Star Trek: Klingon!

by Dean Wesley Smith

  “But I understand, sir,” Data said, “that the meetings are not going well. Why disrupt a failed meeting?”

  “Just the simple fact that the meeting is occurring is a bad sign for those seeking power in other ways, Data,” Riker said.

  Picard nodded. “Even if the meeting fails to come to any agreements, we need to guarantee it continues the full five days.”

  Everyone nodded and Picard stood. “Dismissed.”

  Riker sat for a moment longer, thinking, as the others filed out. Gowron must have known that dRacLa was on the station when he arrived. What was he trying to tell them with his story? Only Gowron knew. The rest would find out as the story progressed.

  “Crafty,” Riker said to himself as he stood. “Very crafty.”

  Chapter Nine

  MAJOR KIRA STOOD next to Commander Sisko and watched on the Ops main viewscreen as the two Cardassian ships took positions a distance away. The Enterprise was off the port side of the station and Gowron’s ships were on the opposite side. Kira felt surrounded and she had never liked that feeling.

  “Hail them,” Sisko said. His voice was firm, almost angry. “And make sure the Enterprise and the BortaS both are getting the transmission.”

  Kira knew how Sisko felt. With the meetings going poorly, the last thing the parties needed was the Cardassians poking their nose in.

  “On screen,” Ensign Hoffper said.

  Gul Dukat’s face filled the screen, and Kira snorted. Of course it would be him. He seemed to always know exactly when his presence would cause the most problems.

  “What can I do for you, Dukat?” Sisko said, his deep rich voice full of power.

  “Why, Commander,” Dukat said, smiling into the screen. “Maybe I should be asking what I can do for you?”

  “I won’t play games, Dukat.”

  Dukat sat forward and Kira had the extreme urge to fire a phaser blast at the screen. But she held her position and her stern face.

  “The entire sector knows,” Dukat said, “that meetings between the Federation and the Klingon Empire are occurring on your fine station.”

  “It has not been kept a secret, Dukat,” Sisko said.

  “But the Klingon Birds of Prey headed your way have been,” Dukat said.

  Sisko stared at Dukat’s smiling face.

  Kira could feel the surprise building inside her. If Dukat spoke the truth, who knew what might be coming.

  Sisko asked, “Is such an event your business, Dukat?”

  “Commander,” Dukat said. “It is bad enough that the Federation controls our station. Having the Klingons own it would be intolerable. I am here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Sisko laughed, his voice full and deep. “Dukat, you may stay in position, wasting your time for as long as you might like. But none of your men will be allowed on this station until the meetings between the Federation and the Klingon Empire have ended.”

  “You’re welcome,” Dukat said, still smiling.

  The screen went blank.

  Kira turned to Sisko who stood for a moment staring at the blank screen.

  “Do you think that he was telling the truth?” she asked.

  Sisko shrugged. “His own form of the truth, maybe. There may be extra Klingon ships headed this way. Possibly Gowron’s enemies.”

  Sisko glanced down at Kira. “But Dukat’s motives have me confused,” he said. “They make no sense. And that is not normal for Dukat.”

  Kira felt a chill run down her spine. On that, Sisko was exactly right.

  Riker wasn’t surprised that the large table against the back wall of Quark’s bar had been held open again for Gowron and those who listened to his story. Two Klingon guards and two Federation security officers stood duty over the empty table in the crowed bar. Four men with weapons guarding an empty table. It would have looked humorous, if it hadn’t been so important.

  All of the members of the table arrived at almost the same time. After the Cardassians surprise arrival, it was concluded by Captain Picard, Commander Sisko, and Chancellor Gowron that they made no difference in the evening.

  Or in the meetings.

  Gowron swore he knew of no other Klingon ships headed toward the station, but agreed to look into it. Maybe, he had said, the Cardassians were doing him a favor. Either way he had also agreed to continue his story.

  Personally, Riker was glad that Gul Dukat’s accusation of other Klingon ships heading toward the station was ignored, at least for the time being. There was no extra preparation that could be done. At least, no reasonable ones that weren’t already done. Both the Enterprise and Deep Space Nine were on alert status. Gul Dukat clearly wanted to disrupt the meetings, and there was no point in letting him.

  Dax touched Riker’s arm and smiled as they all took their seats. Maybe tomorrow they’d finally have a chance to finish a dinner. He’d ask her after Gowron finished his story.

  Quark appeared at the table as Admiral Jellico finished taking his seat. “Everyone drinking the same this evening?”

  Gowron laughed and looked around the table. “Have any of you changed your mind on my offer of blood wine?”

  Picard, Sisko, and Jellico all shook their heads no.

  “Bah,” Gowron said. “A good story is better told with blood wine. You do not know what you miss.”

  Riker had to admit that after two nights now of sipping the blood wine, he was slowly developing more of a taste for it. He still would never order it on his own, but it wasn’t as bad as many in the Federation thought.

  Quark scampered away as Gowron pulled out his knife and again stuck it into the table in front of Lieutenant Barclay. He focused his intense blue eyes on Barclay. “Young Pok is now aboard a ship I command.”

  Barclay nodded. “I-I-I remember, sir.”

  Gowron smiled. “Good. When the wine comes, I will start. There was much for young Pok to learn.”

  Riker managed not to laugh at the terrified look on Barclay’s face.

  Quark and Rom both brought the round of drinks and Gowron took a long draft, letting out a deep sigh when he was finished. Then he took a smaller drink, sat down his glass, and started into his story.

  “Qua’lon’s ship, the Tagana, did not compare to the BortaS in room and speed. But it was a sound ship. My men worked quickly to prepare it for the journey.

  “The command chair filled the center of the Tagana’s bridge. There were stations for five others. I strode onto the bridge and knew at once it would be a good ship.

  “Young Pok followed me and we were greeted by ChaqI, my weapons officer.

  “‘DevwI,’ she said. ‘The Tagana is prepared. We await your orders.’

  “‘Show me the weapons array,’ I said. Then I turned to young Pok. ‘You. Wait here.’

  “ChaqI led me to a station on the lower level to the left of my command chair. There she showed me the weapons of the Tagana. Again, not as powerful as my flagship, but useful.

  “Behind me I heard SvaD, one of my guards, turn to Pok. ‘Come here,’ he ordered the young warrior. I later learned he wanted Pok to hold a panel while SvaD worked.”

  Gowron leaned across the table at Barclay. “One of many places young Pok is faced with a decision his first hours on my ship. Barclay, what should the young warrior do?”

  Barclay seemed caught off guard with a question so early in the evening’s story. But as Riker watched Barclay recovered quickly. “H-h-he should follow your order and wait.”

  Gowron roared his approval. “Very good! You are starting to understand Klingon ways. On a Klingon ship there is no such thing as a casual order. Every order is obeyed. If I say jump out an airlock, Pok will jump out an airlock.”

  Barclay nodded and Riker could see little beads of sweat breaking out onBarclay’s forehead.

  “Now,” Gowron said, glancing at Captain Picard and smiling, then turning back to Barclay. “Attaining rank and positions on a Klingon ship will shock you. Do you know how it is done?”

  Barclay
changed the motion of his head from up and down to side to side, almost in one motion.

  Gowron laughed. “Then listen and I will tell you.”

  “With the Tagana ready, the guards left the bridge, leaving only five Klingon warriors for the five stations. And young Pok. Three of my men, two of Qua’lon’s men. An old Klingon, obviously trusted and protected by Qua’lon, stood at the operations station.

  “Qugh, my operations officer, strode up behind the old Klingon.

  “‘I will take this station now,’ he said, in the manner of the formal challenge of station.

  “The old Klingon glanced at Qugh. ‘Who are you that would take this station from me?’

  “‘Who are you that you would stop me?’

  “The two growled at each other, then the old Klingon turned his back on Qugh and went to work at the station.

  “Qugh grabbed the old man by the shoulder and spun him away, knocking him to the floor.

  “The old Klingon warrior had great speed. He climbed back to his feet. Growled. He grabbed Qugh.

  “The fight lasted only a moment. The old Klingon was no match for my officer. Again he found himself on his back on the floor.

  “Qugh turned and began work at his new station.

  “The old Klingon climbed to his feet, bowed to me, and took up a new position at the navigation console.

  “I turned to Pok at that moment. ‘Pok. HighoS.’

  “Then I moved his attention from the fight to another matter. ‘Do you wish to see your home one last time before you leave? Planet view!’

  “A view of the planet Taganika quickly appeared on the main screen. I turned to Pok.

  “He stared at it.

  “‘When I left my home,’ I said, ‘I was not much older than you. It was many years before I saw it again. When I did return it was as a warrior.’

  “Then I turned to young warrior Pok. ‘No one stands around on a Klingon ship. Everything must have a use. Even you, Pok. Choose your post.’

  “I looked the young warrior right in the eye. ‘But choose carefully. Remember what you have seen.’”

  “Barclay!” Gowron said. “Pok must choose. Do so for him.”

  Riker saw that now Barclay really looked panicked. “I-I-I don’t even know his choices. H-h-how can I choose?”

  “Bah,” Gowron said, waving his hand. “You are not listening. I told you there were five stations on the Tagana.”

  “D-d-does Pok know any of the stations?” Barclay asked.

  “Humans,” Gowron said. He spit on the floor. “Bah. Think. As captain, I remove those who do not do their jobs. Otherwise, I told you how positions are chosen.”

  Riker could clearly see Barclay sweating now. And there was nothing Riker could do to help him. Doing so would bring the wrath of Gowron down on him, which was the last thing he wanted.

  “I-I-I would chose to challenge the old Klingon.”

  Gowron stared at Barclay, his eyes blazing. “Why? Explain.”

  “B-B-Because Pok was young. He might be able to b-b-beat the old Klingon.”

  Gowron slapped his hand down hard on the table, causing Barclay to jump back and two of the guards to flinch. “Right,” he said. “You can think, human.”

  Gowron took a deep drink of his blood wine, then held it up in the air. “Ferengi! More blood wine.”

  He looked at Barclay. “You could use some blood wine, also. You are thinking like a Klingon.”

  Barclay was not only thinking like a Klingon, he was sweating as if he was working out in a gym. But Riker could tell he was pleased with Gowron’s praise. And having a Klingon tell a human he was thinking like a Klingon was high praise indeed.

  Gowron glanced around the table, waiting for Quark to bring his wine. “If Pok had chosen any of my crew, they would have easily rebuffed him.”

  Admiral Jellico nodded. “Advancement is measured by physical skill, not proficiency at a task.”

  Gowron snorted. “Both, dear admiral. A warrior must be able to fight first. Then I, as strongest, judge his ability to perform the task.” Gowron stared at Jellico. “Only the best at both rise to the top.”

  Quark broke the silence. “More wine.” He banged the glass down in front of Gowron.

  Riker had managed to keep his eyes focused on Dax’s hands on the table in front of her, away from Jellico’s gaze. The last thing he needed to do was laugh at an insulted admiral, no matter how true the insult.

  “Ah!” Gowron said after a long drink of wine. “Telling this story is thirsty work.” He looked at the sweating Barclay. “And taking part also seems to be thirsty work. Ferengi! Bring him a wine.”

  Quark glanced at Barclay who looked pained, but said nothing.

  “Now, back to Pok,” Gowron said. “He must win a challenge.”

  “Pok moved to a position behind the old Klingon. He stood there, his young shoulders firm. His father would have been proud of him at that moment.

  “‘I will take this station, now,’ he said.

  “The old Klingon turned. ‘Who challenges me for my station? Go away, little nothing.’

  “The old Klingon turned his back on Pok. Pok grabbed the old warrior’s shoulder and spun him around, tossing him to the floor. Again, the old Klingon surprised me by his speed. He attacked young Pok, but Torghn had taught the young warrior well. Pok soon beat the old warrior to the floor.

  “This time the old warrior rose and left the bridge. He would find another station below.

  “I gave Pok my approval. Then to my science officer I said, “Teach him the station. Teach him well.’”

  Gowron took a long drink of blood wine, glared at Barclay for a moment, then went right back to telling his story.

  “The next morning I sat in my command chair. Pok had done well, but the real first test of his navigation skills was at hand.

  “‘Approaching the Balka System,’ my communications officer said.

  “‘Pok,’ I said. ‘Prepare for standard orbit.’

  “Pok did as I ordered.

  “‘Slow to impulse.’

  “Again, Pok did as I had ordered. The ship slowed. The planet Balka appeared on the front screen. A brown, ugly-looking rock.

  “‘Orbital track,’ I ordered.

  “Pok obeyed, taking the ship smoothly into orbit. I felt pride.

  “‘Any other warships in the system?’

  “My communications officer said, ‘Nothing in the system except a few cargo ships and a small runner vessel.’

  “‘Good,’ I said. ‘Decloak. Drop shields and prepare to beam down to the surface.’ I stood and moved toward the door. As I passed the navigation console I said, ‘Pok. You are with me. These people trade in assassination. Death without honor. Stay close.’

  “He followed my orders. He was at my side when we beamed into the bar.

  “There are places in this sector of the galaxy that are not fit for human, Klingon, or even Cardassians. The BItuHpa was such a place. Drugged smoke clogged the air. The smell of the unclean filled the room. Fifty varied species filled the room. No other Klingons. I could see Pok did not like the place.

  “A Bolian singer worked a keyboard. Screeched out a tune. A large human bartender stared at us. He had two armed Bolian thugs at both doors. Possibly other hidden armaments. But I was not there for a fight.

  “‘There are no weapons allowed,’ the bartender said, sneering at me. It was clear from his actions that he did not know who I was. Nor did he care.

  “My guards and Pok closed in around me as the two thugs from the doors moved toward us.

  “‘No weapons!’ I said. ‘What kind of a yInTagh bar is this?’

  “The bartender sneered at me. His yellowed teeth dripped saliva like a mad beast. ‘I cater to a peace loving clientele,’ he said. He laughed. ‘They don’t like violence. If you really can’t stand to part with your weapons, there are plenty of other bars in the city that will be happy to let you in armed. If that’s what you looking for.’

&nb
sp; “I growled at the two thugs, then turned back to the smiling bartender. ‘You cannot expect us to give up our knives. We are Klingons.’ I stepped closer to him, even though his breath repulsed me. ‘I give you my word, no one will be harmed with them.’

  “‘The rule is no weapons,’ the bartender said.

  “I stepped closer again. ‘I repeat. You cannot expect us to give up our knives. We are Klingons. I have given my word.’

  “The bartender thought for a moment. With what brain I do not know. Then he said, ‘All right. But the disrupters have to go.’

  “I glanced back at my guards and young Pok. Then I nodded and they all handed their disrupters to the two thugs.

  “The bartender snorted at us and turned away.

  “‘These nuchpu’ fear the very weapons they sell.’ I turned to the guards. ‘Mix yourself in among these people. See what you can overhear. And try not to kill anyone.’

  “I moved to the bar. Pok stayed close, as I had ordered.

  “‘Do not be concerned, Pok,’ I told the young warrior. ‘Many things that do not look so, can become weapons.’

  “The bartender moved down the bar toward us. His stench moved ahead of him. I had smelled better Caxtonian traders after long hauls.

  “‘Can I get you gentlemen something?’ he said. Again he sneered and I hoped for the chance to remove that offending look from his face permanently. ‘Or are you just here for the music?’

  “‘A drink,’ I said. ‘Pok. We should take the time to sample the local spirits.’

  “I turned to the bartender. ‘Necti. Pelet. Ora.’

  “The bartender nodded and before a moment passed he had returned with three bottles. He sat them on the bar and pointed at each in turn. ‘ngaSwI’ wej. Hivje’mey.’

  “I looked at the ugly human bartender. ‘You speak Klingon?’

  “The bartender laughed, spraying us with his spit. ‘I speak bartender.’

  “Thankfully, he moved away.”

  Gowron took a deep drink of his blood wine and looked around the table. Riker could see that his audience was still with him.

  “My voice needs a short rest,” Gowron said. “My glass needs replenishing, too.” He banged it on the table. “Ferengi! Another round for my listeners.”