The Art of the Impossible

This surprised Koval, though he made no outward show of it. That was one of the Order’s top agents. “Entek is not one to misplace his files.”

“He is not, no, but my source is somewhat more susceptible to my charms than others of his species.” Timol’s smile became a grin.

Koval nodded. Cardassians were not generally as receptive to Timol as Romulans, but those who were found her as irresistable as she required them to be. “Very well. Who is the subject?”

“A Klingon by the name of Dirak, of the House of Kultan.”

That was a House that Koval had encountered before. “They are the ones who have attempted to develop biogenic weapons—against the wishes of the Klingon High Council.”

“Yes,” Timol said, though Koval had not phrased it as a question. “Apparently, the High Council has reversed their sanction. According to the information Dirak provided to Entek, House Kultan has been commissioned to develop a biogenic weapon on their base at Khitomer.”

At that, Koval stood up. The Klingons had put together a research outpost of some sort on the site of the hated Federation–Klingon treaty of over fifty years ago. That alliance had shifted the balance of power and indirectly led to the Romulan Empire’s retreat from the business of galactic politics—with occasional exceptions, of course. “So, the honorless cowards of the Klingon Empire circumvent the Khitomer Accords on the very soil on which they signed them. How fitting.” He scowled. “You are surethis is a genuine interrogation?”

She held out the padd she carried. “You may witness it yourself. I also had it checked by every expert we have. There were no changes, no alterations, no trickery.”

“At least not on the part of the Cardassians. That does not mean there is no such trickery from the Klingons. It is possible that this Dirak person has led the Order astray—or that the Order has deliberately planted this information with us.”

“I doubt that,” Timol said. “Believe me, the person I received it from was not expecting me—nor had he any desire to provide the intelligence.” Timol spoke with her usual confidence. Koval had no reason to assume it wasn’t warranted.

“True. And I find it difficult to credit that any Klingon agent could successfully fool Corbin Entek.”

Koval started the display on the padd, which showed a Klingon sitting in a chair in an empty, featureless room. The eyes of the Klingon—presumably Dirak—were equally featureless and empty. He had obviously been drugged. The Order, Koval knew, had an excellent pharmacopeia. A voice in the background asked questions, to which Dirak gave answers in a dull monotone.

Most of the interrogation was full of useless information. That was the problem with drugs, they led to a literal-minded subject. Dirak provided a great deal of “intelligence” regarding his own eating habits and the women he had bedded, none of which was of the slightest interest to Koval. He was sure Entek had even less interest, but the Order agent was patient enough to sift through the chaff in order to find the wheat. Eventually, that wheat was forthcoming, as Dirak told of the secret laboratory at the Khitomer outpost where the biogenic weapon was being developed.

After he had seen and heard enough, Koval turned off the display. This was important enough intelligence that he needed to verify it—and also share it with his superior. “You will set up an appointment with Kaleh immediately. I will also contact our agent on Khitomer to verify whether or not this Klingon spoke true.”

“He spoke the truth as he knew it,” Timol said.

“Of that I have little doubt. The question becomes whether or not what hewas told was the truth.”

For a brief moment, Koval gazed longingly on the codex book he had set aside on the couch. Cardassian philosophy will have to wait until a more opportune time.

“Return us to Tal Shiar Headquarters,” he instructed his aide.

She activated a control on her wrist, and a green transporter beam whisked them back to the capital city.

Chapter 31

Khitomer

After completing her preclass exercises to limber up, Kaasin went to the board to see who had signed up for this morning’s mok’baraclass. She offered two classes, one just prior to the day shift’s commencement, the other prior to the night shift’s, allowing the warriors the opportunity to begin their work with mind and spirit in harmony and ready for whatever trials would come their way.

When she, Mogh, Worf, and Kahlest first arrived on Khitomer a month earlier, she had over thirty people per class. Unsurprisingly, attrition took its toll on that number, and she was now down to a dozen regulars per class, plus the occasional extra, add-on, once-a-week student, or other straggler.

On this day, sixteen names were on the list—her twelve regulars, one occasional, and three brand-new names. Two were recent transfers to the base—crew rotation and replacement always meant new students.

The other was Ja’rod.

Scowling, Kaasin left the warm-up room, clad only in the white, skin-tight shirt and pants traditionally worn for the mok’bara.Unlike her students, the trim on the left half of her shirt’s V-neck and cuffs on both shirt and pants were colored maroon, indicating her status as a master.

As she turned a corner, she literally bumped into Ja’rod. The current Head of the House of Duras stood half a head shorter than Kaasin—who was tall for a female—and was presently also dressed for the mok’bara.

“What do you want, Ja’rod?” Kaasin asked, restraining herself from instinctively wrapping her hands around the man’s throat.

He smiled. “Simply to make your mate’s life easier. He seems determined to follow my every move, and I thought if I took your class, it would allow him time to perform his other duties. Or has he been assigned to be my bodyguard without my being informed?”

Still scowling, Kaasin said, “You know the history between our Houses, Ja’rod.”

“Yes,” Ja’rod said emphatically, “history.As in, the past. We should be concerned with the present—and the future. This rivalry between our Houses must end, Kaasin.”

“If you are so unconcerned with the past, why did you not change your House name to the House of Ja’rod? If you wish to distance yourself from the past as you say—”

Ja’rod laughed. “It seemed pointless. When my esteemed father ascended to Sto-Vo-Korand I became House Head, I had already named my son Duras. Heis the future of our House, and it seemed foolish to change our name when he would simply change it back to the name it has had for two centuries.” Ja’rod put a hand on Kaasin’s shoulder. She glared at it, and he quickly removed it, but he did lock eyes with her. “Kaasin, I ask you please, use whatever influence you have with Mogh to get him to stop. This constant suspicion serves no one. Our Houses are both strong ones—we should be allies, not enemies. For the good of the Empire, if nothing else.”

Kaasin stared right back into Ja’rod’s brown eyes, and took some measure of satisfaction out of the fact that he finally looked away. “I will convey your message to my husband.”

“That is all I ask.” He smiled. “I look forward to learning more of mok’baraunder your fine tutelage. I’ve heard many good things about the class.”