Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [87]
And not just feasts. He liked to sponsor local festivals and opera performances as well. But he most enjoyed inviting people to his home.
During one such revelry, the council member had shown Lomakh his family armory-and invited this Defense Force officer to join a young but burgeoning conspiracy. Of course, the wealthy one had done his research. He knew Lomakh was disaffected with Gowron’s reign and bold enough to do something about it.
Lomakh had hesitated-but only for a second or two.
Then he had pledged himself to their common cause.
He was still pledged to it now, heart and hand. And though some small matters had not gone as smoothly as he would have liked, larger matters had more than made up for them.
In the end, the conspirators” victory seemed assured.
The Empire was still reeling over the confirmation of the scroll’s authenticity, the clone and his comrades had been destroyed in the explosions on Ogat, and Gowron was too stupid to believe in the threat right before his eyes.
By the time he gave the rumors of conspiracy any credence, it would be too late for the council leader and all his supporters. Gowron would be gone, and another raised in his place. And the alliance with the Federation would be a grim and distasteful memory.
Most important of all, Lomakh would be a man held in the highest esteem by Gowron’s successor. Such a man could have most anything his heart desired-power, latinum, vengeance against old enemies.
Yes, the officer mused. Things were going very well indeed.
Such were Lomakh’s thoughts as he approached the house’s sturdy, qava-wood gates and the sensor rods on either side of them. Pulling the cowl of his cloak aside for a moment, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed him through the streets. Apparently, no one had.
Satisfied, he moved forward to stand between the sensor rods and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. In a matter of moments, the house guards had emerged from between the gates-a quartet of them, each one bigger and more hostile-looking than the one before him.
Familiar with their routine, Lomakh opened his cloak to show them the extent of his armaments. Removing his disrupter from his belt, he turned it over to the biggest of them. He kept his dk tahg, however. It would have been a breach of propriety to strip a Klingon of all his weapons.
Satisfied, the guards escorted him through the gates and into the courtyard. On the far side of it, there was another set of gates, a bit smaller but otherwise identical to the first. There were sensor rods there too, in case the first set malfunctioned.
Lomakh passed between them without incident. As two of the guards opened the gates, he entered a pentagonshaped anteroom. Just past it was the stronghold’s central hall.
It wasn’t quite as big as the High Council chamber and its ceiling certainly wasn’t as high, but it was just as majestic and well appointed. And the high seat at its far end was, if anything, even larger and more formidable than Gowron’s.
The one who occupied that seat was formidable too, the hairlessness of his large head accentuating the darkness of his brows. Right now, his face illuminated by the flames from freestanding braziers placed at intervals, the council member looked as hard and unyielding as stone.
At first, Lomakh believed his host was the only one who awaited him. Then, as he came closer, he realized there were o ther figures there.
Four of them, to be exact, all but obscured by the shadows outside the circle of torchlight. What’s more, Lomakh recognized them.
Tichar. Goradh. Olmai. Kardem.
All highranking officers in the Klingon Defense Force.
All, like Lomakh himself, key participants in the conspiracy. They turned at his approach, their eyes narrowing beneath the ridges of their foreheads.
What was going on? they seemed to ask. Lomakh wanted to know himself. He looked to their host for an answer.
Unarrh, son of Unagroth, looked back at him from his high seat. He leaned forward, so that the lines in his squarish face were accentuated and his eye