Hell's Heart

by John Jackson Miller

  “The losers were discommendated—their names purged from all accounts by the emperor at the time.”

  “I’d want to keep track of them, in case there was a chance of them wanting to get even.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Lieutenant,” Picard said. “The discommendated would not be expected to rise up against anyone. Their shame would prevent it.”

  Still, given what he’d seen below, it at least seemed worth pursuing. “I am waiting to hear from Chancellor Martok,” Picard said, accompanying Chen into the turbolift. “Maybe someone in his administration has a long memory.”

  “I guess you could always ask Galdor—I mean, Korgh.” Chen gave an awkward shrug. “He did seem to be the master of family knowledge.”

  “I’m not sure I’d believe what he told us.” The captain thought for a moment. “Then again, it might give him a chance to show his sincerity.” He took a deep breath and touched his combadge. “Bridge, this is Captain Picard. Please open a channel to Gin’tak Galdor—or Korgh—on Qo’noS. He should be reachable through the House of Kruge. I’ll take it in my ready room.”

  “Actually, Captain, that won’t be possible,” Glinn Dygan replied.

  “Why?”

  “We found out when we tried to get Chancellor Martok for you. He’s called the High Council into emergency session.”

  “What does that have to do with Korgh?”

  “He’s there. He appears to be the topic.”

  Picard raised an eyebrow. “I wonder,” he asked of no one, “what kind of show he’ll put on this time?”

  Forty-four

  THE GREAT HALL

  QO’NOS

  “The scholars have spoken,” Martok told the assembly. “Galdor is indeed Korgh, son of Torav.”

  The noise in the chamber was deafening. Cheers erupted from some; angry protests from others, who might have hoped to profit from the House of Kruge’s dissolution. Somewhere on the periphery, General Kersh was voicing her outrage. No one could hear her.

  Korgh reveled in the moment. He unclasped his black cloak and let it fall to the floor, revealing the military uniform beneath. He had, after all, been in the Defense Force under Kruge; while he had not worn it in nearly a century, he had been delighted to find that the uniform still fit.

  Martok waited for the din to subside. “Korgh’s DNA matches what was in the Defense Force record—and it has been found at several sites where Kruge was known to be in the latter years of his life. The experts have also evaluated the recording from the archives. It, too, appears to be genuine.”

  Korgh had never had a doubt about the genetic evidence; he had been in those places. The latter was a fabrication from his brilliant partner on Thane—and he’d felt no compunction in submitting it. It was a scene that should have happened. That was enough.

  Martok stood and took something from one of his aides. “The High Council recognizes your claim, Lord Korgh. Step forward.”

  The room went silent as Korgh stepped forward, gave a salute, and lowered his head to the chancellor. Martok draped the golden chain over Korgh’s head. He felt the weight of the golden symbol of the House of Kruge against his chest for the first time.

  “Kruge’s seal was destroyed with him long ago,” Martok said. “With this facsimile, the Empire recognizes your service to the house and your attempts to save its members. And it recognizes you as sole heir.”

  “Thank you, Chancellor.” Korgh turned and faced the councillors and raised his hands skyward. “For the Empire!”

  The audience erupted again with cheers and hoots. Korgh smiled broadly as he walked into the circle of councillors—and found a space open for him to stand. Taking his place, he looked about and saw faces he had known for years, all looking on him differently.

  The day had been so long in coming, so carefully prepared for. He had finally achieved what he wanted, so long ago. But it was not the only thing he desired—and now, seeing Worf’s whelp and Riker standing in the rear, Korgh knew he could not lose sight of his larger goal. He’d already set events in motion there too—and now he was in a position to play his part in them.

  He got his chance almost immediately. Martok called for silence. “Now, before we were interrupted . . .” he announced, drawing light laughter. “This council had been discussing the timing of the H’atorian Conference with our Federation allies.” He nodded in the direction of Riker and Rozhenko. “This empire will not allow some cowardly band of killers to impede matters of state. With the House of Kruge again whole, I am prepared to schedule the conference for—”

  “I object, Chancellor!”

  “What?” Irritated, Martok eyed the crowd.

  “I object,” Korgh said, stepping forward. “This conference should not go forward—and should never have been considered!”

  Initially steamed, Martok instead laughed heartily. “Head of a house for five minutes and already arguing policy!” Other listeners joined in his amusement. “You may well be Council material after all, Korgh.”

  Korgh let the chancellor have his joke. “This so-called conference has always been about letting the scum of the ­universe—Kinshaya and who knows what else—traverse space the House of Kruge has always protected. You even expected one of our worlds, so recently devastated by the Borg, to play host to this affront. You propose to continue with it, now that our nobles—some of whom opposed the whole idea—were recently killed by unknown hands?”

  Korgh’s outburst had taken several councillors by surprise, he saw. But he could tell they were catching his implication. Martok had caught it too—and was none too pleased. “Neither we, nor the Federation, have found evidence that any Typhon Pact power was involved in the assassinations—or Kahless’s kidnapping.”

  “Ah, yes. We’re depending on Starfleet investigators. Tell me, how good were they at securing our emperor?”

  Shouts rose from the councillors. Some were offended that he’d taken Martok on. But others shook their fists in ­agreement—and vented their anger in the direction of the Federation observers. Ambassador Rozhenko, apparently startled by the sudden criticism in open council, stepped forward preparing to speak.

  Korgh spoke again before he had the chance. “I knew Kruge,” he said, holding the symbol hanging from his neck. “I was his protégé. And I can tell you Kruge would have reviled this alliance. He gave his last breath in fighting the existential threat the Federation posed. He warned of a day in which the Federation banner would fly over world after world—”

  “They don’t claim planets anymore by planting flags,” Martok grumbled. He was no longer smiling.

  “No, they bring ‘ships of exploration.’ And how they multiply.” Korgh was in motion, stalking around the center of the council chamber as all eyes followed. “Kruge said they would not stop at the Neutral Zone, that they would find some way to push past. Here we are, a hundred turns later, and what do we see? The Federation pushing farther into the Beta Quadrant, with members now on the complete other side of the Empire from Earth. Did they ask if they could take these territories? No.”

  “The peoples of those worlds joined the Federation of their own free will,” Rozhenko shouted.

  “Their own free will!” Korgh laughed. “Those planets are on our doorstep, son of Worf. They have no right to make that decision freely.” He sneered, suspecting the whelp would be easy to take down. “Ah, but now your Federation comes along asking for something at last, after they have already taken worlds that should be ours. They want guaranteed passage through my house’s holdings to their ill-gotten gains.”

  “We do not guard the spaceways against loyal allies,” Martok said. “The Accords already guarantee the Federation the right to transit.”

  “But they don’t stop there, do they? They’re not just asking for passage for their own. They want the lanes open to the trash of the galaxy. Kinshaya, Romulans, Breen.
And worse.”

  The ambassador tried to interrupt. “Gin’tak—”

  “Lord Korgh!”

  “Lord Korgh,” Rozhenko said, chastened. “You know very well the reason. These routes wend through Klingon territory, yes, but also through space claimed by others. Unless the passages are reciprocal, there can be no free-flight corridor.”

  “Perhaps there should not be.” Shouts rose from the council agreeing.

  Martok spoke up. “We are not negotiating the treaty here.”

  “We shouldn’t be negotiating it at all,” Korgh said. “And why should they hear us discuss it?” He pointed in Riker’s direction. “I demand that human—and his pet ambassador—be removed from these proceedings.”

  Riker stepped forward to Rozhenko’s side and spoke defiantly. “We were invited, Lord Korgh.”

  The admiral wasn’t going to be as easy to bait, Korgh knew. But there were avenues he could take. “This is a place for Kling­ons, not outsiders.”

  “I served as an officer aboard I.K.S. Pagh. I have fought beside your people. Our interests are the same.”

  It was the response Korgh expected. “We’re well aware of your record, Admiral—well aware. I think Klingons would find it curious that you’ve taken such an interest in us.” He leered at the other councillors. “Some Klingons, anyway.”

  Martok pounded his fist against his chair. “You’ve said enough, Korgh. The alliance with the Federation is beyond question. It is not under discussion.”

  After a moment’s pause, Korgh’s expression softened. “As you wish.” He made a show of stepping away from the center of the floor. “But I say again, Kruge would have detested everything about this conference idea.”

  “How would you know what a dead man would want?”

  Martok, he thought, you might be surprised at just how much I’ve thought about what Kruge would say today. But Korgh allowed himself only the hint of a wry grin in response.

  Forty-five

  FEDERATION CONSULATE

  QO’NOS

  Will Riker watched Martok tromping angrily around the room. The private dinner had been scheduled beforehand at the Federation’s under-renovation consular building as a working meal, a chance to go over the conference plans and the state of the parallel Federation and Klingon investigations. Instead, the antics of a certain elder-caretaker-turned-lord had dominated conversations before, during, and after dinner.

  The chancellor had spoken most of the words, many of them obscene.

  Martok slammed his empty cup down onto a mantelpiece. “I tell you, Riker, if any other new councillor spoke as he did to me, he would feel my fist in his gut. But Korgh is an old man, standing up for a decimated family. The public has showered him with goodwill.”

  “He spares none for you,” Riker said.

  “Ha! You should have heard what he was telling people outside the chamber. Everything he says is just on the verge of an affront—but he never goes so far as to force my hand.”

  “He’s definitely changed his tune.” Riker rose to refill Martok’s cup. “Awfully fast for power to go to someone’s head.”

  “I barely knew the man before now. His son Lorath has served honorably—I know less about the brothers.” Martok shook his head.

  “There is no free-flight corridor without the Empire,” Riker said, “or without the conference. Can you come to the table without the House of Kruge’s support?”

  Martok frowned. “It is difficult. The worlds involved belong to the Empire; their residents’ ultimate allegiance is to us, not the family that administers them. But the Kinshaya attempted to invade H’atoria just a few years ago. And with the massacre and the emperor’s abduction, the Empire is in a vile mood.”

  Riker understood fully. It was just the sort of anxious environment in which demagogues flourished. He’d been surprised how fast Korgh had taken advantage of that—but then everything about the former Galdor had surprised him.

  As had the fact, revealed earlier in their conversations, that Martok had known full well that the nobles of the House of Kruge had not been present at the Battle of Gamaral. He had suspected the commemoration ceremony in Federation space was the family’s price for considering the H’atorian Conference. That alone, however, didn’t explain why Martok would consider such a charade.

  Riker had been looking for a way to bring it up when, staring into the fireplace, Martok unburdened himself. “I will speak frankly to this point, Riker—and we will never speak of it again. I knew of the family’s deceit—and so did chancellors past. It was tolerated for the same reason the may’qochvan was a good idea. The Empire needed their quality starships—and we needed the house that held the border worlds facing the Kinshaya to appear strong.”

  “It has been strong these last fifty years. A perfect buffer province.”

  “Correct. I may not think much of Galdor—of Korgh—hiding who he was all those years, but he did the Empire a service. And in avoiding a feeding frenzy over the dissolution of the house, he has saved the Empire from certain tumult.”

  Alexander appeared in the doorway. “Chancellor, ­Admiral—there is a call from Captain Picard—for you both.”

  “He has been trying to reach me,” Martok said. Glad for the change of subject, he and Riker followed the ambassador into the office. Picard appeared on the main viewscreen on the wall across from Alexander’s desk. The ambassador excused himself.

  Picard wasted no time. “The defeated forces at Gamaral a century ago, Chancellor—do you know what happened to them?”

  Finding a seat, Martok seemed caught off guard by the question. “They were discommendated.”

  “Yes, I thought so. I mean after that.”

  “There is no ‘after that.’ That is the end for them. We do not place bells around the necks of the discommendated to track them. They are no longer worthy of being seen by Klingon eyes.”

  “I understand that,” Picard said. “But how do you prevent someone who has been cast out from returning to threaten the Empire?”

  “Those who truly pose threats to the Empire rarely live to be discommendated. The danger they pose is cut off, root and branch. As for the rest? It is hard to explain to you, Picard. They understand they have an obligation to go away. Shame is enough to keep them out of sight.”

  “And the officers’ rebellion was not deemed a danger to the Empire a century ago? Because it was an uprising only against one house?”

  “Because it was ridiculously inept. That much of the family’s story was true. The lead general was on his heels from the second the family members turned on them. He was no tactician. His flight to Gamaral is one of the most nonsensical moves imaginable. He was just sitting there, waiting for the blow to fall.”

  “I don’t think he was, Chancellor.” Picard quickly described what La Forge had found beneath Mount Qel’pec. “I’m certain there were starships there that the rebels were seeking to aid their cause.”

  Martok was still shaking his head. “An entire shipyard, carved into a mountain? That’s beyond the level of a line officer to create. I cannot imagine they’d have much of anything hidden there.”

  “I wondered the same. But the discovery made me think again about the losing side. Perhaps they weren’t so inept—and perhaps they were still out there somewhere, plotting an ancient revenge.”

  Riker looked at the chancellor. “Do you know the names of the discommendated conspirators?”

  “They are in no history I have seen,” Martok said. “It was not as open a time as it is now.”

  “Would Korgh know, as family historian?”

  Martok shrugged. “Ask him.”

  Riker rose—only to see the ambassador in the doorway. “We need to contact Lord Korgh.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Alexander said. “He is at the door—and wants to see you both.”

 
; UNSUNG COMPOUND

  THANE

  Valandris had been true to her word, although Kahless’s “work shift” had gone on far longer than Worf would have imagined possible. He’d already realized Thane turned slowly on its axis; the sadists who had enslaved the emperor had insisted that he continue toiling until the end of the day. Worf had climbed into the pit himself, helping Kahless in his messy work. The act had also generated a lot of discussion from observers, from what little he could hear.

  Kahless’s labors had eventually ended—but if Worf thought they would handle the emperor any better after that, he was sadly mistaken. They had kept the collar and manacles on Kahless, and a group of children had pulled on his chains to lead him to what appeared to be a kennel for meter-tall creatures the Unsung kept in a pen.

  The minder drove the insect-like animals into a side yard, and Kahless’s chains were fastened to a stake near the kennel. The children threw fresh meat into a trough near the emperor and laughed. Worf growled angrily at them, driving them off.

  It didn’t surprise Worf that Kahless had lost his appetite, given the repulsive pit he had been toiling in. But the emperor had drunk eagerly, quickly downing the first pail of rain­water Worf brought to him. Then he had slumped against the trough, falling immediately asleep.

  “This is intolerable,” Worf said to Valandris. “You cannot keep him here.”

  “He stays here, or he goes back to work,” she replied. “I don’t make these decisions.”

  The mysterious “lord” again, Worf thought. “Then I will stay with him and take my meals here as well.”

  “No, you have to stay under guard. I just got that order. Everyone’s at dinner—and that’s where I’m headed. You go with me or he goes back to work.”

  Worf’s voice dripped with disdain. “You have no honor.”

  “I think we’ve covered that.” She walked out of the pen. “Come on.”

  Seeing Kahless snoring—and that he was in no danger—Worf reluctantly followed.