Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle

by Kirsten Beyer

  “Are they the ones who have taken Miral?”

  “I believe so,” Kahless went on. “They are called the qawHaq’hoch—those who ‘remember all that they know.’ They were founded during the First Dynasty to gather and keep the most accurate records of the lineages of various Klingon families. They continue to do so to this day, though they were driven underground at the end of the Second Dynasty.”

  “Why?” B’Elanna was now truly curious.

  “Their leader at the time was a master bladesmith named Hal’korin. She served in the court of the Emperor Reclaw. When K’Trelan slaughtered the imperial family, Hal’korin disappeared, taking the qawHaq’hoch with her. Legend says that she constructed a sanctuary for them, and that only those who join the order are privy to the location of this sanctuary.”

  “Hal’korin was a woman?” B’Elanna asked, unable to hide her surprise.

  Kahless nodded. “A remarkable one. She learned sword-craft from her father, and unless I’m much mistaken, she had a hand in forging the bat’leth you now wield.”

  B’Elanna knew the weapon Kohlar had given her was ancient, but she hadn’t realized until that moment just how old it really was.

  “To this day the qawHaq’hoch believe that the Curse of the Gods is real. They have watched for the coming of the Kuvah’magh, knowing that it is the only way to avert this apocalypse. But there is another sign of impending doom, one that predates the birth of the Kuvah’magh.”

  This was news to B’Elanna.

  “The scrolls of Ghargh say that before the Kuvah’magh returns, Fek’lhr will be reborn.”

  Just as the notion that the savior would bring back the Klingon gods, this idea struck B’Elanna as somewhat absurd.

  “I thought Fek’lhr was a mythological creature, the one that guards the gates of Gre’thor.”

  “He is,” Kahless replied. “But I am now certain that our adversaries believe this first sign has already come to pass, and that this is the reason that the qawHaq’hoch have chosen to act now. If they have taken her, it is to protect her until she can play the role which fate has decreed for her. She is alive, B’Elanna, because they would never harm her. Their only interest would be in keeping her safe.”

  While this was somewhat comforting, it was equally infuriating. B’Elanna couldn’t believe she was now made to suffer for the backward beliefs of fringe religious lunatics.

  “How do we find them?” was B’Elanna’s next question.

  Kahless paused briefly before continuing. “The qawHaq’hoch are not the only Klingons still alive who believe that the prophecies of the Kuvah’magh are real. When Hal’korin escaped K’Trelan’s wrath, the new emperor sent several of his most faithful warriors to find and kill Hal’korin and the qawHaq’hoch. The descendants of those warriors are still trying to complete this task. They are called the Warriors of Gre’thor.”

  Great. More fanatics.

  “They have been searching for the qawHaq’hoch for hundreds of years and still haven’t found them all?” B’Elanna had to ask.

  Kahless nodded. “I have already contacted them, and they should be in orbit within the hour. They will lead us to the qawHaq’hoch and to Miral.”

  Suddenly B’Elanna was aware of Logt standing beside her. Her eyes blazed with barely repressed fury.

  “Pardon, Emperor, but I cannot believe you would entrust your safety and hers to those mongrels.”

  Kahless rose. The tingle of restrained energy tickled B’Elanna’s skin as he faced his former personal guardian.

  “I would never lead a warrior into battle unaware,” he reproached her.

  Standing to face Kahless, B’Elanna asked, “What is she talking about?”

  With a final icy glance at Logt, Kahless returned his attention to B’Elanna.

  “The Warriors of Gre’thor believe in the prophecies of the Kuvah’magh. Where the qawHaq’hoch would protect Miral with their last breath, the Warriors would prevent the coming apocalypse by simply killing the Kuvah’magh on sight,” he replied.

  B’Elanna took a second to make sure she had this right in all of its appalling implications.

  “So you’ve contacted the Warriors of Gre’thor to help us find the qawHaq’hoch who have taken Miral, and when we find her, the Warriors are going to kill her?”

  Kahless placed a huge hand on B’Elanna’s shoulder. “We fight one battle at a time,” he replied.

  It was all B’Elanna could do to keep from screaming.

  “Lieutenant Campbell to the captain.”

  Seated in his ready room aboard Voyager, Chakotay replied, “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

  “I am transmitting our updated operations report to you now.”

  “Very good.”

  “Once all personnel are accounted for, we will have clearance to launch.”

  “Keep me advised, Lyssa.”

  “Aye, sir. Campbell out.”

  Chakotay had always thought that the amount of “paperwork” required of a Starfleet vessel’s first officer was cumbersome. He had thought that right up until he had assumed command of Voyager. It still amazed and slightly galled him that Kathryn had always managed to make this part look so easy.

  As he signed off on the most recent engineering report, he found himself missing B’Elanna more than usual. Though she lacked Vorik’s affinity for detail, her reports had always been colorful and more interesting to read. He said a quick silent prayer that word of her safety would arrive soon.

  A chiming at his door interrupted his thoughts.

  “Come in,” he called.

  He looked up to see Tom Paris ushering in an officer Chakotay had never met.

  “Captain Chakotay,” Tom said formally, “allow me to introduce you to our new counselor, Lieutenant Cambridge.” Tom then placed a padd, undoubtedly containing Cambridge’s orders, on Chakotay’s desk.

  The man in question said nothing, but stood at a vague approximation of attention before his desk. In a glance Chakotay took his measure. He was human, probably in his mid-fifties, which was interesting only in that by that age, most Starfleet personnel had achieved ranks well above lieutenant unless they were “problematic” or had chosen to start their career with Starfleet late. He wore a short full beard that was a medium brown streaked generously with white, as was his slightly too-long curly hair. His uniform, though regulation black and blue, hung loosely on him and was in serious need of pressing or recycling. His boots looked comfortable, and hadn’t been polished in some time.

  Chakotay knew it was inappropriate for him to dislike Cambridge at first sight. But at the moment, he was having a hard time helping himself. The man’s initial impression suggested a propensity for insubordination.

  Chakotay dismissed Tom with a nod and rose, moving around his desk to extend a hand to Cambridge.

  “Welcome aboard, Lieutenant,” Chakotay said briskly as Tom exited the room perhaps a little too hastily.

  Faint surprise and amusement flickered across Cambridge’s face as he took Chakotay’s hand.

  “Thank you.”

  Chakotay had never really stood on ceremony, but he was pretty sure there should have been a “sir” at the end of that sentence.

  Opting to keep things congenial for now, Chakotay went on, “I wasn’t aware that Commander Paris had already managed to secure a replacement for Counselor Astall.” Much to Chakotay’s regret, his first counselor had advised him shortly after their return from Loran II that a family emergency had arisen and she required an indefinite leave of absence. Chakotay had approved her request, and delegated to Tom the task of submitting the request for a new counselor to Starfleet Command.

  Cambridge said nothing, but instead of staring straight ahead as protocol would have dictated, he met Chakotay’s eyes with polite disinterest.

  Sensing that it was time to take control of the situation, Chakotay gestured to a long, low sofa that ran along the far wall. “Please, take a seat, Lieutenant.”

  With a slight shrug that su
ggested he’d rather not, Cambridge ambled up the steps dividing the room’s two distinct areas and sat down, crossing his long legs and placing his hands in his lap. To all intents and purposes, he looked as if he owned the room.

  Chakotay sat opposite him, across the small table, trying and failing to match Cambridge for relaxation.

  Finally Chakotay said, “I’m sure I’ll be able to learn a lot about you from your service record there, but probably not as much as you can tell me.”

  “How much time do you have, Captain?” Cambridge replied drolly.

  “Enough,” Chakotay said firmly. “What was your last posting?”

  Cambridge heaved a weary sigh and said, “The last starship I served on was the Melbourne.”

  Chakotay paused to think. The ship didn’t sound familiar.

  In answer to his unspoken question Cambridge went on, “Which was destroyed at Wolf 359.”

  Chakotay knew the battle well, just as he knew that there had been very few survivors. Though Starfleet’s first major confrontation with the Borg had taken place years ago, it could easily have scarred a sensitive soul deeply, and most counselors were known for their sensitivity.

  “I’m sorry,” Chakotay said sincerely. “How did you manage to survive?”

  “The first thing I always do when I report to a new starship is make damn sure I know where the escape pods are.”

  “Why is that?” Chakotay asked, his voice hardening.

  “Practicality and experience,” Cambridge said breezily. “Though Starfleet purports to exist under the auspices of peaceful exploration, every vessel I’ve ever served on has done more than its fair share of fighting.”

  Doing the math in his head, Chakotay realized it had been eleven years since Cambridge had served on a ship.

  “May I ask what you’ve been doing since then?”

  “You may,” Cambridge replied. “After the Melbourne was destroyed, I requested a transfer to Starfleet Medical.”

  This was a relief of sorts. If Cambridge had been working at Starfleet Medical all these years, he had to be at least competent in his job.

  “And why did you decide to return to duty aboard a starship?” Chakotay asked.

  “I didn’t,” Cambridge answered.

  “Then what are you doing here?” Chakotay asked, at something of a loss.

  “I honestly don’t know.” Cambridge shrugged. “But I would have to guess that either someone up there thinks highly of you, or they don’t think highly enough of me.”

  Chakotay had heard more than enough. He rose to indicate that the conversation was at an end, and after a long pause Cambridge finally uncrossed his legs and got to his feet. It was unfortunate that there wasn’t time to get the counselor off his ship before they departed for Kerovi, but Chakotay had already decided that this would be his first order of business the moment Voyager returned to Earth.

  “Dismissed, Lieutenant,” Chakotay said coolly.

  “Thank you.” Cambridge nodded and turned to go.

  “Thank you, sir,” Chakotay corrected him.

  Cambridge paused and turned, opening his hands in apology. “Thank you, sir,” he repeated.

  Chakotay crossed the room in two steps and met Cambridge’s mocking eyes with his most stern look.

  “Despite what you may believe, Lieutenant Cambridge, Voyager is a unique ship with an exemplary crew. We give a hundred and fifty percent to our jobs on a slow day. I won’t settle for anything less from you. And the next time I see you, I expect your personal grooming to be regulation, your uniform to be pressed, and I’ll be looking for my reflection in your boots.”

  “Really?” Cambridge asked in genuine surprise.

  “Really, sir,” Chakotay corrected him again.

  “Yes, sir,” Cambridge obliged him, this time with a little more respect.

  They stared at each other just long enough for Chakotay to realize that his initial dislike had, in a few short minutes, become something closer to contempt. The look in Cambridge’s eyes suggested that he wasn’t alone in his antipathy. Finally the lieutenant nodded slightly and moved away.

  When he’d almost reached the door, he turned and said, “Would it be possible for one of your ensigns to direct me toward whatever walk-in closet I’ll be calling home for the foreseeable future?”

  “There are ship directories in every main hall,” Chakotay barked. “Learn how to use them.”

  “Excellent,” Cambridge replied, then just managed to add, “sir.”

  When the door had finally slid shut behind him, Chakotay took a few deep, measured breaths. It had been a long time since he’d met anyone as adept as Cambridge at bringing out his inner hard-ass. The only rival that came immediately to mind was the young Tom Paris.

  Chakotay moved to his desk and picked up Cambridge’s orders. They had been signed by Admiral Montgomery. Chakotay took a moment to review Cambridge’s attached service record. He had been born in Bristol, England, and studied at Oxford before gaining admission to Starfleet Academy thirty years earlier. Surprisingly, there were absolutely glowing reports attached to each and every one of his postings, including that of his superior at Starfleet Medical. In addition, he had published dozens of articles in psychological and anthropological journals.

  It was easy for Chakotay to see why anyone with Cambridge’s qualifications would be singled out for service aboard Voyager. Had Chakotay never met him, he would have no doubt approved the transfer without a second thought. But somewhere between the deeds and the man was a chasm Chakotay believed he had no interest in crossing.

  It was a shame. Glancing at the most recent of Cambridge’s scholarly articles, a piece comparing the mythological beliefs of four species Chakotay had never even heard of and their psychological relevance, he realized that in any other context, he would have found the man fascinating.

  His musings were interrupted by a familiar voice.

  “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

  Looking up, Chakotay saw Admiral Janeway standing in the doorway. Her face fell a bit when she saw the concern clouding his.

  “I’m sorry, should I have knocked?”

  “Not at all, Admiral,” Chakotay said, looking in vain for his smile. “I gather Starfleet Command granted your request?”

  Janeway crossed to him and nodded. “They’ve authorized me to evaluate the situation on Kerovi once we arrive to determine whether or not there might be room for diplomatic rapprochement. After everything Merin Kol and I went through, I sincerely hope there will be.”

  “You shouldn’t doubt your abilities, Kathryn,” Chakotay said with genuine warmth. “Heaven knows I never do.”

  She smiled in thanks as Tom Paris’s voice came over the comm system.

  “Bridge to the captain.”

  “Go ahead,” Chakotay replied, noting that Kathryn had to bite her lip not to answer for him out of sheer habit.

  “We’ve just received clearance to depart.”

  “I’m on my way,” Chakotay said. As Chakotay moved toward the door that led directly to the bridge, he asked, “Would you care to join me?”

  “No, thanks.” Janeway smiled. “I’ll just catch the turbolift and go right to my cabin. I’ve got a lot of material to review before we get to Kerovi. And I’m hoping to hear from Ambassador Worf sooner rather than later.”

  “Nothing yet?”

  “No.” Janeway shook her head, obviously disappointed.

  Chakotay nodded, sharing the sentiment.

  “Dinner, my cabin, nineteen-hundred hours?” he asked.

  “Is that an order, Captain?” she teased.

  “Yes,” he replied, well aware that as she still outranked him he didn’t actually have the ability to do any such thing.

  “Then I’ll be there.”

  Only after Chakotay had made his way onto the bridge and settled in to watch as Tom guided the pilot, Lieutenant Tare, through their departure did he allow himself to realize how glad he was to have Kathryn aboard again, if
only for a short time. He loved leading Voyager and her crew. The ship felt more like home than any place he had ever known. He knew that despite its frustrations and tedium, Kathryn truly enjoyed her work as an admiral. But part of him believed that both of them had been at their best when they had served together. For the next few weeks, it would be nice to revisit that.

  I’ve missed her, he realized, acknowledging a simple fact he rarely allowed to surface. Chakotay’s next thought was to wonder whether or not she ever felt the same.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Kahless had first contacted Captain T’Krek several weeks earlier, right around the time he had made a connection between a meeting he’d had years ago and Ghargh’s contention that the rebirth of Fek’lhr would signal the fated apocalypse. He had always made it a point to keep an eye on the Warriors of Gre’thor and their captain. Renegade Klingons both fascinated and troubled him. More often than not, they did more harm than good.

  The emperor did not believe T’Krek was aware of the reports of Fek’lhr’s rebirth. Given that this knowledge had come to Kahless in a completely unrelated matter, he doubted that anyone, at least up to this point, had made the connection. But the qawHaq’hoch had demonstrated this night that they knew and were several moves ahead of everyone else currently playing this particular round in the komerex zha. T’Krek’s ignorance, however, would undoubtedly serve Kahless and B’Elanna well when they ultimately found themselves at cross purposes with the Warriors of Gre’thor, which the emperor did not doubt they eventually would be.

  For the time being, T’Krek and his men remained Miral’s best hope.

  When the transporter effect finally cleared, Kahless found himself facing not only T’Krek but also a dozen of the fiercest warriors he had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. Their outdated uniforms harkened back to a much earlier era, and punctuated their status as privateers.

  “My emperor,” T’Krek said with obvious respect as he made a low bow. Those behind him likewise bowed. “Welcome aboard the Kortar. You honor us with your presence. The Warriors of Gre’thor are at your service.”