The Jackal's Trick

by John Jackson Miller

  “Fight on, my son,” Korgh called out as he stood. “I will be right back.”

  He swore loudly as he left the office. Where is Odrok?

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL RODAK

  GHORA JANTO

  “Hit them again!” Zokar shouted. “Show them who we are!”

  Worf looked at the main viewer to see another battle cruiser being pummeled at close range. Two of his guards were gone, dealing with an aft hull breach; the other two had remained inside the doorway to the bridge, mesmerized by the fight outside. A bone-shattering impact to Rodak sent a girder falling, crushing the warrior beside the engineering station. Worf rushed to aid her, and the guards hurried to assist—to no avail. She was dead. Neither guard stopped him as Worf clambered over the girder to the engineering station.

  “We are taking heavy damage,” Worf called out as he read the displays. “You must surrender—or begin transporting people off the ship.”

  “And miss this?” Zokar laughed. “Never!”

  HOUSE OF KRUGE INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND

  KETORIX PRIME, KLINGON EMPIRE

  “Odrok! Odrok, you fool, where are you?”

  Korgh passed through the kitchen into the larder. There he saw the older woman seated at the small table, her cheek pressed against the surface. A bottle sat overturned nearby. She snored—and drooled.

  In a rage, he rushed forward and seized her shoulders, pushing her up. She gurgled and woke. “Wha—?”

  “Old sot! Imbecile!” He forcibly turned the chair around, and she sagged from it. He grabbed her chin and brought her eyes up to meet his. “Where is the code to destroy the Phantom Wing?”

  Woozy, she struggled to focus on him. She started laughing. “Funny. Thought you said destroy . . .”

  “My son is in danger! The code!”

  Odrok fumbled for a pocket in her robe. On the third try she drew forth a card. “You must use the program on—”

  Korgh did not hear the rest. He ran as fast as his old legs could take him.

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL CHU’CHARQ

  GHORA JANTO

  “Score another,” Raneer said as a photon torpedo struck home. “It’ll be two cruisers out of action soon.”

  Valandris wished she felt as confident. Her tactic had worked, but at great cost. For a short but welcome time, the battle cruisers had seemed unable to target the Phantom Wing; the only fire had come from the Romulan, Breen, and Starfleet ships, and the latter were thankfully holding their weapons in reserve.

  But then the battle cruisers had opened up again. While Chu’charq had been mostly spared, the other decloaked birds-of-prey now displayed serious damage. Only T’khaz and Bregit, which had not heeded Zokar’s suggestion to decloak, thinking him a madman, were completely intact. Whatever trick the Empire was using to hit the cloaked ships was no longer working.

  “Be prepared to cloak again if things get bad,” she said. “And get the transporters ready, Hemtara. If you spot the chance to save some refugees from the other ships, take it.”

  HOUSE OF KRUGE INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND

  KETORIX PRIME, KLINGON EMPIRE

  Breathless, Korgh stumbled into J’borr’s office. With the panicked voices on the military feed in his ears, he found the appropriate program. The squadron he had helped build, which had occupied his thoughts for a century, had to die so that his son would live—and as a hero. He entered the code and hit the execute command.

  His eyes shot over to the map display, where a twinkling light indicated Phantom Wing vessels were at Ghora Janto. It blinked again—and went out.

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL RODAK

  GHORA JANTO

  “Look!” Sarken yelled.

  Across the stellar battlefield, a cloaked object burst violently into view, exploding. Sarken clung to the side of Worf’s engineering station, her fear having given way to a wild-eyed fascination at the battle.

  “That was Bregit,” Harch said. “But I didn’t see anything hit her.”

  Rodak swerved past its battle cruiser target—and Zokar pointed. “Look there. The same just happened to T’khaz? Nothing was anywhere near her!” He gaped. “Did they fly into something?”

  Worf strongly suspected a different reason. “It is the bombs. Those were the only two ships still under cloak. Someone triggered them.”

  Zokar looked back. “I do not believe it.”

  “I do not care what you believe. If you engage the cloaking device again, you will suffer the same—”

  A blast hit Rodak hard. The station Worf was at exploded, forcing him to cover the screaming Sarken with his body. Metal clanged all about, and smoke clouded the bridge.

  Looking up, he could see Rodak was not only still functioning—but, amazingly, continuing its attack run. Zokar, who had failed to arrive in time to fight the Romulans at Khitomer forty years before, sat in his command chair, his face charred by some projectile, directing the assault.

  In the din, Worf heard the warrior at the comm station shout. “Valandris hails. She wants to know if we need to be evacuated.”

  “She can to go to Gre’thor,” Zokar said. “I am not finished.”

  “Tell her yes!” Worf yelled.

  Zokar turned toward him and leered. “Running, Worf? Would Kahless approve?”

  “He would have condemned your seeking this fight in the first place. And he would not carry children to their deaths in order to settle a vendetta!”

  Zokar froze for an instant. Then he snarled and returned his attention to the fight. Worf saw the warrior at the comm station speaking, but could not hear her words to know whom she obeyed.

  U.S.S. TITAN

  GHORA JANTO

  “What happened?” Vale asked in wonder. The two cloaked birds-of-prey had simultaneously exploded for no apparent reason.

  “Antimatter explosions in both cases,” said Melora Pazlar from the science station. “Reading traces of magnetic borotenite emanating from the zero point.”

  “Torpedoes? But nothing hit them,” Riker said. “Did their own munitions go off?”

  “No way to know, sir.”

  “We’re not getting a chance to pluck off survivors,” Vale said. “We’re going to have to catch someone before they go critical.” Her eyes locked on a single bird-of-prey, heavily damaged, tangling with V’raak. “Maybe that one there—the reckless one. Chase contact number four.”

  Titan moved, following the running battle through a debris field that was quickly becoming more man-made than natural. Riker held on to a console and gritted his teeth. Worf, if you’re over there, we’re doing our best.

  Fifty-seven

  HOUSE OF KRUGE INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND

  KETORIX PRIME, KLINGON EMPIRE

  It had not worked.

  Korgh knew he had detonated the bombs aboard two of the birds-of-prey; the confirmation signals had come back, and the audio from the Defense Force feed confirmed it. It also told him that seven vessels remained, decloaked—and all dealing damage to his son’s task force.

  Lorath was no longer on the private channel; he was back on the bridge. Korgh could hear the general’s voice as he commanded the ship’s defense. A bit of good news came over the comm: a Romulan had picked off and destroyed another Phantom Wing vessel. But V’raak could not count on anyone for deliverance—and Korgh’s own attempt had evidently failed.

  Korgh reentered the code again and again, wondering what had happened. In fury, he punched the display.

  “What is happening?”

  He looked to see Odrok leaning against the doorframe, looking in. She looked pale. “You! What is wrong with you? I found you passed out in the larder.”

  “I have nowhere to sleep here.” She rubbed her temples. “You won’t give me a place.”

  “The battle is on at Ghora Janto. Lorath is in trouble—and the bombs on the Phantom Wing ships will not respond to the code!”

  Odrok stepped inside and focused on the map screen. “They must not be cloaked. The stealth positioning systems only work whe
n they are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That’s what the stealth positioning system does. It tells cloaked ships where other cloaked ships are. And it also tells us.” She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “The system is what triggers the bombs. If a Phantom Wing bird-of-prey decloaks, we have no way of getting a signal to its SPS.”

  “That’s foolish! Why would you design it in that way?”

  “You said to assume they would always be cloaked once they were on the run.” She looked back at him. “If you wanted a more robust system, you should have killed fewer of my coworkers over the years. I am your only devoted engineer left.”

  “Devoted? Devoted drunk!” Korgh turned his attention back to the battle. “Would the bombs detonate if they cloaked again?”

  “Yes, so long as they have not been discovered and disconnected.”

  That was it, Korgh thought. He had to raise Lorath again—tell him to order all the other ships present to disengage at all costs. The Unsung would either flee or regroup, cloaking in either case. That would be the end of it.

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL CHU’CHARQ

  GHORA JANTO

  “That was Latorkh the Romulans just destroyed,” Raneer said.

  Valandris’s breath cut short, remembering the friends she had aboard. “Weltern?”

  “We transported her off,” Hemtara said. “Our people are working overtime back there.”

  “They’ll have more to do.” As Chu’charq weaved through the melee, Valandris could see two other vessels were in dire straits—including one that was still attacking the lead Klingon battle cruiser even though it was on fire. Zokar had lost all sense, it had seemed: heedless even of the approach of Titan. “Tell the remaining ships to recover people from Gleft while they still can. We’re going for Rodak.”

  Raneer looked back. “Not your favorite person.”

  “He’s not the only one aboard,” Valandris said. “Go!”

  U.S.S. TITAN

  GHORA JANTO

  “What was that?” An intact bird-of-prey had just buzzed low over the hull, Vale saw, racing toward its ailing Unsung compatriot. That ship, ablaze, was tangled up again with V’raak; she worried it might not survive long enough for Titan to recover anyone alive.

  “We’ve got life signs on the damaged bird-of-prey,” Pazlar said. “All Klingon, no surprise. But shields are somehow still up.”

  “Can we disable the shields without destroying them?” Riker asked.

  “We’ll have to try,” Vale said.

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL RODAK

  GHORA JANTO

  The ship was coming apart—and inside, people were disappearing, beamed away. While guiding the wayward vessel, Harch vanished, transported through Rodak’s remaining shields. Zokar screamed Valandris’s name in anger and rushed to take the helm himself.

  Worf called out from just inside the doorway of the slowly depopulating bridge. “Zokar, you must stop the attack!”

  “Go to blazes, Worf! I die, as I should have!”

  There was no reaching the man. Worf had waited long enough. Taking Sarken’s hand in his, he exited the bridge. A small transporter room lay beyond—and escape pods past that. One had saved him in his escape from Thane. Either would do—

  —but another shock struck Rodak first, piercing the skin just ahead of the bird-of-prey’s neck. Something in the forward weapons cabinet responded by exploding.

  “Help!” Sarken screamed as explosive decompression began. Wedging his body against a support column, Worf put the girl in a bear hug and fought against the raging air currents. He clawed with his free hand, desperately seeking a hold.

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL CHU’CHARQ

  GHORA JANTO

  As Valandris’s ship raced toward the blazing wreck of Rodak—now venting to space—it seemed to accelerate away from her and toward the lead battle cruiser’s bridge. What is that maniac doing?

  “Transporter lock, deck five forward,” Hemtara yelled. “One adult, one child.”

  “That’s probably Zokar,” Valandris yelled. “Bring him straight to the bridge.” Time was almost gone. “Get them out of there!”

  HOUSE OF KRUGE INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND

  KETORIX PRIME, KLINGON EMPIRE

  There had been no time for Lorath to find a private place to speak to Korgh this time. “My lord, our forward shields are failing! What is it?”

  Odrok had her hand over her mouth as Korgh spoke. “My son, you must order your forces there—”

  Cacophony responded across the private connection, echoing over the still-active Defense Force feed. “Collision alert! All hands—”

  Static came from both audio sources. Standing, Korgh froze, his eyes wide. “Lorath, answer me! Lorath!”

  Odrok took her hand off her mouth. “What have you done? What have you done?”

  U.S.S. TITAN

  GHORA JANTO

  The renegade bird-of-prey slammed through the damaged shields directly into the battle cruiser’s bridge, igniting an inferno forward on the larger ship. The assailant shredded in the act, its component pieces dashing against V’raak’s superstructure.

  Riker stood slackjawed at what he had seen. He quashed the impulse to give a command; Vale was on top of it. “Transport teams, switch recovery efforts to V’raak.”

  “Other birds-of-prey are breaking off,” Keru announced.

  “Let Enterprise have them,” Riker said, swallowing hard. “We’re needed here.”

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL CHU’CHARQ

  GHORA JANTO

  The last year of Valandris’s life had been one surprise after another. But nothing prepared her for seeing Worf materializing on the deck in front of her feet, his body protecting Sarken’s. Both adult and child panted, having gone from a depressurizing cabin to Chu’charq’s bridge.

  “Disengage, disengage,” she said to Raneer. “Worf?”

  He looked up at her, still winded. “You cannot . . . cloak. There are bombs aboard.”

  “Bombs!”

  “They will detonate if you cloak. If you must escape, go to warp. But do not cloak.”

  Valandris blinked. Was that what had happened to Bregit and T’khaz? It was too incredible to believe. “What happened to Zokar?”

  “I did not see.” Rising, Worf looked out at the plumes of debris surrounding V’raak. “Oh,” he said. He turned Sarken so she could not see.

  Valandris stood and looked at Hemtara. “Is Zokar aboard?”

  Hemtara checked. “Not here, not aboard any of the other ships.” She had a sad expression. “We are four now.”

  Valandris could barely process the scope of the tragedies. Two-thirds of their force, wiped out—and possibly as much of their community. And while she did not understand Worf’s hand in it, she could tell from the reactions of the others aboard that they suspected his role in it. How else could he have been aboard Rodak, after having attacked the muster on Thane? Might he even have had a role in the murder of Kruge?

  “Enterprise is giving chase,” Raneer said. “Do we—I don’t know, trade him if they’ll let us get away?”

  Valandris found her disruptor and pointed it at him. “The Unsung do not bargain—and we do not need anyone to let us escape. Find your first clear lane and go to warp.”

  “What heading?”

  “I don’t know. But whatever you decide, tell the others.”

  HOUSE OF KRUGE INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND

  KETORIX PRIME, KLINGON EMPIRE

  Four birds-of-prey had escaped. Titan had taken its fill of refugees from the three stricken Klingon battle cruisers; Enterprise had been summoned back to take the rest. Riker and Titan had then followed the Unsung’s suspected escape route into warp, as had Romulan and Breen pursuers. The hunt was on again.

  Korgh was on the floor of the office, howling his son’s name and screaming for vengeance as report after report came in across the Klingon Defense Force feed. Odrok, frightened, slipped into the hallway. Korgh had been undone. His ma
chinations had killed his son. He could not imagine a more terrible sequence of events happening in a hundred years.

  But his nightmare was not over.

  Fifty-eight

  ARK OF G’BOJ

  CRAGG’S CLOUD

  “I don’t know who this G’boj guy was,” Cross said as he walked between the towers of gold-pressed latinum bricks. “But I like how he furnishes a ship.”

  In their years of running scams, Cross and his companions had looted the treasures of many different species. Most had protected their riches in vaults with thick walls or in chambers buried deep underground. The more sophisticated types had multilayered defenses, requiring the Bynars to do more than play accountant. But the Klingons hadn’t locked up anything aboard Ark of G’boj. The safety of the cargo depended entirely on the ferocity of the defenders aboard and the fact that no one knew where the ship would be at any one time.

  Their loss, thought Cross as he reached the back of the hold. He’d lost count of the number of stacks of bricks he’d passed; the Bynars would know. He considered it highly unlikely that the bricks were pure in content, as they were simply scrip the Klingons kept for dealing with outsiders. But with this much of the stuff, it shouldn’t matter.

  “Wow,” Shift said, bag slung over her shoulder. “What happened here?”

  Cross and his henchmen approached the pile of bricks she was standing nearest. Like the other stacks, it sat upon a base anchored to the deck. But where the other bases were made of the same thick duranium, this one was composed of plasteel. The result was that the mountain of latinum rode lower, sagging toward one side.

  “Gaw wasn’t joking,” she said. “Watch for falling treasure.”

  “How do you run out of duranium when you’ve got this much latinum?” Cross said. He looked to the Bynars. “Is the stack sound? We don’t want it tipping over on someone.”

  Eleven-Eleven whipped out a tricorder and waved it across the base of the pile. “It is secure,” she said in a squeaky voice, “but something is odd. I read an extremely low frequency subspace transmission, sourced from the base.”

  Shift and Cross looked at each other. “A homing signal?”

  “The Unsung didn’t notice anything,” Cross said. His brow furrowed. They might not have gotten away as cleanly as they’d hoped. “Let’s go to the bridge. We can get a team over to shut the thing down and then move the ship again if we need to.”