The Art of the Impossible

Still, challenging his authority for more than a few seconds would cause more problems than it would solve. For one thing, the other councillors—not to mention their bodyguards—would probably cut Kang to ribbons. Normally he would expect at least some loyalty from his crew, but based on his operations officer’s stammering, perhaps this was not a normal situation. Nor did he wish to force his crew to make that decision.

So, finally, he said, “Instruct the convoy to set course for the Morska system, warp eight.”

“Course laid in, sir,” the pilot said almost immediately. This time, Kang did not welcome the woman’s efficiency.

“Execute.”

Chapter 33

Khitomer

Mogh exited the control room with a combination of glee and regret. The former was because the shield tests went better than expected. If they were attacked by Romulan or Breen disruptors, Federation or Cardassian phasers, or even Kinshaya pulse blasts, they’d be ready.

The latter was due to his inability to root out the Romulan spy. L’Kor and Gi’ral both expressed admiration for certain characteristics of Romulans, but neither of them showed any outward indication, and the computer searches had turned up nothing suspicious.

On the other hand, Ja’rod was looking more promising. Mogh was still unable to eavesdrop on the man’s residence, and there were several anomalies in his service record. None of it was hard evidence, but it was enough to encourage a deeper digging. That would be more Lorgh’s task than mine.

As he exited the control room and headed for the exit, he was greeted by Kahlest and Worf. The boy was, of course, holding the family bat’leth,as he had been when he triumphantly returned that morning with what would become the evening meal for the Defense Force troops.

Mogh noted with pride that the weapon was clean. Knowing how to maintain the weapon was as important as knowing how to wield it—at least that was what Mogh always believed, especially given how much better at the former he was than the latter—and he was glad to see that Worf had taken that lesson to heart.

“How was your day, my son?” Mogh asked.

“It was all right, Father,” Worf said, sounding bored. “I want to go hunting again. Next time, I will catch the beast’s father!”

Mogh smiled. “I am sure that you will, Worf.”

“Have you found him yet?”

Again, Mogh felt pride at his son’s good sense. He knew that Mogh’s mission was secret, and so never spoke openly of it outside of their cabin. “Not yet, but I have a suspicion. Now, however, is not the time for—”

“Husband!”

Mogh looked up to see Kaasin entering. She still wore her mok’barashirt and pants, covered with a long maroon coat.

“I was hoping to find you all here,” she said. “My class has ended, and I thought we should eat with the troops in the mess hall—partake of the feast our son has provided.”

Worf’s eyes grew wide. “Can we, Father, please?”

As if I could say no to either of you.“That is an excellent idea, my love.”

“Of course it is.” Kaasin smiled, her gray eyes almost glowing. Mogh felt his heart sing, as it always did in her presence.

He still recalled the day he brought her to the seat of their House, in the sitting room under the Qam-Chee tapestry and the same bat’leththat Worf now carried with him everywhere. There, Mogh’s mother gave her blessing to their union. His father, Worf’s namesake, had been on a mission, but he gave his own blessing in due course. Mogh would always serve the Empire, always do his duty, but nothing pleased him more than simply being in Kaasin’s presence.

As they proceeded toward the mess hall, an alarm sounded.

“Alert status. Alert status.”

Mogh immediately ran to a workstation, and called up the current display on the tactical monitor in the control room.

It showed several Romulan warbirds decloaking in orbit.

Such an attack is more possible than either of us dreamed, L’Kor,he thought sourly.

Then the display showed that the outpost shields—the same shields he had just spent the day testing—had gone down.

Slamming his fist onto an intercom cha

There was no reply from the outpost commander, nor any of his crew.

“Engineering, this is Captain Mogh, respond!”

Again, nothing. This is not simply an attack—we are sabotaged.

But Mogh’s first thoughts were for his family. “Kahlest, take Worf to the sub-basement.”

Holding up his bat’leth,Worf said, “I wish to fight beside you, Father!”

“No!” Mogh closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “I need you to protect Kahlest. No harm must come to her, Worf, understood?”

“I understand, Father. I will die before I let anyone harm her.”

Let us hope it does not come to that,Mogh thought, now more grateful than ever that he had allowed Lorgh to talk them into leaving Kurn behind. “Good,” he said. “Go!”

Before he could say anything to his mate, she spoke. “We have been sabotaged by whoever it was Lorgh sent you to find.”

Mogh shook his head. I knew I loved this woman for a reason.“Yes. I do not know who to trust—except you. Go to the engineering section, see if you can re-establish the shields. I will go to the control room and see if anyone there still lives.”

The entire complex was then rocked with a tremendous impact. Mogh lost his footing and fell to the ground, which seemed to buck and weave beneath him despite being made from the strongest rock available.

Kaasin, of course, had maintained her footing. She moved toward him, concern for her mate overriding a warrior’s preference not to be helped in any way. Mogh waved her away. “Go to engineering! Quickly!”

Nodding, she turned and ran toward the access ladder.

Clambering to his feet, Mogh ran in the opposite direction toward the control room.

The base shook twice more during his sojourn, and Mogh fell over one of those times. Plasma fires erupted all around him. The stench of burning plasti-form and damaged equipment only served to get his blood boiling. The Romulans will pay for this—and so will the traitor.

To Mogh’s confusion, the door to the control room was closed. It had never been closed in all the weeks he had been here, and did not understand why it was shut now. Worse, the privacy seal had been engaged.

His own code overrode that, of course, but in the time it took him to enter it, the base was rocked yet again.

When the door rumbled open, a stench like rotting meat assaulted Mogh’s nostrils. He recognized it instantly as SIp,a gas that rendered one comatose—if left untreated, it could easily lead to death. It was part of the control room’s security system, meant to provide the option of incapacitating intruders to leave them alive to be interrogated.

SIp’s dense green color also resulted in reduced visibility if used in an enclosed space. Covering his nose and mouth with his hand, Mogh made his way through the jade miasma to the environmental control console in order to clear it. He almost tripped over the prone forms of L’Kor and Gi’ral. Saboteurs were, in Mogh’s experience, unlikely to gas themselves, so the two of them were no doubt i