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Grant tried to say something, then only nodded.

“You, too,” the doctor told Worf. “You were on duty here, too, weren’t you?”

“Yes!” Worf blurted. He stepped back to Grant’s side, hoping everyone here would take that as a vote of support. What a smell this situation put off!

“Don’t say anything more, any of you.” The doctor turned to Ugulan and said, “Seal off these rooms. Put these two men in isolation until we figure out what happened here.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Ugulan said, and his gray eyes gleamed with the idea of setting Worf away from the other Rogues.

Worf bristled instantly. What would happen if Ugulan managed to isolate him and Grant?

“No!” he challenged quickly. “I will confine both of us to our quarters. Until there are charges made, if any, you have no precedent for jailing us!”

Another Rogue, a comparatively short-statured Klingon whose name was Tyro, rose unexpectedly to Worf’s defense. “Confine them to quarters, Ugulan. There are no charges yet.”

“Do not defend me, coward!” Worf shouted, raising a fist to Tyro. He knew in a cold flash that Tyro’s help came not from his status as a fellow Klingon, a fellow Rogue, or any other kind of fellow. Tyro only wanted to avoid setting a more threatening precedent—that the Rogues could imprison each other at all without charges.

Ugulan drew his dagger—because phasers weren’t allowed in the mansion—and swung on Tyro. “I will decide!” Instantly, he swung back to Worf and gestured toward the hall door. “Out!”

The hunger of that dagger pricked at Worf’s angry mind as he led the way out of the executive suite, with Grant right behind him. The twists of this mission were maddening! If only he could just roar out all the truths!

After them, the Rogues filed out, too, leaving behind a corpse and its doctors. Through the doorway and down the corridor which barely accommodated their wide shoulders, the ghastly queue walked. Two Klingons—even if there were two real Klingons here—could not easily walk abreast in this corridor, and Worf felt as if his clothing were crawling around on his skin. Why did this corridor need to be so cursed long? Who had built this stupid, foolish, ugly building!

The tiled lobby approached slowly, as if detached, and in his mind Worf saw the stone veranda outside, the long, curving flagstone stairways leading to the tiled courtyard and the expanse of ground they would have to cover in order to survive.

Grant let out a startled grunt behind him.

Like a trigger snapping, Worf swung around, yanked Grant past him, then raised a foot and slammed it into Ugulan’s chest.

“Back away!” he snarled, jamming his fist into Ugulan’s throat. Ugulan’s arms flared, and sure enough, that dagger had been forward, toward Grant’s spine. Another few seconds—

No one was carrying a phaser today—a sour bit of luck having something to do with regulations during certain hours. It didn’t matter—it gave Worf an advantage. He held Grant protectively away, positioning himself between his partner and the other Rogues, most of whom were still corralled in the hallway.

“Stay away from him!” he snarled.

“Protecting a human?” Ugulan accused. “And a liar?”

Worf gritted his teeth. “He is not lying.”

“Did you see what he saw?” Goric blistered from behind Ugulan, and pushed his way forward.

“I will not speak to any of you sniveling weaklings!” Worf spat. “I will make my statements to the City Police.”

Ugulan surged forward, unintimidated by Worf’s dagger. Clearly, the Rogues believed Grant about what Mrs. Khanty had done, and they meant to silence him or anyone else who could endanger the ruthless woman they had come to fear, their last line to power and influence.

Worf shoved Grant back and deflected Ugulan’s blade with his own, making a ghastly scratch that echoed under the domed ceiling fresco and made the crystal chandelier tinkle with sympathetic vibration. It felt good, finally, to kick and shove!

“Run, Grant!” he shouted as the Rogues crowded toward him. Battle honor went to the wind—he knew they would