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“We’re on our way.”

Then he thought of something. He hooked his arm into a rung, then unholstered one of the disruptors. If his memory was correct, this disruptor also had a burn setting. Gazing at the display, he saw that he was right. Thumbing the indicator to that setting, he then aimed it at the manual-override box to the right of the doorway.

The first shot missed; the second did not, melting the metal covering of the box and the circuitry inside.

However, all it did was open the doors the rest of the way. Worf sighed, but he knew it to be a sensible security procedure. If the manual override was damaged or sabotaged, it was usually because someone didn’t want the doors to be opened. The logical default in the system would be to open the doors if the override was, say, melted by a Breen disruptor.

On the other hand, he thought, now I will be able to access the other floors without sacrificing my hold on the ladder.

He climbed the rest of the way to the sixth floor, then did the same thing with that door’s manual override, with the same result.

This time, Worf’s leap from the shaft ladder to the open doorway was smoother, since he didn’t have two Klingons blocking the way.

Worf stood and took his bearings. Even if the tricorder hadn’t told him that the human was on this floor, the distinctly human blood trail would have given it away. The ambassador followed it to one of the doors. This floor contained a dozen residential suites used by both embassy staff and guests, and the human had chosen the largest guest quarters, generally reserved for visiting dignitaries. The rooms were massive and luxurious—necessary, as the Klingon notion of luxury was viewed as insultingly uncomfortable by most visiting dignitaries—and the human had wisely chosen the one that had the most places to hide.

He double-checked the tricorder—then blinked and checked it again.

The human life reading was gone.

Now he ran to the large suite. The doors opened at his approach—privacy locks were part of the security system and were disengaged when that system went down—and he ran in, following the blood trail.

It led to a lavishly appointed bedroom whose deep white pile carpet was marred by the familiar stain of human blood. The crimson path took Worf to the bathroom, where he found the corpse of a human woman lying in the sonic shower stall. He recognized her as Miriam Masekela, the chief of the Starfleet security contingent at the embassy. Her trail of blood was created by a nasty wound in her chest. One of the Klingons must have been using the burn setting. He was amazed she stayed alive as long as she did, and swore that her death would not go unavenged.

“Rov, we’re on five, but I see neither Larq nor Pek. However, the lift door is open. I am guessing that they fell down the shaft.”

Rov snorted in Worf’s ear. “That would not surprise me. Keep searching. Until you find their bodies, assume nothing.”

Another Klingon voice spoke. “I do not like this, Rov. That’s five the ambassador has killed—”

Again, Rov shouted. “I do not care what you do or do not like, Dohk! Continue the search!”

Worf took out his tricorder. Without Masekela’s aid, he needed to find some other way to even the odds. His plan was to take out Torvak and his guard on the eighth floor, something that would have been considerably easier with Masekela’s help.

Since I do not have brute force at my disposal, I shall have to use guile.

Alexander was starting to get nervous at the quiet. The conference room had been silent save for people breathing for several minutes after Rov reentered the room. Vark and the woman who was guarding the hostages looked at their leader, waiting for some kind of sign from him as to what to do next.

Just as Wu shoved his knee into Alexander’s back again, prompting Alexander to consider saying something to break the silence, Rov put his hand to his ear. After a moment, he said, “That would not surprise me. Keep searching. Until you find their bodies, assume nothing.” After a momentary pause, Rov’s