The Jackal's Trick

by John Jackson Miller

  They moved forward. Shift was distracted, he noticed; he could well understand. Excepting extreme situations such as Spirits’ Forge, he had an easier time dealing with pressure while he was in character. During the aftermath, when he had to be himself, he felt relatively defenseless. But he and the Blackstone crew were good enough at what they did that most of their marks never knew they’d been hit; the rest never pursued them for long. He had no doubt they’d slip away this time.

  The quartet rounded the corner and entered Ark of G’boj’s bridge. The gloom of the nebula lay beyond the forward port; only the ship’s control stations offered illumination.

  “Do not move,” said a voice from behind.

  Cross’s heart jumped. He turned to see six people in Starfleet uniforms standing at the rear of the bridge, three on either side of the door they’d entered through. All had phasers trained on Cross and his companions. “Put your hands in the air,” said the dark-skinned Vulcan who had spoken before. “Commander Tuvok of the Federation Starship Titan.”

  “What a relief,” Cross said. “I thought you were Klingons.”

  “And you would fear Klingons because this is a Klingon cargo vessel, reported missing.” Tuvok stepped forward from the shadows and gestured to a human woman to his left. “This is Lieutenant Šmrhová from Starship Enterprise. You are under arrest on suspicion of piracy.”

  “On whose authority?” Shift asked. “We’re in neutral space.”

  “The United Federation of Planets, in concert with the Klingon Empire under the Khitomer Accords. And I suspect that piracy is not all that you are involved in.”

  Cross eyed him. “What do you mean?”

  “We’re aware of the vessel cloaked off our bow.” Šmrhová gestured to the dark space ahead. “We believe that vessel is associated with the terrorist actions of the Unsung.”

  “Huh?” The Betazoid’s mind raced through all the characters he’d ever played—and found one. “Folks, I’m a journalist. I’ve been embedded with a group of pirates.” He nodded to Shift. “She’s my secret source. The Bynars are my vid team. We knew the gang had hidden this ship here and came to get some images. I’ve got my scoop, Commander, so the ship’s all yours. Enjoy.” He put his hands down and started to reach for his communicator. Safety was just a transporter beam away.

  “Hands back up.” Tuvok stepped forward and took Cross’s communicator. Šmrhová’s security detail closed in on Shift and the Bynars. “Your story is unlikely. I regret not finding the Phantom Wing, but you will explain—”

  “Attention!” blared the bridge comm. “Persons aboard Ark of G’boj, this is Captain Bredak of the I.K.S. Jarin.”

  Cross and Shift looked at each other, while Lieutenant Šmrhová hurried over to the ship’s controls. “Commander, sensors indicate a bird-of-prey approaching through the nebula.”

  A bird-of-prey? Cross swallowed, not knowing which would be worse: a ship of the Klingon Defense Force or one operated by the Unsung.

  “We have been informed you have a companion vessel cloaked alongside. You will order it to decloak, or we will destroy the ship and all inside.”

  Tuvok left Cross under guard and stepped to the comm system. “Captain Bredak, this is Commander Tuvok of the Federation Starship Titan. We have recaptured Ark of G’boj. We welcome your aid.”

  “A lie. I was told by a very important source there might be tricksters aboard. If you are from Starfleet, where is your vessel?”

  “It is nearby, cloaked.”

  A laugh. “Starfleet has no cloaked vessels! Haven’t you heard of the Treaty of Algeron?” A pause. “Ready torpedoes!”

  Tuvok responded, “A moment, Captain, and we can—”

  An explosion blossomed outside, lighting the eternal nebular night. The nearby blast shook Ark of G’boj, sending all aboard off their feet. Cross’s communicator slipped from Tuvok’s hand and clattered across the heaving deck, landing near where the Betazoid had fallen.

  He snatched it and pressed the control. “Blackstone, Blackstone, come in! Gaw, get us out of—” Before he could finish, another searing flash, far closer, sent the bridge yawing sideways. This time, he lost the communicator.

  In scrambling to find it, he chanced to glimpse out the forward port. Blackstone was partially visible, as nebular particles, supercharged by the torpedo, coursed over its form. Flushed out, the vessel, seemingly intact, turned quickly away from Ark of G’boj. Beyond it, the outline of the Jarin could be seen as well, soaring with its wings in attack position.

  Cross looked over at Shift, huddled behind a control station, her eyes wide. She had found something in her bag—a communicator of some kind? It didn’t look like his. He didn’t care, as long as she was hailing Blackstone. Gaw, don’t you dare run away without getting me off this ship!

  HOUDINI

  CRAGG’S CLOUD

  “Deactivate the cloak,” La Forge ordered. “Hail Jarin and show them we’re here!”

  “And have them shoot at us too?” Aggadak splayed her big hands across her command interface. “Not this ship. No way!”

  Information was coming in so quickly La Forge couldn’t respond. Houdini had no tactical station; the commander was piecing together information from various bridge displays with the help of Lieutenant Clipet. La Forge wasn’t sure Aggadak’s advice was wrong.

  He’d never heard of Jarin before, and while that wasn’t unusual given the size of the Klingon fleet, Houdini was chasing an impersonator who’d been directing birds-of-prey. The bulk of the Phantom Wing might very well be at Ghora Janto. What if a single bird-of-prey had been left behind?

  “Our Klingon captain’s pretty green,” Clipet said. “He’s firing randomly into space, trying to flush Object Thirteen out.”

  Green—or a fraudster? The bird-of-prey hadn’t fired on Ark of G’boj, but neither had Tuvok called to be transported off the ship. “Someone try to establish contact with—”

  The interface nearest him beeped. The nebula was fighting their sensors, but something else had appeared on his scopes. “Wait,” La Forge said. “There’s another contact approaching.”

  Aggadak looked back at him. “Is it coming after us?

  La Forge had no idea. But he expected he was about to find out.

  Fifty-nine

  ARK OF G’BOJ

  CRAGG’S CLOUD

  Tuvok struggled to regain his bearings. The Jarin was circling madly, firing its disruptors, then its torpedoes. Every so often a blast would jar the cloaked Object Thirteen—Blackstone, the Betazoid had called it—partially back into view. But it survived to keep running, thanks to its cloak, the surrounding nebula, and the clumsy approach of Jarin’s crew.

  On board Ark of G’boj, the Bynars had decided as a pair to bolt off the bridge, resulting in a scrum with the security team. Tuvok found the Betazoid would-be journalist and his Orion companion forward, crouching behind a console. The woman had opened her shoulder bag, but if there was a disruptor inside, she wasn’t wielding it. Backed up by Šmrhová, Tuvok raised his phaser and approached them.

  “Your friends are under fire,” Tuvok said. “They will not come back for you.”

  The Betazoid stood and looked through the port at the firefight. The Orion woman rose and stood next to him. “Wait, wait,” her companion said, facing Tuvok. The smooth-talking voice of the self-proclaimed journalist had become nervous and pitchy. “You’re still after the Unsung, right?”

  The Orion looked at him, startled. “What are you doing, Cross?”

  “Shut up, Shift.” Cross reached into his vest and drew forth a padd. “I can give you the Unsung, Commander Tuvok.”

  “How?”

  “You give me immunity—and I’ll give you this.” He held the padd before him. “It’s connected to the system we used to track the Phantom Wing. It’ll tell you where every ship is, even cloaked. I can delete the file with a single command—or you can help us out and put a stop to all of it.”

  Tuvok could see Lieutenant Šmrhová
shaking her head in disbelief. “Mister Cross,” he said, “the Klingon Empire has authority in this matter. We may perhaps discuss—”

  The woman, Shift, was looking outside the port, where Jarin was continuing its bombardment of Blackstone. Only something new was lighting the nebula: a full spread of photon torpedos, slicing the clouds. Not coming from Jarin—but from some unseen vessel in the cloud toward the bird-of-prey.

  “Down!” Tuvok yelled.

  Explosion after explosion ripped the bird-of-prey to pieces. The nebular material amplified the successive shockwaves rocking the Ark of G’boj, sending everyone reeling again.

  Tuvok’s combadge chirped. “Commander, be advised,” La Forge said. “An unidentified ship is in the cloud!”

  “We are quite aware of that, Commander.” Rising, Tuvok saw that whoever it was had not fired at Blackstone, which soared away, partially visible. He looked over at the couple. They had braced themselves against the console, but now the Betazoid’s expression was one of sheer panic.

  “Enough with the shooting!” Cross proffered the padd again. “So what is it? I’ll give you the Unsung! I even know whose idea it all was! Do we have a deal?”

  Tuvok never had the chance to answer. Shift grabbed the back of Cross’s shoulder and used her other hand to draw a d’k tahg from inside her bag. She plunged the blade into the astonished Betazoid’s heart. “You shut up.”

  The Vulcan was just as amazed. Tuvok lifted his phaser, set to stun. Shift grabbed the padd from the slumping Betazoid’s hand and called out, “Now!” Tuvok’s phaser blast pierced only air as a transporter beam carried her away.

  Inside Ark of G’boj, all went silent. Tuvok and Šmrhová hurried to Cross’s side. Gurgling, his eyes wide, Cross pawed helplessly at the handle of the dagger protruding from his chest as the Vulcan futilely tried to apply first aid. The Orion’s act had come as a complete surprise to Cross.

  “It looks like a trick dagger,” Šmrhová said.

  “She didn’t . . . set the safety . . .” Cross said, before coughing blood.

  Tuvok opened the Betazoid’s vest to access the wound. A small packet fell from an inside pocket. Šmrhová picked it up. “Playing cards.”

  Tuvok adjusted settings on his tricorder. It was no use. Houdini had no medical facilities, and the wound was too severe. With a lurch, Cross grabbed Tuvok’s arm and locked eyes with the commander. It seemed as if he had something important to say. “What is it, Cross?”

  “Feels like . . . I should have come up with . . . a better line for this scene . . .”

  BLACKSTONE

  CRAGG’S CLOUD

  “I don’t know who saved us, but they’re my new best friend,” Gaw said. Dripping sweat, the Ferengi leaned forward in his chair and tried to regulate his breathing. The bird-of-prey had Blackstone’s number: it would have destroyed the vessel, if not for the guardian angel firing from the darkness.

  After darting into a denser section of Cragg’s Cloud long enough to reestablish their failing cloak, they had returned to do a quick scan of Ark of G’boj with the illusion generator’s sensors. “Sweep’s established,” announced Bezzal, the Cardassian who helped run sensors on the bridge.

  Revived, Gaw sprang from the seat. “What are you waiting for? Get a transporter lock on them.”

  “I can’t find Shift,” Bezzal said. “The Bynars have just been beamed out by someone.”

  “What about Cross?”

  “He’s dead.” The Cardassian pointed to the screen. “I just watched his life signs go.”

  Gaw stared, not registering what he was seeing. “That’s not right.” The Ferengi staggered backward to his chair and fell into it, nearly missing the seat. The words caught in his throat. “C-can we beam him back?”

  The Cardassian shook his head. “They just beamed him out.”

  Gaw looked at the deck—and then around at the other truthcrafters. He felt as if the temperature in the room had plummeted. “Do we try to find Shift and the Bynars?” Bezzal asked.

  “Find them where?” He shook his head. “We don’t know who else is out there. Let’s find a place to hole up. We can’t all get pinched.”

  HOUDINI

  CRAGG’S CLOUD

  “I caught the other ship using its projector to do a sensor sweep of Ark of G’boj a few minutes ago,” La Forge said as Tuvok stepped down off the transporter pad. “Object Thirteen must still be functional.”

  “It is called Blackstone,” Tuvok said. “It is the name of another Earth magician.” He glanced at the bagged corpse—and then produced the box of playing cards Šmrhová had recovered. Tuvok placed them on a counter. “You may find these interesting.”

  Carefully, La Forge examined the faded box. “Century of Progress, 1933.”

  “The Chicago World’s Fair, forty years after Houdini’s debut in the exposition there. Commander Worf described finding this packet in the hut of the fake Kruge on Thane.”

  La Forge cautiously opened the fragile pack and spread the cards across the counter. One caught his eye. “The ace of clubs,” he said, drawing the dingy card from the deck. Unlike the rest, it was soiled and had gummy residue on its back. “This is the card Worf used to signal us from the Unsung compound!”

  “This is the proof. The individual named Cross had knowledge of the Kruge impersonation, or conducted it himself.”

  La Forge put his hand over his chin and thought. “Was he their Ardra?”

  “Insufficient information. But the arrival of whoever destroyed Jarin appears to have come as a complete surprise to this person Cross. As did his partner’s betrayal of him. She could have transported either to Blackstone, or to its savior.”

  “Blackstone was running for dear life after Jarin was destroyed,” La Forge said. “I doubt they had time to transport her away.”

  “There is another participant,” Tuvok pointed out. “Cross indicated the entire plot was set in motion by someone else. Perhaps that person is behind the beam-out and the unknown ship.”

  Or it could be someone else entirely, La Forge thought. They’d come so far—and had more questions than answers. And still no Unsung.

  Aggadak entered. “I’ve been speaking to your Bynars, but they won’t talk—at least not to me. If they’re like Ardra’s techs, they won’t give away their secrets.”

  “Yet Cross seemed willing to tell all,” Tuvok said, “before this Shift person killed him.”

  “To protect their secrets?” La Forge asked.

  “Ardra’s people never physically harmed anybody,” Aggadak said. “Maybe this bunch is different.”

  “We must inform Chancellor Martok,” Tuvok said. “that we have found the Ark of G’boj, intact, and report the destruction of Jarin, under Captain . . .”

  “Tuvok, what is it?” La Forge asked.

  “Captain Bredak. I just realized I have heard that name before. These events have taken on an even greater importance.”

  HOUSE OF KRUGE INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND

  KETORIX PRIME, KLINGON EMPIRE

  Unable to stay in J’borr’s old office, Korgh closed up the command center and staggered into the darkened hallway. Through the windows, he could see the fires burning in the Ketorix foundries—but nothing had parted the clouds hanging over his heart.

  At the far end of the hall, someone pounded on the front door.

  “Go away,” he yelled. He was expecting no one at this hour.

  “It is General Kersh,” came the response from beyond.

  Korgh felt revulsion at hearing his hated rival’s name—and then realized why she had come. Forcing one foot before another, he went to the door and opened it. Out in the darkness, the woman looked grave.

  “You come to tell me of my son’s death,” Korgh said. “I have already heard.”

  Kersh nodded respectfully. “Lorath and his crew fought bravely. He brought honor to our house.”

  Korgh thought, “Yes. Yes he did.” More than it deserved.

  She looked at him cautiousl
y. “That is not the only reason I came.”

  “I will not discuss the politics of the house now with you.” He started to close the door. “Not when—”

  She blocked the door with her hand. “We have received word from Starfleet of an incident in a nebula known as Cragg’s Cloud. Our missing transport, Ark of G’boj, has been found.”

  Korgh received the news mildly. He had forgotten all about it. “Who discovered it?”

  “Lorath’s son, Captain Bredak. He and the Jarin found it.”

  “And?”

  “The Jarin was destroyed by a mystery attacker in the nebula. All hands were lost.”

  Korgh looked at her, his eyes unseeing. He sputtered. “W-what?”

  “Starfleet was not able to identify the attacker. We have sent forces to investigate,” Kersh said. “They told us Bredak died honorably, in the service of his duty.”

  Korgh fell to his knees, clutching his head with both hands. “No,” he said, his voice small. “No. No.”

  She pushed the door all the way open and helped him inside. She stood there for long moments while he wailed.

  At last, she reached for her dagger—a ceremonial mevak. “This is a grievous loss,” she said, “a blow to your honor, here at your time of triumph. Do you wish Mauk-to’Vor, Korgh? Do you want me to kill you?”

  His eyes widened—and his broken heart hardened.

  “No, spawn of J’borr.” He looked up at her, eyes red. “You will never have that pleasure—and you will never inherit.” He stood and pointed out the door. “Now get out of my house.”

  ENTR’ACTE

  DEATH’S DOOR

  2386

  “You are Klingons. You need no one but yourselves. I will go now . . . to Sto-Vo-Kor. But I promise one day I will return. Look for me there, on that point of light.”

  —Kahless the Unforgettable

  Sixty