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The bulk of this novel takes place in the weeks leading up to the feature film Star Trek Nemesis—a bit less than four years after “What You Leave Behind” (the final episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine), a bit less than two years after “Endgame” (the final episode of Star Trek: Voyager), and about one year after A Time to Be Born (the first book in this series). Nemesis takes place on Stardate 56844.9, which places it in late 2379 on the human calendar.

And after the strife of war begins the strife of peace.

—Carl Sandburg

Chapter 1

Qo’noS

SUNRISE ON QO’NoS had lost its appeal for Ambassador Worf.

There was a time, not so long ago, when the best part of his day was the very beginning, when he would enter his office in the Federation embassy and watch the sun blaze over the horizon through the huge picture window that took up most of the office’s back wall. In the almost four years he had served as Federation ambassador to the Klingon Empire, the one part of his daily routine that he could count on enjoying was the spectacular view of the sun casting its fiery glow across the First City at the top of the day.

Recent events had dimmed that enthusiasm considerably. The actions of others less honorable had forced Worf into a position where he had to compromise himself in order to serve the greater good. The alternative was to allow an even greater evil, and he could not permit that to happen, regardless of the consequences.

It was a state of affairs that was all too familiar to the son of Mogh.

A little more than a month ago, he had used his position—as an ambassador, and as a member of the Klingon chancellor’s House—to give his former crewmates on the U.S.S. Enterprise a weapon of sorts that they could use to prevent a Klingon Defense Force fleet from engaging in a suicidal attack on the planet Tezwa. Officially, no one could prove that he provided the Enterprise with the prefix codes that would disable the fleet; unofficially, it couldn’t have been anyone else.

How many times? he asked himself. How many times have I sacrificed my own honor to protect the unworthy? And how many times will I have to do it again?

“It’s supposed to be fairly hot today,” came a voice from behind him.

Sighing, Worf turned around. Another part of the routine: his aide, Giancarlo Wu, would enter the office and make some offhand comment about the weather, thus signaling the start of the workday. Wearing his usual monochrome shirt, matching pants, and different-colored vest—today he went for red and green—Wu stood in the doorway to the office, reaching into the vest’s pocket.

However, he did not pull out his padd, as Worf had expected—that padd was always either in Wu’s hand or in his vest pocket, to the point that the ambassador honestly believed that his aide would suffer withdrawal symptoms if separated from it for any length of time. Instead, Wu removed an optical chip and walked it over to where Worf sat at his desk. “I think you’ll want to see this first thing, sir. It was sent to you on a secure channel by T’Latrek.”

After regarding the chip for a moment, Worf plugged it into the slot on the side of his terminal. Besides representing Vulcan on the Federation Council, T’Latrek served as the councillor for external affairs and was, in essence, Worf’s superior.

The screen lit up with the logo of the Federation News Service. Odd, Worf thought. Why would T’Latrek send me a news story?

A female Pandrilite face replaced the logo. “The top story is the surprise resignation of Federation President Min Zife. In a move that has shocked the entire quadrant, President Zife, his chief of staff, Koll Azernal, and Nelino Quafina, the secretary of military intelligence, have stepped down from office, effective immediately. This statement was issued across the Federation this morning.”

The image then cut to Zife sitting at his desk in the presidential office in Paris, his arms placed in front of him, resting on the large desk, which was currently empty of anything save the Bolian’s blue-skinned hands. The flag of the