by Diane Carey
Drex nodded, but continued gazing at Martok as if reading a screen. "Sir," he began, "we have never found a single changeling, have we?"
Martok roared back in laughter and smacked his second officer hard on the shoulder. "You know me too well, Drex! I'll have to kill you now!"
And he laughed again. This time Drex laughed a little too, but was still waiting for the answer to his question.
"Not a single one," Martok soon confirmed.
"Perhaps they're hiding. That is something they do better than anything else, after all."
"Or, Drex…perhaps there are none."
The sounds of the bridge rippled around them. Others in their crew were occupied with orchestrating the invading force, hurrying about to coordinate incoming reports and send out instructions. But some were canting their heads to listen.
That was all right. Martok wasn't much for secrets. They made him itch.
"No changelings discovered so far," he went on. "And that makes me think."
Shifting his feet on the uneven deck, Drex scratched an old injury on his neck. He always did that when he was confused. "About why the Empire has invaded Cardassia, if there is no visible enemy?"
"Yes. About that. And about why Gowron did not have me destroy Deep Space Nine when I had the chance. I thought at first that was why we were going there, you know. Then later I was told otherwise. Surely Gowron knows we will have to get control of the wormhole sector. If what Gowron and the High Council really want is to keep the Dominion out, there is a very simple way. But it's not here, in Cardassian space. It's back there, in Bajoran space. It's sitting in space right next to that infernal Federation pile of bolts."
For a few moments Drex said nothing. His eyes were tight with concentration, his mouth twisted as he sifted for what Martok was implying.
Abruptly his eyes changed and he sucked in a breath. "Destroy the wormhole!"
"Yes," Martok congratulated. "Burn the only bridge. Therefore, why didn't we?"
Placing one hand thoughtfully upon the arm of the command chair, Drex turned to look out over the string of outposts that guarded the border no longer for the Cardassians but now for the Klingons.
"I don't know…then what is the real reason for this invasion?" he murmured aloud. Then, quite sharply, he looked at Martok again. "Pure conquest?"
"It tastes good, doesn't it?" Martok watched realization bloom in his officer's face. "Yes…to make sure the sword of Klingon does not rust. There may be a danger of the Founders coming through the wormhole and spreading here, but so far I have seen no evidence. Do you think Gowron is that bright, Drex? I don't know…possibly. If so, then I respect him for this plot. The Cardassians are like us in many ways. Sneakier, less honorable, but certainly not likely to coddle spineless races the way the Federation does. Thus, perhaps war between us and Cardassia is inevitable, and in this case, it is perfect."
"How so? Our supply lines are long, the Federation is unhappy with us—"
"Those are small concessions. What difference does it make ultimately what the Federation 'thinks' of us?"
"None, I suppose."
"No, none at all. Look at the whole picture. We have an enemy with no face. We can blame him for anything that happens. An imaginary foe with whom we can saddle any accident. Whole massacres can be justified in an instant. Destruction is being taken to the Cardassians' home space, and we still have the advantage of surprise. Though Cardassia will have the advantage of shorter supply lines, Cardassian property will take all the damage. Our home territories will remain untouched. Our production facilities will continue to produce. Our children will be safe in their beds, to become the next generation of warriors. And our warriors will finally have an outlet for all their training. It is a sublime plan…and I am comfortable with it."
Together they gazed at the main screen's view of flickering space, but in their minds they saw other things. Whatever was about to happen, and whatever the reason, they were both suddenly invigorated.
No longer would Klingons bow to the quiescence of the Federation, but they would follow their instincts and do what Klingons must do.
Song, wine, women, and war. What else was there? Now they would have all those.
"Sir," Drex began tentatively, "what if the Dominion really is a threat?"
"In time, Drex, in good time," the general answered. "If my guess is right and the High Council is smarter than they act, then the Gamma Quadrant is in their sights also. First we take Cardassia, as is only natural. The weakling Federation will never stand up to us against those reptiles. One by one we will slip into new systems, always following the ghost of changelings. Eventually, even the Federation will buckle. Nothing lasts forever, you know."
"Yes…"
"And after the Alpha Quadrant is all Klingon, what next?"
"Through the wormhole…"
"Of course. That must be why Gowron didn't have us attack the station when we had the chance. That's why we left the wormhole intact…not for the Dominion, but for ourselves."
"But the changelings…they are there."
"Even they are not gods, Drex. Our science will find some way to beat them. Once we find out how to do that, we can take the Gamma Quadrant too. No more subservience, Drex…no more sniveling. And you and I, we shall be at the forefront of it all as it unfolds. The light of history will shine upon my name as the offensive general of it all, and your name will glow beside mine. This ship will become the symbol of victory. Warriors will dream of serving on it and children will play with models of it. Think of that!"
He laughed again, and slapped Drex again.
"General," the helm officer interrupted, "all Cardassian outposts are staffed with occupying forces, and the fleet is ready to advance now."
"Very well. All ships, coordinate position and go to warp factor six. Destination, the Cardassian colonies in Sector Two. We will be in the lead."
He glanced at Drex, and Drex smiled.
"What is our estimated arrival time at the colonies?"
"Approximately four hours at warp six, General," Drex told him.
"General." The communications and sensors officer turned from his position on the upper left bridge. "A message is coming in from Chancellor Gowron."
"Personal?"
"No, sir. I have the message now."
"Relay it."
"He is coming to this sector…will rendezvous with you at the Cardassian colonies…prepare for glory."
Martok felt the smile wither from his face. "Acknowledge that," he grunted. Pressing back in his chair he frowned. "He comes to snatch away the credit from us. By being here with us, he steals our prominence. That government fungus! Drex, I have no idea why anyone would want to claw and scratch and maneuver for a lifetime to get on the High Council. These families who suffer and twist to get a member on the Council—why? What does it really get them in the end? They sit in stuffy chambers, bickering and croaking, then go into a closed court and practice with their rusty bat'leths and think that makes them Klingon. Why? So all of them can pretend they're ready to go out and do what I have spent a career doing! Jealous! Now Gowron comes here so my light will shine on him."
"But there's nothing we can do," Drex said. "We can only hope he doesn't try to take all the credit."
"If he tries," Martok said, "I shall have to do something about it."
Ops. A dim world of flickering indicator lights and the shadows that defined them. The heart of Deep Space Nine. More—the heart of this very crucial sector.
Against the canvas of deepest, darkest, emptiest space, Worf stood with strangers and watched eternity unroll.
On the Ops display table, where O'Brien told him there was usually a station diagram, now shone a star chart of the Cardassian/Bajoran border. Graphics blotted off the Cardassian systems that had already been overrun by the Klingons—all the systems closest to that border.
No one spoke in the room. From the direction of his office Captain Sisko's low voice warbled unintelligibly as he spoke to someone on
a monitor.
Not just someone…the Federation Council.
He was a man of duty, this Sisko. He would use subterfuge when he needed to, as all border guards had learned to do, but when the shoving began he would do so under orders, and with the sanction of those with whom he had those principles in common.
Sisko knew where his line was drawn. Worf found himself plied with envy.
Leaning over the star charts, Major Kira was as intent as if it were her own world and not her lifetime enemy being overrun by conquerors. Worf watched, and he envied her too.
"Based on Klingon transmissions we've intercepted," she was saying, "the outlying Cardassian colonies were overrun almost immediately. But now that the Cardassian fleet has mobilized, the Klingons are meeting stronger resistance."
Wryly, Dax said, "Mmm…you'd almost think someone warned the Cardassians they were coming."
No one even acknowledged her joke.
"Hopefully," Kira went on, "this will make the Klingons think twice about what they're doing."
"Unlikely, Major." Worf spoke up for the first time in half an hour. "Now that the battle has begun, Martok and his troops will settle for nothing less than victory."
They looked at him as if wondering why he hadn't said that before, and he looked back at them, wondering why they hadn't assumed it all along.
They fell silent as Sisko left his office and joined them, his posture and expression unreadable.
Seconds ticked off, then O'Brien piped, "Well? What did the Federation Council say?"
Sisko verbally shrugged. "They've decided to condemn the Klingon invasion."
No one was surprised, yet everyone reacted.
"In response," Sisko went on, "Gowron has expelled all Federation citizens from the Klingon Empire and recalled the ambassadors back from the Federation."
Kira narrowed her eyes. "You're saying he's cut off diplomatic relations?"
"He's done more than that," Sisko said. He looked at each of them, but somehow when all was done he ended up looking at Worf. "The Klingons have withdrawn from the Khitomer Accords. The peace treaty between the Federation and the Klingon Empire…has ended."
PART
THREE
CHAPTER 14
"CAPTAIN, YOU'RE NEVER going to believe this."
Chief O'Brien stood his station almost casually, but Worf realized the engineer was attempting to offset the tension in what he had to say.
"A Klingon ship just decloaked off upper pylon three and is requesting permission to dock. They claim Chancellor Gowron is on board and is demanding to speak with Mr. Worf. Personally."
Worf frowned as he found himself again at the core of a crisis he thought he had shifted away from. He'd done his duty, performed his tricky task, put himself in the light of contempt and interstellar espionage, and handed the weight back to his commanding officer, where it belonged. As he met Captain Sisko's eyes, he knew those barbells were about to be handed back to him.
"Extend docking clamps, Mr. O'Brien," Sisko said, "but tell them to stay on board their ship until I give them clearance. This is a potential diplomatic rupture and they're going to have to wait."
"They're taking a hell of a chance!" Kira reckoned as she checked the weapons integrity of the Klingon ship and made sure they weren't about to shoot. "With the treaty dead, what's a Klingon high official doing in Federation space?"
"We could arrest him," Dax suggested. "We could arrest the whole crew."
Kira looked at Sisko. "Or we could fire on them and be completely within our options. Either they're allies with us or they're not! They can't have it both ways!"
O'Brien gave a semiapproving shrug. "Might be interesting to find out why the chancellor himself would come all this way under a collapsing treaty, just to talk to one specific person."
Ben Sisko had listened to all this in measuring silence, gauging his options. Now moving to Worf, he pressed one hand to the Ops table and kept his voice low.
"You'll have to talk to him, Mr. Worf. I won't order you to go aboard the Klingon vessel. Not yet at least. I can make a counterrequest that Gowron come on board the station and say what he has to say to both of us."
A moment ago, Worf had resisted the idea of going on board the Klingon vessel under these conditions, even Gowron's vessel. Among Klingons, hatred for him might be running high at this moment. He might have to fight his way past every guard who had heard of his service in Starfleet instead of the Klingon military and now perhaps of his questioning of Klingon command. They all suspected he wouldn't lie quiet in favor of those things now.
"It could be plain vengeance," Sisko evaluated. "You could be walking into murder. Your own."
"Gowron will not allow that," Worf said, clasping his hands behind him. "We are close friends. But they could use me as a hostage, and you would be in that vise. Yet if I fail to appear, cowardice will glaze my name and all of Starfleet. The first step in the Federation's part of this conflict would be a backward one."
Sisko paused and thought his way through what Worf had just said. "What's your history with Gowron? Why would he protect you? I can't believe even friendship is enough when they want so much to incite a war."
"Gowron helped restore my honor when I had lost it. He and I have made…investments in each other."
Worf didn't look at Sisko, but gazed only at the star chart on the table, and at the open air. He hoped Sisko didn't demand to know the details of those investments, for such things were exclusive between warriors and not fodder for conversation.
But Sisko, as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Worf, almost the same mass of body and almost the same height, didn't press further for details.
Instead he folded his arms and said, "I'm willing to twist that around and require Gowron to take the risks. Order him to come here to meet you."
"It may indeed be a risk," Worf appraised, "but the Klingon fleet will not see it that way, sir. Word spreads quickly. We must appear undaunted before Gowron. I am willing to go on board his ship."
"All right," Sisko said, "then consider yourself under orders to go. And it'll be on me if anything goes wrong."
Worf squared his shoulders and came almost to attention. "I would rather take the responsibility, sir."
Sharply Sisko refuted. "It's not yours to take. Prepare to go aboard."
Gowron. Chancellor of the Klingon High Council. Ruler of the Klingon Empire. A height that Worf, as an officer in Starfleet, had never expected to scale, but he had scaled it before Gowron had himself reached that level.
Now Worf stood on the promontory as well, escorted to the bridge of the Klingon flagship as it reposed like a spider at the docking ring of Deep Space Nine. He was still technically in Federation territory, docked to a Federation station, well away from the shattering border of Cardassian/Bajoran space, and yet he might as well have been standing on the Klingon home planet of Qo'nos, so removed was he from the safety of those with whom he had deeper things in common.
Dax could pull him back at a touch of his comm badge, but even that wouldn't be soon enough if things went wrong.
Gowron had been his friend in the past, but things change. Impending war could make loyalties shudder, and there was already a gulf between the two of them—Worf served Starfleet, not the Klingon fleet, and that would remain wedged between them.
The bridge door opened before him and his two Klingon escorts stepped aside. He moved into the sorrel lighting, where Gowron was conferring with the bridge crew of his ship.
Gowron looked up. His triangular face and blazing blue eyes set in the frame of wild hair and a monk's untended beard stood out instantly among the other Klingons.
Especially those eyes. Big as fists.
"Chancellor Gowron," Worf began, his own deep voice bludgeoning the bridge with new sound. "You wished to speak with me."
He expected trouble, and thus was taken aback when Gowron's face broke into untimely delight and his tone reveled with welcome.
"Worf! It is goo
d to see you."
Pushing back his robes, the chancellor crossed the deck to embrace Worf. Then he drew back and surveyed Worf with critical affection.
"I always said that uniform would get you in trouble someday."
"It seems you were right," Worf accommodated, careful not to show weakness by glancing at the other officers in the crew, but to fix his gaze only on Gowron as if not even tempted to look elsewhere. "But I will not apologize for my—"
"Yes, yes. I know you did what you thought was right. And even though you may have made some enemies, I assure you I am not one of them."
Relief piled through Worf and his stomach lost some of its knots. "I am glad. Your friendship means much to me."
"And yours to me. It has been too long since you last fought at my side. But now the time has come again. We will do great deeds in the coming days. Deeds worthy of song."
Song? What would happen if the events played out as they were set? There would be no one left who felt much like singing.
Worf stared at him. Had they risked coming all the way here, just to ask one more warrior to join them?
He waited for Gowron to laugh and say he was making a joke.
"You want me to go with you to Cardassia?" Worf asked him, swarmed with sudden, unexpected temptation.
Gowron spread his arms.
"What better way to redeem yourself in the eyes of your people? Come with me, Worf…glory awaits you on Cardassia!"
CHAPTER 15
"WORF, WHY DO you stand there like a mute d'blok? I have offered you a chance for glory. All you have to do is take it!"
Take it. Snatch back the illusive respect of a people who gave respect but sparingly. Take on a silver plate the utter fame that would be his as the only Klingon to serve in Starfleet who then abandoned Starfleet and came to fight at the side of Gowron during the great war against the Dominion-possessed Cardassians.
Yes, it was a song after all.
But he did not believe. When the sweat and stink of battle rose around him in its dizzying cloud, he would be laden by his own lack of allegiance to anything the Klingons had ever stood for as a race. They raised the chalice in their own recognition, but what was the color of the wine?