Hell's Heart (19 page)

Thirty-five

T
he chancellor put his hands in the air to forestall Galdor. “
Gin'tak
, all Qo'noS has heard of your valiant attempt to protect Lord Udakh. All Klingons share your pain and outrage. But if you plan to speak about the massacre,” Martok said, “that subject has already been dealt with. It is being investigated. We will not muddy the issue with more words.”

“And I agree. I am here to address the disposition of the House of Kruge—which I believe you were about to take up.” Galdor cupped his ear with his free hand. “I have the hearing of someone the chancellor's age.”

Light laughter followed from the councillors—and Martok chose to be amused. “Very well. You have been through much,
Gin'tak
. Gather your thoughts while I speak with my ­advisors—and then have your say.”

Galdor walked around the room, allowing each of the councillors in turn to touch the blade. Riker turned to Alexander. “Picard told me he would move to dissolve the house,” Riker whispered. “Can that be done?”

Alexander nodded. “Houses usually fall by conquest and are subsumed by others. As
gin'tak
, Galdor can forestall conflict by declaring no heir is available and throwing the holdings to the chancellor to distribute. It's cleaner.”

And probably what Martok prefers,
Riker thought. It seemed a universal truth with rulers throughout history: power often came from the ability to distribute properties and titles. The admiral was still thinking about that when he realized Galdor had made his way halfway around the room—and was now looking directly at him.

“Admiral,” he said coolly.

“
Gin'tak
.” Riker nodded in response. That was all he could think to do. What could he say to the man—here in this place,
with Galdor's son glaring at him from across the aisle? Anything?

Fortunately, Martok saved Riker from answering. “Get to it,
Gin'tak
.”

“Very well.” With a last pointed glance at the admiral, Galdor walked back to the center of the chamber. “As you all know, I have served the House of Kruge for fifty years. The house is unique, owing to the
may'qochvan
—but also because of its industrial capacity. And its history. Commander Kruge brought many worlds into the Empire. His loss is still felt.”

Galdor looked again at the names on the
mek'leth
. “You have all likely heard that Lord Kiv'ota lost
his
last battle while on his way here, succumbing to his age and injuries. He was the last of those I served. Now I lay the burden of
gin'tak
down.” Punctuating the declaration, he knelt, placing the
mek'
leth
on the floor.

Martok gave the older Klingon his moment. “Do you, Galdor, declare the House of Kruge vacated, in line with our laws and traditions?”

Galdor looked up. But before he could say anything, a call came from the doorway. “No!”

Riker and Alexander stepped aside again—this time, for a husky female Klingon. The admiral recognized her ­immediately—as did Martok, whose aggravation seemed ready to boil over.

“General Kersh,” Martok said, barely concealing the annoyance in his voice. “When I promised last year this chamber would be more open, I didn't mean to everyone at once.”

“I must be heard, Chancellor. This concerns
me
.” She stormed up to where Galdor was kneeling and pointed down at him. “He was about to dissolve the house—
my house
. He can't do that, not when I have a claim. I am the oldest surviving direct heir—”

“Indirect!” called out a voice from among the councillors.

Unable to see who had called out, Kersh put her fist to her chest. “I am the granddaughter of J'borr and daughter of Dakh, who fell to the Borg.”

“He fell off a balcony when besotted,” someone else shouted.

Flustered, she looked for the source of the calumny. “Who said that?” Murmurs arose from the crowd, mixed with laughter.

Riker didn't understand their reaction to her. He had recently encountered Kersh during the Takedown affair and found her smart and professional; Worf had reported the same from when she had assisted him some years earlier. “I thought they liked Kersh,” he whispered—not that discretion was necessary over the rumble of discussion.

Alexander cupped his hand over his mouth and responded. “Kersh is respected. But she is not so distinguished the council would put aside its prejudices and grant her control. Women have ruled houses—even the Empire. But the councillors would have to overwhelmingly approve.”

Which isn't likely when so many of the other houses long to run the Kruge family's holdings themselves
. Riker shook his head as the buzz increased in volume. While Kersh ranted at a pair of old councillors, all the rest seemed to have leaped ahead to litigating the house's future.

The chancellor stood, his patience at an end. “Enough!” Martok shouted. The assemblage swiftly quieted down, whereupon he took his seat. “This is exactly what I wanted to avoid—the carrion-feeders at work. We could learn from the
may'qochvan
. The house has yet even to be dissolved—”

“And it will not be,” responded someone many had probably forgotten was present. Galdor rose from his knees. “There is another heir!”

Riker watched in awe as the once-raucous councillors fell into stunned silence. Kersh, to Galdor's right, sputtered. “
What?
”

Seeing that all eyes were on him, Galdor stood tall. “I am known to you all as Galdor,
gin'tak
of the House of Kruge. I have given decades of my life to this family, seeing it through difficult times—some of its own members' making. I say that because it is the truth—and I
can
say it because the people I served respected my judgment.”

Martok nodded, impatience returning. “Yes, yes, an impressive record. And you are the family historian. Who remains that is first in line to hold the house and sit at the High Council?”

Galdor looked up at the crimson light fixture over the chancellor's head and spoke proudly. “I am confident there can only be one true heir: Korgh, son of Torav.”

“Who?” Martok's response spoke for all those in the chamber.

“Korgh, son of Torav—and son of Kruge. One hundred one years ago, Kruge himself undertook to adopt Korgh as his son.” He reached into his cloak and drew forth a small device. Kneeling again, he placed it on the floor and activated it.

A life-sized hologram appeared before him. It depicted Commander Kruge, as he had appeared in the year before he died, swearing the oath of adoption with a Klingon of nineteen or twenty. All the councillors edged forward to get a better look; from the rear, Riker moved closer to the gathering to get a glimpse.

“This is ridiculous,” Kersh said, staring at the image. “I've never heard of this Korgh.”

“I have heard of Torav,” one of the older councillors said. “He served with Kruge.”

Martok eyed the flickering image suspiciously—and then looked down at Galdor. “How did you come by this recording?”

“It wasn't hard to get,” Galdor said, deactivating the device. “You see, I was there.”

“You were present at this ceremony?”

“I should say so.” He reached for the
mek'leth
. Picking it up, he stood. “For I am that Korgh. I claim the House of Kruge as rightfully mine!”

Thirty-six

U.S.S. E
NTERPRISE
-
E

H
YRALAN
S
ECTOR

“H
ere's the leader,” Å mrhová said, showing Picard into the brig. “Or that's what he says he is, Captain.”

The Orion in the cell didn't fit Picard's picture of a crime lord. The prisoner was tall and lean. Almost scrawny, in fact. The captain was expecting someone belligerent—or, at least, mildly peeved at being beamed off his starship in the middle of a firefight. But the green male was wandering around his cell, trying out every bunk like a shopper at a furniture bazaar.

“These are really nice,” he said to no one in particular as he bounced his hairless head against the headrest on the lower bunk. “I wonder where they get these.”

Picard looked at his security chief. “He's their leader?”

The Orion bolted upright on the bed, startled. “Yes,” he said, puffing up his chest. “I am the leader. I lead.”

Picard asked, “What is your name?”

The Orion eyed Picard slyly. “Will telling you get me out of here?”

“Not that alone. But it's a first step.”

He stood up. “Tuthar,” he said snappishly. After a moment, he added, “It's my syndicate you're messing with.”

“You're the boss?” Picard asked.

“You bet.”

“Really,” Å mrhová said, gesturing to a padd. “That's not what this manifest from your ship says. See? Leotis is boss. You're just one of the soldiers.”

“That's wrong.”

She rechecked. “Oh, I see. Tuthar is in charge of outfitting.”

“He runs the supply room,” Picard said. He rolled his eyes and turned to leave. “I wanted to see the boss. I'll be in my—”

“Leotis is dead,” Tuthar interjected.

Picard paused. The security chief went down the list. “What about Utrak? Adej? Varone?”

“Dead, dead, dead.” Tuthar edged toward the security force field and gestured for Å mrhová to come nearer. She turned the padd closer so he could see. He read down the list. “Dead. The next seven or eight. Can you hold that closer?”

Tuthar was ready to tick off more names—but Picard forestalled him. “That's quite a move, Tuthar. How did you pull it off?”

“Because I'm smart, Starfleet, that's how.”

“You must be exceptionally so, to run a ship like yours with a skeleton crew.” He stared at the Orion. “Or are there more skeletons?”

Å mrhová turned the padd back about and read from it. “More than a few skeletons, I'd say. By my count, Tuthar, eighty percent of your crew is gone.”

“This sector is in Federation space,” Picard said. “If you murdered them, we'll find out. And you'll find out what a Federation prison facility is like.”

Tuthar snorted. “They're childcare centers. I've been in one. We ate so well, I put on ten kilograms.”

“There's always Thionoga,” Å mrhová said. “I'm sure they'll take you if we ask nicely.”

Tuthar's smile disappeared. The detention center orbiting nonaligned Thionoga was no vacation facility. “You wouldn't.”

“I don't have a lot of time,” Picard said. “And I'm not interested in what happened to your crew. I'm interested in what happened to innocent people on Gamaral.”

If the mention of Thionoga got Tuthar thinking, Gamaral had double the effect. His eyes widened, and he started breathing fast. “What, that massacre thing?”

“So you've heard of it.” Picard, willing to let Å mrhová play
the tough questioner until now, spoke loudly and forcefully. “A burglar working for your boss stole the itinerary for a cargo fleet. That cargo fleet was used to smuggle in the assassins. Was it your people in those combat suits?”

“What?” Tuthar gesticulated with his hands. “No!”

“Are you sure? Our sensors observed traces of Orion DNA on the attackers' gear. How did that get there?”

“Because we bled on them!”

Picard paused and looked at Å mrhová quizzically. Then he turned back to Tuthar. “How's that again?”

Tuthar's face grew a more robust shade of green. “I didn't kill Leotis or the other crewmembers,” he said, rattled. “I didn't kill anyone. Your assassins did. They hit us a few days before the Gamaral massacre—you can check the ship's logs. In black armored suits and helmets, all of them. They vaporized a bunch of our people—cut some others to ribbons, hand to hand.” He paced about the cell in animated fashion, clearly agitated by the memory. “I'll bet that blood might belong to Leotis himself.”

Å mrhová looked at Picard. “We can look into that.”

“That's right,” Tuthar said. “I was hiding in a damn maintenance tube the whole time—me and just about everyone I've got left. These characters came out of nowhere too—beaming straight through our shields!”

Picard let out a silent sigh.
A solid lead at last.
It had to be the same group. “Did they take anything from Leotis?”

“Just the padd we were sold. The one with the shipping routes and schedules. I had brought that thing into inventory myself. It seemed so crazy—taking out half our crew for something dumb like that.”

“But you must have figured out it linked the attackers to the events on Gamaral,” Å mrhová said. “That's why you were heading for the frontier in
Dinskaar
when we tracked you down.” She gestured to the brig. “You were afraid of
this
.”

“Believe me, Starfleet, I'd have gone faster if I could have. But those crazies killed our whole engineering crew.”

Picard peered at the Orion. “Why crazies?”

“I've worked with plenty of assassins,” Tuthar said. “Some kill for money, some for sport. And then some kill because there's a strange little voice somewhere telling them to.” He looked at Picard, wide-eyed. “These guys were both choice two and three.”

Picard nodded. That was his assessment as well. “We're going to leave you intact, Tuthar. But we're going to search your ship for any clue it might hold about the people who attacked you. Perhaps they were less careful there than they were at Gamaral.”

Tuthar sagged, clearly relieved. He found the lower bunk again and lay facedown on it.

Picard turned to leave, and Å mrhová followed. “What do we do with them?” she asked.

“We hold on to them until the investigation is complete—
all
investigations. If the Klingons interview Tuthar on their own ship, he may have a heart attack before they start.”

She nodded in agreement and followed him into the turbolift. “Bridge,” Picard said.

Å mrhová had a distant look as they rode. “There's something I don't understand, Captain.”

“What's that, Lieutenant?”

“The
Dinskaar
. I don't understand why it still exists. The assassins took what they wanted—and killed most of the personnel. Why didn't they just destroy the ship when they were done, to cover their tracks?”

Picard thought for a few moments. “They didn't kill any more people than they needed to when they struck
Enterprise
. If the itinerary was their goal, perhaps they killed just as many people as it took to get to it.”

“I guess.”

“You know, there's something completely different that bothers me,” Picard said. “Knowing the event specialists' itinerary allowed the assassins a way to enter the Gamaral system
without being spotted by the surveillance probes. They got that by taking Leotis's ship and the padd his burglar stole. But how did they know there were itineraries of the celebration to steal? It wasn't as if a lot of people knew the ceremony was going to happen—or that Spectacle was involved in it. How did the assassins know there was a ceremony to begin with?”

Before Šmrhová could formulate a response, Picard received a message over his combadge.
“Emergency transmission from Admiral Riker to Captain Picard.”

“Put it through.” Picard halted the turbolift. “Admiral, I thought you were still on Qo'noS.”

“I am.”

“I can't hear you very well.”

“I'm calling from the back of the High Council chamber.”

“Has Galdor returned?”

“Has he ever,”
Riker said.
“You're not going to believe this.”