Day of Honor 01_ Ancient Blood - Diane Carey [52]
“The pot has a great deal in it,” Worf corrected, more loudly than he intended. “All corrupt!”
“I know. There are dozens of incidents where hundreds of people die—mishandling of ore during shipments that cause load-shifting … extortion … bribery … jury tampering … cutting corners that shouldn’t be cut … she’s setting this planet up to be the platform for her organization, and the people are swallowing it.”
Troubled by the caginess of their adversary, Worf glowered until his eyes hurt. Was there some way to just handle this clever woman with a phaser or bat’telh or a club? Challenge her to a warp equation?
“Public perception can be steered,” Worf commented, trying to keep distance. “If the election can be postponed, there might be a chance to clean things up.”
“Yeah, but wow!” Grant leaned back and stretched his aching arms. He slumped again and waved his hand at the computer. “The trail of bodies and indictments and convictions behind her goes back as far as the eye can see. Her former associates are all dead or in jail! And she gets up and rails about independence and how they need to make their planet pure from dirty outside influence. It’s like Al Capone complaining that there’s too much crime! How does she keep anybody’s loyalty?”
“Fear,” Worf told him. “Desperation for some, and for others, greed. Like the Rogues. They hope to have influence all the way back to the Empire. Most powerful enticement for expatriate Klingons.”
Grant looked up and smiled. “Like you, huh, toughy?”
“In another life.” Worf took the seat next to his partner and concentrated now more on Grant than on the screen.
“Can’t help it.” Grant scratched at the Rogue uniform as if to communicate its inappropriateness for him. “This is a woman who pulls people’s arms out, and I can’t find the trail! Can you imagine what it must be like to have your arms pulled out?”
Worf did his best to calm his friend, although he felt little calm himself. “You will find the trail. As you did on Pasha IX.” Worf almost smiled. “In your way, you are a warrior. The hand of Kahless will guide you.”
Grant smiled briefly, then turned back to his work.
His guts curling in frustration, Worf wished Captain Picard were here to deal with this wily woman. He felt patently not clever enough for such an adversary.
“Play the rest of it,” he said, feeling his throat go raw.
Grant grimaced, and started the computer again.
“We must protect the identity of our planet, the integrity of our economy, and the individuality of our people. We do that by circling our wagons against those who would have a say in our way of life. We need independence to stretch our wings—”
Huffing once again, Grant pounded the keyboard until the image stopped again. Worf almost stopped him, but couldn’t find it in his soul to disturb the wave of emotion surging in Grant’s eyes.
“By the time they realize what’s happened, she’ll have chains on those wings,” Grant said. “What she doesn’t tell them about is the den of thieves the planet will attract without any Federation presence. She can turn the place into a clearing house for any lowlife who wants to work outside the law. And she’ll get a cut of everything, from non-replicables to slavery. All I can think of is all the little Alexanders running around this planet who’ll have a crummy life because I can’t find one simple link.”
Grant shook his head, overwhelmed by the frozen image of Mrs. Khanty speaking at a time when she didn’t think