The Art of the Impossible

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Lorgh noted that one item was missing from its usual place on the wall, but the roar of a small child answered that question in short order, as a six-year-old boy ran through the sitting room, wielding the House bat’leth like a champion as he chased some invisible enemy. Lorgh could see traces of the boy’s grandfather in the child’s face: the old general’s eyes and hard-lipped mouth had been passed down.

  That, and the deep voice. “You will die, traitor!” he bellowed to no one in particular as he ran into the next room without even acknowledging the two new adults in the house.

  “Worf! Get back here!” That was the boy’s nurse, Kahlest. Lorgh looked over to see her running down the stairs. “Worf!”

  Kahlest was a beautiful woman with lustrous black hair. Her fierce face was lined with the frustrated fury that only a misbehaving child could inspire. Lorgh looked over and saw the lascivious look in his comrade’s eyes. K’mpec had made no secret of his desire for Worf’s nursemaid.

  Upon seeing them, Kahlest stopped short, and stood in a more respectful posture. “Sirs. I was not aware that you had arrived.”

  “We just did,” K’mpec said. “It is very good to see you again.”

  Smiling, Kahlest said, “I’m sure it is. I must chase down Worf before he kills himself or his younger brother.”

  “Of course,” Lorgh said.

  The servant who had let them in had already disappeared, and moments later, Mogh and Kaasin came in from yet another entryway. Mogh favored them with a rare smile. “Welcome, my friends, welcome. It is good to see you both. You will, of course, stay for a meal?”

  Lorgh could hear both of K’mpec’s stomachs rumble at the prospect. “As if we would turn such an offer down.”

  Soon they were all seated around the dining hall table—Mogh, Kaasin, Kahlest, Worf, and even the newborn, Kurn. It had taken Kahlest several minutes to pry the family bat’leth out of Worf’s hands. She placed the heirloom—which had been part of the House of Mogh for nine generations—back in its place on the sitting-room wall, then rejoined them in the dining hall.

  Almost as big as the sitting room, the hall had two more Danqo pieces on opposite walls. The kitchen staff brought in plate after plate of mouth-watering dishes, from rokeg blood pie—which Worf devoured eagerly—to the best heart of targ Lorgh had ever tasted.

  They spoke of many things, most of them revolving around the infant who spent most of the meal throwing his food around. He’ll be at home in a Defense Force vessel’s mess hall, Lorgh thought with amusement.

  “Kurn is a difficult child, but a strong one,” Kaasin said as she elegantly placed a handful of gagh into her mouth. A mok’bara master, Kaasin had already regained her fighting form despite being only a month removed from birth giving. Some women took years, but one did not become a mok’bara master by allowing such trivialities to interfere with being in the best possible fighting condition.

  “Which is why he will be coming with us to Khitomer,” Mogh said proudly.

  At that, Lorgh and K’mpec exchanged a quick look. “That may not be wise,” Lorgh finally said.

  Mogh frowned. “Why not?” he asked in as dangerous a tone as Lorgh had ever heard him use to a superior.

  K’mpec growled slightly, reminding Mogh of his place. Then he explained: “Your assignment to Khitomer is not what it appears to be. We do require you to supervise the upgrades to the Defense Force installation, as your official orders state.”

  “However,” Lorgh added, “anyone could do that. What we need from you relates to the conversation we had on the Pu’Bekh three years ago.”

  “Romulans.” Mogh almost sneered the word.

  “What would the Romulans want with Khitomer?” Kaasin asked. “It is merely a research outpost.”

  “The Romulans place value on symbolism, in particular names and places. Khitomer was the site of the treaty between the Federation and the Empire. The Romulans’ attack on Narendra III served to strengthen that treaty. We believe a Romulan agent has been sent there to sabotage the outpost and weaken the alliance.”

  “How?” Kaasin asked.

  K’mpec smiled grimly. “If we knew that, we would not need to send you.”

  Shaking her head, Kaasin started wolfing down more gagh. “Why would the Romulans care? Have they not been our allies also, now that Praetor Narviat is in power?”

  Kurn chose that moment to throw his entire plate of diced racht across the room. One of the servants silently moved to clean it up.

  “Kurn!” Kaasin yelled. “You are forbidden all food for a day. Kahlest, take him away.”

  The nurse obeyed immediately, gathering the infant in her arms and taking him out of the dining hall. Kurn rewarded this by spitting on her dress, which Kahlest ignored.

  “Quite a woman, your nurse,” K’mpec said with a large smile.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Kaasin said tartly.

  Mogh then finally spoke again. “Romulans are not to be trusted. After Praxis, they wormed their way into Klingon Houses like Kreel picking over the remains of our slaughtered enemies.”

  “Yes,” K’mpec said, a serious look returning to his face after his rather weak attempt to distract Kaasin and Mogh with his pursuit of Kahlest. Unless, Lorgh thought with amusement, it wasn’t an attempt and he really is that smitten with her.

  K’mpec continued. “While Narviat has remained committed to keeping us as allies, it is unlikely that the entire Senate agrees with this position—nor the entire military. Not to mention those aristocrats who lent support to some of our people after Praxis. The ties between the empires may not be high—but they are deep.”

  Lorgh swallowed the last of his targ heart. “Your job, Mogh, will be to find the tie that is on Khitomer and sever it.”

  Mogh nodded. “It will be dangerous.” He looked at his mate. “Perhaps you and the children should remain here.”

  “I have already accepted the position on Khitomer, my love,” Kaasin said in an iron voice.

  “Position?” Lorgh asked. He did not know about this.

  “A mok’bara instructor,” Kaasin said, fixing her gray eyes on Lorgh, her tone losing none of its hardness. “I have given my word to the outpost commander that I will serve this function. I will not go back on my word because my mate feels the need to treat me with the same delicacy that he treats his precious tapestries.”

  “I want to go too, Father!” Worf bellowed suddenly. Lorgh smiled, hearing his grandfather in the child. But young Worf had much more energy than the old general, whom life had so thoroughly beaten down by the time Lorgh met him. “I will help you seek out the Romulan traitor and kill him where he stands!”

  “No,” Mogh said.

  “I am old enough to wield a bat’leth! I can fight!”

  Kaasin smiled, and now the look in her gray eyes was mischievious. “He already fights better than you, my love, I think he has earned it.” Then the iron returned. “Besides, I will not leave him or Kurn behind with Kahlest and the servants for four months.”

  Mogh laughed, a harsh sound, as if the man’s larynx was unaccustomed to it. “I know better than to argue with you, Kaasin. So be it. We shall all go to Khitomer, as planned. And I shall root out the traitor.”

  Worf let out a cheer. “He will die at our hands!”

  Before conversation could continue, a beeping emitted from K’mpec’s coat of office. Reaching into one of the voluminous pockets that lined the garment, he pulled out a communications device. “Rnh. The High Council has declared an emergency session. I must go. Tell Kahlest I look forward to seeing her again before you leave.” He rose, and activated the device. “This is K’mpec, code wa’maH Soch.”

  A red transporter beam took the councillor away.

  “Good,” Worf said, reaching over to K’mpec’s plate, which still had some half-eaten food. “I can finish his blood pie!”

  Mogh and Kaasin both laughed at their older son’s enthusiasm for his meal—not to mention K’mpec’s—but Lor
gh could not join them. He was concerned. Worf could at least defend himself, and both Mogh and Kaasin were the worthiest of warriors. But Lorgh feared the worst might happen on Khitomer, and he would not endanger both sons of Mogh. He owed General Worf too much to allow all of his male heirs to go to their possible deaths. The one least able to fight was the one who needed to stay behind.

  Besides, if the worst happens before Mogh can identify the spy, I will need a long-term backup plan.

  “I urge you, Kaasin, to reconsider sending Kurn, at least. He is but an infant who cannot even throw racht with any accuracy, much less a blade.”

  “I will protect him,” Kaasin said.

  “Of that I have no doubt, but to risk your entire line…”

  Mogh fixed Lorgh with a stare. “Do you question our strength?”

  “No, but I know the Romulans. If they learn of your true mission, or if you uncover theirs, all of your lives may be forfeit.”

  “So I am to leave my newborn child with servants and inferiors while I teach mok’bara to an outpost full of fools?”

  If they are such fools, why did you accept the assignment? Lorgh was tempted to ask, but that would have been a mistake. Kaasin was, like any mother, trying to protect her family, and Lorgh could not blame her. So he played his final piece. “One of the warriors assigned to Khitomer is Ja’rod.”

  That got their attention, as Mogh knew it would.

  His mouth full of blood pie, Worf asked, “Who’s Ja’rod?”

  “My greatest rival,” Mogh said. “And his House and ours have been in conflict for generations. You remember Huraga?”

  Lorgh recalled that the young warrior was a shipmate of Mogh’s on the Pu’Bekh and a friend to the House of Mogh.

  Worf seemed to know him as well. “He told good stories.”

  Mogh smiled. “Yes. You remember the one about the time we fought against the House of Duras?”

  Nodding eagerly, Worf said, “That was a great story!”

  “Ja’rod is the head of that House now.” Mogh looked at Lorgh. “If he is on Khitomer—”

  Lorgh held up a hand. “We have no proof that he is the Romulan agent. In fact, we have no reason to assume that Ja’rod has any links to the Romulans at all. Yes, his ancestors sold ships to the Romulans decades ago and brought together rich Romulans with destitute Klingons, but that means nothing for the purposes of this mission.”

  Kaasin bared her teeth. “The House Head is responsible for the actions of his House.”

  “By law and tradition, yes—but on Khitomer that does not make Ja’rod a spy.”

  Mogh nodded. “It also makes our entire family a target.”

  “I will not leave Kurn here!” Kaasin said in a tone that would brook no argument.

  In Kaasin’s emphasis on where Kurn was to be kept, Lorgh saw how to move in for the kill. “I will take charge of the boy while you are gone. He will be cared for as if he were one of my own children until you return.”

  Mogh and Kaasin exchanged a look. Klingons had no telepathy like Vulcans or Betazoids or Letheans, but Lorgh knew from his relationship with his own mate that couples often had unique psionic abilities all their own. Though he could not hear it, an entire conversation took place between the two with that look.

  Then Mogh turned back to Lorgh, both challenge and concession in his dark eyes. “If you were any other man, I would kill you for trying to steal my son. But my father named you friend, as have I. For that reason—and because I would not put Ja’rod in a position where he can harm my son before he is of an age to defend himself—I will trust you to care for Kurn while we are gone.”

  “Thank you,” Lorgh said. “Believe me, this way is for the best.” He leaned back, resting his hands on his belly. “Now then, what is for dessert?”

  Chapter 30

  Romulus

  Only two people still living knew of Koval’s mountain retreat. The house was nestled in an outcropping halfway up the peak of Kor Thon, constructed of sensor-proof plasti-form. Snow pounded against the outside of the house, drifts cascading on the windows. No roads led to the house; the configuration of the outcropping and the prevailing winds made approach by air all but impossible. It had not been easy to get the house constructed, but Koval had spent his many years in the intelligence field amassing currency of a variety of sorts—monetary in order to acquire material and builders, informational in order to acquire permission and secrecy—that enabled him to have this vacation spot all his own.

  Presently, he sat in the sitting room, drinking a hot mug of tarka and reading an old-style codex book. It was a philosophical treatise on the efficacy of obedience to the state, written by a Cardassian philosopher from some three hundred years past.

  The Tal Shiar agent was relieved to see that the green transporter beam that appeared in the middle of the sitting room coalesced into one of the two left who knew of this place: Timol, his chief aide. (The other was the head of the Tal Shiar, Jekri Kaleh, the only person from whom Koval dared not keep any secrets.) Timol had been a most competent aide, providing Koval with excellent intelligence on Praetor Dralath—who had proven especially susceptible to the pheremone enhancers Timol wore—and the inner workings of the Senate right up until Dralath was overthrown. Timol had survived Narviat’s coup, and gone back to work directly for Koval.

  He did not admonish Timol for disturbing him while he was on vacation, for she would never have violated his privacy without reason. Instead, he set down the book and regarded her. “What is it?”

  “I have managed to intercept the contents of an interrogation conducted by the Obsidian Order.”

  Irony, Koval thought. I read Cardassian philosophy and am now confronted with Cardassian intelligence. “An interrogation by whom?”

  Timol raised an eyebrow. “Not of whom?”

  “The conductor of the interrogation will dictate the usefulness of the intelligence provided by its subject.”

  Smiling, Timol said, “Well then you’ll be pleased to know that the interrogator is Corbin Entek.”

  This surprised Koval, though he made no outward show of it. That was one of the Order’s top agents. “Entek is not one to misplace his files.”

  “He is not, no, but my source is somewhat more susceptible to my charms than others of his species.” Timol’s smile became a grin.

  Koval nodded. Cardassians were not generally as receptive to Timol as Romulans, but those who were found her as irresistable as she required them to be. “Very well. Who is the subject?”

  “A Klingon by the name of Dirak, of the House of Kultan.”

  That was a House that Koval had encountered before. “They are the ones who have attempted to develop biogenic weapons—against the wishes of the Klingon High Council.”

  “Yes,” Timol said, though Koval had not phrased it as a question. “Apparently, the High Council has reversed their sanction. According to the information Dirak provided to Entek, House Kultan has been commissioned to develop a biogenic weapon on their base at Khitomer.”

  At that, Koval stood up. The Klingons had put together a research outpost of some sort on the site of the hated Federation–Klingon treaty of over fifty years ago. That alliance had shifted the balance of power and indirectly led to the Romulan Empire’s retreat from the business of galactic politics—with occasional exceptions, of course. “So, the honorless cowards of the Klingon Empire circumvent the Khitomer Accords on the very soil on which they signed them. How fitting.” He scowled. “You are sure this is a genuine interrogation?”

  She held out the padd she carried. “You may witness it yourself. I also had it checked by every expert we have. There were no changes, no alterations, no trickery.”

  “At least not on the part of the Cardassians. That does not mean there is no such trickery from the Klingons. It is possible that this Dirak person has led the Order astray—or that the Order has deliberately planted this information with us.”

  “I doubt that,” Timol said. “Believe me, the pe
rson I received it from was not expecting me—nor had he any desire to provide the intelligence.” Timol spoke with her usual confidence. Koval had no reason to assume it wasn’t warranted.

  “True. And I find it difficult to credit that any Klingon agent could successfully fool Corbin Entek.”

  Koval started the display on the padd, which showed a Klingon sitting in a chair in an empty, featureless room. The eyes of the Klingon—presumably Dirak—were equally featureless and empty. He had obviously been drugged. The Order, Koval knew, had an excellent pharmacopeia. A voice in the background asked questions, to which Dirak gave answers in a dull monotone.

  Most of the interrogation was full of useless information. That was the problem with drugs, they led to a literal-minded subject. Dirak provided a great deal of “intelligence” regarding his own eating habits and the women he had bedded, none of which was of the slightest interest to Koval. He was sure Entek had even less interest, but the Order agent was patient enough to sift through the chaff in order to find the wheat. Eventually, that wheat was forthcoming, as Dirak told of the secret laboratory at the Khitomer outpost where the biogenic weapon was being developed.

  After he had seen and heard enough, Koval turned off the display. This was important enough intelligence that he needed to verify it—and also share it with his superior. “You will set up an appointment with Kaleh immediately. I will also contact our agent on Khitomer to verify whether or not this Klingon spoke true.”