Hell's Heart (32 page)

Sixty-one

E
motions raced through Valandris's mind. Tharas had been her companion since childhood. His wit had been a rare thing on Thane, and it had infected her; any humor in her character came directly from exposure to him. He had been her partner in many hunts—and had been every bit as devoted to the Unsung's new leader and mission as she was.

She had seen friends fall before; such was life on Thane. But since the Fallen Lord's arrival, no one had died, not even to a member of the planet's menagerie. It had almost seemed like another of Kruge's miracles, the fulfillment of a promise. Yes, Valandris had expected there would be casualties eventually in the Unsung—but never Tharas.

And Valandris had not expected him to fall to someone she had wanted to trust.

She focused her rage on Worf, fingering the trigger of her weapon. She searched for something cutting to say—but all that came out was, “You killed Tharas.”

With a dozen meters separating them, Worf calmly stood, a disruptor rifle in his hands. “I slew him in honorable combat,” Worf said. “I announced myself—as a Klingon should.”

“As
what
?”

“It is one of the precepts of Kahless—the ancient Kahless, not the one that you assassinated. Klingons announce themselves.”

She fired a shot past his head. “Drop the weapon!”

“No.” Unflustered, Worf took a deep breath—and in a swift motion, pointed his rifle at her. “If you are going to kill me, try. I have been held prisoner much too long on this planet.”

Valandris seethed, uncaring. Worf's sudden move wasn't the response she was expecting; she hadn't faced any of the Starfleeters one-on-one before. The sight of the weapon roiled her further. “That is Tharas's rifle.”

“Yes.”

“We grew up together,” she said, glancing down at Tharas's corpse. “He was a little older—he even had a daughter. I heard the yelling over my helmet comm. I had to come . . . to help.”

“You are alone. Where are the others?”

“Recalled.” She stood, numb. “Kruge's getting ready to leave, earlier than planned. A ship's coming.”

“A Federation starship?”

“
Enterprise
—not that it matters.” She started walking, closing the gap with Worf a step at a time as they pointed their weapons at each other. “If you had let Tharas pass, his team would have gotten the message and left you alone.”

“I could not have known that.”

“I didn't know what Kruge intended for Kahless until he gave his command to the muster,” she said acidly. “As long as we're talking about who killed whom.”

“You had
akrat'ka
. They are not toys.” Worf glowered at her through the darkness. “You would have executed him yourself, had your lord instructed you. Admit it.”

“He is Kruge,” Valandris declared.

“Your ‘Kruge' is a false god. He will lead you to destruction and dishonor!”

“Dishonor is already ours. We understand desolation like no others.” She shook her head. Life had made sense under the Fallen Lord. Now that fabric was beginning to fray—but only if she allowed it. She could not. “Worf, if we had met you earlier, things might have been different. But he showed us his way—”

“I do not want to hear more about his way. If you knew the words of Kahless—”

“One false god for another!” She walked faster.

“The original Kahless,” Worf said, speaking with passion. “He told the people, ‘You are Klingons. You need no one but yourselves.' ”

Valandris stopped walking, several meters still separating
them. Potok and the elders had never told them much about Kahless—only Kruge. She contemplated the sentiment. “He really said that?”

“Kahless did.” His expression softening, Worf lowered his rifle a little. “He said many things. But his words were not about shaming the fallen or the helpless. They were about lifting people up.” He spoke somberly. “Kahless—even his clone—would have guided you, had you given him a chance.”

It was impossible for her to imagine what her life would have been like if Kahless, rather than Kruge, had found the exiles. What mattered was what
had
happened. She began to see a balance. Taking a breath, Valandris lowered her weapon. “All right. A life for a life, then.”

Worf frowned. “It is not that simple.”

“No, it isn't.” She looked up. Her ears sharp from years on the hunt, she had heard it before he did. There, rocketing across the sky through the foliage, was a Starfleet shuttle. An announcement over a public address system echoed across the jungle.

“—is Lieutenant Aneta Å mrhová of the United Federation of Planets,”
the human woman called out.
“This site is under the authority of Starfleet
. Any attempt to flee will be met with force—”

The shuttle was gone as quickly as it had appeared, bound for Omegoq and the compound. They either hadn't detected Worf yet, or had bigger concerns. Valandris knew the latter was definitely true. She turned and headed back toward her helmet.

“Valandris, I cannot let you leave,” he said.

“I heard the shuttle's order. Kruge's order came first. I have been recalled.” She slung her rifle and, with a last sorry look at Tharas, picked up her helmet.

Worf raised his disruptor again. “All that has happened can be sorted out. But you must face justice.”

“You forget, son of Mogh—I was convicted before I was
born.” She gestured toward the transponder, near his feet. “Forget about me. You're going to want to use that to make a call.”

“The transponder is pinging. They will find me in due—”

“That's not it. You will be calling your friends to tell them not to enter the compound. They face death if they do—and not from our disruptors.”

Worf peered at her—and then his eyes widened with recollection. “You mean, the explosives in the old freighter?”

“They're in all seven. Kruge's going to set the whole village off the second your people are on the ground. The Phantom Wing is loaded and cloaked; they may already have taken off.”

Worf's eyes narrowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You said Klingons announce themselves. My people may not be Klingons anymore, but I'm not about to let you think you're better than us.” Her expression softened slightly. “Besides, I never hunted with traps myself—I'd rather beat you in a fair fight. I have to go.”

Worf did not see her putting the helmet on, or activating its comm systems; he was on his knees beside the emergency device, desperately trying to send a message. She could not stay to wait to see what happened next.

“Valandris to
Chu'charq
. One to beam up.”

Sixty-two

P
HANTOM
W
ING
V
ESSEL
C
HU
'
CHARQ

U
NSUNG
C
OMPOUND

B
eing the last to leave appealed to Cross's flair for the dramatic—but it also riled his stomach.
Chu'charq
was in the air, rising even as Federation shuttlecraft passed, circling the compound.

He swallowed. “Give the shuttles a wide berth.”

He'd been less worried about detection since the invasion began and more afraid of his cloaked vessels colliding with the newcomers. The rest of the birds-of-prey were already streaking for the other hemisphere; from his hidden earpiece, he heard that
Blackstone
was following
Chu'charq
.

Valandris walked onto the bridge and set down her rifle. “All surviving searchers are aboard, my lord.”

Hemtara looked to the empty chair nearby and then back at her. “Where is Tharas?”

“All survivors are aboard,” Valandris repeated grimly.

Telepathically, Cross sensed the turmoil in the warrior woman. He ignored it. “What of Worf?”

Valandris looked away. “I did not kill him.”

“You had the chance?” He glared at her. “Speak the truth!”

“He saw how we live—what the Unsung are. He will spread that word.” Valandris looked back at him, unapologetic. “Your message to the Empire was powerful. The word of a witness will only strengthen it.”

Cross frowned. Korgh had wanted to limit the audience for the Kruge illusion to the Unsung, but Valandris's reasoning made sense. No matter: now that he was in the air, it was time to wait for his next cue.

“Hover at the horizon,” he said. “Continue to scan for assault teams on the surface.”

U.S.S. E
NTERPRISE
-
E

O
RBITING
T
HANE

La Forge headed toward the bridge engineering station. The captain was directing the shuttles, which were scouting the best spots for landing and beam-ins. He'd been looking for cloaked vessels on the surface or leaving the planet.
Enterprise
was in geo­synchronous orbit, bombarding the area ahead of it with tachyons; the tactic had made scanning the planet below more challenging.

But La Forge had seen something at the first-officer's interface. Checking at the more robust engineering station, he called out. “Captain, I've got something. Stratosphere, about a hundred kilometers away from the compound.”

“Departing?” Picard asked.

“Stationary. It's just a flutter.”

Before Picard could respond, a call came up from the surface.
“
Enterprise
, this is Lieutenant Konya, away team five.”

“Go ahead,” Picard said.

“We transported into the jungle to the homing beacon.”

“Was Worf there?”

“Negative. It was abandoned. Just boot prints in the mud . . .
”

U
NSUNG
C
OMPOUND

T
HANE

Worf ran along the trail at a breakneck pace, heedless of the screeches and calls of the wildlife surrounding him. The transponder had survived plenty of abuse since the escape pod's crash landing, but on checking it after receiving Valandris's
dire warning, he had realized that while the homing signal worked, nothing else on it did. He would not be able to send a message—and he was not about to try to retrieve the communicator in his helmet, abandoned up the now dangerously listing petrified tree. Nor could he consider carrying the hefty transponder. He had to reach
Enterprise
's away teams.

Exploding from the woods, Worf raced toward the village. Shuttles were hovering above it, shining floodlights on the ground. He could see the shimmering glow of transporter effects here and there all across the area.

He tripped over the rise near the farthest watchtower and tumbled over the hill. Worf was up again in an instant, waving his arms and yelling. It was no use when they were still so far away, but he kept going while he still had breath.

P
HANTOM
W
ING
V
ESSEL
C
HU
'
CHARQ

T
HANE

“Starfleet assault teams have been transported to the surface,” Hemtara said.

“Begin priming sequence,” the Fallen Lord ordered.

Valandris, now at the tactical station, looked at the mass of life signs now in the compound and took a breath. She had tried to help Worf, but Kruge's word was law. She toggled the control. “Explosives armed. Detonation in thirty seconds.”

U.S.S. E
NTERPRISE
-
E

O
RBITING
T
HANE

Picard was about to return to the matter of La Forge's mysterious reading when Šmrhová called in from her shuttle.
“Contact, contact. We see Worf.”

La Forge saw it too. “I have his coordinates.”

“Beam him directly to the bridge,” Picard commanded.

Picard stood and watched, rapt, as Worf materialized before him. The commander, who had been in full run, skidded to a halt just before the port bulkhead.

Shirtless, muddied, and bruised, Worf held himself up against the support column and spoke through gasps. “Explosives . . . trap. Get everyone offworld!”

Picard didn't think twice. “Recall all forces, now!”

P
HANTOM
W
ING
V
ESSEL
C
HU
'
CHARQ

T
HANE

Cross couldn't resist turning the vessel about and walking, with Shift's character's aid, to the forward port. Hell broke loose. He saw the light first: a pillar of fire, expanding upward and outward. Omegoq, which had been home for a year, had hosted its last performance.

As distant as they were, the shockwave would certainly reach them if they lingered. They would find out about Starfleet casualties later.
Chu'charq
lurched and turned, heading off into the darkness. Soon it would be in space, heading for the preplanned rallying point. He gripped Shift's hand.

“The Fallen Lord must retire to his quarters,” she said. “He does not travel well at warp.”

“I understand,” Valandris said.

She really didn't. His and Shift's illusions only worked while
Blackstone
was nearby—and the birds-of-prey were much faster.
Blackstone
knew their destination and would follow them. Cross and Shift would remain in quarters until the support vessel caught up.

He could then return to working on his other project—one even his patron Korgh didn't know about.

U.S.S. E
NTERPRISE
-
E

O
RBITING
T
HANE

Watching the explosion from orbit would have been quite the spectacle, had Picard not been worried about the away teams in the area. He had seen the flash on the view­screen, but his attentions—and those of his crew—were on ­retrieval.

The repairs that had been made since Gamaral to the transporters held up; everyone on the surface had been recovered. Even Konya's team, which, though distant from the epicenter, had been beamed out just as the fireball swept across the swamp. Šmrhová had gotten the word in time. Several shuttles had been battered horribly in escaping the fiery miasma, but matériel and personnel losses were zero.

Finally able to take a breath, Picard looked again at the magnified images on the main viewscreen. For several moments, the crater with the settlement had outshone the planet's sun. Now it was a smoking caldera, black smoke billowing across the surface of the world.

“No contacts anywhere,” La Forge said, breaking into the silence.

“Do you think the birds-of-prey were in that?” Dygan asked.

Worf, sitting bare-chested on the bridge, shook his head vigorously.

Picard agreed. “Ops, continue scanning in all directions.” As Crusher entered the bridge, he turned to Worf. He asked, “How are you, Number One?”

“Captain,” Worf said, bleary-eyed and panting. “I must report . . .
an incident
.”

Picard glanced at La Forge and Crusher and grinned, all three marveling at Worf's devotion. “I'll take that report in sickbay.”