A well-mannered Klingon? Zett supposed there were stranger things in the universe, but he could recall none at the moment. “Not at all, but I think you’ll admit this contact is rather unusual.”
“Indeed,”Chang replied, nodding. “I’m confident that once you’ve heard what I have to say, you’ll appreciate the need for such unorthodox contact and the discretion employed to bring it about.”
Polite and long-winded.Zett decided that Chang had to be a politician, or at the very least a military officer with political ambitions who was now presented with an opportunity to pursue some unknown agenda. None of that interested Zett—at least, not unless there was something from it for him to gain.
“We have a mutual acquaintance,”Chang continued. “An associate of mine, Qahl, has spoken highly of you, particularly your discretion when it comes to sensitive matters.”
He forced his expression to reveal nothing, but Zett felt his stomach tighten at the mention of the Klingon he had met months earlier, to whom he had delivered that mysterious, damnable stone sarcophagus. Qahl himself had not been memorable, his uninspiring presence aboard Zett’s ship, the Icarion,all but overshadowed by the enigmatic object the Nalori had acquired on Traelus II. The remote planet in a relatively unexplored sector of the Taurus Reach was home to a nonspace-faring civilization that nevertheless was aware of other inhabited worlds and intelligent species. As such, over the course of the past several years, they had been making their resource-rich world an ever-increasing destination for interstellar commerce.
More important, the planet reportedly was also home to several other artifacts like the one Zett had obtained, though as far as he had been able to determine, it did not possess any of the ancient ruins the Federation and Klingon Empire had found on other worlds throughout the Taurus Reach. Neither Starfleet nor the Klingons—as far as Zett knew, anyway—were aware of Traelus II’s potential value to their seemingly never-ending quest to learn the secrets of the ancient civilization that once had called this region home.
They can have it,Zett had decided after his encounter with the sarcophagus. The intense anxiety and, yes, even fear he had felt while in the object’s presence were more than enough to convince the assassin that this long-dead race was to be avoided at all costs. If the Federation or the Klingons wanted to tempt the wrath of whatever had once ruled over the Taurus Reach, that was not his concern.
“Qahl is a competent courier,” Zett said, “but I know little of him beyond that.” Indeed, he was more than a bit concerned about the Klingon dropping his name in such casual fashion. He made a mental note to track down Qahl in short order and see to that lapse. “Never mind him. What do youwant with me?”
Chang nodded. “My superiors wish to make use of your particular talents, Mr. Nilric. You will understand their desire to remain anonymous, at least for the moment. However, I am authorized to negotiate on their behalf, and they are prepared to pay handsomely for your services.”
Zett held up a hand. “Chang, I’ve met Vulcans who don’t take this long to get to the point.”
“Very well,”Chang replied, his voice losing some of its near-lyrical cadence. “As you know, the Klingon Empire has placed a price on the head of Commodore Diego Reyes. My employers want you to utilize your considerable skills to resolve this issue.”
Zett all but laughed out loud. “Your employers have a sense of humor I can admire.” He leaned closer to the desktop monitor. “Why?”
“The Earther’s actions at Gamma Tauri IV are an insult to the Klingon Empire,”Chang replied. “For this, he must pay—with his life.”
Frowning, Zett asked, “Don’t Klingons usually like to handle these sorts of things themselves? Honor and all of that?”
Chang sneered in response. “Sometimes honor and protocol must step aside in the name of swift and meaningful justice.”Now it was his turn to lean closer. “Not that any Klingon needs to explain himself to anyone.”
Having had his fill of seemingly contradictory and frankly confusing philosophical discussions on this topic with more than one Klingon, Zett said, “I honestly couldn’t care less about any of that. Surely, your employers understand that the commodore is under heavy guard at all times and is likely to remain so until his court-martial is completed. That says nothing of the fact that he’s also incarcerated aboard one of the most powerful Starfleet space stations in the quadrant.”
“A challenge for a person possessing your specific gifts,”Chang countered. He reached forward to something Zett could not see, and an instant later, a string of numbers appeared on the lower part of the computer screen. “I trust the offer I’ve provided is sufficient for you at least to consider taking this contract?”
Eyeing the numbers displayed on his monitor, Zett could not help agreeing with the Klingon. It was indeed a nice figure. It would have to be; if he was successful in carrying out this plan hatched by Qahl’s superiors, he quickly would become one of the most wanted fugitives in this part of the galaxy.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “I’ll think about it.”
Chang’s face broadened into a smile wide enough that Zett thought the Klingon might well carry Nalori blood in his veins. “Excellent. I shall await your answer, but I must recommend against delaying your decision, Mr. Nilric, for nothing will come of nothing.”
What is he babbling about?
The communication ended, leaving Zett alone to bask in his room’s sudden silence, undisturbed as he pondered the job and the considerable amount of money he had just been offered. Did Diego Reyes pose that much of a threat to the Klingon Empire? From what he knew of current events, Zett could not agree with that, not that he cared. The more likely scenario was that the commodore had essentially stepped on the toes of Klingon honor, whatever that was supposed to be these days, and somebody wanted face-saving vengeance.
Either way,Zett decided, and with everything else hanging over his head, I wouldn’t want to be Reyes just now.
41
There was just no other way to say it, Xiong decided. Klingons stank.
In the cramped confines of the narrow underground tunnel leading from the surface of whatever planet it was he had been brought to, the stench was all but overpowering. Xiong had to force himself not to gag as he endured the stench emanating from the bodies of the two Klingon soldiers assigned to usher him through the network of tunnels. He was tempted to ask when either of them had last bathed, certain that the answer would be a date several years before his birth. Even their breath was horrid, a consequence of Klingon cuisine coupled with seemingly nonexistent dental hygiene.
Who needs disruptors and knives when you wield that?
He reached up in a vain attempt to wipe away the offending odor attacking his nostrils, and Xiong ended up regretting the unplanned movement, as it earned him yet another strike between his shoulder blades.
“Keep your hands away from your body, Earther,” warned one of the two Klingon soldiers as Xiong was shoved forward.