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Patch me through to home.”
    Some moments later, a deep gravelly voice responded. “Report!”
    â€œWe have taken Dinskaar . We have the shipping schedule—it was right where you said it would be.”
    â€œExcellent. What of Leotis?”
    â€œIn hand.”
    â€œI know someone who will be glad to hear that. Act as planned—and move on to the main target.”
    The transmission ended. Leotis had been listening intently. “You said you had no leader.”
    â€œNo leader among us ,” Valandris said, placing the padd in a pouch attached to her hip.
    The Orion grew agitated. “Then who was that just now? One of my rivals?” He put his hands in front of himself protectively. “Or one of my victims? Is this revenge?”
    â€œIt is revenge—but not on you.” She looked to Raneer and Tharas, who touched controls on their wrists. Transporter beams carried them away. Valandris walked to where they had stood and knelt.
    Seeing her picking up the weapons his fallen guards had dropped, Leotis let out a sigh of relief. “You’re . . . not going to kill me?”
    â€œI didn’t say that.” She pitched a disruptor onto the desk in front of him. “Pick that up and let’s do this,” she said, reaching for her knife. “I have a schedule to keep.”

Four
    H OUSE OF K RUGE I NDUSTRIAL C OMPOUND K ETORIX P RIME, K LINGON E MPIRE
    T ime, Picard had long since learned, was a commodity of no fixed value outside Starfleet. In particular, VIPs and other “distinguished guests” he had ferried in the past had tended to keep to their own unknowable schedules. That had often forced the Enterprise to be ready at a moment’s notice—and to be prepared to wait until the passengers felt like moving.
    Klingons, for their part, moved with precision when engaged in the thing they cared the most about, battle. But in other sectors of life, most Klingons Picard had known paid little attention to time. Not Worf, who had internalized Starfleet punctuality—and it wasn’t that the Klingons were in any way inefficient. Rather, Klingons seemed to protect the minutes of their lives from outside control with a certain defiance. Mythology proclaimed that the Klingons had killed their gods. They weren’t about to start worshipping timepieces.
    Therefore, the prospect of picking up a large number of very important Klingons had Picard expecting delays. And yet, every event since he’d arrived in the Empire had transpired exactly when it was supposed to. Ketorix Prime was home to the House of Kruge’s orbital and surface shipyards, meaning Enterprise had to pass through a formidable obstacle course of security vessels. But she was expected at every turn and ushered quickly through. If all the Kruge worlds were this welcoming to visitors, Riker wouldn’t have much to negotiate at the H’atorian Conference.
    Nor did the captain have to wait for permission to transport to the administrative headquarters on the burgundy world’s surface. Picard had immediately beamed down, joined by one of Enterprise ’s contact specialists, Lieutenant T’Ryssa Chen.
    Walking the halls, they had found the place quintessentially Klingon, disdaining opulence for austerity. Simple brass braziers burned at intervals along the long corridor, each illuminating a sealed doorway marked with a name in Klingon. Picard recognized them as the names of the guests he was expected to transport.
    If they’re all here , Picard thought, perhaps this will all go just as quickly. Hope springs eternal .
    Chen gestured to an illuminated opening at the far end of the hall. “I believe that’s where we were told to go, sir.”
    â€œLead the way, Lieutenant.” Picard had opted for the assistance of the half-human, half-Vulcan Chen rather than his first officer, who had remained aboard Enterprise, seemingly vacuum-­welded to Kahless.