Star Trek: The Hand of Kahless by John M. Ford Read Free Book Online Page A

works.”
     
    The Khemara linehold was almost a quarter of the world away; it took half a day airborne, beam-guided around reserved airspaces, military and private. Had they intruded, they would have vanished from the sky in an instant.
    The Teska had a tiny, unenclosed waste facility, and a food locker stuffed with cold meat and fish and fruit nectars. Vrenn took a swallow and was astonished at the taste: the juice was real.
    They swung near mist-cloaked hills and low over green lakes, crossing the Northwest Sea as the sun was setting. The clouds broke for a moment and showed the star, a white pinpoint; Vrenn shielded his eyes at once. Then the light was gone, and they were over the Kartade Forest. Tirian was dozing in his chair, breath whistling. Vrenn had no notion of sleep. He switched the gunsight to night vision and scanned the forest; the intertwined trees showed up in startling clarity, and now and then an animal streaked by, burning bright on the infrared screen.
    A beep from the communications board woke Tirian instantly. He touched a switch, and a web of light was projected on the windshield: the image of a landing grid that lay, invisible, on the ground ahead. Tirian hung an audio pickup behind his ear. “Center Space, this is Flier 04…Aboard, affirm…My password is Tailfeather. What is your password? Affirm, off beam and landing now.”
    They touched down very gently. Outside the flier, a pathway lit up; then lights came on behind large windows. Tirian said, “You’re to go on inside. My duty’s here.”
    Vrenn nodded. “It was a good trip,” he said, sure it was not too much praise.
    Tirian did not click his teeth. He said, “Thank you, master Vrenn,” with clear satisfaction. And he had said master, not the neutral zan. He indicated the brown envelope: “May I bring your package?”
    “No…I’ll take that.”
    Vrenn went down the steps, holding the envelope. The path wound out before him through a garden, with shrubs and pools, and knotted-trunked trees as grew in the Kartade. There was a heavy scent of flower perfumes.
    The house was quite high, at least three stories, with a V-shaped roof: the huge front windows seemed a little like angled eyes looking down on Vrenn. Behind the windows was what appeared to be one large room, with red light flickering within.
    Without any pause at all, Vrenn went inside.
    There was indeed one vast, high-ceilinged room, with wooden beams cutting across the space overhead, and iron-railed stairs to balconies on either side. In the center was a broad, black pillar, open at the base: a fire, fed by wood, burned within. Around the fireplace were cushions, and tables topped with wood inlay and black glass.
    A figure stood, silhouetted by the fire. “Welcome, Vrenn. Be welcome in your house.”
    “Thought Admiral…” Vrenn said, and saw the tilt of Kethas’s head. “…Father.”
    Kethas nodded, took Vrenn’s free hand in both of his and drew him into the firelight. “Sit, if you like, though I suppose you’ve been sitting too long already. Are you hungry? Thirsty? We need a glass of something to talk over…you’re nine, aren’t you?”
    “Nearly nine.”
    “Yes. Do they have strong drinks, in the Houses? I really don’t know that much about them.”
    “I drink ale.”
    “Dark ale, then, that’s the best when you’re tired. Not the scorch of a distillate and less risky than brandy.” Almost before Kethas finished speaking, a servitor had appeared with a tray.
    Vrenn had never much cared for ale, but it was all he had experience of: this drink, however, was wonderful, as much as the fruit nectar had been. Vrenn began to wonder if he would simply have to relearn eating and drinking.
    Another being, a female, came into view. She wore a long gown of some pale stuff that shimmered. Her skin was quite dark, and Vrenn thought for a moment she was Klingon, but then a white ceiling light showed the green cast to her complexion. Light gleamed on fingernails