Part 16 (1/2)
”Your father did not lie,” the old man agreed. ”That's what comes of serving on a Bird-of-Prey all one's life.”
As Picard looked on, Worf s smile disappeared. ”I am glad to hear that,” the lieutenant said. ”We need such expertise on our side.”
”Your side?” Majjas echoed. ”Then am I to understand you're at odds with some other House?”
”With someone, was Kahless interjected. ”Though it may be a great deal more than a simple conflict between Houses.” He glanced meaningfully at the old man's wife, a slight woman with sharp features. ”Perhaps this is something you alone may wish to hear, Majjas.”
Their host shook his white-maned head. ”My wife and my daughters-young as they are-are more than ornaments in this hall. You will not have occasion to regret your trust in them.”
Kahless inclined his head, to show his compliance with Majjas's terms. If the old man couldn't see him, at least his wife could. Then the clone went on to describe all they'd learned-starting with his observations at Tolar'tu and ending with the bloodshed at the academy on Ogat.
By the time he was done, Majjas was scowling in his wispy, white beard. ”You are dealing with cowards,” he concluded, ”and worse. But I see what you mean-this is more than a feud between Houses.” The muscles in his temples worked, evidence of his determination to help.
”What service may I perform for you, my friends?”
The captain watched as Worf opened the pouch on his belt and removed its contents, then placed them in their host's hands. Examining the metal fragments with his fingertips, Majjas harrumphed.
”Pieces of a bomb casing,” he announced. ”No doubt, from one of the firebombs your enemies set off at the academy. And what is it you wish to know about these pieces?”
”We were hoping,” said Picard, ”that you could provide us with some clue as to their manufacture. Preferably, something that might lead us to our enemies.”
Our enemies, thought the captain. It was a phrase any amba.s.sador in the Federation would have frowned on.
However, it seemed eminently appropriate at the moment.
Majjas turned the shards over and over in his hands.
”A clue, eh? I can tell you this-they're made of michara, an alloy most often used in heating elements, since it conducts thermal energy so well. But for a time, it was also used in the making of explosive devices.”
Picard nodded. Now they were getting somewhere.
”For a time?” he prodded. ”But no longer?”
”That is correct,” said the old man ”The practice stopped when cheaper alloys were introduced, which could be applied to the same purpose.”
Worf s eyes narrowed. ”Then not every armory would provide our enemies with access to such a device.”
”True,” Majjas confirmed. ”In fact, to my knowledge, there is only one. It is on Terjas Mor, not far from the city of Donar'ruq.”
Worf smiled as warmly as the captain had ever seen him smile. ”The House of Mogh is once more in your debt, my friend. If there were some way to repay you for your a.s.sistance ...
Their host shrugged. ”You could take me with you,” he suggested.
A silence fell ... until Majjas began to laugh out loud in his beard. His daughters looked at one another with relief-the same sort of relief Picard himself was feeling.
”You may relax,” the old Klingon a.s.sured them. ”I don't expect you to drag a blind man along. But if circ.u.mstances were different, it would be good to strike a blow again for the Empire.” He sighed. ”I tell you, I would have enjoyed that to the bottom of my heart.”
”How long will you be staying here on B'aaj?” asked Majjas's wife, the epitome of Klingon gentility-though she must have already known the answer.
”I regret,” Worf told her, ”that we cannot remain here as you r guests. Our mission is too urgent for us to delay.”
”Except to finish your wine,” the old man stipulated.
”Of course,” Kahless replied. ”It would be dishonorable to do otherwise.” And with that, he drained his goblet.
Worf cleared his throat, causing Majjas to turn in his direction. ”There is one other thing.”
”And that is?” the old man inquired.
”I ask that you-and your family-refrain from mentioning you even glimpsed us. After all,” said Mogh's elder son, ”one never knows whom one can trust at times like these. And as far as our enemies are concerned, we are dead.”
”Dead?” repeated Majjas. He laughed some more.
”Some would say that is even worse than being blind.”
Kahless stood and put his goblet down on a table made for such a purpose. ”I am afraid,” he said, ”it is time to take our leave of you now. And if my companions are too polite to hurry out of your hall, I will bear the blame on my own shoulders.”
But he hadn't offended their host, Picard observed. Far from it. Majjas's grin was so wide, it looked painful.
”Don't worry,” the old man told them. ”I am not offended, Emperor. Rather, I am honored. Have a safe trip, my friends. It is a dark and dangerous road you have chosen.”
”That it is,” Kahless agreed. And without further conversation, he led the way out of Majjas's houseleaving Picard and the others no choice but to follow.
The Heroic Age For two days, Kahless drove his starahk mercilessly, pausing only for the animal to munch on gra.s.s and groundnuts, and to water itself. Its rider, on the other hand, neither ate nor slept.
His mind had long ago settled into the rhythm of the beast's progress, avoiding anything so painful as a thought. Day turned into night, night became day, and he barely noticed.
But all the while, Morath was right behind him. He stopped when Kahless stopped and went on when Kahless went on. He didn't attempt to overtake him, or to speak with him again, only to haunt him from a distance.
At one point, just as twilight was throwing its cloak over the world, Kahless came to a fast-rus.h.i.+ng stream.
Seeing no way to go around it, he urged his starahk to enter the water. But the beast wouldn't move.
It dropped to its haunches, then fell over on its side, exhausted. And in the process, Kahless fell to the ground as well.
He looked back. Morath was sitting on his mount, saying nothing, making no move to come any closer. Only staring, with those dark, baleful eyes of his. But his stare was an accusation in itself.
Kahless grunted derisively. ”Are you still here?” he asked.
Morath didn't answer. He simply got down off his s'tarahk and let the animal approach the stream. As it drank, Kahless grunted again.
”Have it your way,” he said.
Kahless considered his mount again. The starahk wasn't going anywhere in its depleted condition-not for a while. The outlaw was tired too. Taking his sleeping mat off the beast's back, he rolled into it and closed his eyes against the starlight.
It was possible that Morath would kill him while he was asleep. But Kahless didn't care. It would be as good a death as any other, and he wanted more desperately than ever to end his suffering.
Kahless woke with first light. The sun's rays were hot on his face and blinding to his eyes.
For a moment, staring at the starahk grazing placidly beside him and the blanched hills all around, he didn't know where he was or how he had gotten there. For that moment, he knew peace. Then he remembered, and his load of misery crushed him all over again.