As she finished knitting the fracture, the alarm went off. Toq’s voice sounded over the speakers: “Alert status! All hands to battle stations! Captain Klag to the bridge!”
Klag, naturally, stood. Knowing full well she wouldn’t get to finish the sentence, B’Oraq started, “Captain, you—”
“—will finish this after the battle, if we are still alive.” As he headed to the door, he looked at Kurak and Leskit. “Commander, report to engineering. Lieutenant, with me.”
The pair exchanged a glance. They were out of uniform.
Before they could say anything, B’Oraq said, “Lieutenant Leskit needs medical attention, Captain, he—”
Klag looked at Leskit. “Can you sit upright?”
Shrugging, Leskit said, “Yes.”
“Do your hands work?”
“Oh, yes,” he said with a grin. Kurak actually looked away at that. B’Oraq fought to contain her reaction.
“Then you can fly the ship. You’re with me.”
The three of them left the medical ward with dispatch.
B’Oraq looked around at the now-empty room. She wondered if boredom might not be so bad.
She sat down to compose a letter to Beverly Crusher. She had to share today’s news with the one person who could properly appreciate it.
The cave into which Worf and Krevor materialized was, if anything, colder than the council chambers. Worf would not have believed it possible, especially since this tunnel was rock rather than ice.
It was also dark—even more so than the Gorkon. There was a light source farther down the corridor, but it took a few moments for Worf’s eyes to adjust. He and Krevor moved up against the wall, which angled inward. The tunnel was barely taller than Worf himself, and his head kept brushing up against the tiny stalactites on the tunnel roof.
Krevor held a hand scanner. She whispered, “Sir, readings are sporadic. I can’t get a fix.”
Worf peered over at the bekk’s scanner. “The hand scanner isn’t as powerful as the shipboard sensors,” he whispered back, “and the concentration of Element 604 is especially high here—which is probably why the rebels chose it. Here.” He made a few adjustments, and the scan quality improved.
“Thank you, sir. There are four al’Hmatti coming this way.”
Worf nodded to Krevor, who moved into an alcove, out of sight. Worf moved to the center of the tunnel.
He could hear the al’Hmatti before he could see them. They spoke in their native tongue, which shared a certain guttural quality with the Klingon language.
A light moved toward Worf slowly around a bend, then the al’Hmatti themselves came into view. One held a hand lamp and walked on her hind legs, albeit stooped over; the cave could not accommodate the average al’Hmatti at full height. The others were on all fours. Unlike the ones Worf had seen in the council chambers and on the satellite, these al’Hmatti all had indulged in some form of bodily decoration and/or modification. Some wore necklaces (only females, he noticed), others wore earrings, many wore both. A few had let their fur grow out in spots and braided it, or tied it in a ponytail or topknot. Some had shaved their fur, exposing the skin underneath—which, to Worf’s surprise, was a deep black color, in stark contrast to the light-colored fur.
All four of them had the same pattern shaved into the sides of their heads—some on the left, some on the right.
“Greetings.” Worf’s voice echoed in the tunnel. “I am Ambassador Worf of the United Federation of Planets. I would speak with your commander.”
An al’Hmatti bellowed three words, one of which was Klingon, and then three of them—all but the one holding the hand lamp—shifted their weight to their hind legs and moved to unholster their disruptors.
Before they could do so, Worf had unholstered his own disruptor and fired a shot over the al’Hmatti’s furred heads.
“No weapons, please,” he said. “I wish to discuss terms with your commander.”
One of the al’Hmatti said, “We will die before we ‘discuss’ anything with you conquerors!” and then continued taking out her weapon.
“Don’t do it,” said Krevor, who appeared behind the al’Hmatti, as planned. She placed her disruptor’s muzzle into the neck of the al’Hmatti who had spoken.
Then two disruptor shots fired from around the bend, missing Krevor’s head by millimeters.
“Death to the Klingons!” one of the al’Hmatti cried.
All four al’Hmatti went for their disruptors. Worf fell to the ground while firing two shots. He stunned two of the rebels before they could fire. Krevor shot a third—the one she had gotten the drop on. The fourth fired a shot that would have hit Worf had he not ducked. Worf took out that fourth al’Hmatti with another shot.
Krevor was then hit in the shoulder with another blast from behind. As she fell, she fired back; Worf heard a scream a moment later, indicating that she’d hit someone.
Time, he thought, to end this. As he ran over to Krevor—ducking a disruptor blast—he shrugged out of the backpack in which he’d been carrying the scattering field generator. When he was at Krevor’s side, he activated the field.
The disruptor fire stopped.
Several angry shouts came from down the tunnel as the al’Hmatti tried to fire disruptors that would no longer function. The scattering field would only keep the disruptors inactive for a few minutes—but that should be all I need, Worf thought.
“I would speak with your commander!” Worf repeated.
An al’Hmatti with gray fur ran toward Worf on all fours, moving with tremendous speed for one of such bulk. Worf barely had time to unsheath his mek’leth, and did not have time to use it.
The al’Hmatti leapt at Worf, who fell backward to roll with the impact. The al’Hmatti tried to claw and bite Worf, but she hadn’t expected him to roll. The two of them tumbled over into the tunnel wall. Worf managed to angle it so that the al’Hmatti took the brunt of the impact.
Hissing, the al’Hmatti tried to bite Worf’s neck. At the last second, Worf twisted himself so that she bit his left shoulder instead. Her teeth penetrated the thermal suit.
Worf grabbed the woman’s muzzle with his right hand and, with his left, stabbed her in the side with the mek’leth.
She let go and screamed, giving Worf the opportunity to throw her off of him—an action that took all of his considerable strength. She fell to the floor, blood darkening the fur on her right side.
He looked over to see Krevor struggling with a white-furred male al’Hmatti. He swiped at her with a giant paw, which she partly dodged. Instead of taking her head off, it only scratched her right cheek and ripped out some of her black hair. She had holstered her disruptor and unsheathed her d’k tahg. Now she slashed at the al’Hmatti with it.
Like her, he dodged; like him, she drew blood anyhow, following the move with a punch to the al’Hmatti’s stomach. It had no effect on the al’Hmatti that Worf could see, as the alien then lunged forward, hissing. Krevor ducked and rolled under the lunge and took another swipe with the d’k tahg, this time at the side of the al’Hmatti’s neck.
The al’Hmatti had fallen to the ground on its stomach, but he got up quickly. Worf was about to move to aid Krevor, but that proved unnecessary, as she took another swipe at his neck. The al’Hmatti bled from four wounds, two in the neck, one in the upper chest—and one, to Worf’s surprise, in the stomach, where Krevor had punched him. She must have blades in her gauntlets, he thought.
The last cut to the neck did it. The al’Hmatti stumbled backward, clutching pointlessly at his neck with black-padded paws, failing to stanch the blood that flowed freely from the wound.
Worf and Krevor turned to face the other al’Hmatti, who circled cautiously around the Klingons.
The combined smell of al’Hmatti and Klingon blood was intoxicating. Pain wracked Worf’s left shoulder, sending his brain into a pleasant haze. He felt the adrenaline churn within him, heard the cry of his warrior’s heart. His mind’s eye could see the al’Hmatti l
ying bloody at his feet.
For the briefest of instants, Worf let the pure Klingon within him come to the fore, let the bouquet of the blood wash over him. It would be so easy to give in completely and show these creatures what a true warrior was capable of.
But these weren’t creatures, these were sentient beings fighting for their home. And he was here as a diplomat, not a warrior. It was time he acted like one.
Decades of living among humans had forced Worf to learn how to suppress his natural Klingon urges with relative ease. He straightened as much as he could in the cave and dropped his mek’leth to the ground. As he turned to Krevor, he grabbed his shoulder where the al’Hmatti had bitten him, putting pressure on the wound. “Drop your weapon, Bekk.”
“But, sir—” Krevor gave a vicious snarl. Her own bloodlust was rising as well.
“Now!”
Trying and failing to keep the disgust off her face, Krevor dropped her blade.
Worf turned to the al’Hmatti, who still circled the two Klingons, most of them on all fours. “I am the Federation ambassador that you requested! If you wish to end the fighting, you will listen to me—if you do not, I will alert Governor Tiral and he will obliterate this base!”
One of the al’Hmatti males stepped forward on his hind legs. Worf assumed him to be one of the leaders, if not the leader himself. “Do you think me a fool to believe that such as you represent the Federation?”
“Do you think your enemies to be such fools as to commit so obvious a deception?”
The al’Hmatti glared at him. “Perhaps not. Identify yourself.”
“I am Worf, son of Mogh. Although Klingon by birth, I was raised in the Federation and served in Starfleet for fifteen years before I was made ambassador after the Dominion War.”
“I’ve heard of you. As I recall, you were involved in the installation of Chancellor Gowron when you served under Captain DeSoto on the Endeavour. DeSoto was Chancellor K’mpec’s arbiter of succession.”
“I served on the Enterprise at that time,” Worf said, “under Captain Picard, who was K’mpec’s arbiter. I find your transparent attempt to test me insulting.”
“Perhaps, but I feel it is necessary.” The al’Hmatti stepped forward. “I am re’Trenat. I believe I am the person you have sought out.”
“If you lead these rebels, then yes, you are.”
“Tell me, Ambassador, do you always attend diplomatic negotiations armed?”
“Only ones where I expect to be shot at on sight.”
“Fair enough,” re’Trenat said. “Fetch the doctor for ma’Frnats and the others,” he said to one of the al’Hmatti, who nodded and loped off on all fours. “Come with me, please, Ambassador.”
Another al’Hmatti, a female with yellowish fur, said something urgent in their native tongue.
Before re’Trenat could respond, Worf said, “If I were here to do anything other than talk—I would not be here at all. The Gorkon would simply obliterate this entire cave system from orbit. That is still an option if I am not satisfied with this meeting.”
“You speak our language?” re’Trenat said.
“No. But your comrade’s concern is obvious. You don’t trust me, even though I am here at your behest. Even though I did not fire the first shot. Even though I am all that is keeping you alive right now. The officers of the Gorkon are the ones who found your base, re’Trenat, not the taD authorities. I have not shared this intelligence with Governor Tiral—yet. Whether I do or not depends upon our discussions. If I had, you would not be alive to discuss the matter.”
“Our lives are unimportant, Ambassador. We will do whatever it takes to ensure that our people are free.”
“Including working with the Kreel?”
Some of the al’Hmatti started to hiss. However, re’Trenat simply bared his teeth. “You are well informed, Ambassador. Come—let us discuss the situation.”
“Very well.”
A couple of al’Hmatti moved past Worf, one glaring at him. Worf stared back. He had no desire to harm the al’Hmatti unnecessarily, but he could hardly have responded any other way to a frontal assault.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to do anything about your injuries,” re’Trenat said. “Our medical supplies are limited, and I’d prefer to use them on our own people. Besides, I doubt I can convince our doctor to patch up people who killed some of our own.”
“As I said, re’Trenat, we did not fire first.”
The rebel leader did not reply to that, but simply led Worf and Krevor through the tunnel to a more spacious cavern, one in which even the al’Hmatti could comfortably stand upright. Worf found himself subjected to more of the same ugly stares. He ignored them and studied his surroundings. Though not as well lit, nor as clean as the council chambers, they felt more lived-in. Part of this was the complete lack of any Klingon décor, which had seemed clumsily superimposed in the other structure. Although most of the furnishings were weapons, computer equipment, and food storage, he also saw a few paintings. They were quite hideous—Worf hadn’t seen anything that stomach-churning since Data had foisted his “expressionistic” painting of the Battle of HarOs on Worf as a birthday present—but also defiantly not Klingon. Worf did not imagine that these could have been displayed anywhere publicly. Neither could the sculpture that stood in one corner; where all the other statuary Worf had seen on-planet were of Klingons, this was of an al’Hmatti standing on her hind legs, hefting an odd-shaped sword that looked like an Earth-style cutlass in one foreleg.
Noticing Worf’s gaze falling on the statue, re’Trenat said, “That is me’Grmat VI—the last true emperor we had before your people removed the teeth from that great office. We keep the statue there to remind us of what we hope to once again have.”
Worf also noticed several readers with familiar-looking titles—they were all on Governor Tiral’s list of forbidden publications.
“I’m afraid we don’t have any chairs,” re’Trenat said as he lay on the floor. “We don’t get many bipedal visitors. In fact, you two are the first. And I’m curious as to how you found us. We were under the impression that these caves were impervious to scans.”
“Emphasis on the past tense,” Worf said.
“I see. Tell me, Ambassador, how did you know we’d contacted the Kreel?”
“It was not difficult—Kreel raids have increased in this area, and every attack has been on a ship bound for this system. Obviously you made a deal with them to raid any supply ships that come into this vicinity.”
“Yes. I had been hoping the Kreel would be less obvious—”
“That is an impossibility with the Kreel.”
The rebel leader bared his teeth again. “So it would seem. In any event, they were more than happy to do anything to disrupt Klingon activity, so they did. They also provided us with some of our weapons, and the ships we attacked the governor’s satellite with.”
“In exchange for what?”
Stretching briefly, re’Trenat said, “Very little—just first opportunity at mining rights once we got rid of the Klingons.” Settling back down into a lying position, re’Trenat looked right at Worf with his obsidian eyes. “So, Ambassador, this brings us to you. Why are you here?”
“An interesting question for you to ask, since it was your request that the Federation get involved.”
“That was four years ago. To be honest, we had given up hope, especially once you and the empire were no longer enemies. That is why we contacted the Kreel—if one enemy of the empire was lost to us, we would try another.”
“In case you have not heard, re’Trenat, there has been a war on. That made things—difficult.”
“Your difficulties are no concern of mine, Ambassador—and neither is your war.”
“That is shortsighted. If the Dominion had won, the Klingon Empire would be the least of your problems.”
“I can’t imagine that the Dominion would be any worse.”
“Then you lack imagination—which I somehow doubt.�
�� Worf picked up one of the readers. “I have read some of your work—at least, I assume it was yours. Though the bylines change from publication to publication, the style has remained consistent. It is obviously the work of a single author.”
Laughing, re’Trenat said, “I’m impressed, Ambassador. Most Klingons wouldn’t pick out such nuances.”
“As I said, I was raised by humans from the age of six—I went to their schools. Human scholars have a tendency to overexamine literature that goes well beyond the pedantic.”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know about such things, Ambassador. What I do know is that we asked the Federation for help. Until now, we’ve gotten nothing. Now we have you. And to be honest, I had thought you to be a fraud.”
“I assume that you attacked the refinery once em’Rlakun informed you that the Klingons had ‘lied’ about sending a Federation ambassador.”
Nodding, re’Trenat said, “I’m afraid so. But I don’t regret what we did.”
“You should. My assignment is to bring about a peaceful solution to the difficulties here. Attacks such as yesterday’s do not aid in that process.”
Again, re’Trenat laughed. “Ambassador, forgive me, but the attack was irrelevant to your finding a solution. Indeed, you have the easiest of tasks. Tell the Klingons to leave. Solution found.”
“It is not that simple.”
“It is for me.” Re’Trenat got up from his prone position. “I won’t bore you with speeches about what a proud people we once were, Ambassador. We have always been a contentious, barbaric race. But I believe we have the capacity for greatness within us. The only thing standing in the way of that greatness is the Klingon Empire—an empire that obviously doesn’t care one whit for us. We toil in mines with substandard equipment. We are assigned governors who are fools. And then, when we rebel against the empire, their response is indifference—followed by sending a Federation ambassador. It is obvious that the empire cares little for us, so why should we care for them?”
Re’Trenat spoke with a passion that impressed Worf. He had seen this kind of rallying charisma before, particularly in Shakaar Edon, the former resistance fighter and current Bajoran First Minister—not to mention the captains he’d served under.
DIPLOMATIC IMPLAUSIBILITY Page 15
