by Dayton Ward
“What are you drinking there, human?”
Scotty and Chekov turned at the new voice and found themselves staring up, way up, into the face of a Klingon officer. A large tankard filled his enormous, leathergloved hand. The Klingon’s eyes appeared to be more than a little glazed over, a sure sign that he had been enjoying the plentiful refreshments.
The Enterprise engineer held up his glass proudly. “This is scotch. You’d appreciate it, you know. It’s a drink fit for a warrior.”
“Oh please,” Chekov said just loud enough for Scotty to hear. “Don’t get me started.”
The Klingon reached forward and took the glass from Scotty’s hand, brought it to his lips, and downed its contents in a single swallow. Pursing his lips momentarily, the Klingon then nodded and smiled appreciatively.
“Not at all unpleasant,” he said. Then he held up his own tankard to the engineer.
“What is it?” Scotty asked warily.
“Bloodwine,” the Klingon answered. “A true drink for warriors.”
Sensing a bond forming, Scotty reached out to take the tankard from the Klingon. It was heavier than it looked and the Scotsman almost had to use his other hand to support it. Gaining control of the oversized drinking vessel, Scotty brought it to his face and sniffed the dark red liquid it held. Finally, he took a drink.
And promptly coughed once, twice, three times. His face turned red as he sucked air in an effort to regain some self-control.
Chekov leaned in closer. “Scotty, are you all right?”
“Bloody hell,” the engineer wheezed between labored breaths. “That’s got quite a kick.” He then regarded the tankard for a moment, shrugged, and took another drink. This time the heavy liquid went down without incident and Scotty raised the tankard to the Klingon, smiling.
Laughing, the Klingon clapped Scotty on the shoulder, nearly dislocating it from its socket. “Bartender,” he said toward the service attendant behind the bar, “more bloodwine for my friend and I.”
Scotty cast a worried look at Chekov, and the Enterprise security chief gave silent thanks that he wouldn’t have his friend’s skull in the morning.
In another area of the room, Uhura and Sulu were having a different encounter with Klingons.
“I understand you are a communications specialist,” a large Klingon said to Uhura in a voice she could barely hear over the room’s background noise. The soft-spoken delivery seemed decidedly out of character for the burly, thick-muscled soldier. Of course, the Klingon himself appeared decidedly out of place amid the throng of diplomats and other civilians milling about the conference hall.
Clearing her throat, Uhura nodded nervously before replying. “Yes, that’s right. I’m Commander Uhura, the chief communications officer of the Enterprise.”
Teeth seemed to erupt all over the Klingon’s face as a wide smile appeared. “Excellent!” He stuck out a massive hand in a gesture of greeting. “I am Murgh, communications officer of the Imperial Klingon Cruiser Terthos. It is an honor to meet you.” Uhura’s hand disappeared into the Klingon’s as they shook, and she braced herself for the bones in her hand to be crushed in the warrior’s powerful grip. It never came, and she realized her expression must have conveyed her concern when a hearty laugh erupted from Murgh’s lips.
“I have learned that humans shake hands in this manner when they are first introduced,” he said. “It seems a foolhardy thing to do, leaving oneself open to attack.”
Sulu stepped forward at that. “Actually, the handshake does have its origins in battle. On Earth many centuries ago, when two strangers would encounter one another, they would offer their empty hands to show they were unarmed. It was a greeting designed to invoke trust.”
Releasing Uhura’s hand, Murgh’s eyes narrowed and his smile thinned into a sinister sneer as he said, “Ah, but suppose one of them has a weapon in the other hand?”
The expressions on the faces of Uhura and Sulu had begun to change to that of slight concern before the Klingon’s wide grin returned and he let loose another howl of laughter.
“Fear not, new friends, I am unarmed this day.” With that, Murgh stuck his hand out to Sulu, who shook it while trying not to look too relieved.
As he released the Klingon’s hand, Sulu felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see an Enterprise security officer with a harried expression on his young face. The helmsman sympathized with the man, who was only one of many such personnel tasked with insuring the safety of the delegations. Sulu briefly imagined the headaches his friend Pavel Chekov would be enduring over the next several days, certain that the Enterprise security chief would look far worse than this poor ensign by the time the conference was over.
“Yes,” Sulu prompted the other man. “What is it?”
The ensign looked nervously over Sulu’s shoulder at Murgh as he replied. “Sorry to disturb you, Commander, but Captain Spock just called from the ship. He is requesting that you report back to him at once.”
“Did he say why?” Sulu asked, a frown creasing the lines around his mouth. “Does this have anything to do with Captain Kirk?”
Shaking his head, the ensign replied, “Sorry, sir. I wasn’t given any specifics. Only that you were to report back on the double.”
Sulu finally shrugged and placed his wineglass on a nearby table. “Duty calls, I’m afraid,” he said to Uhura. Casting a quick glance toward Murgh, he asked, “You’ll be all right?”
Uhura waved him off. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got my new friend here to keep me company.” The mammoth Klingon smiled proudly at the pronouncement.
“Great,” Sulu said. “See you later, then.” With that, he turned and followed the ensign out of the room.
As the helmsman quickly vanished into the throng of dignitaries and military personnel crowding the conference hall, Murgh returned his attention to Uhura. “Commander, I am in need of some assistance. Our communications array is malfunctioning, and I am unable to determine the cause. I have already spoken to the communications officer of the Gal’tagh, but like me, she is new to her posting. I thought that perhaps a new perspective might be helpful.”
Uhura couldn’t help her surprised expression. “You want my help in fixing a Klingon communications system?” She knew the request wasn’t all that unreasonable in reality. The principles that guided subspace communication were pretty much universal, in her experience.
Nodding, Murgh replied, “I am told you have some experience with our equipment.”
True enough, Uhura thought. She had spent several months learning the intricacies of the communications system aboard the Klingon bird-of-prey that Captain Kirk had captured earlier the previous year. Based on that experience, she believed she just might be able to assist her newfound friend. But there were other concerns.
“Won’t letting a Starfleet officer aboard your ship upset your captain?” she asked.
The Klingon shook his head. “I have already informed my captain that if you were to do anything suspicious, I would kill you myself.”
Even when Murgh’s broad smile reappeared and his riotous laughter threatened to drown out the rest of the activity in the conference hall, Uhura was left to wonder just how much of what the Klingon had said was truly intended as humor.
“You can’t be serious.”
The face that stared out from the small viewscreen in the office area of Kirk’s quarters was tired. Roused from sleep in the middle of the night back on Earth, Admiral Bennett had made no effort to compose himself before taking the high-priority call from the Enterprise.
Kirk understood how he felt. Between preparations for the dinner party on Starbase 49 and the bizarre chain of events that had brought Koloth and his information about the Gagarin aboard the Enterprise, to say nothing about the lengthy discussions that had taken place afterward, he was feeling the first twinges of fatigue himself. The cramped atmosphere of his office didn’t help matters, either. Designed primarily as a private workspace, the office was crowded with himself, Sp
ock, McCoy, and Koloth.
He had never liked using the office in his quarters to begin with, preferring instead to conduct business on the bridge or the main briefing room or even the officers’ lounge. But as the crew had been informed that he had been confined to sickbay by Dr. McCoy to recover from his “food poisoning,” it wouldn’t do for him to be seen in any of the ship’s public areas.
Listening as Kirk relayed the information provided by Koloth, Bennett shook his head in disgust. “For years there have been rumors about Starfleet personnel being held captive within the Empire. The Klingons always denied this, of course. As far as our official records indicate, the Gagarin was lost with no satisfactory explanation eight years ago.”
“I have come here to help correct that, Admiral,” Koloth said with more than a slight air of indignation in his voice.
Kirk cast a look at Koloth that told the Klingon to leave the conversation to him, then turned back to regard the admiral. “Sir, shouldn’t we at least investigate? Doesn’t the Gagarin ’s crew deserve that much?”
“Without a doubt,” Bennett replied. “But if what you’re telling me is true, then any official inquiries we make could be dangerous for any prisoners the Klingons are holding, whether they’re from the Gagarin or some other ship we’ve lost over the years. If we do this, discretion must be our watchword.” He paused for a moment, aware that Koloth was still in the room. “Jim, have you considered that this is a ploy to lure you into some kind of trap?”
From behind Kirk, Spock said, “Admiral, I have verified the authenticity of the Gagarin log tape, as well as the surveillance records from the prison showing members of the ship’s crew interred there. Based on this information, I believe a more detailed investigation is in order.”
“Oh, I agree that it’s worth a look, Captain Spock,” Bennett said, “but let’s cut to the chase. Jim, can you trust him? Are you willing to risk your life on the word of a Klingon?”
Kirk could feel Koloth bristle at the words, but he was impressed that the Klingon commander held his tongue.
The Enterprise captain could understand where Bennett’s question came from. Like the admiral, Kirk had been taught at an early age to distrust Klingons, a position that had been reinforced through numerous occasions with the warrior race throughout his career.
It was only much later that he learned he could hate them as well.
He believed those feelings had started on the battle-crippled bridge of the original Enterprise. With the smoke of destroyed consoles assaulting his nostrils and stinging his eyes, he had stood powerless as a Klingon ship captain ordered the execution of David Marcus.
Tears generated by the smoke had been overwhelmed by those of anguish after Lieutenant Saavik’s simple report of his son’s death. He also remembered how he had channeled that pain into anger directed with unmitigated force upon the Klingon commander who had given the execution order. His body felt the impact of the physical blows he had traded, of his own booted foot against Kruge’s head as he lashed out with fury until his opponent fell from the jagged cliffs they had fought upon. He felt the heat of a world on fire licking at his skin as the twisting body of the Klingon plummeting into the roiling lava flows that were the lifeblood of the Genesis planet, bleeding out as the newly created yet unstable world tore itself apart.
Kirk pushed the memories away. This was not the time for personal grief or renewed mourning. Instead, it was an opportunity to take action. Because of this, he wasn’t surprised with the ease at which his response to Bennett’s question came.
“Yes, sir, I believe him. Between what he’s told us and what Spock’s been able to confirm, I trust him.” He turned to face Koloth, his expression becoming haunted as he thought of young Stephen Garrovick.
“Besides, I can’t just leave this alone now. I have to find out what happened, one way or another.”
Nodding in understanding, Bennett said, “Very well. I’m authorizing you to do this, on my own responsibility. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d obey my order to stay on the Enterprise and assign this mission to someone else, is there?”
Kirk smiled slightly at the light teasing tone of Bennett’s question. He’d taken quite a bit of flak over the years regarding his infamous propensity to “lead from the front” as he and his crew faced hazardous encounters both in space and on hostile planets. Admirals up and down the chain of command had advised him, cautioned him, even ordered him against the practice, stating how valuable and irreplaceable a starship captain was.
He had listened to it all, but in the end he always exercised what he believed to be his prerogative as a commanding officer to place himself wherever he thought best during a given situation. Until Starfleet issued a standing order preventing him from doing so, he was not prepared to send a member of his crew into danger unless that crew member was following him.
“Bob,” he said, “if I’m captured in Klingon space, Starfleet will have to deny any knowledge of my mission for the good of the Federation, especially now. I can’t ask anyone to do that while I sit here.”
Bennett conceded the point, knowing that Kirk was right on several counts. For all intents and purposes, the Klingon Empire was still the enemy, even if peace negotiations were ongoing. The Federation Council wouldn’t allow anything to jeopardize the chances of reaching some kind of truce with their longtime enemies, even if it meant disavowing the reckless actions of a single starship captain.
“Don’t worry, Jim. If that happens, I’ll steal a ship and come after you myself.”
Kirk drew comfort from the conviction with which his friend spoke. “Thanks, Bob. I won’t forget this.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got a lot of people listed as missing in action over the years, Jim. If this helps us find out what happened to some of them, then we have to try. It’s the least we can do for them and their families. As for you, I can’t let you take the Enterprise over the border, of course, but I imagine you’ve already got some kind of plan in the works to get around that. Care to share some of that with me?”
Before he could reply, the chime for the door to his quarters sounded. “Come,” he called out, and the doors parted to admit Sulu.
“Captain?” the helmsman said as he entered the room, startled by what he was seeing. “Dr. McCoy told me earlier that you were in sickbay, recuperating from some kind of food poisoning.” Then he saw Spock and Koloth standing to either side of the console, along with the activated communications screen and the face of Admiral Bennett on it, and he knew that things were not what they appeared to be.
A thin smile graced Kirk’s lips. “Come in, Commander. You’re just in time.”
Chapter Eleven
AS THE OTHER MEMBERS filtered out of the Great Hall that was the meeting place for the High Council of the Klingon Empire, Komor allowed his gaze to drift upward. His eyes beheld the high slanting walls of the hallowed chamber, once again reflecting on the history they must have been silent witness to. Nearly every decision governing the Empire for centuries had been made within the confines of this hall. Even after the inception of the Council itself, the Emperor had contemplated and forged the future of his people from here. Following the death of the last Emperor, more than two centuries ago, the Council had begun presiding from this chamber. However, the influence of the single mind charged with such great responsibility could still be felt here, embodied in the massive throne at the head of the Hall. Still the seat of power, the throne was now the ceremonial position for the Chancellor of the High Council.
Komor eyed the throne symbolizing the gleaming edge of the warrior’s blade ruling the Empire. Would he ever occupy that seat himself? He thought it unlikely. New ideas and views were making their way into the Council and by extension the rest of the Empire, many of which were in conflict with beliefs Komor held sacred. Change was on the horizon, he had come to realize.
And that change involved humans. This he knew as well.
“Something troubles you,
Komor?” a voice called from behind him. He turned to see a figure emerge from the shadowy perimeter of the Great Hall. It was K’lotek, his longtime friend and fellow member of the High Council.
“Our brothers on the Council seem quite happy to throw away everything the Empire has been built upon in order to ally us with the Federation.” Komor spat the words, and with good reason. He had spent a number of years as an officer aboard a battle cruiser, serving for the glory of the Empire. Had that all been for naught? Were the values he had held sacred for his entire life, the traditions and beliefs instilled into him from his earliest days, to be so casually thrown away?
“I do not think the situation is as drastic as that,” K’lotek told his friend. “We are not kneeling before the Federation, after all. Instead, the Empire would be taking advantage of the prosperity such an alliance would bring us. You know that if we were to go to war with the Federation today, we would be vastly outnumbered, in both ships and warriors.”
“Statistics are the defense of cowards,” Komor replied harshly, though their friendship was such that K’lotek was incapable of taking offense. “We are Klingons. We are the stronger. The Federation is weak, a chorus of diplomats more comfortable talking than with taking action. They cannot conceive of battle as bloody as that which the Empire can bring.’
K’lotek smiled grimly. “The Federation is made up of many races, my friend, some of whom have pasts as glorious and enriched by battle as the Empire. The humans, though their notions of honor may be laughable, have one of the most violent histories of all. Some of their present-day ship commanders can also be shrewd and cunning in combat. They haven’t forgotten their bloody heritage as completely as they would have others believe. They should never be underestimated, Komor.”
“I do not underestimate them,” Komor replied. “On the contrary, I distrust them with every fiber of my being. I agree that we should seek peace with the Federation, but only because doing so will place us in a better position to dictate our destiny in the years ahead. After all, who is to say that, after negotiating a peace treaty with the Federation, we will not have left ourselves open to attack once Starfleet vessels are allowed into our space?”
