Текст книги "Open Secrets "

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

40

Standing alone in his private quarters aboard the Omari-Ekon,Zett Nilric studied the arrangement of clothing he had removed from his closet—the ensemble he had chosen for the next day’s wear—and nodded in satisfaction. Every line in the tailored dark blue suit was perfect, every crease a razor’s edge. The black shoes he would wear were polished to a high sheen, his reflection clearly visible in them.

It was part of his self-imposed regime to end each day preparing for the next. No matter how crowded his schedule might be and without regard to the lateness of the hour, Zett never retired before updating himself on the coming day’s events, completing his own grueling physical training regimen, and ensuring that his appearance would be in keeping with the high standards he set for himself. Though one might argue that such strict adherence to established routine made one predictable to friends as well as enemies, Zett knew better. His habits were his own, shared with no one. He offered no insights into his private life, not to his employers and certainly not to anyone else on Ganz’s staff. It required ceaseless discipline to maintain such a well-ordered life and yet keep every detail of that life to one’s self, and discipline was the one trait Zett valued above all others. Those who lacked that control were weak, he knew, easily exploited. Fortunately, he was surrounded by such people, offering him numerous opportunities for advancement and personal gain simply by taking advantage of the chaos with which those people lived their lives.

All of that from pressing a simple suit and shining a pair of shoes?Zett smiled as he regarded his obsidian countenance in the small mirror affixed to one closet door. He examined his rows of gleaming teeth, searching for any hint of discoloration or the slightest particle of food that might have remained after his last meal. He saw only perfection, just as he expected.

Perhaps Ganz is right, and you do take yourself too seriously.

Dismissing the errant thought, Zett turned from the wardrobe, approving his own work as he crossed his quarters to the well-stocked bar in one corner. With his daily schedule completed, he now was free to relax, enjoying the single drink he would prepare from his personal supply of exotic liquors and other spirits before going to bed. As he poured a generous serving of a green-tinged liquid into an octagonal glass, he considered his options for the remainder of the evening. Would he listen to some music with his nightcap? Perhaps watch or read something from his considerable personal library? The music, he decided.

Drink in hand, he moved toward the ornate desk in the opposite corner. Carved from a single piece of dark marble, the desk was, like Zett himself, flawlessly organized. Free of clutter, its top hosted nothing more than the simple black portfolio that Zett carried with him each day and a computer terminal from which he could access his personal files, all of which, of course, were encrypted and protected from unauthorized access. Reaching for the workstation, Zett stopped short when the terminal’s monitor flared to life, displaying a simple message.

Secure transmission incoming.

Zett glanced at the wall chronometer above his desk. Who would be contacting him at this hour? Not Ganz, certainly. His employer always reached him via their personal communications devices, rather than the Omari-Ekon’s comm system. Looking to the display’s lower right corner, Zett noted that the transmission was accompanied by a Klingon encoding schema. Most interesting.

Using the terminal’s keypad interface, Zett requested information on the communication’s encryption and came away only mildly surprised that it was one with which he was unfamiliar. He would have to accept the transmission in order for any decryption to take place, after which his own library of data-capturing processes could begin the task of examining and finding a way to break the encoding algorithm. For a moment, Zett wondered if this communication was being tracked by eavesdroppers on the Starfleet space station. Surely, they would be curious about the source and reasons behind a Klingon communiqué being directed to a private Orion merchant vessel in this manner. He dismissed that thought, knowing that the Omari-Ekonwas at this moment traveling beyond the range of Starbase 47’s sensor capabilities.

They will learn nothing,Zett decided, and neither will you unless you accept the transmission.He keyed the control to complete the connection.

On the screen, the simple text was replaced with the visage of a Klingon. Dressed in the standard black and gold uniform of the Klingon military, he appeared to be QuchHa’,which was what the Klingons called members of their society descended from those who had suffered an odd genetic mutation that had plagued many Klingons more than a century earlier. Such individuals did not possess the prominent cranial ridges that typified the warrior race. However, while this Klingon at first appeared to be descended from that unfortunate stock, Zett still saw a subtle pattern of ridges on his bald dome. Indeed, the only hair on his head was a dark, thin mustache and an accompanying beard, which only covered his chin. Black, calculating eyes regarded Zett as they peered out from the monitor.

“Greetings, Mr. Nilric,”the Klingon said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. When he spoke, his words carried a clipped, precise diction that Zett found unusual for a Klingon soldier. “My name is Chang. I trust I have not caught you at an inconvenient time?”

A well-mannered Klingon? Zett supposed there were stranger things in the universe, but he could recall none at the moment. “Not at all, but I think you’ll admit this contact is rather unusual.”

“Indeed,”Chang replied, nodding. “I’m confident that once you’ve heard what I have to say, you’ll appreciate the need for such unorthodox contact and the discretion employed to bring it about.”

Polite and long-winded.Zett decided that Chang had to be a politician, or at the very least a military officer with political ambitions who was now presented with an opportunity to pursue some unknown agenda. None of that interested Zett—at least, not unless there was something from it for him to gain.

“We have a mutual acquaintance,”Chang continued. “An associate of mine, Qahl, has spoken highly of you, particularly your discretion when it comes to sensitive matters.”

He forced his expression to reveal nothing, but Zett felt his stomach tighten at the mention of the Klingon he had met months earlier, to whom he had delivered that mysterious, damnable stone sarcophagus. Qahl himself had not been memorable, his uninspiring presence aboard Zett’s ship, the Icarion,all but overshadowed by the enigmatic object the Nalori had acquired on Traelus II. The remote planet in a relatively unexplored sector of the Taurus Reach was home to a nonspace-faring civilization that nevertheless was aware of other inhabited worlds and intelligent species. As such, over the course of the past several years, they had been making their resource-rich world an ever-increasing destination for interstellar commerce.

More important, the planet reportedly was also home to several other artifacts like the one Zett had obtained, though as far as he had been able to determine, it did not possess any of the ancient ruins the Federation and Klingon Empire had found on other worlds throughout the Taurus Reach. Neither Starfleet nor the Klingons—as far as Zett knew, anyway—were aware of Traelus II’s potential value to their seemingly never-ending quest to learn the secrets of the ancient civilization that once had called this region home.

They can have it,Zett had decided after his encounter with the sarcophagus. The intense anxiety and, yes, even fear he had felt while in the object’s presence were more than enough to convince the assassin that this long-dead race was to be avoided at all costs. If the Federation or the Klingons wanted to tempt the wrath of whatever had once ruled over the Taurus Reach, that was not his concern.

“Qahl is a competent courier,” Zett said, “but I know little of him beyond that.” Indeed, he was more than a bit concerned about the Klingon dropping his name in such casual fashion. He made a mental note to track down Qahl in short order and see to that lapse. “Never mind him. What do youwant with me?”

Chang nodded. “My superiors wish to make use of your particular talents, Mr. Nilric. You will understand their desire to remain anonymous, at least for the moment. However, I am authorized to negotiate on their behalf, and they are prepared to pay handsomely for your services.”

Zett held up a hand. “Chang, I’ve met Vulcans who don’t take this long to get to the point.”

“Very well,”Chang replied, his voice losing some of its near-lyrical cadence. “As you know, the Klingon Empire has placed a price on the head of Commodore Diego Reyes. My employers want you to utilize your considerable skills to resolve this issue.”

Zett all but laughed out loud. “Your employers have a sense of humor I can admire.” He leaned closer to the desktop monitor. “Why?”

“The Earther’s actions at Gamma Tauri IV are an insult to the Klingon Empire,”Chang replied. “For this, he must pay—with his life.”

Frowning, Zett asked, “Don’t Klingons usually like to handle these sorts of things themselves? Honor and all of that?”

Chang sneered in response. “Sometimes honor and protocol must step aside in the name of swift and meaningful justice.”Now it was his turn to lean closer. “Not that any Klingon needs to explain himself to anyone.”

Having had his fill of seemingly contradictory and frankly confusing philosophical discussions on this topic with more than one Klingon, Zett said, “I honestly couldn’t care less about any of that. Surely, your employers understand that the commodore is under heavy guard at all times and is likely to remain so until his court-martial is completed. That says nothing of the fact that he’s also incarcerated aboard one of the most powerful Starfleet space stations in the quadrant.”

“A challenge for a person possessing your specific gifts,”Chang countered. He reached forward to something Zett could not see, and an instant later, a string of numbers appeared on the lower part of the computer screen. “I trust the offer I’ve provided is sufficient for you at least to consider taking this contract?”

Eyeing the numbers displayed on his monitor, Zett could not help agreeing with the Klingon. It was indeed a nice figure. It would have to be; if he was successful in carrying out this plan hatched by Qahl’s superiors, he quickly would become one of the most wanted fugitives in this part of the galaxy.

“Very well,” he said after a moment. “I’ll think about it.”

Chang’s face broadened into a smile wide enough that Zett thought the Klingon might well carry Nalori blood in his veins. “Excellent. I shall await your answer, but I must recommend against delaying your decision, Mr. Nilric, for nothing will come of nothing.”

What is he babbling about?

The communication ended, leaving Zett alone to bask in his room’s sudden silence, undisturbed as he pondered the job and the considerable amount of money he had just been offered. Did Diego Reyes pose that much of a threat to the Klingon Empire? From what he knew of current events, Zett could not agree with that, not that he cared. The more likely scenario was that the commodore had essentially stepped on the toes of Klingon honor, whatever that was supposed to be these days, and somebody wanted face-saving vengeance.

Either way,Zett decided, and with everything else hanging over his head, I wouldn’t want to be Reyes just now.

41

There was just no other way to say it, Xiong decided. Klingons stank.

In the cramped confines of the narrow underground tunnel leading from the surface of whatever planet it was he had been brought to, the stench was all but overpowering. Xiong had to force himself not to gag as he endured the stench emanating from the bodies of the two Klingon soldiers assigned to usher him through the network of tunnels. He was tempted to ask when either of them had last bathed, certain that the answer would be a date several years before his birth. Even their breath was horrid, a consequence of Klingon cuisine coupled with seemingly nonexistent dental hygiene.

Who needs disruptors and knives when you wield that?

He reached up in a vain attempt to wipe away the offending odor attacking his nostrils, and Xiong ended up regretting the unplanned movement, as it earned him yet another strike between his shoulder blades.

“Keep your hands away from your body, Earther,” warned one of the two Klingon soldiers as Xiong was shoved forward.

The young lieutenant sighed, electing to say nothing. While he was confident that the soldiers would obey their orders not to injure him, he could not help wondering how greatly the definition of “injure” might differ between Klingons and humans.

Trying to put such thoughts out of his mind, Xiong attempted to focus on his surroundings. The tunnel was a crude one, by all appearances cut from the rock with primitive hand tools. The floor was uneven, and he had to watch his footing, lest he stumble and fall. Likewise, the ceiling was low, requiring him to duck on occasion in order to avoid bumping his head. With their larger physiques, his Klingon escorts seemed to find navigating the tunnel an even greater challenge, as evidenced by the frequent grunts of irritation he heard. Mounts, presumably for primitive torches, lined the walls at more or less regular intervals, though none of them was in use. Instead, cabling had been affixed to the rock, from which hung low-level lights.

The trio rounded a bend in the tunnel, and Xiong realized that the light level was increasing beyond that of the lamps on the walls. He also heard the sound of voices and the low hum of what he suspected was a power generator. Another turn revealed the entrance to a larger chamber, and now Xiong saw a handful of other Klingons moving about stacks of crates, supplies, and equipment. Emerging from the tunnel, the lieutenant was surprised to see that a makeshift worksite had been erected within the cavern, with tables supporting tools, computer equipment, and other objects Xiong did not recognize.

His eyes shifted to study the Klingons in the room, counting seven that he could see, including one female. Seated at one of the tables, with a computer terminal in front of her, she looked up at his arrival. Like her male companions, she wore the standard uniform of a Klingon soldier. Her dark, shoulder-length hair was pulled away from her face to reveal dark, angular features. The ridges on her forehead were noticeable though not as pronounced as he had seen on other Klingon women, and in a bizarre way that he did not fully understand, he did not find her unattractive.

You might want to rethink your priorities, Lieutenant.

Turning to look over her shoulder, she called out, “He is here, my captain.” Xiong followed her gaze until he saw a large, swarthy Klingon male emerge from between stacks of packing crates. Compared with the female, this specimen was gigantic. The black hair that fell from his shoulders was longer than the female’s, flowing behind him like a mane. Xiong’s eyes noted the disruptor pistol and the very large knife suspended from a belt at the Klingon’s waist.

“I am Komoraq,” the Klingon said, studying Xiong with a critical and—Xiong was sure—disapproving eye. “And you are the Earther who has studied these relics?”

The blunt statement sent a wave of unease through Xiong. He had been suspecting something like this. His capture and subsequent treatment had to be related to his knowledge of the Shedai artifacts, such as those he had been studying on Erilon.

They’ve found something here, wherever here is, but they don’t know what to do with it.

Xiong cleared his throat and said, “Yes, I’ve studied them. We’ve made some small progress understanding them and the technology.” It was not technically a lie, but even he did not feel convinced by his own words.

Neither, apparently, did Komoraq, who offered a dismissive grunt.

“Your modesty aside, the simple fact is that you seem to be the foremost authority on these people and the power they once wielded. We wish to understand that power, and I’ve brought you here to assist us.”

Xiong tried to affect an expression of uncertainty. “We’ve only just begun to scratch the surface, but based on what we’ve found and what we’ve seen, this civilization is orders of magnitude more advanced than yours or mine. You know what happened to the Jinoteur system, right?”

The Klingon nodded. “Indeed, as well as Palgrenax, Gamma Tauri IV, and even the planet from which you were taken. We’ve made some discoveries of our own, here and on other planets, but I’ll admit we lag behind the Federation.” His eyes bored into Xiong. “That is why you are here, Earther. We have similar Shedai technology on this rock, though we are unable to do anything with it. Even the artifacts discovered on Palgrenax and Lerais III offered more insight.” He gestured toward the Klingon female. “My wife believes that this is because of what happened with the Jinoteur system. Is she correct?” As he asked the question, Komoraq’s left hand rested on the handle of the far-too-large knife on his hip.

Feeling his anxiety rising, Xiong replied, “We don’t know.”

The Klingon wasted no time, waving to one of the guards flanking Xiong. “Kill him.”

“Wait!” Xiong blurted, holding up his hands. “I said I didn’t know, but it is a possibility we’ve been exploring.” That was somewhat truthful, but he hoped it was enough of a feint to forestall his execution, if only for a few moments. “Since the system’s disappearance, all of the alien technology we’ve encountered has gone dormant. We suspect a connection, but we’ve had no way to test the theory, since we had only limited success even accessing the equipment in the first place.”

“It is because humanoids are not biologically compatible with the technology,” the Klingon female said, moving to stand beside her husband. “Correct?”

Xiong shrugged. “Maybe.” He kept his expression neutral, careful to reveal no clue to the Klingon woman that she was indeed on the right track. “We’ve only just begun to test that concept, though.” Another small obfuscation.

“Then it’s fortunate that I brought you here, rather than killing you outright on Erilon,” Komoraq said. He indicated his wife with a nod of his head. “Lorka?”

To Xiong’s guards, she said, “Bring him,” before turning on her heel and marching off, cutting a path through the stacks of crates and equipment. Xiong felt a massive hand on his shoulder, directing him to follow Lorka, and he and his escorts set off after her. As they made their way around a large container inscribed with long strings of text written in Klingonese, Xiong knew what he would see even before it came into view. Still, he could not help a gasp of surprise as he beheld what the Klingons had found.

It was a series of control consoles, nearly identical to those found on Erilon, Ravanar IV, and other worlds where Starfleet research teams had discovered remnants of Shedai civilization. Like those with which he had been working before his capture on Erilon, these consoles seemed active, receiving power from a portable generator. Xiong could only assume that, also like those on Erilon and—presumably—every other world containing such technology, these systems were all but useless without the guiding force once provided by the now-departed Jinoteur system.

A Tholian stood before them. It was dressed in an environment suit much like the one worn by Nezrene, though this one was a metallic red in color. At his approach, the Tholian turned and appeared to regard him through the narrow slits in the suit’s helmet covering. Xiong heard a chorus of lyrical twitters, indecipherable gibberish until the translator incorporated into the Tholian’s suit offered up its rendition.

“Why have you brought this outsider here?”

Ignoring the Tholian, Lorka said to Xiong, “This creature has proven to be of limited use to this point. Its physiology has allowed us to gain some access to this equipment, but it lacks any knowledge of its ancestors or their technology. That is why you’re here. You will work with it.” Turning, she reached for a small equipment box sitting on the rocky floor next to the console. From it she extracted what Xiong recognized as the tricorder confiscated from him at the time of his capture. “Your research and discoveries on Erilon should prove most helpful in that regard, yes?”

So, Xiong decided, this Klingon woman was no fool. Not a simple soldier, he suspected, but likely one of their scientists. As such, she would not be easily duped, and he would have to take great care in what he said or—more important—did not say.

“With time,” he said, hoping not to appear too eager to please. “There’s still so much we don’t know.”

“Then I suggest you get started,” Lorka said, tossing him the tricorder. “But rest assured, Earther, patience is not one of my husband’s numerous virtues. The moment he senses that you are attempting to deceive or misdirect us, or should you try to escape, you will die.”