"She is my friend, Kurak," B'Oraq said, then looked at Beverly.
"I take it you two know each other."
"This todsah invited me onto her ship," Kurak said before Beverly could answer, "for a demonstration of a met aphasic shield. When its inventor was killed, your friend accused me of the murder."
"Kurak, I--" Beverly started.
"I do not wish to hear it," Kurak said, holding up her hand. "I have business to discuss with the doctor. You will leave--now."
B'Oraq snarled. "This is not engineering, Kurak. In the medical ward, say who stays and goes." "It's all right," Beverly said, getting up, not wanting to start a dispute between doctor and engineer. "I should probably be getting back to the Enterprise in any case. It was good seeing you again, B'Oraq."
Well, there's something I never expected to come back and bite me on the rear, Beverly thought as she left the Gorkon's medical ward. Her attempt to sponsor Dr. Reyga, a Ferengi scientist, and his met aphasic shield was not one of Beverly's proudest moments, seeing as it cost Reyga his life and almost cost Beverly her career. To be honest, Kurak has every right to be angry with me.
She stood in the corridor, trying to adjust her eyes. The transporter room was this way, I think. She hated trying to navigate by herself on a Klingon ship; they always kept the lights dimmed to near-darkness.
Medically, she understood the reasons--Klingons were much more sensitive to bright lights than humans--but it didn't make it easier for her to stumble her way around.
"Excuse me?" said a surprisingly timid voice.
Beverly turned to see a very strange sight: a well groomed Klingon. His hair was short and combed, something Beverly had only seen on Worf--and he did so only to conform to Starfleet uniform standards. More unusually, this Klingon lieutenant had no facial hair whatsoever, his teeth were straight, and he seemed to have an athletic, swimmer's build.
"Uh, yes?" she said.
"I am looking for Commander Kurak. Did she just go into the medical ward?" The voice was not only timid, but slightly nasal.
"Yes, she did." "Good." The Klingon stared at her for a moment, then said, "You look familiar--do I know you?"
"I don't think so," Beverly said, perhaps too emphatically. would've remembered if I met this one before.
Suddenly, the Klingon straightened. "You are Beverly of the House of Crusher! You are the doctor who performed the blood test on Kahless n to prove his legitimacy on the Enterprise!" Blinking, Beverly said, "Uh, yes--yes, that was me."
"It is a great honor to meet you, Doctor!" the Klingon said eagerly.
"Uh, if you don't mind, Lieutenant--?"
"Vail."
Beverly nodded in acknowledgment. "How did you know that was me?"
Vail blinked, as if the question was ridiculous. "It is in the song."
"Song?"
"The song about Kahless's return. You are in the fourth verse. I will sing it for you."
Vail took a deep breath, as if about to break into song. Holding up a hand to head off this dire possibility, Beverly said, "No, no, that's okay. I, uh--I really have to be getting back to the Enterprise, but it was a pleasure meeting you, Vail."
"The pleasure was mine, Doctor!"
"Don't mention it." Please, don't ever mention it ... Vail walked quickly toward the medical ward.
Beverly stood in the corridor for a moment. Well, that was weird.
She continued her journey to the transporter room, debating with herself whether or not to look up the song about Kahless's return on the Enterprise computer.
"So," Martok said as two civilians brought trays of food for him and Worf, "how are you liking the new post so far?"
"The honor is to serve," Worf said as one of the trays was placed before him.
Martok laughed. "So you hate your new role as much as I do. Good. It serves you right for forcing me into mine."
"Hate is too strong a word. I view it as--a challenge."
Scooping a handful of skull stew into his mouth, Martok said, "As well you should. I regret giving you such a vexing one to start. But we need speak no more of that. You know my feelings, and I would not wish Klag to think we were plotting behind his back. We have concluded our business. Now is a time for family." Martok sighed. "Which reminds me of one other piece of business that perhaps we should discuss.
Family business."
"Oh?"
"As you may know, my son Drex is the first officer on the Gorkon."
"Yes." Worf had been expecting something like this from the moment he saw Drex's name on the ship's crew roster.
"I would ask a favor of you, Worf. Keep an eye on him."
Then again, I was not expecting that ..."An eye for what, precisely?"
"My son has many flaws, as you well know. He has always preferred to let his father's honor speak for him instead of creating his own. He grew worse during the time I was captured by the Jem'Hadar and that Lubbockian slime devil of a changeling took my place." Martok spat on the deck. Worf could sympathize. The idea that someone had taken over your life--the way one of the shape-shifting Founders had done to Martok four years ago--was not appetizing. If the changeling had not been so publicly unmasked on Ty'Gokor as it was, Martok's honor may never have recovered.
"What is it you wish of me?" Worf asked.
"I speak not as chancellor to ambassador, but as brother to brother, Worf. Help him find his own honor."
Worf refrained from pointing out that one cannot find something that does not exist. Instead he simply said, "I will try."
"That is all that I ask." He took a sip of blood wine
"Have you heard from Alexander?"
Taking a bite of bregit lung, Worf said, "Yes, briefly-before I left for Earth. He finds his new assignment challenging. He also sends his regards."
Martok laughed. "A Klingon sentiment, followed by a human one.
Appropriate for your son."
There was an awkward silence while both men ate their food and drank their blood wine Worf had never been comfortable talking about his son. Alexander seemed to be turning out all right, but that was through little of Worf's own doing.
Perhaps inspired by the mention of Alexander, Martok broke the silence with a very human question: "Are you all right, Worf?" Worf shook his head and almost smiled. He had hoped that his facade had remained intact, that Martok could not see the turmoil he was going through. In his life, only four people had ever been able to see past it--or, at least, had done so and were willing to say so to his face--the Rozhenkos, Jadzia, and Martok. The chancellor's ability to work past the barriers that Worf had spent a lifetime erecting was one of the many things that he admired about Martok, and why he felt so honored to be part of his House.
"No, I am not," he said, and then added, very reluctantly, "but I am afraid I cannot say why."
"Cannot, or will not?" "Both," Worf said. "It is--personal." He had been about to say it was a family matter, but that would make it Martok's business. "I cannot discuss it, even with you."
"Will it affect the mission?"
"I do not believe so," Worf said carefully. The fact of the matter was, he had no idea what effect it would have.
Drex's was not the only familiar name on the Gorkon's crew roster.
There was the second officer, Toq, one of the children Worf had rescued from the prison camp on Car raya--Worf looked forward to seeing the young man again.
And then there was the primary-shift gunner: Rodek, son of Noggra.
A false name that Worf himself had given to Kurn, son of Mogh. His brother.
When Worf had opposed Gowron's invasion of Car dassia four years previous, Gowron had cast Worf out of the empire, seized his family's lands, and removed Worf's younger brother Kurn from the High Council.
Kum had come to Deep Space Nine to ask Worf to perform the Mauk-to'Vor on him, but Captain Sisko had forbidden it--what would be a proper ritual in the empire was murder on a Bajoran station, and Sisko would not allow one of his senior staff
to kill his own brother.
Kufn was unable to die with honor and unable to go on living. Worf found only one solution: have Dr. Bashir erase Kurn's memory and surgically alter his crest, and then create a false record. "Rodek"
was born from the ashes of Kurn.
Now Worf was a hero of the empire, a respected member of the chancellor's House. However, his brother unknowingly still lived the lie necessitated by a dishonor that no longer existed.
But aside from Noggra, who took Rodek in, and Worf himself, no one in the empire could know of this. Not even Martok.
"Worf, if you are hiding something from me that will affect what happens at tad--"
"I will see that it does not, Chancellor," Worf said formally. "You have my word."
Martok gazed upon Worf with his one good eye, and finally said, "Very well. Your word has always been more than enough. We will speak no more of it."
And they did not.
"It was a glorious battle," Klag said as he opened a third bottle of blood wine and poured it. Most of it landed inside the mug; the rest splashed onto the table. Klag didn't seem to notice or care. "Twelve ships against six Breen and Jem'Hadar vessels. When it was over, only two remained: the Pagh and one of the Jem'Hadar ships. But we were both severely damaged. The fifth planet was breathable, so Kargan ordered us to land there. The Jem'Hadar did the same."
Riker took a hearty gulp from his own mug of blood wine still from the first bottle. Anti-inebriant notwithstanding, he was feeling a bit woozy, while Klag--who
had drunk about four times as much--showed no signs of even slowing down.
"Our stabilizers were a thing of the past. The moment we hit the atmosphere, we were thrown across the ship like riders on a bucking mount. By the time I regained my senses, I was on the deck, my right side pinned by what was left of the command chair." He snorted. "The chair had been sliced in half, and one of those halves was presently weighing me down. I couldn't feel my right arm, but I could see it sticking out from the other side of the debris. With a mighty shove, I rolled the twisted piece of metal off with my left hand--and then I stood to get a damage report." Klag took a long gulp of blood wine
"My right arm remained on the deck."
Riker let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. Even though he knew that the story would have Klag losing his arm at some point, Riker had found himself sufficiently engrossed that it still came as a surprise. He drained his mug of blood wine "That must've hurt."
Pouring Riker some more before the commander could stop him, Klag replied, "Actually, no. I felt only anger-which increased a hundredfold when I saw that I was the only one who had survived the crash." Klag set down the bottle and clenched his fist. "I was furious! For such a fine crew to have survived the Jem'Hadar, only to die like that!"
Leaning back and smiling, Klag said, "But then I saw the corpse of Captain Kargan. It was a sight I had long awaited."
Riker leaned forward. He had half-expected the glee with which Klag described Kargan's death. The general impression Riker had of Kargan from his time as the latter's first officer was that the captain would be removed due to his own ineptitude ere long. The fact that he hadn't had always confused Riker.
"What you did not know about the captain," Klag said, "is that he was the son of General Talak--and the nephew of Councilor K'Tal."
Riker nodded. He didn't know much about Talak, but K'Tal was one of the more respected members of the High Council. Riker had met K'Tal eight years earlier when the councilor supervised the installation of Chancellor Gowron. "Friends in high places, huh?"
"The highest. So I was trapped under that fool. He blocked any opportunity for me to be promoted off the Pagh, keeping me firmly under his heel while he stumbled through command with the same idiocy he displayed against the Enterprise."
Shortly after Riker had reported to the Pagh as first officer, the vessel was afflicted with a corrosive element. Kargan made the ludicrous leap in logic that the Enterprise had sabotaged the Pagh during their rendezvous. Riker had defused the situation, but it was a close call. "Why didn't you challenge him?" Riker asked. It was, after all, Klag's right; indeed, Riker had invoked that right, after a fashion, during the confrontation with the Enterprise.
"Oh, I could have, if I'd wanted to measure my life in microseconds.
Both K'Tal and Talak had minions on the Pagh who would make sure that no harm would come to Kargan. Even a successful challenge would have been a failure. I intend to die in battle, not in a dark corner at the hands of a paid assassin."
"So why didn't he challenge you?" Grinning, Klag said, "And lose what respect he'd scraped up for himself? His House kept him alive quite well, but even the finest assassin will not bring trust. He needed me to lead the crew so he would be spared having to."
"So seeing him dead wasn't exactly what you'd call a hardship," Riker said with a sardonic smile.
"No."
Taking another sip of blood wine Riker shook his head. Not for the first time, he realized he'd make a lousy Klingon. There was just no way he could take such pleasure in anyone's death, never mind advancing in rank that way.
Klag finished off his latest mug of blood wine and poured some more.
Riker had, at this point, lost count of how much the captain had drunk.
"So, as the only survivor, it was left to me and me alone to finish what we had started. After all, if I survived, some of the enemy might have as well--and that meant the battle was not yet over. I found a working scanner and saw that seven Jem'Hadar and one Vorta still lived amidst the wreckage of their ship. Armed with a mek'leth, I went to greet them." Smiling, Riker said, ""Greet' them, huh? And how'd they return the greeting?" "Poorly," Klag said with a vicious grin. "Oh, it was magnificent Their Vorta had been injured, and their instrumentation destroyed in the crash. I had lost a great deal of blood, and should have felt the effects, but the death of my comrades put a fire in my belly. The Jem'Hadar may have been bred for combat, but the heart of a warrior cannot be grown in a Vorta laboratory. Within minutes, I stood amongst the corpses of my enemies, my mek'leth stained with their blood and the Jem'Hadar's drug." He gulped down more blood wine half of it running down into his goatee. Slamming the mug to the table, he smiled. "Then I passed out."
Riker laughed. "Good timing."
"Indeed. I came to on a ship, being examined by some doctor or other who had stanched the bleeding from my shoulder. I was told that our battle had paved the way for Defense Force and Starfleet vessels to penetrate the Allicar sector. I had left the Homeworld the lapdog of a fool. I returned as a hero of the empire." He indicated the ship around him with his hand. "I was given this as my reward."
"Quite a reward."
"Yes. One wonders why you have not been similarly blessed, old friend."
Riker sighed. He had expected this subject to come up. After all, he had remained a first officer longer than Klag had. "Big difference between us, Klag. Kargan forced you to stay under his command. I remain with Captain Picard--and on the Enterprise--by choice."
"Then you are a fool. Whatever Picard's merits--and I admit, he has accomplished much--even he is not worth denying yourself the greatest glory of all."
Smiling, Riker quoted, ""Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.""
Klag frowned. "What?"
Riker had uttered the quote in English. He repeated it in Klingon, substituting Sto-Vo-Kor for heaven and Gre'thor for hell. The translation didn't entirely hold up, as those two realms in Klingon mythology were not precise analogues to the human concepts. "It's from a human poet named John Milton. Basically, it means that it's better to be the ruler of a bad place than to be a subordinate in paradise."
Klag nodded. "Ah, I see. Obviously, you disagree with this poet"
"I didn't used to. Time was I lived my life by it. But that was before I signed onto the Enterprise--she's the finest ship in the finest fleet under the finest captain. I couldn't ask for a better place to serve, even if it means sta
ying a first officer." Grinning, Klag said, "Plus, of course, there's that half Betazoid counselor of yours."
Riker laughed, and wondered if he blushed. His cheeks certainly felt flushed, but that could have been from the blood wine "Your sources are good, Klag. Yes, there is her also."
Klag shook his head. "You're a typical human, Riker. Sacrificing duty for the sake of par' Mach
"I'll take that as a compliment," Riker said, raising his mug.
Klag threw his head back and laughed. "Of course you do, my friend!"
Raising his own mug, he said, "I toast us both. Two warriors who have at last found their place in the universe." Riker smiled and clanked his mug against Klag's. "I'll drink to that."
Suiting action to words, he drained his mug. "And with that, I really do need to be getting back. We're due at Starbase 10 in two days."
Klag stood up; Riker did likewise. "It was good to see you again, my old comrade. Perhaps someday, we will fight side by side--you in the ship of your dreams, and I in mine."
Riker had had enough battles over the past couple of years to last him several lifetimes, but he gamely said, "It would be an honor, old friend."
"Good." Klag hesitated. "One question, before you go."
"What?"
Again, Klag hesitated. "Ambassador Worf. You served with him."
"For over seven years. He's one of the finest officers I've ever known."
"Then you think he is worthy of his new position?"
Folding his arms, and resisting the obvious answer to the question, Riker said, "I take it you don't?"
"What I think is that he received this post because he is of Martok's House, just as Kargan gained his by being of K'Tal's. And I have had my fill of such things."
Riker straightened. "Worf isn't Kargan. And the Federation isn't in the habit of basing its diplomatic assignments on nepotism."
Klag got a faraway look for a moment, then blinked at Riker. Then he laughed and slapped Riker on the shoulder --but it was not Klag's trademark throw-back-the head laugh, more of a snort or a chuckle, if a Klingon could ever be said to chuckle. "Perhaps not. Well, enough of this. You must be returning to your ship. And let me give you a piece of advice."
Star Trek - TNG - 61 - Diplomatic Implausibility Page 6
