Two familiar captains entered the room a few moments later, and they moved to sit near Klag as soon as they all recognized each other. Rising to his feet, Klag head-butted each in turn, warmly greeting them.
“It is good to see you, son of M’Raq,” Captain Vikagh of the Ditagh said with a hearty laugh. The old captain still carried the burned flesh from an old battle with a cabal of slave traders, his white beard having grown around it.
Captain Puklik of the Kaarg added, “Though not here. Why do we waste our time filling the air with words?”
One of the councillors said, “That will be made clear to you soon enough, Captains. Be seated until the others arrive.”
“Who else is to be part of this insanity?” Vikagh asked. “Martok, I assume, since it was his seal on the summons I received.”
“That will also be made clear to you,” the councillor said archly.
Unsheathing his d’k tahg, the outer blades unfurling with a click, Vikagh said, “Do not toy with me, Tovoj. I was captaining Defense Force vessels when you were still sucking on your mother’s teat.”
From the door, a voice said, “Put that away, Vikagh.” Klag looked over to see General Goluk, accompanied by Captain Kvaad of the Kesh. “The High Council has summoned us, and it is our duty to obey. You have no grounds for challenging Councillor Tovoj.”
Closing the blades, Vikagh said, “The night is young.”
“The reason for our being summoned is obvious,” Klag said. He had assumed it had something to do with the Kavrot exploration, or perhaps the state of the Gorkon, but he now saw the true purpose. “All of us present are the surviving commanders in charge of the war against the Elabrej Hegemony. It is obviously of great importance to have removed the general and the captain from their posts.”
“They are no longer our posts,” Goluk said. He showed no emotion and did not elaborate.
Martok entered then, and everyone rose out of respect. Waving them off, Martok took his seat at the head of the table, between the statues of Kaarg and Azetbur. Behind him were four people: three men, one woman. Two of the men were from the Yan-Isleth, the warriors charged with protecting the chancellor, who took up position near the councillors’ guards. The other man and the woman both wore the standard all-black of Imperial Intelligence. They stood on either side of the chancellor, the man in front of Azetbur, the woman in front of Kaarg. Everyone else took their seats.
Klag recognized the woman as B’Etloj, who had been assigned to the Kravokh. This cannot bode well.
Martok looked at each captain in turn with his one good eye as he spoke. “This meeting has been called by I.I. to determine if Defense Force resources were properly allocated during the campaign against the Elabrej.”
Slamming his fist on the table, Puklik got to his feet. “What madness is this?”
“Be seated!” the man on Martok’s left said.
“Or what?” Puklik asked snidely. “I.I. is exempt from challenges, but that means they cannot challenge, either.”
Now it was Goluk who said, “Be seated, Captain. I do not believe you need to query me as to the consequences of disobedience.”
Snarling, Puklik sat back down.
“The campaign has ended,” Klag found himself saying. “Of what need is there to ‘discuss’ anything? Yes, by all means, let the record of battle be made available so warriors may study our tactics and learn from them, but this is not a class in the training academy, this is the Great Hall. Surely, I.I. and the High Council have more important issues to address.”
The I.I. man said, “As a captain of a Chancellor-class ship, Klag, you should be aware of the importance of that class to our fleet. This campaign—against an unworthy, unimpressive, distant foe—cost us three of the twelve ships. These are our finest warships, the first line of defense against those who would destroy our empire, and now twenty-five percent of them have been lost to a pointless war.”
“Pointless?” Now it was Klag’s turn to rise. “The Kravokh was defeated, its crew taken prisoner and not allowed to die, but instead were experimented on like animals. Were we to let that insult go unanswered?”
“Of course not,” B’Etloj said. “In fact, I contacted my fellow agents in the hopes of precisely such a rescue as your ship effected, Captain Klag. But there was no need to divert the fleet.”
“If we did nothing,” Goluk said, “the Elabrej would have kept coming. Instead of meeting them in their space, they would have come to find us in ours.”
Vikagh said, “And what of other races? When Klingons are challenged, we must crush the challenger, or forever be thought of as weak.”
“Was it truly necessary to commit so many of our most important vessels to the task?” the I.I. man asked.
Klag stared at the two councillors, who only made notes on a padd. He wondered what their purpose here was. Perhaps they were simply the councillors who dealt directly with I.I. Martok, too, was conspicuously silent.
“The fact that we lost so many of those ships,” Kvaad said, “indicates that we did need to, yes. You described the Elabrej as inferior, but their weaponry was devastatingly powerful. It was only because their defenses did not match their offensive capability that we were so resoundingly victorious.”
“Oh, yes,” the I.I. man said, “quite the resounding victory it was.” He pulled out a padd. “Let me read from your own report, Kvaad: ‘The Elabrej economy was already in a shambles before they ever encountered the Kravokh. The Hegemony’s entire wealth was concentrated into the oligarchs, who spent only on the military. The war against us destroyed their ability to produce anything of worth, and the entire solar system is resource-poor, at least for Klingon needs.’ ” Setting the padd down on the table in front of Martok with a clack, he went on. “The purpose of the Kavrot exploration was to add worlds to the empire so we may improve our economy, but this world would only drain resources.”
Sounding impatient, Goluk said, “That is why we abandoned the worlds to their own fate. They would have been a drain on the empire.”
“Nonetheless,” B’Etloj said, “there were flaws in the campaign, flaws that could have been avoided—”
Deciding it was worth the risk, Klag said, “If I had ceded command to Trant? Is that not truly what this is about, B’Etloj? I.I.’s purpose in this was to provide intelligence, and they provided it well, but when Trant came to me and revealed his status as one of your agents, and then revealed that the Kravokh crew were being held prisoner, he attempted to take command of my vessel. That petition was denied.” Now he looked at Martok. “With the full support of the High Council.”
Martok stared right back at Klag. “A decision I stand by,” he rumbled.
Klag let out a breath. Martok could easily have taken his tone for an insult. “Yes, we used our most powerful ships to defeat the Elabrej, but what does it matter that ships were lost? We may build new ones, after all. But to deliver any but the most crushing of defeats to the Elabrej would have cost us far more, and it would have been an irreplaceable commodity. We are warriors. If we do not give our all to the battle, then the battle is meaningless. If we hold back, if we reallocate out of convenience, then we are no longer warriors of a great empire but simple soldiers doing the bidding of self-serving politicians. We become the Jem’Hadar. I fought the Jem’Hadar, and I sit here today wondering why I bothered.”
Silence descended upon the room. Klag could feel a palpable fury emanating from both I.I. representatives, in direct contrast to the calm radiating from Martok between them. Klag suspected that he had played right into Martok’s hands.
In fact, the chancellor stood up. “This meeting has ended.”
The I.I. officials’ fury only increased at that, but it was Tovoj who spoke. “Chancellor, I believe there is more to be—”
“Silence!”
Tovoj recoiled as if Martok had struck him—and based on the look on the chancellor’s face, that was probably his next step.
Martok continued. “I allowed
this farce of a meeting due to the insistence of Councillors Tovoj and Merik. They claimed that I.I. had legitimate grievances against the manner in which the Elabrej campaign was waged. It has been proved to my satisfaction that these grievances are groundless.” Turning to face both I.I. agents, Martok said, “At the next open council session, I will officially declare the Elabrej campaign a success.”
Klag smiled. Such an official declaration in open council meant that I.I. could dispute it only by formally challenging the declaration—which would mean a meqba’ and full disclosure of evidence, all in open council for the entire empire to see. I.I. functioned best in the shadows—which was why their attempt to discredit the war was being done in the back chambers of the Great Hall rather than in public.
It was, in Klag’s opinion, to Martok’s credit that he did not stand for this for very long.
Both I.I. operatives left the room quickly, and the councillors—who seemed very much to Klag like men who feared for their lives—ran after them, their bodyguards trailing them.
“You are all dismissed,” Martok said to the others. “Except for you, son of M’Raq. I have an unrelated task to perform that requires your expert assistance. As for the rest of you: Qapla’!”
All at once, Klag, Goluk, Vikagh, Puklik, and Kvaad cried, “Qapla’!”
Klag remained in his seat while the others departed one by one under the gaze of Martok’s predecessors. Martok himself took his seat and regarded Klag with his one-eyed gaze.
“You did well, my friend,” Martok said after a moment. “It is my belief that I.I. contrived this entire exercise in order to achieve this very result. Their task is to keep the empire strong, and by being sure that all those in this room were united, they helped to ensure that.”
Feeling he could speak freely, with only the two of them and the Yan-Isleth in the room, Klag said, “Their deception offends me.”
“I doubt they will care overmuch,” Martok said with a deep-throated chuckle. “In truth, I do not, either. This may have seemed a waste of time, but if it reassures me that the warriors commanding my finest vessels are honorable men such as yourself and Captains Vikagh and Puklik and Kvaad, then it was time well spent.”
Bowing his head out of respect and gratitude, Klag asked, “What is the other task that requires my assistance, Chancellor?”
Martok smiled. “One of your officers is reporting to me at my request, and I thought you would find her report of interest. How are the repairs to your ship progressing?”
Grateful that his inspection of the Gorkon prior to reporting here was not in vain, Klag provided an overview of the report Kurak had given him. He left out her excoriations of the Praxis Station engineering staff, which alone cut the time to give the report in half.
Just as Klag finished summing up the report, another of the Yan-Isleth came in under the statues, trailing the familiar auburn-haired form of B’Oraq.
Standing, Klag said, “Doctor!”
“Captain!” B’Oraq smiled, tugging on her braid. “I was not told I would be reporting to you as well.”
Martok said, “Klag and I had other business, and I asked him to remain to hear your report on the medical conference.”
Klag winced. He’d already heard plenty from B’Oraq on that very subject. Martok had been the main advocate on the High Council for this conference, and he was unlikely to be pleased with her impressions of it.
“I am afraid, Chancellor, that the report will not be to your liking.”
“My liking does not matter, Doctor. Our people’s medicine must improve, and that process will begin with the KPE. What I want is the truth.”
“The truth is that the entire conference was a sham. Little to no useful information was exchanged, no minds were changed—nothing was accomplished. Sir, if the goal of this conference was to improve the empire’s medical standards, it did precisely nothing to do so.” B’Oraq tugged on her braid, then added, “Actually, that is not entirely the case. I did learn of two more physicians who feel as I do. One is a Defense Force doctor named Valatra, the other a civilian named Kandless. They assisted me in the rescue operation after Captain Stren flew into that building.”
“Yes.” Martok consulted a padd in front of him. “I see that your name is on the witness list of the meqba’ for Councillor Kryan. Doctor Kowag has already made his report, which will be read into evidence. What will you add to that?”
Now Klag smiled. He’d already had this conversation with B’Oraq as well.
“Captain Stren is not to blame for what happened, Chancellor. His death occurred while flying the shuttle, and that death was the cause of the crash.”
Martok stared at her. “You realize that you are challenging Kowag’s judgment?”
“I’ve been doing that for years, sir.”
That got a laugh out of the chancellor. “Very well. You will present your evidence. And I will consider your report and what it means for the KPE’s continued existence.” Martok then looked at Klag. “Your chief engineer has also placed herself on the agenda, Captain, to petition the council.”
“I would not presume to speak Commander Kurak’s mind, Chancellor,” Klag said truthfully. “It is a disturbing place that I prefer to avoid.”
Martok chuckled as he got to his feet and gave them each a salute. “Very well. Qapla’, Captain, Doctor.”
Klag returned both salute and salutation, as did B’Oraq. Then Martok left the room, the three Yan-Isleth following.
She smiled and walked toward him. “Considerate of the chancellor to leave us alone.”
“Indeed. I am sorely tempted to take you right here, under the eyes of the last six chancellors.”
“I think not,” she said with a chuckle. “Or at least, not Gowron’s eyes. They’re so wide and penetrating, I do not believe I would be able to perform to the captain’s satisfaction.”
Klag threw his head back and laughed heartily. “I intend to return home. My mother has finally come back, and we will dine together. You may join us.”
“Would that I could, but I must return to the Gorkon to care for my patients.”
Frowning, Klag said, “You could remand them to another facility.”
“I’d prefer they get good medical care,” B’Oraq said sourly. “Why do you think I transported them to the Gorkon in the first place? And unfortunately, Kandless has his own practice on Ya’Koraq to return to, and Valatra had to return to her posting, and Command hasn’t seen fit to send me a new nurse yet, so I must care for them myself.”
She playfully scratched his cheek. Klag shuddered with pleasure from the edges of her nails biting into his flesh and pulling on his beard.
“Very well.” He smiled. “If you wish to continue this talk, we should leave, for I will not be able to restrain myself much longer, and then you will be forced to perform under Gowron’s penetrating eyes.”
“Well, I did say I had to return to the Gorkon,” she said. “I did not say I had to return to the medical bay immediately.”
Again, Klag threw his head back and laughed, and they left the chancellor’s study for the Great Hall’s transporter room.
Twenty-two
Tabona’s farm
Pheben III
The agonized wail awakened Wol from a sound sleep. Used to the call of the warrior, she went from dead asleep to awake and ready for action at a moment’s notice. Tabona’s restriction against wearing her armor meant she slept naked, and in that state, she leaped to her feet, reaching for a nonexistent d’k tahg at her side.
Still the pained cry continued. She’d heard such only from warriors whose injuries were so grave as to overcome their natural stoicism. Reaching to the floor for her armor, still where she’d left it after B’Ellor gave her a dress, she grabbed her weapon for real this time and ran out of the room, unheedful of her nudity. On Elabrej, after killing the scientist who experimented on her, she’d run naked through the entire government sphere, killing dozens of Elabrej and helping Commander Toq free the
other Klingons held prisoner by those honorless petaQpu’. The lack of armor mattered less to her than the sound of a person in pain. That usually meant battle, and Wol would not pass up the chance to join in.
The last time she ran in her bare feet, it was on hard metal Elabrej floors. Now she ran on yielding dirt and grass and moved more quickly and efficiently toward the sound of the screams. She scented nothing different in the air—at this point, she had grown accustomed to the smells of the farm—and only a Klingon ahead.
Pushing her way through some brush, the branches slapping and scraping against her bare skin, she found Fuhrman lying on his side, his left arm caught between two curved metal bars.
“What happened?”
Fuhrman ceased his agonized cries, though he was shivering despite the warmth of the night air. He was fully clothed as well, yet Wol felt fine. “T-trap,” he muttered.
Tabona and Kagak, both wearing nightdresses of different sorts, came running up, soon followed by B’Ellor, with Goran’s lumbering strides right behind her.
Before Wol could say anything, Tabona said, “You stupid yIntagh, you set off the damn korvit trap, didn’t you?”
“N-no, a chuSwI’ did. I was t-trying to reset it, and it snapped.”
“QI’yah,” Tabona said with a snarl. “That damn Ferengi sold us bad goods again. I told you to buy from Grovalik, but do you listen?”
Wol knelt down and tried to pry the bars off his arm. She could feel that the bone was shattered underneath the thin fabric of his shirt. “He needs to go to a doctor.”
“Not a chance,” Tabona said. “That butcher’ll just cut the arm off, and what good would that do? I’ll set it myself as soon we get that khest’n thing off him.”
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