Picard materialized on a smooth, black plateau open to a glorious, red-orange sky. The air was cool, with a strange, spicy scent to it. Beyond the precipice before him, a good hundred and fifty meters below, a Klingon colony sprawled across a ruddy brown landscape.
Turning to his left, he saw that Worf had taken shape beside him. That was something of a relief. He hadn’t particularly trusted the transporter unit in the Pescalian cargo ship that had brought them here.
Then again, they hadn’t had much choice in the matter. The captain couldn’t have taken the Enterprise into Klingon territory without notice—not unless he wished to start a war with Gowron.
“Worf!” boomed a deep voice from behind them. “Captain Picard!”
The captain turned—and saw Kahless emerge from behind a rock formation. The clone grinned. As he closed with them, a curious-looking amulet swung from a thong around his neck.
“It is good to see you again,” he said. “Both of you. In fact, you don’t know how good.”
“It is good to see you as well, Emperor,” Worf responded.
Kahless clasped his fellow Klingon by the forearm, then repeated the gesture with Picard. The captain winced. The clone was as strong as ever.
“You look well, Emperor,” Picard said.
Kahless shrugged. “I am well,” he replied, “despite what you may have heard.” He looked past the human at the installation below them. “Strange. I have never been to this world before, but it feels familiar here.”
He paused to consider the place for a moment. Then, slowly, a smile broke out on his face.
“T’chariv,” the clone whispered.
“In the north?” asked Worf.
Kahless nodded. “Of course, the sky was this color only at sunset. But the shape of the settlement, the way it nestles in the hills…” He grunted. “It’s T’chariv, all right. The place where the original Kahless called the outlying provinces to his banner.”
Picard didn’t say anything. Neither did Worf.
The clone looked at them. “Yes,” he added, responding to their unspoken question. “I am sure the original Kahless visited T’chariv. Any person or thing that says otherwise is a liar.”
Again, the captain withheld comment. Until the scroll was determined to be authentic or otherwise, he couldn’t offer any encouragement. What’s more, the clone knew it.
“In any case,” Kahless went on, “I didn’t bring you here to reminisce with me. There is treachery afoot. Treachery which will tear apart the Klingon Empire if left to run its course.”
Picard couldn’t help but be interested. “Treachery from what quarter?” he inquired evenly.
The emperor grunted. “I take no pleasure in saying this—but it is my duty as emperor.” He paused for effect. “Apparently, the Klingon Defense Force is undertaking a military coup designed to unseat Gowron and the rest of the council.”
“How do you know this?” asked Worf.
“I know,” said Kahless, “because I saw two of the conspirators whispering in a dining hall in Tolar’tu, during the Festival of Muar’tek—and nearly every day since. Fortunately, I can still read lips as well as ever.”
Picard looked at him skeptically. “But the leaders of the Defense Force were handpicked by Council leader Gowron. They have sworn to defend him with their very lives.”
Kahless’s eyes blazed. “That,” he told the human, his voice thick with revulsion, “is why they call it treachery.” He turned his head and spat. “Believe me when I say there’s a scheme against Gowron. And certainly, that would be bad enough. But the conspirators also mentioned Olahg’s scroll—said it had enabled them to get their rebellion under way.”
“How so?” asked Worf.
The clone made a gesture of dismissal. “The rebels are embracing it as evidence that I am not worth their respect. That Kahless the Unforgettable is not what he seems—and never was.”
Worf scowled. “And in many instances, you were all that kept the people from rising up against Gowron.”
“Exactly,” said the clone. “Without me to bolster him, Gowron is all too vulnerable. Mind you, he’s not my idea of a great leader, but he’s a damned sight better than the alternative.”
Picard agreed. Gowron, at least, was still an ally of the Federation. The next council leader might not be so inclined.
His eyes losing their focus, Kahless pounded his fist into his other hand. “I wanted to confront the conspirators right then and there. I wanted to stand on their conniving necks and watch their blood run out on the floor.” He sighed. “Then I realized I wouldn’t be tearing down the rebellion—only lopping off one of its limbs.”
“And that’s when you came to us?” the captain asked.
The clone shook his head. “First I went to Gowron, for all the good it did. He didn’t believe I’d uncovered a threat. He thought I was seeing these things because I wanted to—because I needed to feel important.”
Picard didn’t want to say so, but he had some doubts himself. And so would Worf, the captain thought, if he knew the Klingon’s mind.
This business with the scroll was clearly making Kahless wary. More than likely, he was imagining things. Lots of people whisper in dining halls, but that doesn’t mean they plan to overthrow the government.
“You don’t believe me,” the clone said suddenly, noticing some nuance in Picard’s expression. He looked at Worf, then back to the captain again. “Neither of you. You’re as incredulous as Gowron was.”
“Forgive me,” Picard replied, “but there’s no proof—”
“I know what I’m talking about!” Kahless thundered. “You want proof? Come with me to the homeworld and I’ll give you proof!”
The captain didn’t think that would be a good idea. He said so. “It was a risk just coming to this colony world. Returning with you to Qo’noS would place Federation-Klingon relations in considerable jeopardy.”
The clone’s nostrils flared. “They are in considerable jeopardy already, Picard, though you refuse to see it. Knowing me as you do, how can you place so little trust in me? How can you ignore the possibility that I’m right—and that the Empire stands on the brink of revolution?”
Picard had to admit the Klingon had a point. With little or nothing in the way of facts at this juncture, he would be taking a risk either way. And if there was a conspiracy after all—and he ignored it—he would have to live with that oversight the rest of his days.
He turned to Worf. “What do you think, Lieutenant?”
The security officer didn’t like to be put on the spot like this. The captain knew that from experience. On the other hand, Worf had the firmest grasp of the situation. If anyone could divine the truth about this “conspiracy,” it would be the son of Mogh.
For a long moment, Worf looked Kahless square in the eyes. Then he turned to Picard. “I think we ought to go to the homeworld,” he said at last.
The captain was still leery of the prospect. However, he had placed his trust in his security officer.
“All right,” he concluded. “We’ll go.”
Kahless smiled. “You won’t regret it,” he said.
Tapping his wristband, he activated his link to whatever vehicle awaited him. It was the same kind of wristband Picard himself had used to maintain control of Enterprise shuttles.
At the same time, the captain tapped his communicator and notified the Pescalians they wouldn’t be going back with them. At least, not yet.
“Three to beam up,” the clone bellowed.
A moment later, Picard and the others found themselves on the bridge of a modest cruiser. As with all Klingon vessels, the place was small, stark, and lacking in amenities. Quarters were cramped and lights were dim. The bridge had three seats; Kahless took the one in the rear, leaving his companions the forward positions if they wanted them.
“Break orbit,” the clone commanded, speaking directly to the ship’s computer. “Set course for Qo’noS, heading three four six point one. Ahead warp factor six. Engage.”
The captain felt the drag of inertia as the ship banked and leaped forward into warp. Even for a small and relatively unsophisticated vessel, its damper system left something to be desired.
Then again, Kahless probably preferred it that way. The rougher, the better, Picard mused.
“The journey will take a couple of days,” the clone informed them. “When you tire, you’ll find bunks in the aft cabin.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder for emphasis. “Back there.”
Picard nodded. “Thank you.”
He recalled the last time he was on a Klingon vessel. He had been on a mission to investigate Ambassador Spock’s activities on Romulus. From what he remembered, his cabin had been sparsely furnished and eminently uncomfortable. He resigned himself to the likelihood that on a cruiser this size, the accommodations would be even worse.
Worf looked around. “Nice ship,” he observed.
Kahless grunted. “Gowron gave it to me, though I don’t think he expected I’d use it much. And truthfully, I haven’t.”
Again, Picard found his eyes drawn to the amulet on the clone’s chest. He was starting to think he’d seen such a thing before in his studies of Klingon culture, though he wasn’t sure where.
“You like my amulet?” asked Kahless.
The captain was embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to stare.”
“You need not apologize,” said the clone. “It is called a jinaq.”
Picard nodded. He remembered now. Klingon men used to wear them when they were betrothed to someone. Did that mean Kahless intended to marry?
“I have no lover,” the clone informed him, as if he’d read the captain’s mind. “Not anymore, at least—not for fifteen hundred years or more. But I wear it still, out of respect for her.”
“I see,” said Picard.
He made a mental note to ask Worf about the applicable myth later on. It sounded interesting—and if it would shed more light on Kahless for him, it was well worth the time.