STAR TREK: DS9 - The Left Hand of Destiny, Book One Page 13

  “All right,” Darok muttered. “Probably the green squiggle is the Victory Thoroughfare, so I’m headed in the right direction.” He looked down the grassy slope to the four-lane blacktop and wondered how safe it would be to travel along its verge. Not much traffic, he decided. No traffic, if you came down to it. Which was part of the problem. If he could flag down a friendly driver, he was fairly certain he could put on the doddering-old-man act long enough to get to the next town and get a fix on where he was, but, alas, there was nothing. Not even any military vehicles, which was odd. What was Morjod up to, then, if he [142] wasn’t even allowing the military out to keep the countryside pacified?

  It was quiet. Too damned quiet. Unless you counted the birds and insects and the occasional louder cry that meant some larger creatures in the woods over to the west were indulging themselves in some pre- or post-hunt bragging. Darok wasn’t worried about them. Much.

  Then he heard another cry, an unnatural cry, the long, swirling whine of an overstressed engine. To be precise, he decided, it was a n’Drel groundcar. Someone was pushing it much harder than they should. N’Drels were meant to be used for long, slow, overland journeys where there were decent roads and some opportunities for maintenance. They were great machines if you treated them well, but whoever was driving this one had no sense of decency.

  The groundcar burst out of the woods to the northwest, slashed through the fields, and mowed down great swaths of grain, antigravs blasting at full power, propulsion units pulsing red. Ten seconds later, two other n’Drels and a single-seated hoverbike crashed out of the brush and raced across the field in pursuit. Darok’s hill was high enough to offer a clear view, but if he crouched behind his rock, he thought he would avoid detection: Feeling a twinge of something like premonition, he pulled out his tricorder and scanned the lead car. He felt absolutely no surprise when his tricorder pinged. The fleeing figure was the general’s son, Drex.

  Once clear of the forest, the hoverbike rider opened up his throttle and closed the gap between him and Drex in seconds. Hoverbikes, Darok knew, usually [143] traveled in pairs or trios, so he wondered how Drex might have eliminated the others. In the next moment, Darok got his answer. Drex suddenly slowed his car, let the hoverbike race past him, then slid in behind it and accelerated, the engines redlining again. The n’Drel barely even bumped when it crushed the biker down into the soft turf. Darok knew Drex well enough to know that he was undoubtedly grinning broadly right that second. The fact that there were at least two much more heavily armored pursuers right on his tail wouldn’t disturb him. The boy was every bit as arrogant as his father was cautious.

  The two pursuers split up and arced around Drex’s straining vehicle. Obviously, they had not abused their engines as badly as the boy, because they closed the gap effortlessly. A passenger in the car to Drex’s right began to fire a disrupter, though, predictably, it didn’t come very close to hitting. Only a steady hand would hit a moving vehicle when its car was also bouncing up and down. Drex looked back over both shoulders, obviously considering whether he could pull the same trick he had with the hoverbike, but Darok didn’t have much hope for it. Even if the boy did manage to brake and swerve into one attacker, the other would pounce on him before he could accelerate. That probably wouldn’t stop him from trying, though; he had never been the most creative soul and he was probably close to a berserker’s rage. Darok unslung his rifle and slowly and carefully checked the sights. He was, he knew, going to get only one shot.

  Drex’s next move surprised both Darok and his pursuers. Instead of hitting the brakes and trying to get someone in front of him, the boy tapped his brakes, [144] then spun the n’Drel into a sliding turn that left him pointing directly into the flank of the closest car. He hit the accelerator then and slammed into the car at top speed, rolling it onto its side. Sparks erupted out of the n’Orel’s engine box, followed by flames. Darok shook his head woefully and winced as the n’Drel’s engine ground itself down into a useless lump of ceramic and steel, thick black smoke obscuring the scene.

  Meanwhile, the second vehicle did precisely what Darok (and, presumably, Drex) would have expected: it shuddered to a halt as the driver and the gunner leaped out. Darok tsked and lifted his rifle to his shoulder as the pair ran toward Drex’s car. What are they teaching youth these days? At least one of them is supposed to hang back. He sighted, fired once, shifted his sight, then fired a second time. When he lowered the rifle, two stupid Klingon warriors lay dead on the ground.

  There was definitely someone moving around in the smoke, Darok decided, though he couldn’t tell if it was Drex or one of his pursuers. One way or another, he wasn’t overly concerned; he had the advantage of surprise. Carrying his rifle low, finger on the trigger, Darok trudged down the hill, absently humming a tune and considerably heartened at the prospect of having a vehicle.

  As he neared the smoking wrecks, Darok wondered if perhaps Drex was smarter than he had given him credit for. The grain was high enough and thick enough that a careful man might be able to use it for cover against pursuers who weren’t smart enough to carry tricorders. Darok pulled out his own tricorder, checked, and found, yes indeed, life signs twenty meters away and moving [145] toward the woods. The boy had obviously learned something somewhere along the line.

  “Drex,” Darok called, loudly enough to be heard over the crackle of the burning groundcars. “It’s me, Darok. You’re safe, boy. Come back.”

  The blip on the tricorder that represented Drex stopped moving. He’s thinking about it, Darok thought. Good. “I’ve come from the House,” he called. “Your mother has been captured.” That should do it.

  Drex stood up. He was, Darok saw, bloody, beaten, and covered in black soot. “Then, shouldn’t you be dead?” he asked.

  “Your mother commanded me to leave her before she surrendered herself.”

  As he strode unsteadily toward Darok, Drex said, “My mother would never surrender.”

  Darok sighed. He’s so young. “She would surrender if it served the need of your House,” he said. “But, more to the point, don’t contradict me.” He fished the DiHnaq out of his pocket and held it up before Drex’s eyes. “Your mother commanded me to find Martok and give this to him. When I have completed that charge, you and I may pursue the resolution of any argument you like, but not until. Do you understand?”

  Drex reached toward the DiHnaq as if to take it away from Darok, but then pulled back as if it might be red-hot and could burn him. “I ... I do not understand.”

  “Good,” Darok said, and slipped the ornament back into his pocket. “Admitting you don’t know everything is the beginning of wisdom. First order of business: Are you injured?”

  Drex looked down at his arms and legs, seemed to [146] flex every muscle in his tall, strong body at once, then shook his head.

  “Good. Then come back to the groundcar with me and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Where?” Drex asked with some of the familiar arrogance, but he didn’t hesitate to follow Darok.

  “To find your father. Since I’m reluctant to use my tricorder or communicator, my first thought was to find some kind of unmonitored news feed and see if they’ve captured him, too. Do you know anything about that?”

  Drex shook his head. “I know very little about what’s happened in the past day. I was with my mother in the First City waiting for Father when the attack came. Not long before we realized how precarious our situation was we decided to separate so our pursuers would need to divide their forces.”

  Darok nodded. That matched Sirella’s account. “Your mother made it back to the House without complication,” he said. “How did you fare?”

  Drex snarled happily at the burning vehicles as they walked past them. “I found that there is some pleasure to be had in playing at being prey, especially when the hunters are as careless as these fools.”

  “They would have caught you,” Darok said, “eventually.”

  “They might have caught up with me,
but they never would have captured me.”

  “These are semantic games, and you would have been just as dead either way.”

  Drex bristled. “Do not try to tell a warrior how to live or die, old man. I think I begin to see how you survived to have so much gray hair.”

  [147] Darok spun and smacked Drex on the cheek with his open hand. It wasn’t a challenge-blow, but the kind a nursemaid might use on a recalcitrant child. Half-forgotten memories of his days in the nursery prevented Drex from drawing his weapon and incinerating Darok on the spot, as the older man knew they would. “You’ll be fortunate indeed to live to have any gray hairs at all,” he said, “with an attitude like that. Be more respectful of your elders.”

  Drex rubbed the welt on his cheek with the tips of his fingers and his eyes burned with shame and anger, but did not otherwise reply.

  Darok turned around and resumed leading them to the groundcar. This is the critical moment, he decided. Either Drex would follow him now or he was about to be shot in the back. A moment later, Darok heard the slow swish-swish of Drex moving through the tall grass and allowed himself to breathe again. “The second matter at hand is whether you think there are any more pursuers.”

  “Undoubtedly yes,” Drex said. He paused by one of the two men Darok had killed and relieved him of his disrupter. “This is the third time I have eluded them, and each time my enemies have found the trail again.”

  “Have you checked yourself for homing devices?”

  “Yes.”

  Darok reflected on this. Drex might have missed something, but it was unlikely. Then how were they locating him? Satellite tracking? Dumb luck? Or was it merely that Drex was doing the predictable thing by trying to get back to his House?

  “They are afraid that if any of us finds safe haven,” Drex said, “we will rally the people to my father’s side.”

  [148] Darok looked in through the window to see if the driver had left the activation key. Of course he had. Darok sighed again. They don’t teach them anything in basic training these days. “Do you have any ideas on where we might go?”

  The answer, obviously, was no, but Darok could see that the boy wasn’t going to admit that. After several seconds’ hesitation, Drex said, “I planned to contact some of my shipmates and allies in the fleet.”

  “Did you see some of the faces in the crowd when Morjod spoke?”

  Drex nodded wearily.

  “So that plan isn’t really going to work then, is it?”

  Drex shook his head.

  “Then let’s follow through with my plan and ...” His words were cut off by a long, high, ululating cry. Drex leaped up onto the hood of the vehicle and began to scan the terrain in all directions. “What?” Darok asked.

  “It’s the damned Hur’q,” Drex hissed. “They’ve caught our scent. That’s the sound they make when they’re closing in.”

  “You’ve faced them already?” Darok asked.

  “Twice now,” Drex said. “Once just outside the city and again in the middle of the night. I’m not anxious to do so again.”

  Darok’s estimation of the boy rose considerably. Not only had he faced formidable opponents, but he was displaying common sense by allowing himself to know fear.

  Drex jumped down from the hood and climbed into the cabin. “They’re close. We have to go,” he said. “Now.”

  “But if there’s only a couple of them,” Darok said, “shouldn’t we try to kill them?”

  [149] “There’s never just a couple of them. And even if there was ...” He checked the chargé on the disrupter, then checked their surroundings again. “They almost had me last night,” he said. “I had stopped in a tavern to get something to eat.” He beckoned at Darok to climb in and start driving. “In any case, two of them—just two—tore a hole in the wall of the tavern. A stone wall, mind you. They waded in and the tavern owner ran up and began screaming about his wall. One of them looked at the other, then looked down at the tavern owner, and then it flicked out with its lower leg, one of the big ones. It was so fast, I barely saw it move, and then the tavern owner, the top half of him, it was gone. The legs and the bottom half of the torso were left standing there, blood spurting out, but they didn’t fall down. They swayed ...” Drex stared out the window and a clump of tiny scars on his cheek stood out lividly.

  “And then I heard a gurgling sound,” he continued. “I looked down and saw the man’s top half lying there, his eyes and his mouth still moving, like he was trying to make sense of what had just happened. A woman ran out then—a big woman with katcha sauce dripping off her hands—and went behind the bar to pick up a bat’leth that was almost as big as she was. She started waving it around like it was a toy, and the monsters stared at her and, I swear to you, one of them looked at the other and actually seemed to smile.” He pointed at the starter and Darok obediently turned over the engine. Pausing, he looked away from Darok’s eyes; the gin’tak saw shadows of shame on his face. “That’s when I jumped through the window.” He wiped away the perspiration that had been beading on his forehead, then [150] reddened when he saw Darok’s eyes following his movements.

  “And that’s their hunting cry?” Darok asked.

  Drex nodded. “I think there’s more to it than just that, but, yes. I’ve heard it on and off for the past several hours whenever I’ve stopped for more than a few moments. This is the closest they’ve come.” He looked out at the treeline again and then said, in a voice as soft as any Darok had ever heard him use, “I wonder what happened to the woman with the bat’leth.”

  Darok was aware of a sudden movement from the corner of his left eye and jerked his head around. Standing just beyond arm’s reach were a hooded figure and a young Klingon who was waving one hand tentatively. Both figures seemed vaguely familiar. Darok glanced at Drex and said, “Do you see?”

  “Yes,” Drex said. “I know the young one. He is Alexander, son of Worf.” Darok nodded tentatively. He remembered meeting Alexander at Worf’s wedding.

  “And the other?” The other figure seemed to be reading their thoughts, because he quickly flicked back the hood so they could see him, men pulled it back up. Darok tried to think of something clever to say, but found he was temporarily unable to form a coherent thought. The two newcomers approached the groundcar and waved for Darok and Drex to come out. Darok shut off the engine and did as he was bid.

  “So, you two have found each other?” the hooded one asked. “This is a good omen, I think.”

  Drex and Darok looked at each other, but neither spoke.

  “Did you have a destination in mind?” the hooded one asked.

  “We are going to aid my father,” Drex said.

  [151] From the edge of the woods there came the sound of movement through underbrush without any concern for stealth. An animal screeched and a flock of birds erupted from a clump of bushes.

  “Then this should work out well,” said the hooded one. “We are, too.” He beckoned to Alexander and said, “Young one?”

  Alexander, glancing at the edge of the woods with more than a little concern, joined the trio by the groundcar and slapped the combadge on his shoulder. “Lock on,” he said, “and beam out four.”

  The Hur’q tried to push its way between two trees, but it quickly became apparent that it was too big to pass. A moment later, there came a loud whine, then an explosion, and the tree shattered into splinters. The Hur’q stepped into the clearing and lowered its weapon, already knowing that it was too late, but not slowing its pace. It crossed the open ground to the vehicle with remarkable speed and grace, sniffed the spot where Drex, Darok, and the other two had been standing, then checked the entire area, nose to ground, inhaling deeply. When it came to the two dead Klingons, it seemed to take some kind of delight in crushing their bodies beneath its wide, clawed feet. Then, its work complete, it tilted its head back, opened its mouth wide, and, throat vibrating, bellowed to the sky. Answering cries came from just inside the woods and several meters to the south. Moments
later, a transporter beam picked up the creature and swept it away.

  Over the next hour, the destroyed groundcars burned down to their frames until nothing was left but thin curls [152] of smoke and charred turf. Small creatures soon emerged from the forest and studied the bodies with interest. The wind picked up again and the heads of the grain bobbed and weaved, bobbed and weaved. Good weather during the spring and summer would assure a bountiful year if anyone was still alive to harvest when autumn finally came.

  9

  PHARH SAT UNDER his desk and pondered fate, or, more accurately, his fate. Things were not looking good. His whole life plan (to wit: “Get away from the family. Find a scheme to extract sizable sums from witless hordes. Wallow in latinum like a stod in fungus until death at an advanced age”) was not going well. Worse, he was beginning to wonder if it was a viable life plan at all and this despite the fact that it was the life plan of seven-eighths of his people. (The one-eighth who had not made this their life plan were already well into wallowing.)

  It wasn’t fair.

  First, there had been the whole fight in the bar and his inexplicable pursuit of the angry Klingons into the alley. What had that been about? He could have been seriously injured, even robbed. It wasn’t like Klingons didn’t have any need for a little gold-pressed latinum, especially with the way it looked like their economy was going. A total breakdown of social mores was one [154] of those scenarios where most people lost money and the well-prepared (or ruthless) few made some. All it required (according to a night course Pharh had taken) was a nimble mind, a total lack of scruples, and a small personal army. Most Klingons possessed only one or, at best, two of these attributes. Pharh was beginning to wonder how many he currently possessed. He was also beginning to worry that he was developing something like a conscience. It might be a side effect of spending too much time in the Ketha wastelands inspecting the mining operation. He definitely had a rash, so there was no reason to think the pangs of guilt might not be the result of toxic heavy metals leeching into his bloodstream and wearing down his immune system.