The Jackal's Trick

by John Jackson Miller

  La Forge took the tricorder. “The same, all right—and hugely amplified.” To the side, Aggadak touched a control on an interface—and Tuvok returned to normal. “Emissions gone,” La Forge said. He looked back to the chamber—and then smiled at Tuvok.

  Tuvok took his tricorder back with satisfaction. “Q.E.D.”

  “What does that mean?” Aggadak asked. “Some Vulcan thing?”

  “He means,” La Forge said, “that we’ve come to the right place. And we hope you can tell us in a few hours everything you’ve figured out about this ship in ten years.”

  Forty-six

  LANKAL EXPANSE

  KLINGON EMPIRE

  This time Valandris had no compunctions about the Unsung’s manner of attack. The lumbering Klingon behemoth Ark of G’boj appeared from warp with its shields already up; it seemed a ship delivering precious goods spent every moment on high alert. As Kruge had foretold, the vessel sported a prominent transmitter array: it had to be taken out immediately. The Lankal Expanse was a majestic-sounding name for a large region of absolutely nothing, but this deep inside the Empire there was no telling how many battle cruisers were an emergency hail away. Two birds-of-prey appointed to the task blew the assembly to bits.

  There had been no tactical choice but to fire without warning—but this time, strategy called for several of the vessels to decloak. Still reeling from the destruction of their transmitter array, the Ark of G’boj would have seen the Rodak decloaking dead ahead, weapons energized. Simultaneously, five other Phantom Wing vessels appeared aft and to the sides of the transport. The cargo transport wasn’t built for high-speed evasion; Kruge’s plan removed the option entirely.

  The next move went to Valandris, beaming aboard the transport’s engineering section with a team from Chu’charq. With swift and deadly accuracy, her forces eradicated anyone who might have the capacity to scuttle the transport—and that meant everybody. Within minutes, the teams transported forward by other birds-of-prey reported that they, too, had eliminated all opposition.

  Stepping over bodies to reach the bridge, Valandris recognized Weltern, one of Thane’s most skilled hunters and the ostensible leader of the team from Latorkh. Pregnant and not far from her due date, Weltern had been unable to impersonate any of the Sentries of Spirits’ Forge. By acclimation, she had been given the much-desired assignment of taking the transport’s bridge.

  “It looks like you got the better fight,” Valandris said, surveying the dead. “The engineers we saw weren’t much.”

  “I’d rather have faced the Sentries.” She patted her stomach. “Could be my last fight for a while.”

  Valandris checked the control screens. No alarm had been sent. Ark of G’boj had suffered no internal damage from the strikes on the transmitter, and its warp drive was undamaged.

  She activated her communicator. “Chu’charq. Lord Kruge, we have the traitor’s ship.” Remembering what she had seen in the hold, she gave a satisfied chuckle. “It carries all that he was expecting and more.”

  The man himself answered. “Sweep the ship for tracking devices that might attract the Empire here. I will inspect the ship in my own time.”

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL CHU’CHARQ

  LANKAL EXPANSE, KLINGON EMPIRE

  It had been all Cross could do not to start dancing as he left the bridge—but it would have been very strange for Kruge. Instead, he solemnly stepped back into the ready room behind the bridge and sealed the door behind him. Shift was there, appearing as herself and watching the sensor feeds coming in from the Ark of G’boj’s hold.

  Her eyes goggled. “I’ve never seen so much gold-pressed latinum in my life.”

  “Considering the places you’ve seen, that means something.” Cross snapped his fingers and dispelled Blackstone’s Kruge projection. “You’ll be able to buy and sell anyone who ever bought and sold you.”

  Shift gave him a chilly look, but it didn’t last. There was too much joy to be had. Gaw was speaking in his ear, having intercepted the feed. It sounded like a party was going on in Blackstone, which sat cloaked not far from the treasure ship. “I’ve got people over here licking the windows.”

  “Hang on, hang on,” Cross said. “There’s a couple of steps left.”

  Valandris had confirmed what Korgh had told them about Ark of G’boj. The booty aboard the transport would never fit on a dozen Blackstones; it had to be taken somewhere for unloading. However, the vessel’s systems were hardwired to only accept the next preprogrammed destination.

  A keycode was required. Gaw transmitted the planned signal indicating the need to confab. Minutes later, Cross’s secure portable computer activated with a Blackstone-relayed comm signal from Korgh.

  The digitally masked image on the small screen was barely identifiable as a Klingon. Cross held the communicator in front of one of the screens depicting Ark of G’boj’s treasure-stuffed hold. “I’ve got to hand it to you, ‘my lord’—you sure know how to spread the wealth!”

  Korgh growled in exasperation. “You are aboard the bird-of-prey? I thought you would call from the transport.”

  Cross smirked. “Yeah, I thought it would be wise to have the Unsung give the ship a once-over. We’re nearing the end of our little partnership. I don’t want any surprises.”

  “The feeling is mutual. Search away. You will find that the vessel holds what I said it did.”

  “It’s money well spent. I’ve done everything you asked. I’ve played the Unsung like a baby grand piano.”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind. All we need from you now is the code to unlock the Ark’s navigation systems so we can send it on its way.”

  “Stand by.”

  Cross’s computer received a code. He glanced at it. “Okay, we’re going to check that system too. Just in case your little code triggers rabid targs to pop out of trapdoors.”

  “You have become paranoid, Cross.”

  “I have half the Klingon Empire chasing me—not to mention Starfleet, which could easily have shot me down at H’atoria. My paranoia is quite healthy.” Cross straightened. “Okay, that takes care of Ark of G’boj. We’re down to the last act: disposing of the Unsung. Have you decided where you want me to send them?”

  “Ghora Janto.”

  “Ghora Janto,” Cross repeated, making a note. “Nice to have a name for their happy hunting ground.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I heard it in Peter Pan—the Earth story. It’s the place where you’re going turn the Unsung into unpeople.”

  “I will be happy to be done with your bizarre quotations.”

  Cross chuckled. “Oh, you love a good line. You know more about acting than you’re letting on, Korgh. I know you worked with Jilaan.”

  “Who?”

  “On Yongolor, nearly a century ago. Are we going to waste time?”

  Korgh went silent for several moments. “What gave you this idea?” he finally asked.

  “Jilaan described your adventure to one of the Circle’s convocations—and it got entered into the records. She didn’t use your real name, don’t worry—but the details match up. It was you.”

  “That was . . . a long time ago.”

  Cross looked to Shift excitedly. “He did know her!” He turned back to the screen. “I envy you, Korgh. She was gone before I could meet her.”

  “She was a skilled person who knew her trade, if it can be called that. And she was by no means as undisciplined as you are.”

  “Well, if knowing what practitioners can do led you to seek me out, then it worked for both of us. And,” Cross said pointedly, “it means you know how important it is for the Circle to keep its secrets.”

  “I have no interest in undermining your childish little stunts. If you send the Unsung to Ghora Janto, nothing more need pass between us.” Korgh paused. “Is that all?”

  Shift nudged Cross. Ask him, she mouthed.

  “Korgh, I know you haven’t wanted to discuss the long game—and it’s no
business of ours. But we’re dying to know where all this has been going. You’ve already won back your house. What’s the rest been about?”

  “You should be able to guess,” Korgh said. “You’ve been playing at being Kruge long enough to know his views. He desired primacy for the Klingons—and he detested the Federation.”

  “So this has all been about throwing out the Accords? You want war?”

  “I already have the war that I want—with the Unsung. And I have engineered the exact response I wanted. The example of the Unsung has inspired other discommendated fools to act in a similar manner. A diaspora of despair threatening all places that have taken them in, Klingon or otherwise.”

  “Ooh, I like ‘diaspora of despair,’ ” Cross said. “And we’ve heard broadcasts with some of the stories. It’s flattering, being imitated.”

  “It takes only a few imitators to create a backlash. Spirits’ Forge has amplified it. All governments are now on alert. A coalition has formed to hunt the Unsung, with the Typhon Pact assisting the Klingon Empire. The Federation hunts the exiles, too—but it is distrusted by all for having unleashed the problem in the first place.”

  Cross laughed. “I’m sure you had something to do with that.”

  “I gave you the flint to start the fire—and I fanned the flames.”

  Shift looked as if she were slowly piecing together the implications. She spoke cautiously. “You . . . intend the Empire to join the Typhon Pact?”

  “The apprentice speaks,” Korgh said, irritation in his voice. “Cross, must I be bothered with this person?”

  “She asked what I was about to,” Cross said. “What’s the answer?”

  “Pacts and accords are unimportant. What matters is that the Klingon Empire wins any conflict it is in—and that the Empire is at the forefront of whatever ‘side’ it is on. Klingons lead.”

  Shift’s eyes narrowed. “I . . . always heard that the Typhon Pact powers were all equal within the group. If you join with them, they will never—” She paused and started again, sounding less confident. “From what I’ve heard, there are no senior and junior members. Are there?”

  Korgh laughed. “The Kinshaya are animals to be hunted—and the Gorn are a third-class power if there ever was one. The Tzenkethi and Tholians hardly matter to Beta Quadrant politics. And if the Romulans were what they were before Shinzon, they wouldn’t have needed a Pact in the first place.”

  “But what of the Breen?”

  “What of them? Any culture where you cannot tell between the members is one where individual feats do not matter. The Breen are born lackeys, woman, nothing more.”

  “Well, color me impressed,” Cross said, smiling. “It sounds as if you’ve shuffled the deck—and given the Klingon Empire the best hand.”

  “I don’t know what you mean—but I have no more time for this. We will not speak again, Cross. If you try to contact or otherwise extort me in any way, you will not live to regret your error. Good-bye.”

  Cross chuckled. “And I thought I was under stress. He’s ready to pop.” He looked to Shift, who appeared lost in thought. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m . . . just wondering about your Kahless plan. Can we wrap this up without finding the clone?”

  Cross shrugged. “Didn’t you hear? We may not have to find him. If the emperor is still aboard, Korgh will do the dirty work for us.”

  Forty-seven

  HOUSE OF KRUGE INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND

  KETORIX PRIME, KLINGON EMPIRE

  Korgh stared out across the shipyard, the shifting light casting shadows into his darkened office. He had returned from Qo’noS to Ketorix that morning to consult with Odrok and make his final preparations. He had placed the final call to Cross—and now the instrument of his ultimate success had arrived.

  It was time. “Lorath, the Unsung are headed for Ghora Janto.”

  “Ghora Janto? Father, are you sure?”

  “I am.” Korgh turned to see his son the general looking back at him from the doorway. As soon as he’d learned the Unsung had arrived at the Lankal Expanse, Korgh had called for the clandestine meeting; Lorath, ever dutiful, had raced to Ketorix aboard the V’raak. He gestured for his son to take the seat in the center of the office. “The Ghora Janto refueling station. If you lay a trap for them there, you can destroy the whole accursed squadron.”

  “How do you know?” Pausing, Lorath rephrased the question. “And how would you know?”

  “Indeed, no other could.” Korgh stepped toward his desk. “You remember I found the schematics for the Phantom Wing in Commander Kruge’s old files. I turned them over immediately to Chancellor Martok.”

  “Of course,” Lorath said. “It was right to do.”

  It was right for Korgh’s plans; he would not have done it otherwise. Releasing the files had been a calculated act, getting out ahead of the Enterprise’s discovery of the hidden hangar on Gamaral. His next act would similarly craft events his way. “I have recently discovered another file,” Korgh said, “relating to a subsystem not mentioned in the original plans.” He picked up a padd and walked it to his son. “Read this.”

  Lorath did. He shook his head. “This is amazing.” He looked up. “A way to find the Phantom Wing—from anywhere! This was there all along?”

  “Yes.” Korgh wandered the room. “All those years ago, Kruge’s designers devised a stealth positioning system unique to the Phantom Wing vessels. While cloaked, each bird-of-prey broadcasts a microburst detailing its location to the others every ten seconds. Every transmission is on a different subspace frequency and it is otherwise indistinguishable from cosmic background noise.”

  “Unless you know the algorithm telling you where to listen. Each ship has it—and you have it?”

  “It is in your hand.” Korgh walked back to the window and pointed to the night sky. “I applied it to the house’s network of satellites. They say the path leads to the refueling outpost at Ghora Janto.”

  “A natural move. It is remote and lightly defended—and they are sure to need fuel sometime.” Lorath curled a fist in excitement and rose. “I must tell the Defense Force immediately.”

  “No!” Korgh crossed the room and grabbed for his son’s arm. “This information must be for you alone, Lorath. Trust no one else.”

  “Why? Our military—”

  “Could be infiltrated with Unsung sympathizers. If they were here in our factory, they could be anywhere. We will only have this opportunity to strike the Unsung once.”

  Lorath frowned. Korgh knew his eldest son had never been one to buck authority or to strike out on his own. This was why he was laying greatness in the general’s path now. Lorath simply had to seize it.

  “What of our allies?” he asked.

  “Allies? What allies?”

  “The Federation.”

  “Ah. I thought you meant the others helping in the search.” Korgh shrugged. “I suppose if the Romulans and the Breen arrive in time to assist, that would be good—after Spirits’ Forge, they may think it their right. But only after you have engaged the Unsung with your forces. The right of revenge belongs to us.”

  Korgh watched as Lorath stared at the padd. At last, he heard a hint of aspiration in his son’s voice. “To be the one who finds them . . .”

  “You must spare no one,” Korgh said, stepping in so his face was centimeters from his son’s. “The Federation will want to capture the Unsung, not kill them. This is exactly why I do not wish them involved. If Potok’s rebels had been executed after Gamaral a century ago, none of this would have ever happened. Even a single cultist left alive could become a hero to the discommendated. We would never have peace.”

  Lorath nodded. “Father, you are wise.”

  “You will know what to do. And if, by chance, they get the upper hand—contact me.”

  “What can you do?”

  Korgh responded with a cagey smile. “I will keep studying. I have a feeling I may discover more in those files.” Korgh clapped his hand on L
orath’s shoulder and led him out into the hallway.

  They walked in silence through the darkened atrium past the statue of Kruge. In the long corridor beyond, the two prepared to part. “I am sorry you missed young Bredak’s launch,” Korgh said. “Your boy looked strong and proud.”

  “He is proud of his grandfather,” Lorath said, “and appreciative.”

  “You have heard from him?”

  “He and Jarin are on the assignment you asked me to give him, patrolling near Gasko. There is little there for him to do, but he remains hopeful for action.” The general studied his father. “Did you want Bredak to join my forces at Ghora Janto?”

  “No. He should become a hero in his own time, in his own way. It is wrong to engineer greatness.” Korgh smiled. “Remember, tell no one of the Phantom Wing’s stealth positioning system until you are ready to strike. Then apply it as needed.”

  “I will, my lord father.”

  “Qapla’.”

  He stood outside the doorway to J’borr’s office and watched as Lorath receded into the darkness. To his left, the door opened wide. Odrok appeared, looking haggard from stress and overwork. “You still have not told him the truth,” she said.

  “He has the truth I want him to have.” Korgh looked back down the hall. “My sons and their children will have the life I would have had, if I hadn’t been forced to spend a century clawing after my name and house. My life is in eclipse. Theirs will rise. And the deception, the things I have done—they will be mine alone.”

  “Not only yours,” Odrok replied. “I have sacrificed, as you have.”

  “The end is in sight. Are you sure he will be able to use the algorithm to find the Phantom Wing?”

  “I’ve been using it all along to keep track of where they are—the same way Cross’s support ship does.” She gestured into the office that served as her secret command center; he saw the symbol indicating the Unsung squadron on the display. “The exiles know they have the system, but they assume it’s only for local use. They have no idea about the range.”

  Or the other surprise you’ve installed, Korgh thought. It was a last-ditch option, something he hoped he would not need to employ. If Lorath did his duty, there would be no need for it. He could not allow the Unsung to continue to exist. That would increase the likelihood his complicity would be discovered.