“I trust dRacLa, son of Vok,” Lursa, of the House of Duras, said. “His hatred for Gowron is as sharp as mine.”
“The message!” B’Etor demanded of the warrior at the panel.
He turned slightly, his shoulders almost showing fear for what he must say. “Gowron lives. dRacLa says the trader he hired failed in the task. He personally will try again.”
B’Etor turned and smashed her fist into the pillar.
Lursa stood, staring at the main screen showing the homeworld below, obviously thinking. She and her sister were so close to taking control of the High Council. Only Gowron and his supporters stood in their way. He had to be removed.
Assassinated.
There was no other way.
And assassinated while meeting with Starfleet would only help the House of Duras.
After a moment she moved back to the command chair. “Contact the BotKa. Have it come with us. The other ships are to remain here.”
She again glanced up at the homeworld.
“Sister,” B’Etor said, moving to the side of the command chair. “What are we doing?”
“I am tired of waiting for others to do our work.”
“As am I. “B’Etor said. We go to Deep Space Nine?”
“Yes, we go to the Federations,” she said, staring out at the world below. “I have a plan.”
All B’Etor said was, “Good.”
Riker watched as Gowron took a long drink of his blood wine, then smacked his lips together. There seemed to be more of the story left to tell tonight. Even the admiral didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. Around them the bar had filled with customers laughing and drinking. The Dabo table seemed also to have a lively game going and Riker wished he had the time to try it. But there was no way he would miss any part of Gowron’s story.
“Admiral,” Gowron asked, “have you attended a Klingon ritual?”
Jellico shook his head no. “I have not.”
“Pity,” Gowron said. “Captain Picard would tell you they are full of richness. Our rituals come down to us through centuries of tradition. They still serve us well.”
Picard nodded in agreement.
The admiral said, “I can understand that.”
“Good,” Gowron said, smacking his wine goblet down hard on the table and looking at Barclay. “Young Pok had a very important ritual to go through after his blood oath. As I tell the story I will not bother to ask you for decisions. Only a Klingon would know the answers.”
Riker laughed as Barclay breathed an audible sigh of relief.
Gowron smiled at Barclay. “For a human you do well. Do not worry. There will be more questions later.”
This time everyone laughed as Gowron sat back and took up his story.
“A ring of stones framed the ritual chamber. A fire burned high in the middle of the room on a stone hearth, its flickering yellow fire the only light. On the walls hung Klingon weapons. Warriors’ weapons. The night air sharpened the senses. A special evening. There was no doubt.
“Four Klingon warriors held pain sticks. Three were Pok’s uncles. One from my ship. They stood two by two, forming an aisle to the flame.
“Young Pok entered the ring of stones and Qua’lon and I went to greet him, stopping two paces short of him. He was dressed as a warrior that night. His confidence gave him the courage to do so before the ceremony. I honored him for that.
“‘Are you ready, Pok, son of Torghn?’ Qua’lon asked. ‘Do you wish to take your place among the great warriors of your house? Argan, son of T’lak. Seegath, son of Seeth. Janar, son of Seegath, Torghn, son of Kapok. If so, step forward.’
“Pok took one large step toward Qua’lon.
“Qua’lon smiled, as did I.
“‘Not every man has the courage to become a warrior,’ Qua’lon said, continuing the ritual. ‘Not every man can make the voyage through the River of Blood even after he chooses to try. Will you make this voyage, Pok, son of Torghn?”
“Pok stepped forward again. He now stood face-to-face with Qua’lon.
“‘You have chosen,’ I said.
“The four warriors in the gauntlet snapped their pain sticks as a sign of honor.
“Qua’lon leaned forward, speaking to Pok in a fatherly fashion. ‘The night before your father’s Rite of Ascension I lay awake, but Torghn slept soundly. In the morning I asked him how he had been able to sleep so well. He said, “My fathers and fathers before me have traveled the River of Pain. I know that the courage is in my blood, and I am not afraid.”’
“‘Come,’ I said to Qua’lon. ‘It is time.’
“Qua’lon and I picked up our pain sticks and moved to our positions across from each other at the end of the gauntlet. Now Pok faced a line of six Klingon warriors, three on each side.
“‘Show us your heart,’ Qua’lon said to Pok. ‘Today you are a warrior.’
“Pok squared his shoulders and stepped between the first two warriors, never taking his eyes from the fire in front of him.
“The warriors on both sides of him used their pain sticks to shock and beat him. For a moment young Pok stumbled backward and I feared for him. But then he slammed back at their attack, kicking and fighting them until he had moved to the safe area before the next two warriors.
“Across from me Qua’lon nodded his approval. I agreed. Pok had done well so far. He had fought back against the pain.
“The young Klingon took a deep breath and stepped between the next two warriors. They were even more savage than the first, as was their duty. They jabbed him with the sticks, kicked him, smashed him with their fists.
“But Pok fought back, deflecting their blows, moving with others. He stepped past them and they bowed in honor to his courage.
“Now he faced only Qua’lon and myself
“I could see the determination in his eyes. He never looked at us, only at the fire in front of him.
“‘The battle is yours!” Qua’lon shouted. ‘Travel the River of Pain.’
“Pok stepped between us and stopped. Qua’lon and I both took our pain sticks and pressed them against Pok, holding them against him.
“He trembled with the pain, but kept his feet.
“We pressed harder.
“He remained standing, his eyes focused on the fire.
“Finally Qua’lon said, ‘Pok, when you die, you will die a warrior, and join the Black Fleet, where you will fight and die forever.”
“Qua’lon and I both pulled our pain sticks away and bowed to him in honor of his achievement. Pok took the last step through and stopped, facing the fire.
“His knees faltered and he went to the ground on them. But his gaze never left the fire in front of him. His back never bent.
“I stepped between him and the fire and said, ‘It is finished. You have done well, Pok.’
“He looked up and saw me, then smiled. Beside me his mother rushed in and helped him back to his feet.
“‘In one day’s time,’ K’Tar said, ‘the House of SipIch has lost one warrior and gained another. You do us honor, Pok.”
“She bowed her head slightly, showing Pok his new status as the head of the house.
“Pok turned to me.
“‘I see it in your eyes,’ I said. ‘One who has traveled the River of Pain. Others will see it too, and they will know that you have chosen the way of a warrior. And they will be afraid. That, too, is a weapon.’
“Pok nodded his thank-you and leaned against his mother. I knew I had a strong new ally to replace Torghn.
“As we stood in the ritual chamber, giving young Pok a moment to recover his strength, one of the servants rushed in and whispered in Qua’lon’s ear. He immediately turned to me. ‘Gowron, your men have finished analyzing the probe.’
“‘Come,’ I said. ‘Let us see what they have found for us.’
“We all moved inside and gathered around the dining room table. Tellot, my best science officer, sat at the table, the probe in parts in front of her.
“‘The probe,’ she said, ‘was most likely manufactured in the Soltaris System, within Romulan controlled space. The probes are illegal in almost all known sectors. Efficient. Deadly accurate, but difficult to program correctly, and even more difficult to come by.’
“‘Unless you are a Romulan living in the Soltaris System,’ K’Tar said.
“Tellot shook her head no. ‘Even then. The materials for this one alone would bankrupt a small house.’
“Qua’lon turned to me. ‘Gowron. Do you think there are Romulans involved?’
“‘No,’ I said. ‘The Romulan want my defeat, not my death.’ I turned to K’Tar and the rest in the room. ‘Many things are difficult to come by, but nothing is impossible if you know where to look. I have not traveled through the dark reaches of space without learning where the dishonorable wretches do their dealings.’
“‘Yes,’ K’Tar said, ‘and you have brought the fruits of their dishonorable hatred into this house.’
“I stared at her. ‘Do you blame me, K’Tar, for your husband’s death?’
“‘No. But I entrust you with my son’s life. Do not treat it carelessly. I too, can swear a mother’s blood oath. You would not want that.’
“‘No, I would not.’
“I held her gaze for a moment, then turned away. We understood each other. We always had.
“I walked over to Pok. ‘Do not come because others want you to. You must know your own mind. Will you come?’
“‘The boy has no choice,’ K’Tar said. ‘I have told him the story of Kolan and Dula. Kolan let his father’s death go unavenged. No one would marry him. He died without sons. His house became bankrupt. His name disappeared with the wind. Death is only death. My son will go.’
“‘Yes,’ Qua’lon said. ‘He will go.’
“Qua’lon turned to Pok. ‘If you die for yourself, for your family, I shall have an opera written, just to tell the tale of your courage. Men and woman will sing the name Pok, torghen puqloD.”
“I laughed at them, and turned back to Pok. ‘Your thoughts. Your own mind.’
“‘I have sworn a blood oath,’ Pok said. ‘I will travel after the murderers of my father.’
“I nodded. ‘Have your things beamed to my ship. But do not take much. A farmer’s treasures are a warrior’s burdens.’
“Tellot stepped forward. ‘Gowron, if we take the BortaS, the ship will be recognized long before we arrive. They will know that Gowron, head of the Klingon High Council, is coming.’
“She was right.
“Qua’lon stepped forward. ‘Take my ship. Take the Tagana. Use it to find my brother’s killers.’
“I nodded to him. ‘Thank you, Qua’lon. I am honored.’
“I turned to Pok and my officers and guards. ‘Come then. We have smelled the prey. Now let us follow the trail.’”
Gowron pushed back from the table and stood. “This seems a good place to end this evening. Tomorrow, if you are interested, I will tell of the chase of my friend’s murderers.”
“I would like that,” Captain Picard said.
“So would I,” Riker found himself saying.
“I, too,” Admiral Jellico said, “would be honored.”
Picard raised an eyebrow at the admiral’s comment.
Gowron laughed. “Then tomorrow it shall be, after dinner.”
He turned, and with his guards flanking him, moved across the bar and onto the Promenade.
Admiral Jellico, Captain Picard, Commander Sisko, and Lieutenant Barclay followed, leaving Riker standing next to Dax.
“I’m sorry dinner was interrupted earlier,” Riker said.
“So was I,” Dax said, smiling at him. “Maybe we should try again tomorrow?”
Riker smiled back at her. He had been hoping she would say that very thing. “With pleasure,” he said. “It will give me something to look forward to during the long hours of the meeting.”
“Me too,” she said, smiling at him. “Me too.”
And her words kept him smiling all the way back to the Enterprise.
Chapter Eight
PICARD FELT ANNOYED for the first time this trip. He remained seated in his chair as the rest of the attendees stood and left the large room. The round table was littered with water glasses and a few scraps of notepaper. For the third day in a row, the meetings between the Federation and the Klingon Empire had gone poorly. Both sides claimed they wanted to work with the other, yet there seemed to be no common ground on which to base trust. Tomorrow was scheduled to be the last day, but at this point Picard doubted it would even be worth his time to attend. Nothing was going to be solved.
“Captain?” Commander Sisko said, moving to a place beside Picard’s chair.
Picard pushed his chair back and stood. “Yes, Commander,” he said, doing his best to keep annoyance out of his voice.
“My chief of security thought it might be a good idea to include you in his afternoon briefing.” Then Sisko added quickly, “If you have the time.”
Picard nodded. That made sense. Worf had been informing him as to what measures were being taken, but it would be good also to hear what Commander Sisko’s people were doing, especially after the attempt on all their lives yesterday.
“I can make the time,” Picard said, smiling at Sisko. “Lead the way, Commander.”
Three minutes later he was seated in Odo’s office, facing the changeling. Also there were Major Kira Nerys, Lieutenant Worf, and Commander Sisko. Worf and Kira remained standing.
Odo started in immediately. “It seems likely that the person directly behind the bombing was a Klingon named dRacLa. He’s been on the station for three weeks, ostensibly working on an agricultural exchange.”
“Has he been picked up?” Worf asked.
Odo shook his head. “No. Even though I witnessed a meeting between him and the Caxtonian bomber, we do not yet have enough direct evidence to hold him.”
Worf nodded. Picard could tell he clearly wasn’t happy.
“Any information as to motive?” Picard said. “Whom he might be working for? Or if he is working for anyone?”
Odo shook his head no and consulted his padd. “dRacLa is from the agricultural planet Taganika. He—”
Both Picard and Sisko said, “Taganika?” at the same time.
Startled, Odo looked up.
“Who was his father?” Picard asked. He had a hunch he knew.
“Vok,” Odo said after glancing at his notes. “DracLa, son of Vok.”
Picard glanced at Sisko, who looked as shocked as Picard felt. It seemed Gowron’s story might have a little more to do with the meetings than Picard originally thought.
Riker and Dax left the meeting together, with Dax leading. She said she knew of a small cafe that was the farthest point from Quark’s bar on the Promenade. “We won’t be bombed there,” she had said, and Riker had found himself laughing.
It had been some time since he had so enjoyed the company of a woman. Of course, Dax was not a normal woman, with all the Trill lifetimes inside her. But that made her all the more interesting. And mysterious.
The restaurant turned out to be a very small Argainian café with a wonderful wine selection. Huge plants hung everywhere, and small glow-pots on each table gave the entire place an intimate, yet outdoor feeling. Riker felt extremely comfortable by the time they were seated.
Conversation at first stayed mainly on the hopelessness of the meetings. They both very much wanted them to work, but like the rest of the attendees, they could come up with no place to really start.
They were halfway through the second course, a delicious Argainian soup, when Riker’s comm badge brought Captain Picard’s voice to the table. “All senior officers report to the conference room.”
Riker tapped his comm badge. “Understood.”
Dax shook her head, but Riker could see she was laughing at the humor in the situation. Twice they had been unable to finish a dinner together.
“Seems I am wanted elsewhere,” he sa
id, taking her hand. “Later in Quark’s for Gowron’s story?”
“I’ll save you a seat,” she said.
He nodded, then with a quick turn left the restaurant.
Five minutes later he strolled into the conference room. Captain Picard stood near the front of the table behind his chair. Counselor Deanna Troi, Lieutenant Worf, Data, and Chief Engineer Geordi La Forge were already seated.
“Sorry to pull you away from dinner, Number One,” Picard said.
“No problem, sir,” he said, and moved quickly around and took his chair beside where the captain stood. Beside him Deanna smiled at him with one of “those” smiles and he hoped his face wasn’t red.
It took only a minute for Picard to fill them in on the discovery of the Klingon dRacLa’s history and his presence on the station. Riker was completely shocked at the news. He had been totally engrossed in Gowron’s story of young Pok, but he had had no idea that a continuation of the story might be playing out as Gowron was telling it.
“At this point,” Picard said, “we will not mention to Gowron that we know of the family history of dRacLa. Gowron and his security advisors have been informed of dRacLa’s presence on the station. That is enough.”
Picard looked at Riker, the only other person in the room attending the storytelling sessions, and Riker nodded his agreement.
“Now,” Picard said, finally sitting down. “Commander Sisko is putting Deep Space Nine on alert status. This ship will go to alert and stay there until further notice.”
Riker sat forward, puzzled. “Precaution only. Or do you expect trouble?”
Picard smiled. “I don’t expect it, I know it’s coming. I just don’t know from which direction. And to start, two Cardassian ships will be arriving here within ten minutes. We do not know their mission or their intentions.”
“Cardassian?” La Forge said. “They hate Klingons.”
“And the Federation,” Riker said, starting to understand where the captain was heading.
“Exactly,” Picard said. “Disrupting these meetings benefits any number of races, as well as factions inside the Klingon Empire. The Cardassians would profit greatly from a Federation/Klingon war.”
Star Trek: Klingon! Page 5
