“Yes, Chancellor?”
Martok grinned. “Perhaps next time, you can find us a world that can be conquered without turning the Empire on its ear.”
Klag returned the grin. “I will do my best, sir.”
“See that you do.”
After Martok dismissed them, Worf moved toward the exit. He had more paperwork, after all. However, Klag approached him, intercepting the ambassador before he could leave. “It would seem I owe you a debt of gratitude, Ambassador.”
“Not at all,” Worf said. “In fact, I did not follow the letter of your message, since your imploration was for fellow Order members to join you. I was not in a position to do so.”
“Instead, you did the next best thing. Would that Martok had arrived sooner, but I suppose that the business of the Empire is not something that can be easily dropped.”
Worf nodded. “Indeed. I am glad that I was able to contribute.”
Klag slapped Worf on the shoulder. “That you were, my friend. Oh, and you will be happy to learn of who I have chosen to replace Kornan as my new first officer….”
Klag sat in his office on the Gorkon, watching as the Sword of Kahless maneuvered carefully through the subspace eddies in order to take the K’mpec in tow. Elsewhere, Vekma was doing the same with her new command in order to tow her former one. All four ships would then proceed to the Cambra system.
Seeing the K’mpec drifting helplessly, its barely working thrusters the only thing keeping them from a fatal encounter with one of the eddies, Klag knew there was one duty he had to perform before the Gorkon and the K’mpec went their separate ways.
He opened a communication to his brother.
“Ah, yes,” Dorrek said. “I was expecting this. Have you called upon me to gloat, Klag? To lord your superiority over me?”
“In fact, I have not.” Even as he said the words, Klag wondered why he had called. What did he have to say to his brother now, after all, that had not already been said? Still, he felt he had to talk to him once more before they parted.
“I do not see why. You should declare victory—you have won most decisively. You have defeated me, prevented me from an honorable death, instead forcing me to limp home in disgrace, towed by the flagship like a vole in the teeth of a grishnar cat. You have killed a great man with the right arm of our father, and made noble warriors betray their oaths of duty. Our House falls further and further into dishonor, but Klag—oh yes, Klag has done well! Klag has won! Klag has once again used others to prop up his own accomplishments! Kargan, Worf, Picard, and now Martok, all have paved the way for Klag to gain prominence!” Dorrek leaned forward. “Congratulations on your grand victory, Captain. You should have sealed it by killing me, because I will not rest until you have paid for what you have done to me, to Talak, and to our family this day.”
“Our family? The only one who has disgraced us is you, Dorrek.” Klag rose to his feet. “I pitied you, once, because you strayed from the course of honor, but now I see that that was wasted. You have not just strayed from the path, but rejected it! Talak, Kargan—these are not great men, they are misbegotten animals from a House whose time has passed. Talak’s last words were an insult to our father—the very one whose honor you have falsely claimed to be defending by rejecting me. By allying yourself with such as him, you prove yourself an even greater disgrace, and worthy of nothing but my contempt.”
“Then that, at least, we share, Klag, for you have nothing but my contempt.”
Sitting back down, Klag said, “That is all we share, Dorrek. I am the head of our House, and as such I have decided that you will no longer be part of it.” Klag hadn’t even realized that he’d come to the decision until he said the words.
He paused, considered, then realized that it was his only recourse. He had hesitated in battle because Dorrek was his brother, and it could have cost them. In fact, so much of what happened at San-Tarah was because of how he reacted to his brother. It was a weakness he could not afford. Besides which, Dorrek had taken up arms against Klag, and had disobeyed an instruction from his older brother—from the head of their House. Dorrek had joined forces with an enemy of their House. In truth, there could be only one solution.
Klag crossed his arms at the wrist in front of his face, his fingers clenched into fists. “You are cast out of the House of M’Raq, Dorrek. You have no claim to our lands, no House or father to call your own. You are discommendated, and I will no longer speak to you as brother.”
With that, he cut off the communication. Dorrek’s shocked face faded from the viewer.
Kurak was working on her eighth mug of warnog when she decided to contact Moloj on the Homeworld. She had never contacted Moloj herself. Indeed, she could not recall ever contacting any member of her House.
Then again, after seven and a half warnog s, she could barely recall the name of her House.
When Moloj’s ugly face showed up on the viewer in her quarters, Kurak laughed. It was a long, tittery laugh, very unlike the one she used when she was sober—on those rare occasions that she did laugh when she was sober, in any event. Moloj had obviously been woken out of a sound sleep, and was in his nightclothes. Kurak had never imagined that Moloj even owned nightclothes, mainly because the very notion of him ever sleeping was one she could not wrap her mind around. Moloj was not one who would indulge in such niceties as sleep….
“What do you want, Kurak?” Moloj said by way of greeting.
“Where is Gevnar?”
“In his bed asleep—as I was. Are you drunk?”
Again, she tittered. It was a most un-Klingonlike noise, and she supposed she should have been ashamed of it, but she didn’t care. “Very. It was the only way to actually convince myself to go to the distasteful extreme of willingly speaking to you.” She barked another laugh that was closer to her sober one. “Though it was worth it all to see you like this.”
“Why do you care where Gevnar is?”
Kurak leaned forward, her head almost hitting the screen of the viewer. “Listen to me very very very carefully, Moloj. You are to hire a bodyguard for him. Find some Defense Force soldier who needs quick cash, there must be dozens of them hanging around the taverns in the First City. But I want him protected day and night. No harm must come to him, do you understand me?”
Moloj sighed dismissively. “Kurak, you are inebriated, and I will not listen to your ramblings when—”
Slamming her fist down on her workstation, Kurak bellowed, “I may not be the head of our House, but I am by Kahless the Lady of the House of Palkar, and you will obey me, gIntaq, or I will have you killed in the middle of the Great Hall! Is that understood?”
Her door chime rang. She ignored it. Moloj stared at her with his mouth hanging open, a look of stupefaction that she had never seen on the old man’s ugly visage.
“Is—that—understood?” she asked again.
“It will be as you say, Commander,” Moloj said with as much respect as he was probably capable of dredging up.
“Good.” The door chime rang again. Again, she ignored it. “If anything—anything—happens to that boy before he goes to officer training, I will hold you personally responsible, Moloj.”
Before Moloj could say anything in response to that, Kurak cut the communication off. She could no longer stand to look at his face.
For a third time, the door chime rang. Finally she said, “Enter!”
The door rumbled open to reveal Leskit.
“Speaking of faces I can no longer stand to look at,” she said, then gulped down the rest of her warnog. Or, rather, she tipped the mug toward her mouth, and most of it actually made it to her gullet.
“This is a sight I never thought I’d see.” Leskit entered her cabin with a slight limp. She recalled dimly that Leskit had been injured during the battle, which was what caused Kornan to take over his position, and eventually be killed.
“Me drunk? Well, you should get used to it. I’ve found I enjoy it. Besides, it seems the best way to deal with
this nightmare.” She poured some more warnog, trying to recall of this was her eighth, ninth, or tenth mug. “Since commencing this obscene mission I have had my career threatened, lost the one thing I truly could call my own, and—probably something else, too, but I can’t remember it. Getting drunk seemed the right thing to do.” She looked over at Leskit. “Wait a minute. What are you doing here, Leskit? Why did I let you in?”
Leskit laughed. “Only you can answer that one, Kurak. However, I came here—and this will make you laugh—”
“I doubt it.” She didn’t find Leskit at all funny, even if he did make her laugh. Sometimes. She took another swig of warnog.
“I came here to share a drink with you.”
Against her better judgment, Kurak laughed. The laugh started in her left stomach and exploded upward through her body and out her mouth. She couldn’t stop it. She tried to, but her resistance was low from all however-many warnogs she’d had. So she continued to laugh. When she ran out of breath, she choked a bit, coughed, then laughed some more.
By the time the laugh finally died down, she realized that she was on her bunk, Leskit sitting next to her, laughing just as hard.
“I told you it would make you laugh.”
“Yes. Yes, you did. What you did not tell me is why.”
“Why what?”
Kurak punched Leskit on the shoulder. “Why do you wish to share a drink with me?”
The smile fell from Leskit’s face, and his voice became somber. “To salute Kornan.”
Spitting on the floor—a difficult task, given how dehydrated the warnog had made her—Kurak said, “Why would I wish to drink to that toDSaH’s memory? He is one of the reasons why I have to drink now. His importuning and his threatening and his pathetic skills on the wind boat….”
Quietly, Leskit said, “Because he was my friend. And because there is no one else on this ship with whom I wish to share that drink.”
All of a sudden, Kurak remembered why it was she had let Leskit into her bed months ago when they first served together on this ship—and also why she had steadfastly refused to invite him back. He was maddening, he was attractive, he was infuriating, he smelled wonderful, he drove her insane, he made her laugh.
Leskit got up from the bunk, grabbed two fresh mugs from the shelf on the far bulkhead, and poured from a bottle of bloodwine. Kurak hated bloodwine, but still took the mug from Leskit.
“To Kornan,” Leskit said, holding his mug up. “He was a mediocre warrior, a terrible shot, and an awful grinnak player. But he was a good friend—and he died well.” Then he drank down the bloodwine.
Kurak followed suit, not sure why she was doing so. The bloodwine tasted oily and repulsive, and mixed badly with the residue of warnog that was already in her mouth. “Why haven’t I kicked you out of my cabin?” she asked him.
“I really cannot say,” the pilot replied with a grin. “Perhaps it’s my natural charm.”
Growling, Kurak said, “That could hardly be the case. I hate bloodwine, I hate Kornan, and I hate you. I’m glad Kornan’s dead, because it means he won’t be bothering me anymore. Now I have to worry about Gevnar, and do you know what the worst thing is?”
“Who’s Gevnar? Never mind,” Leskit added quickly, “I don’t want to know. What is the worst thing?”
“Captain Klag wanted to give me a medal for finding a way to get the disruptors to work!”
“I suspect our captain is giddy from his unexpected victory,” Leskit said dryly. “But none of this answers your question. Why haven’t you kicked me out?”
Kurak searched through her alcohol-soaked brain for an answer to that question.
Klag stood amid the trees of San-Tarah for the final time.
No, he thought, not the final time. I will return to this place one day.
Me-Larr and Te-Run approached him and Morr, who stood to the side, followed immediately by B’Oraq and one of the Gorkon troops—the Leader of Fifteenth Squad, based on the insignia on her biceps.
“Farewell, Captain Klag,” Me-Larr said. “I am sorry that you and your ship cannot stay longer.” He turned to B’Oraq. “Especially you, Doctor. We have learned much from your people, and it is my hope that we will learn a great deal more, but your healing arts have been especially valuable.”
“Yes,” B’Oraq said dryly, “I’ve found the one place that has medical practices even more appalling than that of the Klingon Empire.”
“No longer,” Klag said. “For San-Tarah is part of the Klingon Empire now.”
“And needs just as much help.” B’Oraq smiled. “I wish I could stay, Me-Larr, but my duty is to my ship and my captain. And I suspect that he will not let me shirk that duty so easily.”
“Indeed he will not,” Klag said with a laugh. “But I am sure that Governor Huss will do what she can to facilitate your ability to heal yourselves.”
B’Oraq tugged on her braid. “Truly you are an innovator, Captain. Who else could find a world that the Klingons could bring improved medicine to?”
“You have brought us much more than that, Captain,” Me-Larr said. “I meant my words to your Ruling Pack’s leader. You have shown us the universe, and told us that it has others like us.”
“True,” Klag said, “but it has others who are not like us at all.”
Te-Run said, “But they do not matter, for we now have the protection of the Klingon Empire.”
“Indeed.” He turned to the auburn-haired soldier. “Leader, inform QaS DevwI’ Vok that I am ready to depart and that all Gorkon personnel are to return to the ship immediately.”
“Yes, Captain,” she said quickly. She turned to leave, then gave B’Oraq a look. “Thank you again, Doctor, for that confirmation.” With that, she left.
That struck Klag as odd. “Confirmation?”
“It is a personal matter, Captain, and I can assure you it will have no bearing on Leader Wol’s ability to perform her duties.”
Anger filled Klag’s heart. “That is not for you to judge, Doctor.”
“If it makes you feel better, Captain, Lieutenant Lokor is aware of this matter as well. If it does become an issue, I am sure that he will deal with it—and inform you if necessary.”
Klag seethed. On the one hand, he did not believe that troops should be discussing personal matters with the ship’s doctor. On the other hand, he trusted both B’Oraq and Lokor. So he let it go. I cannot manage every aspect of a ship of almost three thousand.
“Good-bye, Captain Klag,” Me-Larr said. “You shall always be welcome on San-Tarah. If you are able, we would be—honored if you would join us in the Great Hunt next season.”
Klag smiled. “The honor will be mine. May you fight well, Me-Larr, and you as well, Te-Run. And when you do die, may you lead those who run with the dead.”
Te-Run let out an odd noise, and Me-Larr said, “That is not how our afterlife works, but we appreciate the thought.”
Laughing, Klag said, “Well, our afterlife might well let your kind in, given your prowess in battle. I know that I would welcome you on my ship in Sto-Vo-Kor. Qapla’, Me-Larr.”
“Good fighting, Captain Klag.”
Then Klag ordered his new first officer to beam him, B’Oraq, and Morr back to the Gorkon. Upon arrival, he immediately went to the bridge, leaving the doctor to go back to the medical bay.
On the way, Klag said to Morr, “I wish to recommence our bat’leth drills, Morr.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And this time, do not go gently with me. I have a very long way to go before I have returned to my old prowess, and I will not be satisfied until such a time as I have achieved it. Is that understood, Morr?”
“Yes, sir.”
Morr spoke with the blandness that any soldier would present to his captain. Which I suppose is the best I can hope for. “Good.”
Klag moved toward his command chair. From the chair to his right, the Gorkon’s new first officer said, “Crew replacements have beamed over from the Kreltek, sir, and have
been assigned duties. All personnel have transported from the surface. We are ready to depart on your order.”
Turning to look at Toq, Klag said, “The order is given.”
Commander Toq gave his captain a wide smile, one that shone as brightly as the new medal on his uniform that indicated his promotion. “Yes, sir. Leskit, set course 103 mark 22. Proceed at full impulse until we have cleared this system, then execute at warp four.”
“Consider us proceeding, Commander,” Leskit said with a smirk.
Toq turned to the new operations officer. “Prepare long-range sensors.” He looked back at Klag. “We must find new worlds to conquer.”
“Indeed we must, Commander. Indeed we must.”
Glossary of Klingon Terms
Most of the language actually being spoken in this novel is in the Klingon tongue, and has been translated into English for the reader’s ease. Some terms that don’t have direct translations into English or are proper nouns of some kind have been left in the Klingon language. Since that language does not use the same alphabet as English, the transliterations of the Klingon terms vary depending on preference. In many cases, a more Anglicized transliteration is used instead of the tlhIngan Hol transliterations preferred by linguists (e.g., the more Anglicized bat’leth is preferred over the tlhIngan Hol spelling betleH).
Below is a glossary of the Klingon terms used. Anglicized spellings are in boldface; tlhIngan Hol transliterations are in bold italics. Please note that this glossary does not include the names of locations, people, or ships. Where applicable, episode, movie, or novel citations are given where the term first appeared. Episode citations are followed by an abbreviation indicating show: TNG Star Trek: The Next Generation, DS9 Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
bat’leth (betleH)
Curved, four-bladed, two-handed weapon. This is the most popular handheld, edged weapon used by Klingon warriors owing to its being favored by Kahless, who forged the first one. The legendary Sword of Kahless now held by Chancellor Martok is a bat’leth, and most Defense Force warriors are proficient in it. [First seen in “Reunion” (TNG).]
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