No wonder most of the Klingons live in orbit, he thought. The temperatures went beyond inhospitable. Heaters were out of the question, since they would adversely affect the building's very structure. The only Klingon-built constructions on the planet were connected to the top aline mines--Worf assumed they, at least, were properly heated.
The prime minister led them around a corner into a large antechamber that had several more images of Tiral on the walls. A Klingon sculpture sat on a pedestal in one corner. Cushions were laid out around a circular stone slab that Worf assumed was meant to serve as a table. Two comfortable-looking leather chairs had been provided, in deference to the bipeds.
As em'Rlakun lay down on one of the cushions, she said, "Have a seat, please, my Mends."
Worf sat in one of the chairs, with Wu taking the next seat. Krevor took her place next to the two guards who stood at the entryway. Worf had hoped to dismiss the guards so that he could speak to em'Rlakun without every word being reported back to Tiral. Listening devices were not an issue. Worf carried three different con fusers of his own design that should have scrambled any such device in his immediate area. Situated in the Federation emblem on the left lapel of his vest, they had been running since the moment he had beamed onto the Gorkon.
Unfortunately, even if Worf dismissed the guards from the room proper, they would still be able to hear what was being said through the wide entryway. He supposed he would have to live with it.
An old-looking al'Hmatti with ice-white fur entered the room. The prime minister asked, "Is there anything we can get you or your aide to drink, Mr. Ambassador? The serving staff makes a fine chech'tluth." "Nothing for me," Worf said.
Wu looked at the al'Hmatti servant. "Do you have anything warm?" The servant said, "We have tea." Smiling, Wu said, "If it's Klingon tea, I'm afraid that's fatal to my kind. A raktajino would be nice." "Of course, sir," the servant said, and loped off on all fours.
Gazing upon Worf with almost jet-black eyes, em'Rlakun said, "I must admit, Mr. Ambassador, I'm a bit--well, confused as to why you wish to see me."
"My task is to solve the ongoing difficulties between your people and Governor Tiral's."
"My people?" The nostrils on em'Rlakun's snout widened and she made an odd hissing noise. Worf realized that this was an al'Hmatti laugh.
"Mr. Ambassador, my people support Governor Tiral. What you need is to solve the problems between all of us and the rebels."
"So you have no way of putting me in contact with the rebels?"
"I wish I did, Mr. Ambassador, I truly wish I did."
The servant returned, this time walking only on his hind legs, carrying a tray with a mug of tea and a glass of raktajino. He handed the latter to Wu, and then placed the tray on the table in reach of em'Rlakun.
Reaching for the tea with one paw, em'Rlakun continued: "I just don't understand these rebels, Mr. Ambassador. Our standard of living is so much better than it was before. We owe your people so much."
"My people, in this case, Prime Minister, are not the Klingon Empire."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I am here as a representative of the United Federation of Planets.
Your government made an appeal to the Federation after the Klingon overseers were removed four years ago."
Again, em'Rlakun laughed. "That appeal was made by a governing body that no longer exists, Mr. Ambassador. I suppose, technically, they were the legitimate ruling body at the time, but Governor Tiral had them all put to death after the empire took over again. And deservedly so-after all the empire has done for us, that type of behavior was just insane. You know, most of the people on this world didn't even want the Klingons gone. Believe me, very few complained when the previous government was toppled. I was more than happy to take over as prime minister afterward, and I was honored that Governor Tiral thought so highly of me."
Worf leaned back in his chair. "Anything would be helpful, Prime Minister. Observations of their movements, perhaps."
"I don't have anything that Governor Tiral doesn't already have, Mr. Ambassador. And believe me, if he had a way of tracking them down, he'd have crushed them by now." Rising up from the cushion, em'Rlakun loped over to Worf on all fours. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, Mr. Ambassador." Worf stood up. "That is quite all right. This has been an enlightening journey."
Next to nun, Wu stood up--having, Worf noticed, only taken a sip of his roklajino.
"If there's nothing else, I have several matters to attend to--including some tasks for Governor Tiral." "Of course, Prime Minister," Worf said. "Thank you for your time."
Kurak knew that eating in the mess hall was a mistake the minute she saw Leskit sitting there. But she had been going mad eating in her quarters all the time. She thought that maybe--maybe--she could stand the presence of her shipmates for the duration of a meal. To play it safe, however, she had waited until after the primary shift had eaten, when the mess hall wouldn't be crowded.
However, there was Leskit, halfway through a rokeg blood pie. A decent enough pilot who treated the engines well, Leskit had made several clumsy attempts to attract her attention, which she had heretofore ignored.
Not that she didn't find him attractive. He was a bit on the old side, but he had a certain charm to him. And she admired a man who wore the trophies of battle around his neck. So few did that anymore--took pride in their work. It was a lost art.
But then, it depended on the work, didn't it?
Naturally, he spoke up as soon as she entered. "Commander! Please, join me--this is fine blood pie, and it would be a travesty not to share it." "Very well," she said, resigned to sitting across from the pilot.
"It's good to see you out and about during your off duty time." Leskit pushed the plate of pie toward her. "I was starting to think you did nothing but sleep and do your duty."
"I also eat," Kurak said. "But that, like sleeping, I prefer to do in private."
"A pity. I've always felt that both activities were better shared."
Ignoring the implication, Kurak took a bite of pie. To her surprise, it was excellent. She'd never tasted replicated food this good.
Unless ..."Is this handmade?"
"No, simply a fine replication. A tribute to the genius of you and your fine staff." With a growl, Kurak said, "Vail."
"Repulsive little worm, but he has his uses, you have to admit."
"I don't have to admit anything, Lieutenant."
"Please, Kurak, we're off-duty. Call me Leskit."
"I will call you
"Lieutenant," and you will address me as
"Commander," is that understood?"
"So formal, Commander. I'm disappointed."
"Get used to it. Let me put it to you simply: I'm not interested. Not in you, nor any other male on this ship."
Leskit smiled. "On behalf of the humble, rejected males of the Gorkon, may I ask why?"
Taking another bite of the blood pie, Kurak said, "Because you're an idiot. You're all idiots."
"All? That's rather general."
"You're in the Defense Force, which proves it right there," she muttered.
Leskit laughed. "I might point out, Commander, that you're in the Defense Force as well."
"Don't remind me. It wasn't my idea."
"Has our esteemed chancellor issued a draft that I'm unaware of?"
Kurak rolled her eyes. "No. My father, however, did. After a fashion."
Leskit raised an eyebrow.
She sighed. "Prior to the war, I was a warp field specialist. It would not be immodest to say I was one of the best."
"Yes, I understand that you designed the Negh'Var."
Kurak blinked. "I was the main designer, yes. My family did not approve. Both my parents, all four grandparents, and my three brothers were soldiers. I prefer working in a lab to working on a starship, however, and I told them that. Repeatedly."
"I take it the war changed things."
"Wars often do," Kurak said, pausing to take another b
ite of the pie.
"My father threatened to banish me from our House if I did not enlist.
So I did. I was given a field commission in light of my work in ship design, and I spent the war holding ships together while the Jem'Hadar did then- best to tear them apart."
"But the war is over, Commander. Why stay?"
"My parents, my brothers, my grandparents--they're all dead. I am the only able adult left in our House. I cannot break the tradition now--at least not until my nephews are old enough to join the Defense Force. The House of Palkar must always serve the empire," she said bitterly, quoting a line that had been drilled into her since birth. "But understand this--I will serve for as long as I must. That is all. You will cease your attempts to befriend or seduce me, and you will leave me alone." She reached for the blood pie, then glowered at it. "And my subordinates will follow my orders."
She stood up and threw the remainder of the pie across the room, narrowly missing a bekk's head.
Then she left the mess hall in search of Vail. She had had quite enough of that Lubbockian slime devil's disobedience
As soon as he walked into his and Wu's quarters, Worf said, "Call up the prime minister's schedule for the last three months. Compare it to the governor's log for the same period. I wish to see how many of the tasks that Tiral has delegated to em'Rlakun have actually been performed."
Wu nodded. "Of course."
To Worf's surprise, Krevor, standing in the still-open doorway, spoke.
"Why investigate them?"
Worf regarded her. "An interesting question. Do you think I should not, Bekk?"
Krevor quickly stood at full attention. "My apologies, sir. I spoke out of turn."
"You did not answer my question. Please, come in and speak freely."
With only a hint of hesitation, Krevor entered the room, the door closing behind her. "Prime Minister
em'Rlakun is obviously loyal to the empire. As is Governor Tiral."
"So you feel that my investigating them is disloyal?"
"I didn't say that, sir."
"No, but you did think it." Holding up a hand to stave off Krevor's protest, Worf added, "It is all right, Bekk. Your confusion is understandable. Prime Minister em'Rlakun does appear to be loyal. But appearances are deceiving, and I believe that she was lying to us--both regarding her loyalty, and regarding her knowledge of the rebels. I wish to confirm my suspicions."
"I have something, Mr. Ambassador." Wu held up his padd. "It'll take a while to do a complete search, of course, but the governor did specifically request three months ago that the prime minister put a stop to all seditious publications. The governor, in fact, made it the parliament's top priority." He handed Worf the padd. "Since that time, the number of seditious publications has risen. Dramatically.
Now, admittedly, that could just be due to incompetence on the prime minister's part ..."
Gazing at the padd, Worf said, "Perhaps. But I doubt it. Keep searching. Meanwhile, I will investigate those rebel movement reports that em'Rlakun claimed did not help her or Tiral."
"May I be of service, sir?" Krevor asked.
Worf looked at the guard. He was tempted to make use of her--but he wasn't sure he could trust her any more than he could Tiral's guards.
Klag had made his disdain for Worf quite clear, and Krevor could be one of his agents.
"That is not necessary. You may return to your station."
Krevor nodded, and took her position outside.
Chapter Five.
"WHY is it that every time I see you, brother, you're eating something?"
Kori laughed at the image of his brother Larok, an action that caused him to spit some of his stewed bok-rat liver onto the viewscreen.
Wiping the food away with his hand didn't help--it left a liver stain right on Larok's wide forehead and the right half of his brown mane.
"Bad timing, brother."
"No, I think it's just that you're always eating. Have nothing better to do on that freezer unit of a planet?"
Again, Kori laughed. "The planet's called tad. Since you're patrolling this sector, Captain, you should know that."
It was rare that Kori got to speak in real time with his older sibling.
But Captain Larok of the I. K S. Sompek was in this sector, so instant communication was possible for a change. Since Kori had gotten the job on tad at the top aline refinery, his contact with family was sporadic.
Mostly, that was how he liked it.
"Of course, my heartfelt apologies, brother," Larok said with a small laugh. "Oh, you'll be happy to know that Command finally saw fit to send me a new gunner. She's quite a woman. You'd like her--she has hair the color of flames."
Kori leaned forward. "Sounds nice. I don't suppose you could come here and introduce me to her?"
"And risk incurring the wrath of the Hero of Marcan and the son of Martok? Not even for your libido would I do that, Kori." Frowning, Kori asked, "Martok's the new chancellor, right?"
Larok shook his head. "Sometimes, brother, I despair of you."
"I just don't follow politics." Kori shrugged. "Mine is a simple existence: I wake up, Grul yells at me, I yell at the al'Hmatti, and at the end of the day, we've refined more top aline and I go to sleep."
"And no doubt you
"II die in your sleep." Larok sneered as he spoke.
"If Father were alive today ..."
"But he isn't, is he? He died a glorious death fighting the Romulans.
Mother died a glorious death fighting the Cardassians, and our dear sister died a glorious death fighting the Jem'Hadar. I'm sure you'll get your glorious death soon enough. And I'll be right here, eating my bok rat liver and living happily on."
"You'll suffer in Gre'thor, brother, and your life of leisure has not prepared you for living amongst the dishonored dead. We, however--"
"I know, I know," Kori interrupted, "you'll all be in
Sto-Vo-Kor. The sad thing is, you really believe that."
Larok's face darkened, and he started to speak. Then he took a breath and let out another laugh. "Must we always have this argument?"
Kori shook his head. "Apparently, we must." A light on his console beeped. "I'm afraid I must go, brother. Duty calls."
"As does mine."
"And I still think you should stop by here and introduce me to that redheaded gunner of yours."
"Perhaps after the Gorkon has departed, if we're still in the sector."
"Your generosity, brother, is overwhelming. Screen off."
Larok's laughing face faded from the screen, leaving only the liver stain.
Stuffing the last of the liver into his mouth, Kori called up a status report to see why the alarm had lit. It turned out to be a minor problem with the load from the southern tap.
Thumbing the intercom, he said, "Ge'Tvrona."
An angular al'Hmarti face appeared on the screen. "Yes, Kori? What's so funny?"
The liver stain obscured ge'Tvrona's right eye, and Kori found it highly amusing for some reason. "Nothing," he said quickly, forcing a serious expression onto his face. He was a supervisor, after all.
"There's some sort of problem with the load from the southern tap. It's not going through the processor properly. See what the problem is. We haven't been late with a shipment yet; I don't want to start now."
"Of course."
"And when you're done, stop by my office. The shift ends in an hour, and I could use some help with this last bottle of blood wine
Ge'Tvrona bared his teeth. "Excellent! I look forward to it!"
"Screen off."
Kori leaned back in his comfortable chair and rested his hands on his ample belly. It'll be good to share some blood wine with ge'Tvrona.
Kori liked the al'Hmatti who worked for him, and they liked him. All in all, they weren't bad, for jeghpu'wl'.
He gazed around the tiny office that barely fit his corpulent form, the console, and the chair he sat in. It may have been small, but dammit, it was his of
fice. And he was content. Let Lorak get himself killed out there in space in the mistaken belief that there'd be a reward at the end. Dead was dead, as far as Kori was concerned. He'd rather sit here and drink blood wine with his friends.
Another alarm went off. He checked his console, but nothing was indicated. Then he realized that it was the red light over the door.
Kori had never seen that. light go off, and it took him a few moments to remember that it meant an intruder alert.
Why would we have intruders here? We're a refinery on the hind end of an ice planet that nobody gives a targ's hoof about.
Of course, there were all those reports about rebel activity that Supervisor Grul kept yelling at him to read. suppose I should read them at some point, but why bother? It's not as if it affects me directly.
Leaning forward in his chair, Kori went through the computer to find the procedure for what to do in case of an intruder alert.
Then he heard disrupter blasts.
At least, Kori assumed they were disrupter blasts. They certainly sounded like a blaster of some sort, but Kori didn't recognize it.
Since Kori knew every sound that every piece of machinery in the refinery made, he knew it wasn't just one of the lasers malfunctioning.
This is bad.
Suddenly, the viewscreen lit up again, this time with Takus's face.
Takus was the chief engineer, and the calmest person Kori had ever met.
So the look of panic on his face rather surprised him.
"There is a bomb in the refinery, repeat, there is a bomb in the refinery! Grab a weapon and abandon the refinery--and if you see any rebel scum, shoot them on sight!"
"Rebel scum?" Kori cried, but Takus wasn't on a two way channel.
"Kiln and I are going to try to disarm it. Everyone else, get out of here--but take as many of those rebels as you can!"
"Why are rebels attacking us?" Kori asked, but Takus's face had already faded. Not that he would have answered in any case.
Star Trek - TNG - 61 - Diplomatic Implausibility Page 10