Free Hell's Heart by John Jackson Miller Page A

“Kersh, daughter of Dakh. She is a general—one of the Empire’s finer ones. A grandchild of J’borr, I think. Her father was killed by the Borg. She was military liaison when I was an ambassador. I told you of the incident at No’var Outpost—she was of help to me there.”
    â€œWhy is she not here?”
    â€œKersh does not think she can inherit control of the house. Instead, she commits herself to the Defense Force, body and soul.”
    â€œA wise woman. Wiser still not to honor this crowd.” ­Kahlessknelt and stabbed the weapon into the damp soil. Dejected, he rose and tromped past Worf.
    Kahless stopped inside a small clearing. Leaning against a tree, he looked out at Mount Qel’pec. He appeared tired, Worf thought—and the emperor acknowledged it. “I am not who I was, Worf.”
    â€œSince your exile?”
    His back to Worf, Kahless shrugged, his answer barely above a whisper. “I was born—I was created —to lead the Empire to a more honorable state. I was not, I am not the warrior of legend, but it did not matter, because you and Picard showed me what I could still accomplish. Things did improve, under Martok. That is why I left for Cygnet IV—because without that mission, I no longer knew who I was.”
    â€œYou are a warrior in your own right, Kahless—in your own time. You fought against Unarrh and led the people when Morjod and others would have ruined what Martok has built.”
    â€œAnd then I left to paint pictures and to sing pretty songs of scenes like this,” the clone said, gesturing to the mountain ahead. “The problem with singing is that one hears only one’s own voice. And I have never had my own voice. I have always sung with the voice of another.”
    He turned back to look at Worf. “I thought I would hear the song of the universe around me, of eternity—showing me the next step on my journey. But I heard nothing.”
    Worf nodded. He understood. He—and so many ­Klingons—had sought wisdom about the next steps in their lives by trying to commune with Kahless the Unforgettable’s spirit. What wisdom could a being find whose mind was already stuffed with all Kahless’s known teachings? Worf assumed there was something else out there—but he understood Kahless’s difficulty in finding it.
    After a few moments, Worf broke the silence. “Emperor, before we spoke I consulted with both Captain Picard and Admiral Riker. You are bound to no agreement. Participate or not, it is up to you.”
    â€œThe humans are honorable beings—and so are you.” Kahless turned, his face looking grave. “And so am I. I must meet my obligations.”
    Kahless strode purposefully back past Worf to where the mek’leth stood, impaled in the soil. The commander didn’t understand. “I told you, you are under no obligation.”
    â€œThis is between me and the House of Kruge,” Kahless said, plucking the weapon from where it was embedded. He smeared mud from the engraved names. “I am the emperor. They would like to have their feats recognized, before all the Empire.” He bared his teeth. “I will show them the honor they deserve.”
    V ALANDRIS ’ S E XPEDITION
    O RBITING G AMARAL
    â€œSensors find two Klingons on Gamaral near the gathering site,” Tharas said. “In the woods close by. Alone.”
    â€œWho are they?” Valandris looked back to Hemtara at the starship’s listening station. Having disengaged from the cargo haulers once they were past the security probes, all the stalkers’ cloaked vessels were in orbit over the planet, tending to their assignments. They’d gotten their best looks yet at both Enterprise in orbit and the situation on the ground, but Valandris couldn’t act without knowing more.
    â€œ Enterprise ’s transmissions are scrambled,” Hemtara said, “but the event