Dream Water--there."

Kor allowed himself to look surprised and anxious before answering. "Ah, as a matter of fact, lord, yes. But it is for the civilian markets of the Orioni Homeworlds. To sell or trade it in the Klingon Empire is expressly forbidden by the emperor's law. The sentence is death by slow torture."

"Are you, an Orion, assuming to explain Klingon law to me, a Kh'myr?" The commander sat straight up in his chair. "I ought to destroy you and your ship right now." He made a signal to someone off-screen.

"No, lord, no! Please don't fire, I beg you! It's yours, all of it. I just thought to save your crew from the terrible consequences of the addiction naj bIQ causes in Klingons." Kor was doing his utmost to sound contrite and subordinate, though he knew there was nothing the K't'inga could do to his freighter in reality.

"A Segh vav law for weakling Segh vav warriors," the commander snorted as he relaxed again into the back of his chair. "Prepare to transport it to me, and then you can leave."

Kor bowed deeply, then attempted to look scared. "But, lord, I cannot use the transporter. Something about the transmutation process destroys the natural element most important to its value."

The commander sat silently for a moment, then made up his mind. "Can you send me a sample?"

"But, lord, didn't you just hear...?"

"I heard you, but I must know if what you have is genuine. I'll know that once I've tasted it."

Kor pretended to signal to someone off-screen, then returned his attention to the Eglon's commander. "I need the coordinates."

The commander signaled to someone, and a set of numbers appeared on Kor's console. He transferred it to the transporter control and the sample, all they had, to the commander. It appeared on the screen, forming, as planned, right in front of the commander. He picked it up and sampled it, his eyes growing wide as the chemicals, not destroyed by the transporter, that were still quite potent to the Klingon palate, hit home.

"Ah!" the Eglon's commander said after he'd regained control of his throat. "A good vintage."

"It should be," Kor whispered to Koloth. "We paid enough for what he just swilled down."

"Are your docking locks compatible with mine?"

"My ship can dock with any, lord."

"Fine. Be quick about it. My transmission ends here." He disappeared from the screen.

"Yes, lord. I will attach to you. You worthless piece of Kh'myr trash." Kor looked right at Worf. "I guess he hasn't heard that Izarian Dream Water is even more intensely addictive to the Kh'myr."

Worf only shook his head, choosing not to comment.

Koloth locked out his panel and headed for the hatch. "I'll get our little surprise ready. If my intelligence is correct, Taaren, Taarist's brother, is the cargo-master of the Eglon. Once he learns what it is they're receiving, he'll want to handle the transfer personally.

"I'll join you as soon as we've made the docking connection," Kor replied, maneuvering the ship next to the battlecruiser.

The freighter coasted along side the sleek Imperial Klingon K't'inga battlecruiser, matching up to the indicated docking position. She appeared to be an old ship, this dilapidated cargo-carrier, but Kor had found out differently when he'd had to take her into battle. Since then, he'd made further modifications to her talents. She creaked and groaned in protest until the thunderous 'clang' of mated docking ports reverberated throughout her ancient hull.

Kor motioned for Kali. "Take over here. I'll signal you when we've cleared their cargo bay." then he turned to Worf. "Lock all weapons on his engineering section. We need to be ready to respond the moment we're done. Once that fool finds out what we've done, we're most likely going to need to defend ourselves, and I don't want any delays in this area. Do you understand, Kh'myr?"

"jIyajchu'--I understand."

"I'm still watching you, Worf. All I need is the smallest reason, and I'll throw you out the nearest airlock."

"jIyajchu', Admiral Kor."

"Make sure you do." Kor left.

Worf felt properly intimidated by Kor's threat and looked at Kali. She was smiling at him, but he didn't fool himself into thinking it meant anything but malice for him.

*****

bu' Taaren waited impatiently by the Eglon's cargo airlock. The young Kh'myr warrior shook his spiny head in disgust at the delay. Izarian naj bIQ, that's something you don't see often. I've heard of the ecstasy it provides--and the warnings--but I want to make sure I get some. No use the commander, or his staff, getting it all.

Taaren inhaled deeply with excitement, his system telling him he needed more oxygen. Now this was more like it. The patrol up until this point had been painful in its dullness.

The airlock cycled open, and Taaren suddenly had more excitement than he bargained for. The cargo bay was swarming with Segh vav warriors, disruptors drawn and ready.

Taaren recognized their leader--Sa' Kor the veStarg. Cursing, he clawed for his own pistol, but Kor dropped him with a quick stun blast. There was a brief scuffle as the warriors dropped the rest of the cargo loading party.

"Is that Taaren?" Kor demanded, looking at Koloth.

Koloth brought out a tricorder and pulled up a picture on its small viewing screen. Lowering the tricorder so that it was next to Taaren's head, he compared the two pictures. "Yes, that's him."

Kor signaled a nearby warrior. "Bring the knot-head along." He sneered. "We have use for this one. Dispose of the rest."

As the largest of Kor's Kh'teb crew hoisted Taaren onto his shoulder and walked back into the freighter, Kor watched the rest of his warriors disintegrate the remainder of the loading party with their disruptors. Walking over to the doorway into the accessing corridor, he shut it and melted the joint so that it wouldn't open again.

Backing away, he motioned for the rest to depart while he covered the rear. Once he was back on board the converted freighter, he contacted his bridge. "Kali, take us out," he barked into his communicator. "Maximum graf speed. Worf, prepare to defend. It won't take them long to discover what we've done."

Laying on the deck was Taaren, the whole purpose of the encounter with a fellow Klingon warship. "If you only knew how much you cost us, sergeant." Signaling to the leader of his raiding party to come here, he gave him his instructions. "Take him to the infirmary and secure him to the mindsifter."

"Yes, Admiral Kor."

"I'll be on the bridge," Kor said as the Kh'teb warrior signaled for his companions to help him lift Taaren. He noted that Koloth had already departed for the bridge.

He was only half way back when he felt a familiar buck in the floor. Ah, the feel of combat, a balm to my being. A mighty explosion followed hard on the heels of the bucking. He arrived at the bridge in time to witness a plasma torpedo detonate in front of the ship and feel almost at the same time the buck and explosion.

"Status?" he yelled at Koloth.

"The Eglon is in pursuit and gaining on us. All that additional plating is slowing us down."

Two disruptor bolts passed by, just barely missing.

Kor turned to Worf. "Weapon status?"

"All weapons are ready, joHwI'," Worf responded without allowing his gaze to leave the small targeting screen at his station.

"Fire on my order. Koloth, prepare to detonate the exploding bolts that hold the ship's false exterior in place."

Twin acknowledgments followed.

"Kali, show me the Eglon, and maintain visual lock on it as we maneuver."

"Yes, sir!" she responded, action adding viciousness to her voice.

He noticed it, almost wishing they were not in the heat of battle. "Fire aft torpedo." He saw Koloth reach to detonate the bolts and stopped him. "Not yet, Koloth."

The freighter's floor trembled as the torpedo launched and an orange-ed orb entered the viewscreen.

"Torpedo running true," Worf reported.

"Wait, Koloth. Wait...wait..."

Just as the weapon was about to hit the Eglon, both her disruptor batteries fired, point blank, igniting the plasma torpedo prematurely into a large, super bright fire-ball.

"Now, Koloth! Shed our disguise! Kali, change our course one hundred eighty degrees; twenty degrees down angle. Worf, engage the cloak."

There was a loud noise that seemed to come from everywhere as the exploding bolts that held the false bulkheads in place detonated, letting it slide into the freighter's wake. With every joint creaking, the freighter turned almost in upon itself and angled downward on a course below that of the oncoming battlecruiser. Then the lights on the bridge changed from white to red, and Worf's weapons console went dead.

The Eglon exited the cloud of expended energy. For a moment, she slowed, then turning onto a new course, began to search for the target her occupants could no longer see, her active sensors yelling their search along every angle.

"Continue this course until we're out of their sensor's range," Kor ordered, relaxing in the freighter's command seat.

A warrior entered the bridge, presenting himself to Kor. He raised a fist in a stiff salute. "The prisoner is prepared, my lord."

"Excellent. Come, Koloth. This ought to be entertaining."

Kor and Koloth started to follow the warrior, but Kali gripped her mate's elbow. "A moment with you, my husband."

Kor motioned Koloth on ahead, then turned to her. "Make this short, wife. What is--"

She cut him off. "It occurred to me with this battle that if we are captured alive by the Kh'myr, and I am unable to take my own life, what they will do to me." Her face became very insistent. "You will kill me, my husband. Do not let them soil my honor. Do not let them do to me what they did to Mara."

Kor regarded his lovely mate somberly. He knew how the Kh'myr treated female prisoners. If taken, Kali would be better off dead. He squeezed her shoulder. "I promise you, Kali. I will not let them take you alive."

She kissed Kor lightly on the lips. "Thank you," she whispered, then turned away as Kor hastened off to the interrogation chamber.

*****

Taaren was conscious. Stripped to the waist and shackled to the mindsifter chair, the Kh'myr sergeant had electrodes dotting his massive chest and his huge, knobbed skull. He snarled as his baleful gaze fell on Kor. "Ha'DIbaH! What do you want of me?"

"We are on a rescue mission, knot-head, and you will help us." Kor's smile was sardonic. "We are going to liberate Admiral Kang from the Kragyr penal colony."

Taaren howled with incredible laughter. "The veStargh is insane! Surely you realize I would never help you do anything...save commit suicide."

"Not willingly, no." Kor sat behind the mindsifter console and patted a small peripheral control box piggy-backed onto the main panel. "The ch'luge module, Taaren. Surely you are aware of its capabilities? After all, Kh'myr scientists did invent it in the first place."

Apprehension flickered across the Kh'myr's savage features. The ch'luge module allowed the mindsifter operator to erase and/or reprogram a victim's mind.

"In a few moments, Taaren the Kh'myr will cease to exist. He will become Taaren the Puppet, my puppet," Kor hissed. "The mindsifter will drain away your consciousness. You will become a mental vegetable, an empty, clean slate. And I will reprogram you with the ch'luge to do my bidding. Your memories and cognitive skills will remain, but your mind-source will be gone."

Taaren swallowed hard. "Kill me! I would rather die than aid the Segh vav!"

Kor answered by thrusting the mindsifter's force controls to maximum.

Taaren struggled against the leather straps as the searing pain of the mindprobe burned in his brain. The thick, corded muscles of his chest and arms bulged like sculpted bronze. Sweat glistened on his straining torso. Incredibly, he tore his right hand free. But by that time, there was no mind, no consciousness, to guide that hand. It dropped uselessly to the Kh'myr's side.

Sergeant Taaren of the Eglon was no more. He stared blankly. His mind had been emptied. His magnificently-muscled body was an undirected, useless hulk of flesh.

Koloth consulted a nearby medical scanner. "He is gone, Kor. His brain is functioning normally from a physiological standpoint, but there is no cognitive activity at all."

Kor smiled. "Excellent. We can begin reprogramming him, then." He punched a series of touch-sensors on the ch'luge's control panel, and electrical impulses began to flow along the synapses of the Kh'myr's brain. Kor's smile broadened. Somehow, there was an ironic sense of justice at work here. Taaren, he thought, we'll make a Segh vav of you yet!

The admiral bent toward the audio grid on the console. "Taaren. You are Taaren. My name is Kor...your master."

-14-

"What's the matter, my sweet?" Fikes whispered softly as he lightly caressed a bare shoulder he could feel, but not see at the present light level.

"Things you could never comprehend, lover," came a female voice.

Fikes was always uncomfortable with not being able to see who it was that occupied his bed, but these were the conditions of his employment to this female. "Oh, I don't know. I might surprise you." He heard the sheets rustle next to him and saw a deeper darkness lean towards him. He felt her hand touch his chest and her fingers rake lightly through the hair there.

"No, my love, you wouldn't. I know all your strengths," she answered, her hand slowly lowering to his stomach, her fingers caressing the wash-board pattern of muscles there, relaxing them, "and your weaknesses." She caressed his navel.

Every deep thought he'd been entertaining a moment ago, fled from his head, one thought replacing all, his male physiology responding. "Oh, sweet, you do know that well. It would be easy to forget who hired whom."

"Are you calling me a whore?" the female's voice hissed.

"No, my sweet, but you are good," he whispered, allowing himself to enjoy her attentions. Damn, but I wish I could see her. He squirmed on the sheets, feeling her hand inch lower, her mouth replacing her fingers on his navel, but that's the second weakness she knows; Centaurian vision cannot see in the lower levels of the infra-red frequency band. I hate that other restriction, or requirement of my employment. Fikes' gaze wandered toward the place he knew the infra-red projector was mounted in the ceiling's corner, knowing she could see every detail of him in contrast to his blindness.

"What are you worried about?"

"Me? Worried?" Fikes had been caught letting his attentions wander.

"I can tell, you know."

"That's not fair, my sweet. You can see my face, but I not yours. How do I know when you're not paying attention?"

"l wasn't looking at your face, love," the female whispered.

Fikes felt a light, lingering caress of his manhood. The distraction of his thoughts had caused it to wane a bit. "Ah, yes, of course." He concentrated on remedying that situation.

"That's better."

He felt her concentrate on maintaining that status and groaned. "Your employment is most satisfying, my sweet."

"To think," she responded, "that you get paid for this as well."

That brought up something he'd wanted to discuss with her earlier, but had forgotten.

"Ahhh," she moaned, "you're having another deep thought."

He felt her attentions stop, then her head and upper torso move up toward his chest. He knew this only because her felt her hair whisk up his stomach and could hear the rustle of the sheets as she moved. "I'm sorry, but yes."

"What is it?" she whispered grudgingly.

"As you know I'm grateful for the fact you were not hurt when the Caldonians interfered."

"That's nice."

"Does this mean we're out of the topaline business?"'

"Not one bit, my love. I foresaw this possibility, though I am surprised by whom. I have stock for at least three more deliveries to our good friend Illyeekeek."

"Hmmm," he responded, then groaned and she tried to side-track him with a caress high on the inner side of his thigh. "l, I, aye, aye, aye, that feels good."

"Yes, I can tell."

"Stop rubbing that in. It's not fair you can see me, but I not you."

"For my protection, love."

"l see." His mind shifted to another question he'd determined to ask her and his body reacted.

"Now what, love?"

"How do you think the Caldonians found out?"

"There you go, thinking again. That's not what I pay you to do."

"l know, I know, but...." He felt her hand move slowly up his thigh and tickle the area below his manhood. All previous thoughts stopped right there. She's right; I'm not supposed to be thinking, I'm supposed to be doing...

She hummed appreciatively at his response. "Ah, now that's much better, my love. Now your head's where I want it."

Her hand stopped its ministrations and he heard the sheets rustle. He felt her leg drag over his stomach, and her minuscule weight lowered onto his hips. And to think, his pleasured mind rambled, it used to be hard to make a living. Now all I have to be is hard.

*****

"How high in the corporation do you think the conspiracy goes, Kyptin?" The Reliant's briefing room was empty except for two people: Commander Pavel A. Chekov, sitting at his normal spot at the briefing table, and Captain Clark Terrell, who was seated opposite his executive officer.

"I don't know," Terrell sighed, "but the lab has verified which mine the sample of topaline came from that the Caldonians provided us. Just like there are chemical fingerprints that show what planet it comes from, so there are even more minute differences from mine to mine that can be detected and identified." Terrell scowled for a moment, a private thought darkening his mood. "There's so much involved here, and I'm not sure that in the end we won't find that topaline from every mine has, at one time or another, found its way into Romulan hands. That doesn't mean I suspect the mine owners exclusively. I'm willing to assume that the brains behind this is somewhere near the administrative top. How else could it be kept such a close secret for this long?"

"I suppose that is a reasonable assumption, Kyptin." Chekov shook his head, his thoughts troubled. Vwe've one hour before returning to orbit over Psi Scorpii and except for the tapes provided to us by the Caldonians demonstrating colony complicity, no other evidence to point at who, or how many. "Vwe have got to find the connection."

"That's where you come in, Exec," Terrell stated. "While I hold the leadership's attention in a meeting that will go as long as the situation needs, you and another officer..."

"Or officers, Kyptin?" Chekov inserted.

"...or officers of your choosing, will be searching for the names of the pilots of that Psi Scorpii smuggler, gathering the evidence of their complicity, and discovering who in the upper echelons is covering for them."

Chekov nodded his agreement.

"I suggest that you keep your group small. That way you won't attract too much attention. I don't want the pilots to have any opportunity to escape."

"Aye, Kyptin. I have only one person in mind to help me."

"And that is?"

"Steven Kelowitz, sir."

"Kelowitz, Exec? Are you sure you need another one of my senior officers for this?"

"Neither of us is sure just how deep this collusion goes, sir. The black market for topaline may not be as rich and glorious as that of dilithium, but this one has been eminently profitable for those involved and they're not going to be happy with me poking around in their...." Chekov paused a moment, at a loss for the best word to complete what he was saying.

"Bailiwick, Exec?" Terrell offered an appropriate description.

"Aye, sir, bailivwick," Chekov repeated, nodding his approval of the word. "Good Russian phrase. I vwant to insure my back is vwell covered vwhile I probe this nest of Cossacks."

"Okay, I approve. Take Kelowitz. I don't need to emphasize just how fast I want you to accomplish this."

"It will depend on how much security they've placed on their records, and how many false accounts I'll have to ferret out before finding what we need."

"I think I can delay the corporate heads for as long as it takes, Exec, but I don't think I need to point out to you how fast all evidence will disappear if you are discovered."

"Aye, Kyptin. I know."

There was a chime from the door.

"That will be the rest of the senior staff." Terrell identified who might be wanting access to the ship's conference room. "You have permission to miss this meeting in order to bring Mister Kelowitz up to speed on this and get the equipment you will need."

"Thanks, sir." Chekov got to his feet.

"Good luck, Exec," Terrell offered, holding his hand out.

Chekov accepted the hand, shaking it firmly. "I'll get what you're looking for, sir."

Terrell nodded, then turned to the door. "Computer, unlock."

There was an audible click, and the door opened. The rest of the ship's department heads were waiting outside, with Doctor McCoy in front. He held up an arm with a chronometer strapped around the wrist and tapped it. "Well, it's about time."

Chekov walked out of the room, right past the doctor without more than a small nod. "Doctor." The executive officer tapped the chief security officer on the shoulder and said, "Let's go."

Kelowitz nodded and followed the first officer. The rest of the senior staff filed past the Reliant's chief medical officer, who now seemed rooted to his spot, staring off at the departing back of Commanders Chekov and Kelowitz. "What the hell?" he said, just barely above a whisper.

"Doctor McCoy?" Terrell's voice came from inside the conference room.

McCoy didn't seem to hear, his gaze following the departing executive officer.

"Doctor!" The captain's voice was filled with impatience this time. "You're holding up progress."

The chief medical officer felt he was being left out of something important, and it offended him. Jim Kirk would never keep me in the dark about anything. His gaze dropped to the floor. Chalk it up to different personalities. He turned and slowly walked into the room and the door closed behind him. He ignored the fact that everyone inside was looking at him. Shaking his head as he approached his seat, he concluded, But what can I expect? I've only just joined the crew and this captain doesn't know me yet. He took his seat with a sigh. I wonder if I'll ever really find myself comfortable here.

"Gentlemen, we have a problem here," Terrell opened the meeting. "The colony of Psi Scorpii is involved in the black marketeering of topaline, and we are charged with finding out who in the colony's leadership is involved. First off, Mister Beach, are there any updates?"

"Yes, sir. Once we reported the status of the Caldonian force, the two destroyers that had been protecting the Psi Scorpii colony were withdrawn," reported the chief science officer.

"What was the colony's reaction?"

"They're upset, sir, and have registered a complaint with the Federation Council."

"As expected," Terrell replied, beginning a pattern of tapping with his fingers. "Any other communications originating from the colony?"

"Oh, yes, sir, a whole catalog," acknowledged the chief communications officer.

"Well, let's start from the beginning."

"Aye, sir." Lieutenant Commander Kyle complied, "First, there was an opening of channels back to the central worlds of the Federation."

McCoy heard what the communication officer was saying, but his mind was still locked on its struggle with his diminished position within this ship's senior staff.

"All this was standard stuff, sir. It wasn't until ten minutes after the destroyers left that anything really interesting entered the subspace frequencies."

"And that was?"

"A heavily coded message on a seldom used side-band at the lower end of our equipment's range."

"Were you able to break the code?" Terrell queried.

"Not, yet, sir. The computer's decoding program is still working on it, but that's not what's so interesting about this message."

"Explain."

"The electromagnetic signature of the radio identified it as being of Klingon origin. It was extremely selective in its focus, directional in nature and aimed at the Klingon and Romulan frontiers."

Terrell changed the direction of his questions. "The Caldonians mentioned that the individual who met the colonist was a Yridian." Terrell looked perplexed for a moment. "What was his name?"

"Something Eek-eek," McCoy offered, his face providing for what he felt of the name's owner.

"Illyeekeek, sir," Arex said, providing the contact's full name.

"That's it, Arex, Illyeekeek. Anyone else have any information on this individual?"

Beach cleared his throat as he made a gesture to indicate he did. "Yes, sir. Since Steven and Pavel have...gone fishing, I guess it's up to me. Starfleet Intelligence reports have him located in many different places. All near or within one day's travel of hot spots of black marketeering activities. He is suspected in not only this, but also of procuring all but the most classified information and selling it as well. Starfleet has an 'Intercept and Detain' on him, but he has thus far remained at large."

"Slippery fellow, it seems," McCoy added.

"Good description, Doctor." Terrell responded, then turned back to Beach. "Check the records and see if any reports have him spotted around some frontier, or border world within the Tortugan sector that also matches the direction that signal was sent."

"Aye, sir." Beach made a note on his station's status board.

Terrell stood. "Gentlemen, we are about to return to Psi Scorpii Eight. As you've heard, the destroyers have been pulled back to their patrol duties. Starfleet has dumped the investigation of this incident in our laps. Evidence supplied to us by the Caldonian senior enforcer indicates some members of this colony are heavily involved in the black marketeering of topaline." He paused a moment to let this sink in before continuing. "Black marketeering that ultimately results in a lucrative market for this Illyeekeek with the Romulans.

"Though the Caldonians have only seen the ship of those that bring the substance to the Yridian, I doubt they act alone. In order for this much of a controlled substance to get out of official channels without notice requires someone in the upper accounting echelons to be involved, possibly even a mine owner.

"That's the number one person who Starfleet wants us to apprehend, though I hope to round up everyone else involved in the actual transfer as well. We are going to beam down to the same location as before and bring everyone in for questioning. I will not leave until I smoke out all the rats in this black-market nest."

Heads nodded and "aye sir's" echoed around the table, eyes unfocusing as each began to determine what their respective departments could provide in the accomplishment of this mission.

Terrell continued. "The landing party will be the same as it was before, minus Misters Chekov and Kelowitz, whom I have assigned another mission. Mister Arex, once we've established our orbit I want you relay to the chief administrator our demand to see all those that were involved in the last session of questioning, and add to the list, all the mine owners and any who might have a financial interest in the production and sale of topaline."

"Aye, sir," Arex clicked.

"You have your assignments, gentlemen. Dismissed."

McCoy hung back as the rest hurriedly departed.

Terrell noted his presence. "Yes, Doctor?"

"The third degree, sir?"

"You don't think these people deserve it?"

"Well, I--"

"Doctor McCoy, there is a group of individuals down there making a hell of a lot of money supplying something to a foreign power that has on more than one occasion demonstrated an agenda of destroying the Federation and her allies. Don't you think this deserves the 'third degree'?"

"Yes, sir, when you put it that way. I just meant to include the thought that they may not know where the topaline ultimately ends up nor what the consequences of their actions are."

A brilliant flame kindled in Terrell's eyes as he responded to the doctor's line of concerns. "I recall a time in Earth history when something very similar happened. You'll recall the drug cartels of the late twentieth century."

"How can anyone from Earth forget?" McCoy answered, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Millions of credits made providing the drugs and even more millions spent trying to stop its illegal importation. It wasn't until the abolition of hard currency that the practice was brought under any kind of control."

"And as you see, even that hasn't totally stopped the practice. The use of precious metals as currency--used and accepted by many in the outer reaches of Federation territory and beyond--has allowed the practice to continue. Though this time we're not talking about illegal drugs. We are talking about a controlled substance. When we finally bring it to a halt here, we will have to be doubly cautious, because it will almost certainly spawn violence by those who have become accustomed to the good life the riches gave them." Terrell's gaze clouded a moment, then re-intensified. "I will not allow it to happen here."

McCoy noted the change in the normally easy-going starship commander and realized Terrell was talking from experience here. "I see, Captain. Will I be doing the same thing as the last time?"

Terrell hesitated for a moment, his face mirroring his involvement with a thought, then his gaze shifted, and he focused on the doctor. "What was that? Oh, yes, Doctor, you check them for lies." He reached out and caught hold of McCoy by the shoulder. "This time, if you spot an inconsistency-- no matter how slight--you tell me."

"Aye, sir." McCoy's stomach was churning at the level of disrespect Terrell was affording him.

*****

For a brief moment, the pitch dark room which smelled of sewer gas and dust was lit by a brilliant white/blue light. Then it faded as fast as it had appeared, the high electronic whine that had accompanied it dying off as well.

At first, there was only the sound of dripping water into some sump pump's casing. Then there was the rumpling of clothing and the click of something opening. A light appeared, illuminating a face that looked into a small screen. A wavering, high, whining sound accompanied the light.

"Transport complete, sir. We're right where we planned to be--the basement of the corporate headquarters."

A shadow nearby moved and again there was the rumpling of clothes. A quick move by the hand of the shadow was followed by a series of chirping clicks as something in its hand came alive. "Chekov to Reliant," the shadow said in a low volume voice.

"Reliant here," came a response, clear and concise.

"Transport complete," Chekov reported. "Check transponders." He rubbed his shoulder with his other hand remembering the miniature beacon McCoy had implanted there.

"Transport complete; transponders active. I have two targets," came the disembodied voice.

"Roger, Reliant. Landing party out." With a quick movement of his wrist, Chekov closed the communicator and then slid it back into its carrying case on his belt in the small of his back. "Any sign of security guards at this level, Kelowitz?"

"None, sir," Kelowitz replied in a soft voice. "No intelligent life forms until my scans reach the ground level."

"Good. Peace and quiet. Just the vway I like it." Chekov reached for something else attached to his belt and pulled it free with a click. Aiming directly in front of him, he activated it. A focused beam of white light lanced out, making a white circle on the flaking wall of the sub-basement. "Vwhich vway to the main computer's terminal communication junction box?"

The tone of Kelowitz's tricorder changed almost imperceptibly as he changed its search mode. He pivoted slightly and then tilted the tricorder up a bit. "Two floors up and one hundred meters that way," he reported, nodding in the direction toward the corner where the wall and ceiling joined on the far side of the room.

Chekov's light lanced out, searching for a doorway. He found one, but it was on the wall opposite the direction they needed to go. He made a ticking sound as he shook his head. "If it vwas an easy job, everyone could do it," he said finally. "Old family saying."

"Hmph," Kelowitz replied, not letting his gaze leave the tricorder's screen.

Chekov could see the smile on his colleagues face in the light of the miniature sensing equipment. "Vwhat? You doubt me?"

"Not me, Pavel." Kelowitz returned, visibly trying to hold back a chuckle. "I would never do that."

"Remember that," Chekov responded, also smiling. "Let's go."

"After you."

Chekov walked to the door he was spotlighting, grabbed the handle and yanked. Nothing. The door remained shut. He pushed down on the handle, and it went down forty-five degrees. He pulled again and nothing, the door remained shut. "Damn. It's locked."

"Interesting concept," Kelowitz chided.

Chekov turned around with mock vexation on his face, then stepped back. "Well, Security Chief, fix it."

"Aye, sir," Kelowitz responded, closing up the tricorder and letting it drop to the end of its cord.

Pulling out a small, circular object from a holder on his belt, he placed it directly over a circular plate above the handle on the door. Activating it, there was a whirring, high pitched sound, then five separate clicks and the scraping sound of metal on metal. Removing the device, Kelowitz put it away, then lightly took hold of the handle, rotated it and pulled.

Nothing happened.

"Vwell?" Chekov asked.

"It must be stuck. With all this moisture, it could be corroded in place." Without further adieu, he grabbed the handle with both hands and put his weight into the next pull.

The handle separated from the latching mechanism sending Kelowitz back unbalanced, his arms windmilling in an attempt to regain his balance. He disappeared into the darkness of the room, and a second later, there was a large, thudding splash.

Chekov chuckled softly as he examined the hole where the handled had been before. "Vwell done, Commander."

There was another set of splashes and some mumbled curses. Then, something, making squishing sounds as it walked came up behind Chekov. He not only heard it, but also smelled it. "Phew! I see you found the sewer."

Kelowitz grunted as he also examined the door. In the light of Chekov's spot, his uniform was now totally soaked and covered with a great many innocuous brown and green smudges.

"Phew," Chekov repeated.

"Shut up," Kelowitz responded, then a moment later adding, "sir." He pulled out his phaser and adjusted its setting. "If at first you don't succeed?" he began.

"Try, try, again," Chekov completed. "Another old Russian proverb."

"No, sir." He completed the new setting and took aim at the door's hinges. "You get a bigger hammer--old Polish proverb." He fired the weapon, full power.

*****

"Captain Terrell," Prollet Mod began, moving his great bulk up from behind his desk, "does your return mean you've run those cursed Caldonians down and brought them to justice?"

"If you mean, did we catch up with the Caldonian force responsible?" Terrell responded. "My answer is, yes." Terrell positioned himself in front of Prollet's advance and faced him. "Have I brought them here? No. Have you done as I requested?"

"Contact all the mine owners, my primary staff, and all the heads of the transportation union? Captain, are you out of your mind? That would shut down the colony's entire operation."

Terrell noticed the presence of Prollet's wife in the room, only because he searched for her. Otherwise he would never have noticed her. She was watching him closely. He smiled and nodded at her, but got no reaction. It was as if she was looking at but not seeing him at all. He shifted his attention back to her husband. "I think their mines and sections can operate without them for awhile. Have you requested their presence here?"

"Not yet." Prollet Mod was beginning to sweat. "What's this all about?"

"You'll find out at the same time as the rest. Now I suggest you get moving." Terrell indicated with a sweep of his arm the computer terminal on the chief administrator's desk.

Prollet face turned beet red. "How dare you, Captain! You're treating us as if we're the criminals, instead of the Caldonians."

"I have been assigned the mission to investigate this incident, and, by God, I mean to get to the bottom of this."

The was the most emotion McCoy had seen Terrell show since his assignment to the Reliant. In a moment, if Prollet continued to be difficult, the captain was going to have to respond to the anger he must be feeling. McCoy activated his medical tricorder and began monitoring Prollet's reactions.

"Now get onto that terminal and get those individuals in here," Terrell continued.

"Here? In my office?"

"This will do."

"There's not enough room!"

"There's plenty of room."

"But the owners will protest." Prollet's hands and arms were in a pleading position.

"Let them. If they refuse, inform them that I will not allow any more shipments of ore to leave this planet until I'm satisfied. That ought to bring them."

"That's blackmail, Captain. I've a mind to register a complaint with the Federation."

"Aye, sir, it is, and go ahead. I'm willing to respond to an official query if it'll bring those I've requested in short order. Now, move, Chief Administrator." Terrell pointed at the terminal.

Prollet turned and pointed at his wife.

McCoy was surprised. That was the most attention he'd seen the administrator show his spouse.

"You slow-witted kolisloth. Did you not hear what the captain wants?" he yelled at the woman.

"Yes, husband, I heard, but I--"

"You what?" Prollet stomped over and back-handed her across the face, sending her flying to the floor. "You what?" he repeated, now standing over her.

"l will, husband. I will," she whimpered, getting to her knees. Her hand covered the spot on her face where an angry red welt was already forming.

He started to kick her, but Terrell grabbed him and pulled him away. "Mister Prollet, I refuse to be an idle witness to this sort of behavior!"

"How dare you, Captain?!" Prollet focused his anger on the one still holding his arm. "You have no right to interfere in how I treat, or even mistreat, my own property."

"She is your wife, sir."

"And therefore my property, Captain. Are you not acquainted with Catullan law?"

Terrell glared angrily at the administrator. "Catullan laws do not apply. Federation law forbids the assault by anyone on anyone, whatever their familial status. If she chooses to level charges against you, sir, I would be obligated, no, gratified to take you into custody and transport you to the nearest Federation magistrate."

"So you think you have that authority here, Captain?"

"I don't think it. I know I do."

Prollet turned to address his wife. "Do you want to make such a charge, woman?"

"No," she whimpered, a tear flowing down her cheek.

"See?"

Terrell had heard of such devotion, but never actually witnessed it. "Don't ever do it again in my presence."

"Or what, Captain? I am the Chief Administrator on this planet. You are in my jurisdiction." Prollet met challenge with challenge.

"I'm quite capable of filing charges on her behalf, and I'm quite capable of relieving you of your duties on this Federation colony, per Starfleet Order 104, Section J, Paragraph 2B."

"You wouldn't dare," Prollet blustered.

"Try me."

The two stared at each other for a very long time. The color of Prollet's face changed to deepest red. The administrator broke eye contact first and found his wife still standing there, unmoving. He nodded, and the female walked to the communication console and began setting it up for transmission. "I intend to file a formal protest about your interference in my personal life to your superiors," he informed Terrell.

"My pleasure, sir."

*****

"I'm surprised Security hasn't responded to that explosion, Steven," Chekov offered as he aimed his hand spot down the smoke-filled hallway.

"You have to do what you have to do," Kelowitz responded. "Or did you want to stay in that room?"

"No, that was the right-sized hammer," Chekov answered. "You said this vway?"

"Yes, sir. After you." The security chief indicated, activating his tricorder and scanning ahead for any further surprises.

They climbed two sets of dimly lit, dusty stairs before coming to the right level and another closed door.

"It's on this level, sir," Kelowitz reported, letting the tricorder hang and pulling out his phaser.

"Vwait, Kelowitz," Chekov ordered, putting up his hand. "Let's try..." He grabbed the handle and twisted. It turned easily. He pulled, and it opened with a creak. "Hammer's are not always needed."

The phaser was returned to its holster, and Kelowitz followed Chekov's departing back, tricorder back up and on. Chekov stopped and looked at the door on his left. Kelowitz stopped and scanned the room. "That's it, Pavel. The computer interface room."

"No kidding, Steven." Chekov moved up to the door and wiped away the cob-webs that covered the front of it. In big bold letters could be read the words: "Computer Interface". He opened the door and entered.

The room was lit with the blinking and flashing of the massive interface modules that served to connect the entire planet's operations. "Now vwhere do you think the memory back-up is?"

Kelowitz scanned the room and headed off through the humming machinery. He wove his way through the maze turning many times to squeeze through some spaces almost closed with conduits. He ended up on the far side of the room, staring at a wall of blinking lights. Centered in the middle was a small alcove which contained an interface keyboard and a monitor. "I think that's it, sir."

"Da. Me, too," Chekov sat down at the terminal and powered it up. "Damn," he whispered a moment later.

"What, sir?"

"It wants an access code."

"Not a problem, sir." Kelowitz activated his tricorder. "These colonies can never afford state-of-the-art stuff. The tricorder should be able to find you one in a moment."

The miniature scanning device whistled for a moment, then stopped.

"Ah, here we go." Kelowitz reached over Chekov's shoulder and tapped in a series of numbers and letters and entered them. The screen went blank then filled with the main menu.

"Thanks, Kelowitz," Chekov answered, going to work.

*****

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Terrell yelled, but it was lost in the cacophony of the room full of people. What I wouldn't give for an antique firearm right now, he thought as he shook his head, still feeling some of the irritation he'd felt after his confrontation with Prollet. They always work in the holovids. "Ladies and gentlemen, please!"

All of a sudden, the room filled with a discordant electronic scream of a tricorder on overload. Everyone brought their hands to their ears, cringing. The scream stopped, but had served its purpose, the room was quiet.

"Thank you, Mister Beach. Gentlemen, if you'll find a seat, we can get started."

There was great mumbling as everyone turned to find one of the chairs that had been dragged into Prollet's office while they waited for the mine owners and staff to arrive.

Terrell leaned over to McCoy. "Is he here?"

"Who, sir?"

"Damn it, Doctor! The one that you noted the discrepancy with during our last questioning session. The Collins fellow."

McCoy glanced around the room, but didn't see him. "No, sir. I don't see him."

Terrell raised his voice so everyone in the room could hear him. "Mister Prollet, is everyone here now?"

"Owners and staff. Yes, Captain."

"I asked for the computer staff as well."

Prollet looked around the room and his gaze locked onto someone sitting near the back. "You," he pointed, "you're the staff supervisor. Are all your operators here?"

"All but one, sir."

"Who's missing?"

"Just one of the terminal operators. He went home; said something about a sick family member."

Terrell interrupted Prollet. "When?"

"Why, just before we were called in here."

"Who was he?"

"Collins, sir."

"Damn," Terrell whispered under his breath. Then louder, "I want someone to go and pick him up."

"But, Captain, surely this meeting doesn't have to hinge on just one terminal operator?" Prollet protested.

I've got to give Chekov all the time I can, so he can find the evidence in their records that will point out the perpetrators. "Yes, it does, but we can start. Be advised, Prollet: no one will leave until that man is accounted for and brought here, no matter what transpires in the meantime."

"Captain, I must protest." Prollet looked around the room in an attempt to gain tacit support from them. "Their time is valuable."

"So is the security of the Federation," Terrell responded, ready now to open the meeting.

That got everyone's attention, Terrell noted. The room was a quiet as a tomb.

"Ah, Captain." Prollet had a smile on his face, his vocal qualities patronizing. "I agree; the Caldonians caused us some setbacks here with their attack, but I fail to see how that endangers the security of the entire Federation."

"No," Terrell returned, remaining patient even though his hatred of this manipulative wretch was smoldering within his heart. "But the sale of a controlled substance--such as topaline--to the Romulans does."

The room erupted in discussion between the occupants. There were many explosions of "No!" and "Not us!" from the tumult. One of the miners angrily shouted at Prollet. "Are the captain's accusations true? Why haven't you mentioned this to us?!"

The landing party from the Reliant lined up behind Terrell and waited out the storm. He, on the other hand, did nothing to stop the random discussions from continuing, especially the veiled accusations directed at Prollet. Any time used up in this fashion gave Chekov more opportunity to discover what was needed to expose the leader of this end of the black-market connection.

Finally, Prollet managed to bring order to the room. Centered in front of the rest, he faced Terrell. "Surely, Captain, you don't hold the word of the Caldonians over ours, fellow Humans?"

Every eye in the room locked onto Terrell.

Prollet's bigotry, so outspoken and supported by those sitting behind him, disgusted Terrell, but he didn't let this emotion show on his face or be reflected in his measured response. "I will not allow your bigotry toward the species of our informants to cloud my response. It is illegal, and, more importantly, immoral." Terrell stepped up to Prollet, only centimeters separating them and locked gazes with him. "I will not let any more of your bigoted remarks into this investigation. Do you understand?" he said, his voice lowered such that no one else in the room heard him.

"You Terrans would think that way," Prollet retorted, his voice also quieted.

"And what does that mean?"

"I think you know."

Terrell shook his head and turned, returning to his position in front of his landing party. Turning he addressed the room's occupants, ignoring Prollet, who was still standing where he'd left him. "The Caldonians have presented proof that they acted only in self preservation. Because of topaline from this colony, the Romulans have begun building bases close to their borders. They can't stop the Romulans, but they can cut off their supply of this rare material." The captain addressed his landing party without letting his gaze leave the colonists. "Mister Beach, show them the Caldonian evidence."

This will give us an hour to present the evidence and probably two more in discussion before they finally push me to consider it only supporting evidence since no where in it do they identify the crew of the ship from this colony. Exec, you have three hours to find evidence from this end of the topaline connection.

*****

"Aha!" Chekov exclaimed, staring intently at the screen. "I've found you, you dirty Cossacks."

"What's that, sir?" Kelowitz asked, standing behind him. He'd been watching their back trail through the interface terminals, but Chekov's exclamation had gotten his attention.

"The crew of the freighter that meets the Yridian."

"Wow! They hid their tracks well. It's taken over an hour to find them," Kelowitz observed.

"They're tricky all right," Chekov commented absent-mindedly as he continued to input search parameters. "Their books are immaculate; everything accounted for, et cetera, et cetera, but their load manifests are where they tripped up."

"How's that?"

"Again, it's not that they were outright in their error. I searched the load manifests of every ship in their freighter fleet and again everything looked correct, but then something odd caught my attention." Chekov didn't let his conversation with Kelowitz slow down his input of commands. "Whoever in their organization is responsible for hiding the paper trail is very good vwhen it comes to paper, but he's not very experienced in stellar navigation."

Kelowitz's thoughts screamed at him. I wish he'd hurry up and tell me what he knows. Commander Spock really had an effect on him while he worked for him on the Enterprise. The urge to yawn grew in him, and he finally fell to its influence.

Chekov chuckled when he heard Kelowitz's reaction. "Okay, Commander. I'm getting to it." He pulled up the record he'd found that had clued him. "This is the log of freighter number PS-4473. I found it by entering the time our black marketeers had to have loaded up in order to meet the Yridian when they did, assuming a warp two maximum speed. You'll see it was scheduled to proceed to the Federation holding facilities in the Antares system."

Kelowitz read the log and found nothing amiss with it. "Okay. So?"

"Nothing by itself, but eight hours later, the same