Ever so slowly, Worf lowered his hand. "I will be in touch with Starfleet," he informed him. "This does not end here."
"By all means, I eagerly anticipate hearing from you again. Good evening, Mr. Worf."
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He drifted in and out of consciousness, and he could hear Deanna calling to him . . . and, oddly enough, he began to hear Lwaxana as well... he heard echoes of a future, and Lwaxana was screaming at him, "You should have saved her! She asked you! She begged you!" Deanna
Go to her. . . you can do it... Deanna
You can find her. . . I've given you that. . . go . . . Deanna . . . Imzadi. . . help me. . .
The fierceness of the slap across his face brought him to wakefulness. He stared, bleary-eyed, up at Mudak. "Oh. Hi."
"Your Mr. Worf seems to have been rather convinced that you are, in fact, Will Riker." Mudak was slowly circling him, his hands behind his back. "Now I know that this is not the case. I know this. But I also know what else is going to happen. He is going to go back to Starfleet... and Starfleet will approach the Cardassian government. . . and there will be inquiries, and they will want to see you, and subject you to examination and deep-scan probes. And sooner or later, they may decide that, yes indeed, they believe you to be this William Riker. But this is a difficult proposition .. . because if you are indeed William Riker, which I assure you you are not, then that means that the reports of William Riker being back on Earth are false . . . and that Tom Riker, who indisputably helped with the assault on Betazed, is still running around free. So if they took you back, then the situation would result in my having no prisoner ... a rather serious stain on my record . . . and Starfleet would have William Riker back.
"However," he continued, "if something were to happen to you... if there was no Tom Riker to be argued over and examined . . . that would be a different matter. If there were no William Riker on Earth, then that would simply be Star-fleet's problem. Who knows? Perhaps he ran off to join the Maquis as did his duplicate. And Tom Riker would just be another dead prisoner. Case closed. I doubt my government would even pursue the matter much beyond the initial Starfleet
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inquiry. 'Tom Riker?' they would say. 'Tom Riker ... ah yes, here's his file. Oh dear. We regret to inform you that Tom Riker is dead. Shot while trying to assault one of our top security people. Tragic shame, really. On to the next case.'"
Mudak nodded approvingly over the scenario that he had just described. "Yes. Yes, I like the sound of that quite a bit. Do you understand where I am going with all this, Tom?"
Riker began to drift off again.
"Very well. I see we're just going to have to end this clean, then." He pulled out his blaster and aimed it point blank at Will Riker's head. "Good-bye, Tom."
That was when he suddenly heard blaster fire out front. Mudak turned to head out and see what the problem was . ..
And the entire front of Mudak's office was caved in. The forward section of a Klingon scout ship smashed through with explosive impact, sending a shower of debris all over. Mudak tried to bring his phaser to bear, but it was too late as the front end of the ship ran him over, crushing his right arm and sending the blaster tumbling from his now useless hand. He went down, screaming, pinned under the vessel, pounding on it in futility with the left arm.
The entry port to the vessel irised open and Worf leaped out. Riker was lying on the floor, looking stunned, and Worf went to him and slung him over his shoulders. He headed back to the ship, stopping only long enough to look down at Mudak.
"You are going to need some new guards," he informed him.
Then he leaped into his ship, the door irising shut behind him. Moments later, with a roar, the Klingon vessel angled upward and shredded the ceiling of the office building like so much tissue paper. Within moments they were gone.
Deanna sat up so abruptly that Alexander's head tumbled off her stomach. He cracked his skull on the floor but otherwise was completely awake and alert. He looked at her in confusion. "What happened? What's wrong?"
She stared right through him . . . and there were tears of joy streaming down her face as she whispered, "I sense him ... I
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feel him ... oh, Alexander ... I sense him as clearly as if he were right here ... I didn't think it was possible . .."
And with that she lay back down and went back to sleep, leaving a completely confused young Klingon to stare at her and wonder why, for the first time since they had been captured, Deanna Troi had a wide grin on her face.
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19
Wo
forf kept the scout ship moving briskly through warp space as Will Riker used the shower facilities in the rear of the vessel. They were cramped and rather spartan, which was more or less the way everything in a Klingon vessel was, but Riker didn't complain. After a few minutes, looking as if he actually had a grasp of where he was, Riker emerged. The clothing he had been wearing from the prison camp was torn and soiled, and so he had changed into a simple black tunic and pants from a storage chest in the back. For a Klingon, it was merely the base layer of clothing upon which they piled on their leathers, armor, and assorted accoutrements. For Will's purposes what he was wearing was sufficient, albeit a bit big on him. The boots, however, were hopelessly huge, so he didn't even bother with them.
"Are you all right, Commander?" Worf asked once Will dropped into a chair next to him.
Will nodded. "I've been better," he admitted. "Now that you're here, Mr. Worf. . . now that I'm off that place . .. it's becoming easier to focus my thoughts."
"You seemed rather distracted on Lazon Two."
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"That, Mr. Worf, is putting it mildly." He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. "So how did you get on with Lwaxana?"
"Commander, with all respect, there must be better times to discuss this. Do you have a way of finding Deanna?"
"Lwaxana is quite a woman, isn't she."
"Yes, she is," Worf said impatiently. "But that is not relevant-"
"She can get into your head."
"True. But-"
"She got into mine."
"Commander." Worfs irritation was starting to grow beyond his ability to control. "We need to find-"
"Deanna, yes. And we'll do it because Lwaxana got into my head."
This brought Worf up short. "I... do not understand."
"Worf. . . Deanna and I, well... we had a sort of connection, forged when we first got together." Suddenly Riker seemed uncomfortable discussing it, but he steeled himself and kept going. "A link, if you will. She taught me certain disciplines . . . helped me with expanding my mind, so to speak. And we can . . . communicate without speaking. I'm sorry, this is very personal... I haven't spoken of it, really, and I'm not happy with talking about it now. But hell... you're practically family, right?"
It was a ragged attempt to lighten a difficult moment. It was greeted by a silent stare from Worf.
"Right. Anyway," continued Riker, "Lwaxana, she ... also has a bond with Deanna. It comes from being mother and daughter. . . and she reinforced it just before Deanna was taken away. When I went to her in the hospital, Lwaxana . .. pushed the link into my mind. Took what was already there in me, and her, heightened it to the nth degree and downloaded it. She cross-wired Deanna and me, is the best-if somewhat inefficient-way that I can put it."
"Are you saying . . . you can read her mind? From here?"
"No. That would be simple. But I..." He closed his eyes
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once more, letting out a long, deep breath. "I can sense her. And I can bring us ... to her . . ."
As Worf watched in silent disbelief, Hiker's fingers rested upon the controls. He seemed to be reaching out, beyond the vessel, beyond himself.
When he was a young Klingon on Earth, there had been a young girl living next door to Worf who had some sort of ancient game she called a "Ouija board." Ostensibly it was devised for the purpose of communicating with the dece
ased. The girl would sit there for hours on end, her fingers resting on some sort of pointer, asking pointless questions and having her fingers "guided" by otherworldly spirits, providing answers by drifting the pointer from one letter to another. It seemed patently absurd to Worf. If the deceased were inclined to communicate via the living, why couldn't they simply take over someone's body and talk in a straightforward fashion?
But that was the closest analogue to what Worf was seeing now. It was as if Riker was channeling Deanna's spirit, and it was completely filling him, calling to him, like two halves of the same soul trying to rejoin. And as this happened, Will's fingers glided over the controls of the scout ship, setting coordinates. When he opened his eyes, he seemed rather surprised that he had actual headings laid in.
"Is that our course, sir?" asked Worf.
"It would appear so," replied Riker. He sighed. "Not exactly the most scientific way of going about it, is it, Mr. Worf."
" 'You will follow your heart. . . through space . . . and if it be ripped from your chest, you will follow the trail of blood...'"
Will turned and gaped at Worf. "Mr. Worf. .. that was borderline poetic."
"It actually is a poem. It is from The Klingon Book of 300 Love Poems."
"Somehow I never saw Klingons as poets."
"When Klingon males read poetry to females during fore-play, they throw large objects."
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"That would certainly be my reaction to that poem. No offense," he added hastily.
"I will try not to take any. Course locked in, sir."
Riker snapped off a quick point and said, "Engage."
The Klingon scout ship immediately headed off on its new course. As Worf monitored the systems, he asked, "How will we know when we are there?"
"We'll know," Riker said confidently.
"You mean you will know."
Riker nodded, trying to ignore the somewhat challenging tone of Worfs voice. But it wasn't possible when Worf persisted by saying, "Is that why you came to Betazed? To put your fist down my throat?"
Riker stared at him. "What?"
"On Lazon Two ... you said that when Deanna and I announced our engagement.. . you envisioned yourself putting your fist down my throat."
"Worf, my brain was scrambled. Between what they did to me, and what Lwaxana had implanted ... I was barely thinking straight. You can't believe everything I said while I was in that condition. . . ."
"If I had not believed it, you would still be there."
Will stared at him a moment, then looked away. "I didn't mean it," he said softly.
"You sounded most convincing."
"Well, I'm telling you, I didn't mean it."
"Then why were you on Betazed? Why did you come there?"
Riker stared out at the stars that were hurtling past. "I... wanted to visit," he said at last. "To wish you and Deanna well."
"Do not lie to me."
With an angry glare, Will turned to Worf and snapped, "You're still speaking to a superior officer, Mr. Worf. Watch it."
"I am speaking to a superior officer whom I rescued from a Cardassian prison planet because his going AWOL left Starfleet unable to vouch for him."
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"Granted," Riker said after a moment, his expression softening slightly. "But I still don't appreciate your tone."
"We have larger problems than my tone, Commander. Why. Were you. On. Betazed."
"Because ... I wanted to make sure that you really loved her. That's why. I was presumptuous enough to be concerned on her behalf. But I should never have tried to interfere. Perhaps the Prime Directive would be well applied to personal considerations as well."
"Is that the truth, Commander?"
"Yes, Mr. Worf," he sighed, "it is the truth. Are you satisfied?"
No, thought Worf.
"Yes," said Worf.
No words were exchanged for a time, and then Riker said, "I don't like this. We have no idea where we're going . . . and if we inform Starfleet of our whereabouts, they may think I'm the runaway Tom Riker. By the time we get everything straightened out, who knows what might have happened to Deanna and Alexander . . ."
"If they are not already dead," Worf said tonelessly.
"They're not" was Riker's confident reply. "At least she's not. I would know. And if she's okay, then the chances are that Alexander is, too. The point is, we can't afford any delays. We don't need to be intercepted by a starship. Between my either being a duplicate or AWOL, and you just having broken me out of Lazon Two, it's not a good time to have to bank on a stranger's good graces. On the other hand, we're heading into this with no backup, with no one knowing where we're going . . . not even the heading."
"We could try and communicate with the captain."
Riker shook his head. "We're too far away, and the comm system in this vessel is too weak. Anything we send out is going to be intercepted by a Starfleet vessel, and we may be worse off than when we started. Still, the captain is our best bet.. .."
Worf s eyes narrowed. "Wait. Let me check our position."
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He did a quick scan, and then nodded. "Yes. I know of someone who can be trusted to get a confidential message to the captain."
"You do? Way out here? Are you sure he can be trusted?" "I have it," Worf informed him, "on the highest authority."
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CHAPTER
2O
Jean-Luc Picard was extremely concerned.
When he had arrived on the Klingon homeworld, he had not been at all certain of what sort of reception to expect. The request to speak to Picard had come directly from Gowron, but Picard was uncertain as to the reason for it. Gowron had been uncharacteristically vague, and Starfleet had not been able to supply Picard with much in the way of details beyond the concept that Gowron was apparently bothered about something and wanted to deal directly with Picard.
What concerned Picard, at this particular moment, was the sound of combat. It didn't seem to bother the Klingons who were escorting him to the council chamber, but Picard was wondering if he was about to walk into the middle of yet another civil war.
He heard Gowron cry out loudly, and at that point Picard couldn't take it anymore. He hurried several steps ahead, pushed open the council doors ...
. .. just in time to see Gowron swing a bat'leth with such speed that he could barely track its course. And the thrust was intercepted by Kahless the Unforgettable with his own bat'leth.
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"What the devil-?" Picard called out.
"Not now, Picard!" called Gowron as he advanced on Kahless, who was giving ground, retreating before the rapidly whirling blade of Gowron. The chancellor of the High Council let out a triumphant laugh as the emperor and head of the Klingon spiritual community appeared on the brink of defeat. Gowron brought his blade down with what he hoped was going to be sufficient force to knock Kahless's weapon from his grasp.
And suddenly Kahless dropped his bat 'leth, brought his hands around, and slapped them together on the descending blade. The move had been perfectly timed; he held the bat'leth immobile. A stunned expression crossed Gowron's face, and then Kahless ripped the bat'leth right out of Gowron's grasp. Before Gowron could move, Kahless whipped the curved blade around and brought it right to the base of Gowron's throat.
For a moment there was utter silence in the council chamber... and then Gowron let out a coarse laugh. "I almost had you! Admit it!"
"I let you think you almost had me," Kahless replied, lowering the bat'leth. "You will keep to your word."
"Of course I will keep to my word!" He turned to Picard. "You have just seen the emperor successfully negotiate a land deal for the Boreth monastery. As always, Emperor, a challenge doing business with you."
"And with you, Gowron." He lowered his voice and said, "In point of fact, you almost did have me ... and if you repeat it, I will of course deny it utterly."
"Of course. Just as I will deny that, since childhood, I
have fantasized what it would be like to hold my own against Kahless."
"It's good to see that the two of you have found a means of cooperating with each other successfully," said Picard. "As I recall, there was some friction initially.. .."
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"We all learn to adapt, Picard. You, Kahless . . . even I, when absolutely necessary. Kahless ... I have matters to discuss with Picard. I am interested in your input."
Kahless nodded in deference to Gowron as the chancellor gestured for the three of them to retire to a conference room just off the main council chamber.
Picard was truly relieved to see the level of cooperation between Kahless and Gowron. When the legendary, and long-dead, Klingon leader had first made his return, Gowron had seen it as nothing less than a direct challenge to his authority. Eventually it had turned out that Kahless was, in fact, a clone of the original, created by the Klingon clerics of Boreth, but once the subterfuge was uncovered, Gowron had agreed to install Kahless as the emperor and spiritual leader.
"You see cooperation between us, Picard . .. between myself and Kahless," said Gowron, once they had settled down in the conference room.
"Yes, I do. As I said, it is most pleasing to me."
"You might say that we have had . .. incentive."
"Incentive?" Picard looked questioningly from one to the other. "And what might that incentive be?"
"We have shared concerns that are outside of the empire," said Kahless.
"And those would be?"
"You."
Picard blinked in polite confusion. "Me?"
"Not you specifically, Picard," amended Gowron. "The Klingon Empire has had no more consistent ally than you. If it were not for you, I feel safe in saying that... my ascension to chancellor would have been a bit more difficult."