Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [71]
Luck was with them. The Klingon armory worker didn’t have the slightest inkling they were about. Without a care in the world, he approached his door and tapped in the security code on the well-worn padd beside it.
It wasn’t until the door began to slide aside that he heard even the slightest sound. And turned. And opened his mouth to cry out.
But by then, it was too late. Grasping the man by the back of his neck, Kahless pushed hard-sending him hurtling into his abode, where he sprawled on the hard, smooth floor.
Twisting about to see who had attacked him, the Klingon might have had ideas about getting up or sounding an alarm-but it was too late for that as well. Worf was already standing over him, the disrupter in his hand pointed directly at the center of the Klingon’s forehead.
And at this range, it was highly unlikely he would miss.
Of course, as far as Picard could tell, Worf had no intention of using the weapon, except as a bluff. But the object of their attentions didn’t know that.
Picard touched a wall padd beside the door and the metal panel slid closed. That left the four of them alone with their newfound friend.
“What … what is it you want from me?” the Klingon grated.
He was a lean man with a head that somehow seemed too large for his body. Though his skin was dark, his eyes were large and blue, and his only real facial hair was a tuft of beard in the center of his chin.
Kahless knelt beside the armory worker and grabbed a fi/l of his tunic. When he spoke, his voice dripped with deadly intent. What’s more, the captain thought, the clone wasn’t just pretending-he meant it.
“What do we want?” Kahless echoed. “We want to know what possessed you to steal a bomb from the place where you’re employed.”
The man shook his head vigorously. “Whoever you are, you’re mistaken. I stole no bomb.”
Kahless leaned closer, his eyes smoldering through the slits in his mask. “Do not lie to me, ptahk. I hate liars more than anything. Now tell me-why did you take the bomb? Do you get some sort of perverse satisfaction from destroying innocent children?”
“I know nothing of this,” their host complained. “You must be thinking of someone else.”
Kahless tilted his head as he studied the worker.
“Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we have the wrong man.”
Abruptly, he struck the Klingon across the face with his free hand. The captain winced beneath his mask and the worker flung his hands up to protect himself from a second blow.
But it was unnecessary. Kahless had made his point.
“Perhaps that is so, Adjur, son of Restagh. Perhaps we have made a mistake. But,” the clone growled, “I do not think so. I think we have precisely the man we are looking for.”
“We know you stole the bomb,” said Worf, a voice of reason in comparison to Kahless. “Tell us who else was involved. Your accomplices, your contacts in the Defense Force, everything. Or you will not live long enough to regret the blood you’ve shed.”
The Klingon looked from one masked and hooded face to the next, his blue eyes full of fear. By now, he must have known how slim his chances of survival wereunless he cooperated.
There was still the chance that he was telling the truth, of course, and was completely innocent of the charges against him-but Picard doubted it. He’d been a captain long enough to know when someone had the stench of treachery about him-and this one stunk to high Heaven.
“All right,” Adjur relented. “I’ll talk.” His eyes narrowed. “But first, you must tell me what you meant about the children.”
Was it possible he didn’t know? Certainly, his question seemed sincere enough. Or was he simply building a case for his ignorance?
Kurn spat. “The bomb was used to destroy an academy. Some of the victims weren’t tall enough to cut your throat.”
That got a reaction from the Klingon-an expression of shame and disgust. “I did not know,” he swore heatedly.