Korgh glared at the alien, who he had since learned belonged to a race called the Benzites. “Vex me again, ugly, and I will shove that mouthpiece down your throat.”
“Touchy.” Lallabus toggled a control on an interface, and the faux Korgh disappeared. “It looks like they’ve added some detail to our character for the next scene, Master Jilaan.”
“Excellent. If you’re ready, give us a show.” Jilaan folded up the message—and it seemed to disappear in her hands. She looked at Korgh. “Lallabus is my apprentice.”
Lallabus stepped into the corner where the false Korgh had been. He clapped his fingers together—and an instant later was transformed into a Klingon male. He looked different from Korgh; his hair and beard were fuller, and his cranial ridges were softer. When he spoke, his voice sounded not like the Benzite, but rather a booming Klingon orator. “I am Kahless, and I have returned!”
The transformed Lallabus continued, striking a heroic pose. “The fight tempers a warrior and makes him stronger.”
Korgh laughed out loud. “What is this, a joke?”
“What is wrong?” Lallabus-Kahless said. “Didn’t I say it right?”
“There is nothing right here,” Korgh said. “It is the hunt, not the fight—and you should not be saying it. These are our words.”
“Understood,” Jilaan said. “We took the dialogue from a Federation text on Kahless’s life.”
Korgh laughed. “What would they know?”
“Point taken. But how does he look?”
“Terrible. He barely resembles a Klingon.” He started walking toward the false Kahless; Jilaan nodded to the guards to let him advance. Korgh grabbed at the fake Klingon’s arm. It felt real, more substantial than the Korgh model from earlier. “You have also made him look an undernourished weakling.”
Jilaan nodded. “I told you, we haven’t had a good model. That’s a mix of imagery we’ve obtained and materials from historic records. We’re planning to use some of your physiognomy to inform the model.”
“The problem only starts there,” Korgh said. “He does not sound like Kahless at all.”
“But Kahless lived more than a thousand years ago,” said Lallabus in his modified voice.
“And all Klingons know not just his words, but the circumstances in which he said them. We know what he must have sounded like.” Korgh looked back at Jilaan. “You will never fool a single Klingon with this—this thing.”
“Oh, we don’t intend to,” Jilaan said. “It is to fool the Kinshaya during our last scene in the temple. So we can rob the offertory.”
Korgh stared. “You mean this is all for money?”
“And the story.” Jilaan raised her hands, self-effacing. “We’ve got repairs to make—and a treasure vault could come in handy.” She gestured, and a technician touched a control to dispel the unconvincing Kahless illusion. “We’ve got a lot of work to do in a short time, Korgh. These gentlemen will accompany you to your cell. You can rest easy until we have time to drop you—”
Korgh spun and punched Lallabus squarely in the face. The Benzite slammed against the wall and fell, choking on part of his own breathing apparatus. “That is for presuming to impersonate Kahless,” Korgh said as the guards rushed to restrain him.
Jilaan hurried to her fallen apprentice’s side, joined by a medic. After a few minutes, she rose and glared at Korgh. “Hotheaded fool! You broke his proboscis—and the unit lacerated his tongue badly. He won’t be able to speak for a week!”
“A shame,” Korgh said, flanked by the guards. “If you decide you need someone who actually knows something about Kahless to appear in your final scene—for a share of the fortune—I will be in my cell.”
U.S.S. EXCELSIOR
ORBITING YONGOLOR
While Ambassador Dax found President Ra-ghoratreii less objectionable than most Federation politicians, his timing left something to be desired. The hail for Dax had arrived at the same time he had convinced young Tuvok to open up. Dax had hurried to take the call—whereupon he had learned that Starfleet Intelligence had detected a mobilization of the Kinshaya battle fleet. It came as no surprise to Dax. It was hard to argue peace in someone’s house when a god of war was staying in the guest room.
Tuvok had surprised Dax later that evening by contacting him, asking to continue their conversation now that he’d had the chance to gather his research. The ensign presented it to Dax in his guest quarters.
The Trill read the final line of the report. “You believe there is a vessel—”
“Not necessarily a vessel.”
“—something under cloak—”
“Not necessarily under cloak.”
“—something our sensors detected in orbit of Yongolor,” Dax said. “And you believe it is projecting some kind of signal that nobody’s ever seen before, down to the Temple of the Gods to produce an illusion.”
“Yes, ambassador, that is my theory,” Tuvok replied.
“Holographic technology?” Dax shook his head. “This looked real. Something that convincing is years off. Maybe decades.”
“I have no facts for speculating about the method. I can only claim to have detected a possible means of projecting a signal.”
“What is the motive?” Dax frowned. “Why would someone try to start a war?”
“The goal may be something we do not understand,” Tuvok said. “It appears to be a common truth that sentient life-forms seek advantage through imitation. Many use mimicry for protection, profiting from their resemblance to dangerous predators—or beings that are poisonous or otherwise unpalatable.”
Dax grinned. “Avoiding a jealous husband by dressing as the local tax collector, eh?”
“I do not take your meaning.” Tuvok went on, “But there are also examples of creatures using mimicry aggressively. The gurda worm of Risa twists itself into the shape of a coiled stoneflower, so as to tempt insects into its maw. And the zone-tailed hawk on Earth so resembles a turkey vulture that it flocks with them, in order to surprise animals that think the vultures harmless.”
“Those crazy hawks.”
“Most of these creatures lack higher brain functions. Have they somehow reasoned the relationship between two other beings and used that to advantage? Or has evolution simply favored the hawks that most resemble vultures and which flock with them?”
“Are these the questions that keep you up nights, Tuvok?”
“I sleep adequately.”
Dax gestured toward the door. “Lead me to the club, and while I look to see what’s available, you can tell me more about zone-tailed gurdy worms.”
Tuvok gathered up his evidence. “If the report is correct that war is approaching, I must go to my superior. If the signal I detected is indeed generating the illusions in the temple, perhaps the science and engineering divisions can find a means of interdiction.”
Dax followed him into the corridor. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take this to Captain Sulu?”
“No, Ambassador,” Tuvok said. “There is a process in place. Either my arguments are logical, or they are not. I trust in the mechanisms Starfleet has developed.” He turned and went on his way.
I gave up on bureaucracies lifetimes ago, Dax mused. But he’s young. The Trill headed for the turbolift, intent on making sure that whoever needed a nudge would get one. Chain of command might be the Prime Directive for Starfleet officers, but Dax had a few rules of his own.
Thirty-nine
TEMPLE OF THE GODS
YONGOLOR
“Niamlar, save us! Save your faithful followers!”
The Kinshaya petitioners wailed, and for good reason: Kahless lived again. Or, rather, that was who the Kinshaya thought was in the Temple of the Gods—thanks to the quick work Jilaan’s truthcrafters had done. Korgh appeared as Kahless, bat’leth held high, threatening the beast Niamlar from a dais on her own platform.
“Silence, vermin—or I will feast on your hearts!” His voice boomed. Korgh had to admit he liked the sound th
ey’d created for him—along with everything else.
Korgh had figured out that while Jilaan’s party wasn’t the only group of truthcrafters, Zamloch was the largest vessel in their peculiar trade. It was able to project larger characters and settings—and, importantly, it could haul away more loot. After Jilaan agreed to his terms, Korgh had assisted her programmers in designing the authentic-looking bat’leth he now appeared to hold, as well as the robe of white hides he seemed to wear.
After the ship’s sensors had confirmed the arrival of an impressive amount of wealth into the temple, Jilaan had reappeared to them as Niamlar. She had been in the middle of a prepared speech when Korgh had transported down. Whereas the truthcrafters’ tricks had made his earlier departure appear as the result of consumption by fire, this time they had disguised their transporter effect to make it seem as if coalescing smoke had given birth to “Kahless.” He and Jilaan had then launched into their repartee.
“I stand for all Klingons, Niamlar! You may be large, but my sinews hold the power of my entire race!”
“Klingon wretch! You foul this holy place with your presence.” Niamlar’s colossal form circled the platform, giving her enemy a wide berth. “Pontifex, I will battle this devil—but I require a show of your devotion.”
“Command us!” said Urawak. The other Kinshaya picked up on it. “Command us!”
“Every Kinshaya in the Order must go to the streets. Raise statues to my wonder, create monuments to my name. Your faith will give me the power to dispel this horror.”
“At once!”
“Return tomorrow when the sun is high above the temple. But hear me, O devoted ones. Should any Kinshaya step inside before, that one’s lack of faith will cost all.”
A stampede followed, with Kinshaya racing for the exit in full religious fervor.
Korgh waited for the noise to abate. He gazed upon the great serpent-thing, now not fearsome in the least. “Did they truly believe you?”
“They did. Napeans are empathic, my young friend. I know.”
“What now?”
“We wait until Zamloch gives the word. Once there are no life signs in the temple, we will beam down our team to tag and transport the treasury.”
Korgh looked at the bat’leth in his hands. So real, and yet nonexistent. The technology, as near as he could tell, was the product of a multispecies effort and the possession of no single state. Obtaining cloaking equipment had been vitally important for the Empire, and yet the ability to make things disappear paled before the power to make something look like anything—or someone look like anyone. It might be more valuable than any treasure in the temple, if he could learn it.
Jilaan’s monstrous incarnation spoke again. “I just received a call in my earpiece from Zamloch. The building is empty, but for us. We may now—”
Korgh spotted a glow out of the corner of his eye. Transporter beams deposited four figures in the temple. It was the Starfleet party he had quickly glimpsed earlier: a captain, two security officers, and someone dressed as a civilian.
“I am Captain Hikaru Sulu, of U.S.S. Excelsior,” called the dark-haired human.
The name startled Korgh. He had heard it after the trial: Sulu was part of the renegade group that had confronted Commander Kruge on the Genesis Planet. He’d known Excelsior was in orbit; he’d seen it from Zamloch and been amused at the Starfleeters’ obliviousness. The thought that Starfleet had rewarded another of Kirk’s co-conspirators with a command left a putrid taste in his mouth. But even if he could trust the illusory weapon in his hands, a crevasse separated him from the visitors.
Jilaan seemed to roll with the interruption. “You trespass in this holiest of places, Federation trash. Begone, while you still breathe.”
“We’re breathing fine, thanks,” said the civilian. “Just a little smoky in here.” He flashed an awkward smile. “Oh, sorry. Ambassador Curzon Dax, at your service. Our sensors said everyone had left the building—except you two. We thought there might be a problem.”
Jilaan’s creature form stalked the perimeter of the platform. “What did your mortal sensors say about us?”
Sulu spoke up. “That he’s a Klingon—and you’re a very large being, generating warmth.”
“The fires burn within. Would you taste them?”
“That’s not necessary. We have several theories we could share about how you might be generating life signs—and heat—but we’re not supposed to be here right now,” Sulu pointed out. “You’re not, either, which makes it appropriate for us to act.”
“Act?” Korgh asked. “Act how?” He raised his bat’leth. “I welcome a fight!”
“Don’t bother,” the captain said. “Instead, in a few moments, Excelsior is going to begin bombarding the ship you have in orbit with every kind of particle we can imagine—and there are quite a few of those. Whatever it is you’re using to project your presence here, we’re pretty sure we can disrupt it.”
“Do your worst!” Korgh yelled.
“Umm . . .”
Korgh looked back at Jilaan. “What?”
“This Excelsior. I have never seen its like before.”
“First ship of its class,” Dax said. “And a fine dining room.”
“So it is new. What does it matter?” Korgh asked Jilaan.
The creature was silent. “I think,” Dax said, “your large friend wants to say she doesn’t know how our bombardment will affect your presence here. And whether it would hurt you or not, I suspect we could do it at a most inconvenient time. Say, the next time you appear here to the Kinshaya.”
“Hah!” Korgh said. “We are leaving as soon as we—” He stopped.
“And if you’re thinking about sending anyone here for this,” Sulu said, gesturing around to the riches, “I can get more security forces here in a hurry. A lot more. We’re trespassing already. Forty more officers won’t make a difference.”
Jilaan’s giant body tensed, as if preparing to strike. But Korgh knew very well there was no chance of that happening. There was just an old woman manipulating some malleable force fields, along with some quickly agitating microfields to generate the illusion of body heat.
“This round to you, Captain Sulu,” Jilaan said. The platform glowed around Korgh, resolving back into the nothingness it really was—and they were beamed away.
ZAMLOCH
ORBITING YONGOLOR
Korgh looked like his old self when he appeared on the ship’s transporter pad. He also wore his old expression: disgust.
“Where are you going?” he asked as Jilaan stepped off the pad. “We could still transport up some of the riches. Get something from all this!”
“I’m more concerned with what we might lose,” Jilaan said. She looked back, and he saw a gentle sadness on her face. “The Federation’s expansion has made our Circle’s lot difficult, Korgh. With all the Starfleet busybodies running around, we’ve been forced to spend and spend to continue improving our technology—all the while, focusing only on simple cultures that the Prime Directive doesn’t allow Starfleet to interfere with.” She sighed. “It has become tiresome—and not at all fun. I had hoped with the Kinshaya we might have a chance once again against an advanced civilization.”
“You chose well,” Korgh said. “There is no more foolish race traveling the stars.”
He caught a trace of a smile from her. Then it faded. “Perhaps someone else can try the Kinshaya again one day. But we must go—while we still can.”
Forty
U.S.S. EXCELSIOR
STARBASE 24
Curzon Dax found Tuvok waiting in the transporter room to see him off to his next assignment. The Trill grinned. “Forget science, Ensign—you should try security. You figured it out. ‘Niamlar’ went away and hasn’t come back.”
“Were the Kinshaya appreciative?”
“They kicked us off their planet.” Dax laughed and raised his palms upward. “The Pontifex publicly blamed us for the apparition leaving.”
“She
did not accept a scientific explanation?”
“The appearance of even a false god advanced her personal cause.”
“Then my discovery solved nothing,” Tuvok countered.
Dax studied the science officer. “Hey, friend, are you all right? Something’s been bugging you, I can tell.”
“I am still trying to decide whether Starfleet is the best use of my skills,” Tuvok replied. “It was not my idea to enter the Academy.”
“You sound like a man with a dilemma.”
“It would only be a problem if it harmed the performance of my duties. It has not.”
“Listen, Tuvok, I may not look it, but I’ve got a lot of experience,” Dax said. “I can tell you it does no good to sit around waiting for the right path to appear.”
“You think I should make a change? Ask the captain for a transfer?”
“Oh, you should definitely make a change,” Dax said, stepping onto the transporter pad. “But don’t change ships. Change your approach. I happen to think your captain is all right. Give him a chance. Make sure he sees you. Polish the apple a little bit.” Dax put up his hand preemptively. “And don’t ask me what cleaning citrus has to do with anything. I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve seen a lot. Give me my expressions.”
“I would never have asked that question,” Tuvok said. “But I must point out that the apple is part of the rose family.”
Dax chuckled. “You’re wonderful, Ensign. Don’t ever change.”
“I thought you were advising change.”
“Exactly.” Dax smiled. “Energize.”
ZAMLOCH
DEEP SPACE
Anxious to make sure Excelsior wasn’t following them, Jilaan and her truthcrafters had charted a roundabout course away from Yongolor toward parts unknown. While disappointed about the lost loot, Korgh understood their concern. Every technological leap made by Starfleet or another power represented an existential threat to her operation.
He had no idea how old Jilaan was, but it was clear she had spent half her life trying to better her rivals and the other half trying to stay ahead of the people who could smoke her out. Her quest differed from his, and while Korgh still did not understand what she took from it, he respected the drive she and her people displayed.
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