Star Trek - Kahless. Part 8

You're as incredulous as Gowron was."

"Forgive me," Picard replied, "but there's no proo f"...I know what I'm talking about!" Kahless thundered.

"You want proop Come with me to the homeworld and I'll give you proofl"

The captain didn't think that would be a good idea. He said so. "It was a risk just coming to this colony world.

Returning with you to Qo'noSo would place FederationKlingon relations in considerable jeopardy."

The clone's nostrils flared. "They are in considerable jeopardy already, Picard, though you refuse to see it.

Knowing me as you do, how can you place so little trust in me? How can you ignore the possibility that I'm right-and that the Empire stands on the brink of revolution?"

Picard had to admit the Klingon had a point. With little or nothing in the way of facts at this juncture, he would be taking a risk either way. And if there was a conspiracy after all-and he ignored it-he would have to live with that oversight the rest of his days.

He turned to Worf. "What do you think, Lieutenant?"

The security officer didn't like to be put on the spot like this. The captain knew that from experience. On the other hand, Worf had the firmest grasp of the situation. If anyone could divine the truth about this "conspiracy," it would be the son of Mogh.

For a long moment, Worf looked Kahless square in the eyes. Then he turned to Picard. "I think we ought to go to the homeworld," he said at last.

The captain was still leery of the prospect. However, he had placed his trust in his security officer.

"All right," he concluded. "We'll go."

Kahless smiled. "You won't regret it," he said.

Tapping his wristband, he activated his link to whatever vehicle awaited him. It was the same kind of wristband Picard himself had used to maintain control of Enterprise shuttles.

At the same time, the captain tapped his communicator and notified the Pescalians they wouldn't be going back with them. At least, not yet.

"Three to beam up," the clone bellowed.

A moment later, Picard and the others found themselves on the bridge of a modest cruiser. As with all Klingon vessels, the place was small, stark, and lacking in amenities. Quarters were cramped and lights were dim.

The bridge had three seats; Kahless took the one in the rear, leaving his companions the forward positions if they wanted them.

"Break orbit," the clone commanded, speaking directly to the s.h.i.+p's computer. "Set course for Qo'noSo, heading three four six point one. Ahead warp factor six. Engage."

The captain felt the drag of inertia as the s.h.i.+p banked and leaped forward into warp. Even for a small and relatively unsophisticated vessel, its damper system left something to be desired.

Then again, Kahless probably preferred it that way.

The rougher, the better, Picard mused.

"The journey will take a couple of days," the clone informed them. "When you tire, you'll find bunks in the aft cabin." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder for emphasis. "Back there."

Picard nodded. "Thank you."

He recalled the last time he was on a Klingon vessel. He had been on a mission to investigate Amba.s.sador Spock's activities on Romulus. From what he remembered, his cabin had been spa.r.s.ely furnished and eminently uncomfortable. He resigned himself to the likelihood that on a cruiser this size, the accomodations would be even worse.

Worf looked around. "Nice s.h.i.+p," he observed.

Kahless grunted. "Gowron gave it to me, though I don't think he expected I'd use it much. And truthfully, I haven't."

Again, Picard found his eyes drawn to the amulet on the clone's chest. He was starting to think he'd seen such a thing before in his studies of Klingon culture, though he wasn't sure where.

"You like my amulet?" asked Kahless.

The captain was embara.s.sed. "I didn't mean to stare."

"You need not apologize," said the clone. "It is called a jinaq.

Picard nodded. He remembered now. Klingon men used to wear them when they were betrothed to someone.

Did that mean Kahless intended to marry?

"I have no lover," the clone informed him, as if he'd read the captain's mind. "Not anymore, at least-not for fifteen hundred years or more. But I wear it still, out of respect for her."

"I see," said Picard.

He made a mental note to ask Worf about the applicable myth later on. It sounded interesting-and if it would shed more light on Kahless for him, it was well worth the time.

The Heroic Ageless sat back heavily in his st.u.r.dy wooden chair, his head spinning like a child's top. The food and the bloodwine had been more than plentiful. And in all fairness, Vathraq wasn't the worst storyteller he'd ever heard, although he came close.

But the warchief was restless under his host's vaulted roof. So, as the revelers" eyes grew bloodshot on both sides of the overladen table, and their speech thickened, and the hall filled with smoky phantoms born of the cooking fires, the guest of honor left the feast.

No one seemed to notice as he made his way out of the great hall, or as he crossed the anteroom and exited the keep. And if anyone did notice, they didn't care enough to say anything.

The evening air was cold and bracing after the warmth of Vathraq's feast-like a splash of melt from a mountain spring, clearing his head and tightening the skin across his face. Breathing it in deeply, he felt as if he'd regained some semblance of his wine-dimmed senses.

A dirt track began at his feet and twisted tortuously between a couple of dark, blockish storage buildings, then reached through the stronghold's open gates to the river road beyond. Kahless caught a glimpse of the cultivated tran'nuc trees that grew between the road and the riverbank, and the sweet, purplish fruit that drooped heavily from their th.o.r.n.y black branches.

Vathraq hadn't served the trannuc fruit because it wasn't ripe yet, nor would it be for a couple of weeks.

Kahless knew that because his family had had a tree of their own when he was growing up.

Still, he hadn't bitten into a trannuc fruit since he left the capital months earlier. And he might not have a chance to taste one again, the way Molor was hunting him.

He could feel the warm rush of his own saliva making his decision for him. Wiping his mouth with the back of his fat-smeared hand, he set out for the gate and the trees beyond. The sentries on the wall turned at his approach.

He called up to them, so there would be no surprises.

They swiveled their crossbows in his direction, just in case he was one of the tyrant's tax collectors trying to deceive them. Then one of them recognized him, and they let their weapons fall to their sides. It was unlikely that they'd have shot at him anyway, considering he was leaving the compound, and doing it alone at that.

Once past the gates, he felt the wind pick up. It lifted his hair, which he'd left unbraided. The broad, dark sky was full of stars, points of light so bright they seemed to stab at him.

Kahless grunted. What wasn't stabbing at him these days?

Leaving Vathraq's walls well behind him, Kahless crossed the road and approached the nearest trannuc tree. As he moved, the river unfolded like a serpent beyond its overhanging banks, all silver and glistening in the starlight. It seemed to hiss at him, though without malice, as if it too had had its fill this night.

Arriving at the foot of the tree, he reached up and tore a fruit from the lowest branch. In the process, he scratched himself on one of the long, jagged thorns. A rivulet of blood formed on the back of his hand, then another.

Ignoring them, he bit into the fruit. It was riper than he'd imagined, sweet and sour at the same time. But as he'd already gorged himself on Vathraq's food, he had no room for the whole thing.

Tossing the sweet, dark remainder on the ground, he waited for the yolok worms to realize it was there. In a matter of seconds, they rose up beneath it, their slender, sinuous bodies white as moonlight. The fruit began to writhe under their ministrations, and then to disappear in chunks as they consumed it with their pincerlike jaws.

Before long, there was only a dark spot on the ground to show that the tran'nuc fruit had ever existed. Kahless snorted; it was good to know there were still some certainties in life.

He turned to the river again, observing the ripple of the winds on its back. He had forgotten how good it could feel to have a full belly and the prospect of a warm place to sleep. He had forced himself to forget.

Of course, he could have had this every night, if only he'd gone along with Molor's orders back at M'riiah. If he had returned from his mission, the blood on his sword testament to his hard work, and remained the tyrant's most loyal and steadfast servant.

Molor treated his servants well. He would have given Kahless all the females he wanted, and all the bloodwine he could drink. And in time, no doubt, a hall of his own, with a wall for his trophies and a view of his va.s.sals working in the fields.

But if he had torched the village as he was supposed to, all the bloodwine in the world wouldn't have soothed him at night. And the stoutest walls couldn't have kept out the ghosts of M'riiah's innocents.

The outlaw snorted. Why had the tyrant set such a task before him anyway? Why couldn't he have sent one of his other warchiefs-one with a quicker torch and a less tender conscience?

Kahless shook his head angrily. I've got to stop playing what if was games, he told himself, or they'll drive me mad.

What's done is done, for better or worse. And is that any different from what IB-EFORE he could complete the thought, Kahless realized he was not alone. His eyes slid to one side, searching for shadows; there weren't anyway. Nor could he find a scent, . n the direction of the wind. But he sensed someone give behind him nonetheless, someone who had apparently made an effort to conceal his approach.

Kahless's thumbs were already tucked into his belt, and his back was to his enemy. As subtly as possible, he moved his right hand toward the knife that hung by his thigh and grasped it firmly. Then he lifted it partway from its leather sheath.

Listening intently, he could hear the shallow breathing of his a.s.sailant, even over the sigh of the wind. In a minute, maybe less, the yolok worms would have another meal-and a meatier one.

He waited for a few impossibly long seconds, the hunter's spirit rising in him, the blood pounding in his neck like a beast tearing loose of its chain. His lips curled back from his teeth, every fiber of his being caught in the fiery fever of antic.i.p.ation.

Finally, the moment came. Clenching his jaw, Kahless whirled, blade singing as it cut the air, heading for the spot between his enemy's head and his shoulders. His eyes opened wide, drinking in the sight of surprise on the intruder's face, exulting in the prospect of the blood that would flow from hisationo!

Muscles cording painfully in his forearm, he stopped his blade less than an inch from its target. The oiled surface of the knife glinted, reflecting starlight on the smooth, gently curving jaw of Vathraq's daughter. Her neck artery pulsed visibly beneath the metal's finely honed edge.

And yet, she didn't flinch. Only her eyes moved, meeting Kahless's and locking onto them. They were pools of darkness, full of resentment and anger.

But nothing to match his own. Lightning-swift, Kahless flicked the blade back into its sheath and snarled like a wounded animal.

"Are you mad?" he rasped. "To sneak up on me like a- .

He never finished. Kellein's open hand smashed him in the face, stinging him as he wouldn't have imagined she could. He took a half-step back, stunned for the moment.

But she wasn't done with him. Slas.h.i.+ng him with her nails, oblivious to the knife he still held in his hand, she sent him staggering back another step. With his left hand, he caught one of her wrists and squeezed it hard enough to crush the bones within.

His intention was to make her stop until he could put his knife away, then use both hands to subdue her. But before he could carry it out, his back foot slipped on the uncertain ground of the riverbank. He felt himself falling backward and braced himself for the chill of the current.

But instead, he felt something hard rush up to meet him, half-pounding the breath out of him. Then there was another impact-that of a weight on top of him. Her weight.

it was only then he realized that they had fallen onto a gentle slope just beneath the bank. In the season of Growing, this ground would be submerged by the flood; now, it was dry.

Kahless found that he was still grasping Kellein's wrist with his free hand. Tightening his grip on it, he glared at her, his face mere inches below hers. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his face, smell the wildflowers with which she'd adorned herself for the feast.

Pleasant sensations, under other circ.u.mstances. But here and now, they only made him angrier. Remembering his knife, he plunged it into the soft earth beside him.

Kellein planted the heel of her hand on his chest and tried to get up-but he wouldn't let her. Though Kahless's strength was greater than hers, she tried a second time. And a third.

His lip curled. "You followed me out here," he growled accusingly.

"And what if I did?" she returned, her teeth bared in an anger that seemed every bit as inflamed as his.

"What were you thinking?" he thundered. "Why did you come up behind me without warning?"

Kellein's eyes narrowed, making her seem even more incensed than before. "Why," she asked-her voice suddenly husky with something quite different from anger-"do you think?"

Suddenly, Kahless understood. All too aware of the hard-muscled angles of Kellein's body, he caught her hair in his fist and drew her face down until her mouth met his.

He tasted blood-though it took him a moment to realize it was his own, wrung from a lip Kellein had " just punctured with her teeth. He didn't care, not in the least.

In fact, it made him want her that much more.

In the aftermath of pa.s.sion, Kahless lay with his back against the ground and Kellein's head on his shoulder.

Lightly, she ran her fingernails across his cheek, tracing what seemed to him to be arcane emblems.

Praxis had risen in the east. In its light, Kellein's skin took on a blue-white, almost ethereal cast. She was too beautiful to be of this world, yet too full of life to be of the next.

"What?" she asked suddenly.

He looked at her. "How did you know I was thinking of something?"

Kellein grunted. "You are always thinking of something. If you weren't, Molor would have caught you a long time ago."

Kahless smiled at that. "But how did you know this thought had to do with you, daughter of Vathraq?"

She shrugged and looked up at the stars. "I just knew," she told him.

"Did you also know what I was thinking?"

Kellein cast him a sideways glance. "Don't play games with me, Kahless. I don't like games."

"I don't either," he admitted. "It is only that . .

"Yes?" she prodded.

"Where I come from, this means we are betrothed."

Kellein laughed. It was the first time he'd heard her do that. Normally, he would have liked the sound of itexcept in this case, he felt he was being mocked. He said S.

"I am not mocking you," she a.s.sured him.