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"Author's personal log, supplemental.

“This is the second of three unmonetized fictional stories based non-canonically on Star Trek ™, created by Gene Roddenberry. The trilogy focuses on how the allied factions in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants struggle to maintain a working peace after the Dominion War (2373-2375 AD). This second installment of the Benmata Chronicles reveals how the return of Kahless’ bat'leth sparks a storm of unrest in Klingon society and the repercussions that has for the alliance. K’Lira of House Trestian finds herself in unwilling conflict with Chancellor Gowron, who is being manipulated against her. With help from alien rogues, she must find a way to regain her honor and save the Empire she loves from an inglorious end.

"Computer, end log."

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As I said in the introduction to “A True Way Resurgence,” I have written these stories non-canonically because I generally prefer the liberty of my own imagination, and I do not necessarily agree with every aspect that canon dictates. Canonical sources sometimes conflict. Even Ambassador Spock said, “Canon is only important to certain people because they have to cling to their knowledge of minutiae. Open your mind! Be a Star Trek fan and open your mind and say, ‘Where does Star Trek want to take me now?’ “ – Leonard Nimoy (Reuters, May 2009). I heartily endorse the sentiment. Here are some of the more significant ways this story departs from Star Trek ™ canon.

1. Correlating Star Trek's stardates is messy business. There’s no single canonical timeline for all of Star Trek. Many Star Trek calendars exist, and people disagree on their underlying assumptions, but I have decided to use TrekGuide.com’s TNG/DS9/VOY stardate calendar.

2. The Treaty of Algeron merely established the Romulan Neutral Zone. It did not forbid the development or use of stealth technology by the Federation.

3. While Worf had his disagreements with Chancellor Gowron during the Dominion War, he never slew him. Rather, Gowron remained Chancellor of the Klingon Empire until well after the war.

4. Martok remained a KDF general in good standing and the leader of his House after the Dominion War, and he eventually became a member of the Klingon High Council.

Michael Rosado
October 26, 2022

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The I.K.S. Ak'voh flew through deep space at warp four on its way to Qo'noS, the Klingon home world. The Negh'Var-class warship's armored hull shone dully with reflected sunlight as the ship passed a nearby star, and its red nacelles left glowing traces of drive plasma in their wake. The Ak’voh was nearly always in some state of repair, but it was a sturdy vessel with a competent crew.

It was also Matron K'Lira's warship, courtesy of Chancellor Gowron himself. She’d commanded it ever since he’d promoted her to brigadier general during the Dominion War. She was proud to have added much to the ship’s storied legacy and glad that Gowron had allowed her to keep it after she’d retired from the Klingon Defense Force in 2375. Now captained by her best friend and former science officer B’Etera, K’Lira’s command was merely honorary, and the crew continued to obey her orders if they didn’t conflict with B’Etera’s.

K’Lira occupied the I.K.S. Ak'voh's only VIP cabin. It was spacious compared to the ship’s other berths, even B’Etera’s. It was three rooms long, but narrow, and furnished well for a vessel designed for combat rather than comfort. She sat for a few seconds in front of a terminal to gather her thoughts, preparing to make a personal log entry. Such entries were not required of her since she technically wasn’t part of the crew anymore, but she was long used to doing so.

Heading to Qo'noS

“Personal log, Matron K’Lira of House Trestian reporting,” she began in accented Klingonese, her alto voice quietly filling the room.

"The Ak'voh continues to Qo'noS at moderate speed. It could do better, but there is no need. At this rate, it will be several more days before we reach the Omega Leonis Sector, and I, for one, am glad of the time in transit.

“Kahless’ bat'leth is under heavy guard in the hold. Once considered irrecoverably lost, the emperor’s prize weapon is a profound boon to the Klingon people. My husband’s mentor, Federation Ambassador Morlo Aegis, honored me greatly when he chose me to return it to the Empire, and I will not forget it. It was recovered in the Mariah System in the Alpha Quadrant, but Federation records show that it was last seen deep in the Gamma Quadrant. We may never know how it got so far afield, but the Empire will soon have it again anyway, thanks to the ambassador’s… agent,” she finished with mild distaste.

“That one is a curious cur. A human with Ferengi-like values and instincts, it was he who found and recovered the bat'leth for the ambassador, then sold it to me at Quark’s. I hear his penchant for negotiation is well deserved, and after meeting the ‘Rat’ on Deep Space Nine, I am inclined to agree. He got 500 latinum bars from me and 500 from the ambassador for his services, and he was just as glad to be rid of the sword. The weapon is priceless, of course. Mr. Parper’s services always come at a large price. My husband’s people sometimes say that loving money is evil, and I hope not to need that baktag's services again. At least the ambassador seems to regard him highly.”

She sighed and continued, “Speaking of whom, Morlo said he would arrange the sword's reception for me. He fears that the High Council or someone else will try to use the sword's reputation for themselves. I am not sure I share his concern, but for my part I will wait for Gowron to contact me so that I might judge his attitude towards seeing me in person again. I have been so long away from First City that I wonder how I will be received by some of the councilors. Will they remember me or regard my House?”

There was no way to tell. She’d have to see how things went when she brought Gowron the sword of Kahless.

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The air outside the Great Hall in First City was chilly and damp from recent rainfall, the pallid sky a gray overcast, unusual for a summer evening. The hall within was alit with yellow firelight from braziers in the walls that seemed to glow brighter as evening progressed, yet that did little to warm the proceedings. The air itself was thick with wood smoke and the light scent of burning incense. The crowd in the main chamber held some High Council members and their entourages, a few bodyguards, and various advisors and attendants. They were scattered about in small clusters, talking amongst themselves about their plans regarding matters of state.

Chancellor Gowron sat on his throne at one end of the huge room, observing them as he listened idly to one of his courtiers brief him about the latest news. His attention wasn’t as much on the conversation as it was on the audience. His narrowed gaze flitted around the room as though looking for somebody, but his expression never changed. Whomever or whatever he was searching for wasn’t present, and his patience was wearing thin.

The courtier eventually noticed Gowron's lack of attention. “Pardon me, Chancellor,” he said. “Am I boring you?”

Gowron quickly looked up at him in mild annoyance. “No. No, not really,” he growled. “I’m just… distracted.”

“I see. Should I come back later?” the courtier offered.

As Gowron considered an answer, he noticed another Klingon walking quickly up the steps of the dais towards him. It was one of the Yan-Isleth, a member of the chancellor's guard. This one also served as his personal attaché.

Whatever he wants, it must be important for him to risk interrupting me unannounced, Gowron thought.

“Yes, later,” he said gruffly, waving his hand dismissively.

The attaché stopped just below the throne as the courtier obediently left.

Gowron stared down at the newcomer and waited, but the attaché stood at attention and waited for him instead.

“Well, out with it!” Gowron finally said, widening his eyes in exasperation.

“Sir, you have a private communiqué… from Starfleet Intelligence,” the attaché said. “It is on the monitor in your office.”

That wasn’t what Gowron was expecting. Apprehension chased surprise across his expressive face. The Klingon Defense Force’s own intelligence assets normally interfaced with foreign military agencies and kept him informed of the results. He wondered why Starfleet’s intelligence division would want to speak to him directly. While he knew of many issues involving the Klingon alliance with the Federation, nothing he knew of warranted a private call. This intrigued him.

“I will take it,” he said, getting up to go to his office, which was in one of the hall’s private wings.

As he walked, Gowron tried to anticipate the upcoming conversation by reviewing the situation with the Klingon-Federation Alliance and the most recent happenings in the Alpha Quadrant. The alliance between the Klingon Empire and the United Federation of Planets was a holdover from the Dominion War in the mid-2370s. It had been necessary to recruit the Romulan Star Empire’s help to re-take Deep Space Nine from the Dominion and its allies and thereby free Bajor. It worked: by 2375, the Dominion was defeated, Deep Space Nine was in allied hands, the Alpha Quadrant was in recovery, and Bajor was presently considering membership with the Federation.

However, all was not well in the Alpha Quadrant. The Cardassian people had suffered the most losses in their alliance with the Dominion. In the wake of the war, their economy was ruined, their government was fractured, and their holdings were much diminished. The Maquis settlers along the border of Cardassian and Federation space were also disillusioned with their situation. Most significantly, a rogue faction of the Cardassian military had formed a coalition known as the True Way, referring to their mission to restore the Cardassian Union to their version of its former glory. In recent weeks, the True Way had attempted to become a galactic superpower by developing an isotopic weapon that could destroy an ecosystem at the genetic level. They’d successfully tested it on several uninhabited moons in Breen space. Starfleet had mounted a surveillance mission to discover the weapon’s whereabouts, and the information trail had led to an outback area deep in Cardassian space known as the Mariah System. A Federation task force had just made a preemptive strike against the True Way facility and forces there. The enemy base had been raided for any evidence about the weapon, and the entire True Way fleet in orbit had been destroyed, ending the immediate threat to the alliance’s interests in the region. While the weapon itself wasn’t there, the recovered files showed that the True Way had used that facility to develop delivery systems for it, including one that could be fitted to a torpedo casing.

Shortly after the task force returned to Deep Space Nine, an unknown ship had entered the Bajoran wormhole under cloak and set off a series of silithium-laced explosions that destroyed the wormhole from within. The ship escaped just before the wormhole collapsed. The U.S.S. Kaiser gave chase and had confronted it near the Betreka Nebula but had lost it when it escaped into deep space. The rumor was that the ship was a mercenary vessel working with the True Way. Thus far, Klingon and Federation resources had not been able to track it or figure out how to reestablish the lost wormhole. Both matters were of great concern to the alliance.

Gowron entered his office, locked the door, and sat down at his desk. A blinking light on the monitor told him the caller was still waiting, so he pushed a button to open an encrypted channel.

An old Tellarite with an office interior behind him appeared on the screen. His full head of hair shone shockingly white with a thick moustache and a very full beard. His bright blue eyes stared worriedly out from sunken sockets lined with circles dark from stress and lack of sleep. He wore an ambassadorial badge on the lapel of his formal jacket.

Gowron didn’t recognize him, but he assumed the Tellarite knew him at least.

“Yes?” he asked bluntly.

“Chancellor,” the Tellarite said in a deep baritone, “thank you for taking my call. I’ll try not to take up much of your time.”

“Do that,” Gowron agreed. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“My name is Morlo Aegis,” the Tellarite continued. “As a member of Starfleet’s Diplomatic Corps, I work with other federal offices to monitor developments in the Alpha Quadrant. As I’m sure you’re aware, the True Way has recently acquired anti-genetic technology with the specific intent of developing a weapon that can destroy planetary ecosystems from orbit. I coordinated the surveillance mission that discovered the True Way base on Mariah IV where they developed its delivery system.”

“I am aware,” Gowron confirmed.

“What you may not yet know, Chancellor, is that I also oversaw a sidebar salvage operation in the Mariah System that will have deep repercussions for you and the Empire: Kahless’ bat'leth has been found… again.”

Morlo calls Gowron

“The emperor’s sword… was found in the Mariah System?” Gowron asked incredulously. Then his eyes narrowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

Morlo smiled magnanimously. “Because I’ve arranged to have it returned to the Empire.”

Gowron was thunderstruck.

The greatest warrior in Klingon history was Kahless the Unforgettable. Over 1,500 years ago, he’d forged a unique broadsword, the first bat'leth, out of molten lava and his own hair. He used the mighty weapon to defeat an evil tyrant named Molor and to unify the Klingon tribes into a single nation under his rule. Thus, the Klingon Empire became one of the greatest powers in the Beta Quadrant.

Kahless used the sword in other ways, each time increasing its legend and notoriety in the eyes of his people. It was said that whoever possessed it couldn’t be defeated in battle. It had been passed down for generations in Kahless' line as a symbol of his family’s rulership until the Hur’q stole it in the 14th century. It had remained lost in the Gamma Quadrant until Dahar Master Kor recruited a pair of Starfleet officers (Commander Worf and Lt. Commander Jadzia Dax) to help him recover it in 2373. They succeeded in finding it, but Kor and Worf had diametrically different views about how to use it. They’d fought nearly to death over custody of the sword and, in doing so, realized that it was too tempting as a trophy. They beamed the bat'leth into deep space in the Gamma Quadrant rather than let it fall into the hands of any would-be tyrant. Apparently, it had either been found by an unknown party or simply fallen through the wormhole on its own and lost again somewhere near the Mariah System.

“One of my agents recovered it from the system's asteroid belt just before the Federation raided Mariah IV,” Morlo added. “I’ve arranged to have it transported back to Qo’noS by K’Lira, whom I believe you know.”

Gowron's mind reeled again.

It had been a millennium since any but a few had seen the bat'leth. Now, not only was the famed sword of Kahless found, but it was being returned to those to whom it belonged by one of their own.

“I do,” Gowron confirmed. “She was my adjutant until the Dominion War started. Then she became a general and served with some distinction. I regret that she retired from military service afterwards to raise a family on Deep Space Nine.””

Gowron's relationship with K’Lira was older than he’d let on, but he didn’t see the need to tell the ambassador that. One never volunteered personal information to anybody affiliated with an intelligence organization. Still, the mere mention of her name brought back memories.

By 2370, three years into his chancellorship, Gowron had already heard of K’Lira, then a colonel in the Klingon Defense Force. She was the founder of her own small House, one named Trestian, and a fine warrior by reputation. However, it then became known that she’d hidden her true nature for decades: K’Lira was an augment. By ancient law, augments were considered anathema by regular Klingons. They had no rights in Klingon society, which is why K’Lira had used prosthetics to disguise her appearance for fear of rejection. Her nemesis, the same who’d tricked her into becoming an augment as a teenager, threatened to reveal her secret to the High Council. K’Lira had pleaded with Gowron for leniency as she was already a great warrior by then and she’d been deceived as a girl by the enemy’s disinformation. After much debate, the Council, under Gowron's direction, decided to clarify the law against augments rather than punish her for being one. Gowron forgave her and granted her amnesty permitted she remained loyal to the Empire’s leadership, which she already was.

Gowron found much in K’Lira that pleased him, and he decided to keep her services as a warrior close by. Thus began her career in the Yan-Isleth. He assigned her to his personal guard and saw to it that she received instruction from the best tutors in the Empire. She excelled in most areas and eventually trained others in philosophy and personal combat arts. She became a trusted member of his inner cadre of advisors, and he took her with him throughout the galaxy as he often visited other worlds in and out of the Empire to deal with matters of state.

The Klingon-Cardassian War began in 2372. Gowron gave her command of a raptor. She and her crew comported themselves well in several engagements during that short-lived campaign.

In 2373, the Dominion became a rising power in the Alpha Quadrant. The Cardassian Union was then too weak, and the Federation’s presence on Deep Space Nine was minimal. Gowron correctly anticipated that there’d soon be another outbreak of hostilities involving Bajor and its nearby wormhole, so he sent K’Lira to Deep Space Nine to conduct a series of war simulations with the Federation’s help. That’s when she’d met a newly minted human intelligence officer named Davir Benmata. In working on the simulations together, their relationship soon became social, then romantic. Gowron found himself on the outskirts of K’Lira’s attention, which he privately resented as he’d distantly entertained a notion to eventually court her. He hoped her friendship with Davir would come to naught, but when she married Davir a month later, he knew in his heart he’d failed himself by letting her get away. However, there was no time to mourn his feelings because the Dominion War broke out immediately after their wedding, and everything in the Alpha Quadrant changed forever.

The war was bloody, long winded, and not at all glorious early on. Deep Space Nine was occupied in the opening months and remained in enemy hands for most of the war. The Dominion regularly ran roughshod over the Federation and Klingon forces in the Alpha Quadrant. It made inroads with unaffiliated factions like the Romulans and the Ferengi, which made it harder for the Empire and its allies to move assets through certain territories to support the war effort.

In 2374, due to an attrition of qualified field commanders, Gowron promoted K’Lira to brigadier general and gave her command of her first capital ship, the Negh’Var-class warship I.K.S. Ak’voh. K’Lira fought magnificently in space and on the ground, taking her ship and crew into many engagements from the attack on the Dominion shipyards at Forcas III to the eventual recapture of Deep Space Nine. The tide of war finally started to turn after the Romulans began supporting the alliance, and by the time it ended in 2375, no surviving Klingon commanders had more victories than she did except General Martok. Her renown had been noteworthy before the war, but she was legendary afterwards. Drinking songs of her achievements abounded, and Trestian was the House many new warriors asked to join.

Gowron was grateful and proud to call K’Lira a friend as she was one of his best warriors and most faithful supporters, but the war changed them both, as it did everybody it touched. Over his career, he’d been challenged politically by some of his peers, those who regarded him as an outsider for leadership of the Empire. They’d questioned the necessity of the Klingon-Cardassian War and openly blamed him for starting it. They’d frequently complained about his strategies during the Dominion War, viewing them as not aggressive enough. He’d tolerated most of their doubts and dissent equably, surrounding himself with capable leaders like K’Lira and Martok. While his decisions weren’t always seen as wise or particularly successful, they were universally obeyed, and Gowron was considered a fair-minded chancellor but not a very popular one.

As the notoriety of Martok, K’Lira, and other warriors increased during the Klingon-Cardassian and Dominion Wars, Gowron became distrustful of their intentions and influence, especially Martok's, whose reputation exceeded even K’Lira’s. He began to view them both as political rivals, potential candidates for the chancellorship, and he feared their popularity as such would eclipse his. Chancellorships often changed by right of combat, not election, and Gowron, while a good fighter, knew he had no fair chance in personal combat against the likes of Martok, never mind K’Lira; both generals were beyond his skill at arms. He grew cold and calculating and began sending Martok into the thickest fights, secretly hoping his greatest rival wouldn’t return, but that backfired. Martok found ways to survive, if not win, though he suffered more personnel losses than most. This increased his popularity. Gowron was pleased with Martok's close calls, but he feared Martok's rivalry all the more. In contrast, Gowron refused to treat K’Lira in the same offhand manner despite her comparable prowess. He kept her close to him instead, imagining that her safety was worth more than Martok's, a distant way of expressing his forlorn affection.

As months then years passed and her House became famous, Gowron noticed K’Lira grew proud, then arrogant. She, like all Klingons, suffered from the ambitious flaw of honor at almost any cost, but she was careless with her own life. As a Yan-Isleth, the chancellor's safety was her direct responsibility, and she’d performed that duty many times in combat by Gowron's side. She’d singlehandedly defended his life in desperate circumstances, and twice she’d been killed by Jem’Hadar troops, but each time she’d resuscitated and healed herself with scars as proof. Her fellow Yan-Isleth nicknamed her jubwI’ because she was hard to kill permanently.

Gowron felt ambiguous about K’Lira. On the one hand, she’d been his friend for over a decade. She was a great commander, a wise confidant, and an honorable soul. She was Klingon at heart despite being an augment, and her loyalty was unquestioned. It was hard for him to not favor her in the sight of others.

On the other, she’d fallen in love with and married Commander Davir Benmata, and therein lay the rub: Gowron had wanted her for himself. He’d been incensed by her decision and often asked himself how a Klingon warrior, especially one as prominent and upcoming as K’Lira, could marry outside her station and her species?! Granted, it had (rarely) been done before, but never by one so… well, such as she. K’Lira was no ordinary warrior. She was the founder of a strong House and one of his closest friends. He felt the loss of her more than a little. Under different circumstances, Gowron had hoped she might marry him instead, so he was jealous of Davir even though he didn’t know him at all. Although she’d invited him, Gowron couldn’t bring himself to attend her wedding, citing the excuse to prepare Deep Space Nine against the Dominion.

Five years ago, shortly after the Dominion War had been won, K’Lira had decided to finally retire from the Klingon Defense Force and the Yan-Isleth to start a family on Deep Space Nine with her human husband. She still visited her parents on Qu’Vat II with her two half-breed children. Although Gowron had given her standing permission to come to the Great Hall on Qo’noS, she’d neglected to do so since moving to Deep Space Nine. He’d long since ceased pining for her company, and he thought she could sense that, too, as she’d never been more than cordial to him after her retirement.

Done reminiscing, Gowron turned back to the ambassador. “K’Lira is coming here with the sword?”

Morlo nodded as his smile faltered. “That’s indirectly what I need to talk to you about, Chancellor.”

“How do you mean?” Gowron asked expectantly. He narrowed his eyes as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his seat.

“Are you alone?” Morlo asked cautiously. “Is your side encrypted?”

Gowron nodded once in confirmation.

Morlo leaned forward, lacing his fingers in front of his bushy chin.

“Chancellor,” he began quietly, “everyone understands the value of Kahless’ sword to the Klingon people. There isn’t a warrior alive who hasn’t heard how Kahless forged it himself, then used it to defeat Molor and establish the Empire.”

“We teach such stories to our children, yes,” Gowron agreed.

“I imagine it’s also told how the Hur’q stole it from the archive on Boreth centuries ago, and that Kor and Worf found it in the Gamma Quadrant a few years back,” Morlo continued.

Gowron shrugged noncommittally. “To me, that does not have as much significance in the telling, but it happened. Get to the point.”

Morlo nodded again. “Soon, Chancellor. Do you remember specifically what happened after they found it, why they didn’t bring it back?”

Gowron paused as he began to see where this was going. “I believe Worf said he and Kor left it in the Gamma Quadrant because they could not agree how best to use it,” he answered carefully. “There are still those in the Empire who regret that decision,” he added.

“You touch on it there, Chancellor,” Morlo said gravely. “They fought each other fiercely for custody of it like two starving targs over a soup bone. Afterwards, they realized the sword was too much of a temptation for one Klingon to have. Such a man would risk usurping the Council to rule the Empire himself as Kahless did, and chaos would be the likely result.”

Gowron mused briefly. It was clear the ambassador was afraid the same fate would befall whoever had the sword, and Gowron could easily see why. He thought he’d seen as much in Martok, K’Lira, and others: the prideful ambition to accrue personal honor at any price, even Gowron's life. It didn’t matter that his generals were loyal. His greatest fear was that one of them would rise to the chancellorship by killing him to take his place. It was often the way of transferring power in Klingon politics, and possessing Kahless' sword was a long stride in that direction.

Now, if I had it, he mused, then he stopped himself reproachfully. NO!

The idea of setting himself up as emperor using the bat'leth had slid casually into his mind like an easy solution to a simple problem. While he appreciated its perfect symmetry, its intent left him aghast at his own hubris. He shook his head to clear it and returned to the conversation.

“I see your point, Ambassador,” he growled, “yet you return one of our most precious treasures to us by the hands of one of our own. Are you not tempting fate by doing so?”

Morlo had anticipated that presumptive logic. “I’ll make a deal with you, Chancellor,” he replied.

“What do you propose?” Gowron asked cautiously.

On two conditions

“I’m intentionally giving the sword to the Klingon people generally,” Morlo clarified, “as an artifact of their cultural history, not as a trophy. I seek no reward, but I will ask two concessions of you.

“First, I stipulate that no one must ever claim the sword by right of anything including being Kahless' descendant or heir. It may be his sword, but the empire he founded with it benefits all its people. In a way, they all own it, so no one person can keep it.

Gowron saw the wisdom of that. “And the second?” he asked.

“Is like it,” Morlo finished. “Keep it available to the public somehow, but not in a private collection, especially your own.”

Gowron considered that prudent, too, and nodded, narrowing his gaze. “You are a shrewd man, Mr. Aegis. You have my respect.”

“I understand the Klingon heart,” Morlo said.

“Are we agreed, sir?”

“I will do as you ask in this matter,” Gowron said.

“Now, Ambassador, if there is nothing else, I have other matters to attend to, and I am sure you must as well. Thank you for your gift… and your advice.”

“Thank you for your time, Chancellor,” Morlo acknowledged, then he closed the channel.

Gowron stared at the dim screen on his desk, still amazed at what had just transpired.

The emperor's sword is coming home at last, he thought anxiously. I should tell the Council, but first I must call K’Lira myself.

FOOTNOTES

jubwI' 🔉

Klingonese: Immortal one.

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The I.K.S. Ak’voh flew smoothly through empty space, heading for the Qo’noS Sector. The Negh’Var-class warship was still several days out at its current speed, but there was no need to hurry. K’Lira had made the long trip from Deep Space Nine many times with her husband and their children to visit her Klingon family in Qu’Vat City. They normally used a shuttlecraft as it was inappropriate to borrow a capital ship for personal vacations. This time, however, she was headed to Qo’noS on state business with Kahless’ bat’leth under guard in the ship’s hold. When she’d been active in the military, she’d often visited the Great Hall in First City, but this was the first time she’d been back to Qo’noS since she’d retired from the Klingon Defense Force five years ago. She wasn’t averse to returning there, but she’d had no reason to until now.

Kahless’ bat’leth

The sword of Kahless, the most iconic artifact from the first emperor’s era, was temporarily in her custody. She’d acquired it for a finder’s fee on Deep Space Nine from Flinz Parper, the human merchant who’d recovered it in the Mariah System at Ambassador Aegis’s behest. She’d admired it briefly when she bought it from Flinz. It was a magnificent weapon in appearance and mystique. Almost two meters long, the huge crescent blade had five long, sharp tines and a two-handed grip on the spine. It was made of volcanic minerals and said to be laced with fossilized strands of Kahless’ hair. Covered tip to tip with arcane Klingon runes and scratched by use in its early years, the polished metal shone in the hold’s red light as though covered in blood. The first bat'leth ever made was over 15 centuries old and still regarded as the mightiest example of its kind. With it, Kahless defeated Molor and the Fek’lhri, skinned the terrible serpent of Xol, harvested his father’s fields, and carved a statue of his wife. It was an honor just to have it aboard.

K’Lira was glad Morlo had selected her to transport it back to Qo’noS. The trip had been uneventful so far, and she expected no difficulties for the remainder of it. The crew was aware of the ship’s cargo and destination. She knew well the temptation the sword presented for she’d almost claimed it herself on Deep Space Nine. Lt. Shunora, one of her tactical officers, had reminded K’Lira of her duty, restoring her sanity. K’Lira didn’t want to risk the same sort of weakness in the crew. She was sure she’d be blamed if anything happened to the sword, so she’d carefully chosen her most trusted security personnel to guard it.

It is shaping up to be a perfect run, she mused, relaxing in the captain’s chair.

Being a KDF general (albeit retired) had its advantages aboard the Ak’voh. While B’Etera was normally the ship’s captain, K’Lira was deferentially allowed to command it while she was on the bridge because she outranked everybody. B’Etera then served as the ship’s first officer until K’Lira relinquished command.

The communications console beeped quietly.

“Incoming call for you, Matron,” the comm officer said. “It is flagged private.”

K’Lira raised an elegant eyebrow in mild surprise. Ambassador Aegis had explained to her that he would be calling Chancellor Gowron about reintroducing the sword to Klingon society since he’d had a hand in obtaining it. She was just its courier, and she fully expected Gowron to want to discuss this development.

That is very like Gowron.

“I will take it in my office, thank you,” she answered.

“B’Etera, you have the ship,” she said to the captain.

“Yes, Matron,” B’Etera said and moved to the dais as K’Lira got up and left the bridge.

The door at the back of the bridge opened as she approached, and K’Lira stalked down the long hallway to her quarters, which doubled as her office. The Ak’voh was a Klingon warbird, not a Federation exploration cruiser; its interior was austere, efficient, functional, and dim red. She appreciated that. For quick access, the VIP’s quarters were just down the hall on her left. She entered her room and went to her desk. The console upon it had a blinking light indicating an unanswered call. She disliked sitting on her waist-length hair, so she quickly threw it to one side and sat down. She tapped the blinking button to receive the call, and the screen alit with the High Council’s insignia, confirming her expectation.

Gowron appeared next, robed, resplendent, and dominating, every bit a warrior.

“Matron,” he began tersely, “I understand you have something of great value for me.”

For him? K’Lira thought in warning.

She folded her muscular arms across her broad chest, and her purple eyes took on a stormy shade as she glowered. “I have something valuable to all the Klingon people, Chancellor,” she admonished in low tones.

Gowron's face faltered as he reviewed what he’d said. “Yes, General, that is what I meant,” he clarified.

K’Lira sighed, relaxing. “Chancellor, you know I am retired—use my name."

He smiled kindly. “I know, and you may use mine.”

“Thank you, Gowron,” K’Lira acceded, nodding.

“It has been a long time,” he said.

“Five years is not so long,” she replied.

“You never visit,” he observed.

“My life is with my husband and children, whom I sometimes take to visit my family on Qu’Vat,” she explained.

“I am aware,” Gowron said. “I meant you never visit me.”

K’Lira deftly parried his implied question. “Until now.”

The Klingon heart

Gowron's face tightened. “Is it safe? May I see it?” he asked eagerly.

K’Lira shrugged. “Yes, of course.”

She put a few commands into the console, piping the hold’s video feed into the call so Gowron could see the bat'leth, too.

“My science officer confirmed its authenticity using Ambassador Worf’s scans of it when he found it in the Gamma Quadrant. 100% match—it is real,” she said proudly.

She watched Gowron's expressive face carefully, noting his characteristic wide-eyed stare and salacious grin. His pupils gleamed with the sword's reflection, and she saw the deep desire in them: he craved it. She understood that as well as Morlo did. There wasn’t a Klingon alive who wouldn’t want the renown a weapon like that could bring just by possessing it, never mind using it.

Then she felt a qualm in her own heart, just as she had when she’d acquired the sword from Flinz. Gowron was the Klingon chancellor, a man elected to a position of high command and accustomed to power. What if he became emperor? What would the Empire become if he did? She’d been consumed by that same vice, and Shunora’s counsel had brought her back from the ruinous precipice of the answer. Gowron was her erstwhile friend. Whose counsel would he take if it came to that? Hers? Martok’s? Would he listen to anybody at all? She shuddered inwardly.

Leaning forward, K’Lira stopped the video feed from the hold.

Anger instantly flashed across Gowron's face at the interruption. “Why did…?” he began.

“You have spoken with Ambassador Aegis,” she interrupted him. “Your reaction is proof why we should be cautious how to introduce the sword of Kahless back into mainstream Klingon society, Chancellor.”

The anger disappeared, replaced by understanding and a touch of humility as he checked himself.

The lure for power is still in his heart, she thought, but he is strong enough again to resist it. We will see for how long.

“I would like your recommendation,” she said, referring to her earlier caution about presenting the weapon to the Klingon people. “How do we return the sword without tempting every would-be tyrant in the Empire to take it?”

K’Lira already knew what to expect, but she wanted to give Gowron a chance to respond.

“It belongs in a museum,” he replied.

Her heart gladdened by degrees—that’s what she’d hoped he would say.

“Under guard,” she advised.

“Of course,” he agreed. “I will commission a special contingent of the Yan-Isleth exclusively for that assignment. It will be their greatest honor to serve thus.”

“No doubt,” she said quietly.

The Yan-Isleth were a closely knit cadre of several hundred warriors hand-picked by the chancellor. She fondly remembered being one of its senior agents in the early 2370s, training and being trained, guarding council members and their attachés, attending celebratory functions in the Great Hall on firelit nights, and campaigning gloriously across the Alpha Quadrant. While it had boosted her reputation as the founder of her small but growing House, being in the unit carried no prestige by itself. Rather, the Yan-Isleth lived humbly, performing any assignment they were given by the High Council. Many emeriti eventually went on to become Dahar Masters, the highest social rank a Klingon could attain.

“What is your ETA?” Gowron asked.

K’Lira looked at the ship’s chronometer. “I will reach the Qo’noS System in 50 hours,” she answered.

“Can you be here by tomorrow?” he asked.

K’Lira smirked. “You do not want to give the Council much time to consider this?” she guessed.

Gowron raised his eyebrows in wry surprise. “You know me too well,” he said. “I do not.”

K’Lira nodded. “I shall increase speed.

“Was there anything else, Chancellor?”

“No,” Gowron replied. “Report to the Great Hall upon arrival.”

“As you wish, sir,” she said. “Ak’Voh out.”

She closed the channel and immediately opened another one to the bridge.

“Captain, this is Ak’Voh One. Adjust speed to arrive at Qo’noS in 26 hours,” she ordered.

“Acknowledged,” B’Etera said.

She closed that channel and waited. After a few seconds, she heard the slight hum of the warp engines change as the pilot put on incremental speed. Correspondingly, the ship’s flight time shrank to 25.99 hours.

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

Talmok finished listening to the conversation between Gowron and K’Lira. The sword would arrive on Qo'noS soon, a boon to the Klingon people and the House of Kahless, but that House had long since been diluted amongst the others in the Empire. Kahless had myriad descendants by now. Talmok doubted anyone could claim the famous weapon as a family heirloom anyway, and he didn’t care. His mind was on larger matters affected by the sword's return.

As Gowron's head chamberlain, Talmok was familiar with the High Council and its inner workings. He knew its members well and often served as a buffer between Gowron and the rest of the Klingon court. It was a busy job, handling the chancellor's personal needs, running his errands, coordinating his plans, and deflecting unnecessary distractions. He was well placed and highly trusted, and he had Gowron's ear on many matters.

Talmok

He was also an Undine.

The Undine were aliens from a parallel universe that was fluidic in nature, where they were the dominant species. Powerfully telepathic, they had the ability to mimic the physical appearance of any lifeform. They made excellent spies because they could hide in plain sight while reading and projecting thoughts and emotions and observing happenings without anyone realizing what they really were.

They were malevolently bent on dominance and had already conquered their universe. After discovering how to make dimensional portals from their fluidic realm, they had secretly entered the prime universe shortly before the Klingon-Cardassian War. While infiltration and surveillance were their best tactics, given their abilities, they’d been briefly discovered by the Borg while exploring the Delta Quadrant. That conflict hadn’t ended as well as they’d hoped. They’d regrouped, then explored the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, insinuating themselves into the native factions, gathering intelligence, and working to destabilize power structures on a galactic scale.

The Undine were preparing a full-scale invasion of the galaxy. To facilitate that, they wanted to weaken the major powers in the area: the Dominion and the Federation-Klingon-Romulan Alliance. The Dominion had recently been cut off from military reinforcements and Ketracel White supplies because the best passage from their native Gamma Quadrant to the Alpha Quadrant was the now-defunct Bajoran wormhole. When it had collapsed, it took the Prophets, their Emissary, and the Celestial Temple with it. That released the Pah-wraiths from their underground prison on Bajor, which taxed the relationship between the Bajorans and their allies. If the alliance fell, its factions would be uninclined to aid each other, making it easier to divide and conquer them in turn.

Talmok had been Gowron's chamberlain for most of a decade. In the interim, he’d accrued much value to his fellow Undine because he had access to highly placed officials in the Klingon imperial court and was still undiscovered. He often telepathically read the minds of the courtiers with whom he interacted, learning their suppressed fears and unspoken intentions, sometimes putting his own thoughts into their minds when he believed it advantageous to do so, and preying on their weaknesses, all without revealing his insight or influence.

They are afraid whoever gets the sword will try to rule the Empire as Kahless did, he thought carefully. Many on the High Council do not like Gowron. Someone will almost certainly use this opportunity to contest his leadership, perhaps challenge him for control of the Empire. No matter who wins, that by itself would divide the Council, the KDF, and the people likewise. The alliance would soon be bereft of its strongest soldiery.

He began planning to subvert the High Council's reaction to the sword's return.

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

The main council chamber was brightly lit with yellow torches and white lamps. The High Council was in full session as representatives of all the Great Houses were present at Gowron’s behest. Gowron approached his throne at the front of the room, turned, and sat down. The other 23 representatives then sat deferentially in chairs arranged below his dais in a wide circle.

“Thank you for coming,” Gowron began. “I apologize for the short notice, but I have quite recently received news of great import that must be shared with all of you.” He paused dramatically. “Kahless' sword is returned to us today.”

He’d half expected the room to erupt clamorously. Instead, a pin drop could’ve been heard in the silence that followed his announcement. It was as though the chamber itself had stopped breathing. Gowron felt perplexed at that.

Toral of House Duras, who’d unsuccessfully tried to retrieve the sword for himself in 2372, spoke first. “Where is it, and who found it?” he asked.

Gowron briefly explained what Ambassador Aegis had told him. “K’Lira of House Trestian is bringing it here as we speak,” he finished.

There was a murmur of approval at that. K’Lira, it seemed, was still well regarded by the council members who remembered her.

Toral was not satisfied. “Starfleet told you this?” he asked incredulously. “Has this been verified?”

“K’Lira’s science team checked the bat'leth's authenticity when she received it,” Gowron said testily. “She will be here any minute, and you may verify it yourself when it arrives.”

He addressed the whole council impatiently. “Regardless of how it happened, the emperor's sword is back. I called this meeting to tell you what I have decided about that.”

General Martok cleared his throat. “Is it strictly your place to decide that for us, Chancellor?” he asked pointedly. “That weapon is an heirloom of the family of Kahless the Unforgettable, whose bloodline is in the veins of everyone here. We should all have a say in this.”

There was another round of murmured approval at that.

Gowron's eyes widened angrily. I knew it—Martok's challenging my authority! Does he think he knows best how to handle this? Does he think I do not? I am chancellor.

He took a breath to calm himself. “I have already decided to return the sword of Kahless to the monastery at Boreth where it once was. The monks there can keep it safe and available to the public.” He raised a hand to preclude any verbal backlash. “I know, the Hur’q stole it from Boreth once. What is to stop them or someone else from doing so again? We will not allow this. I have assigned a contingent of the Yan-Isleth to guard it.”

Just then, the comm in his throne beeped, and Gowron pushed a button to answer it. “Yes?” he asked.

“Chancellor, the Ak’voh has entered orbit, and K’Lira indicates she is ready to beam down,” someone said.

Gowron grinned. At last! he thought.

“Tell her to beam directly to this chamber,” he said, closing the channel. Then he stood and waited.

Martok, Toral, and the rest of the Council stood as well.

The red shimmer of a Klingon transporter effect appeared in the center of the room, and two figures materialized from it: Matron K’Lira and Captain B’Etera.

K’Lira stood proudly before the High Council, her imposing 1.9-meter frame taller than most of them. She was dressed in her finest dueling garb, tailored to show off her impressive physique. The insignia of her House featured prominently on the brooch she wore at her graceful neck. Bluish-black hair tinged with gray roots sprang thickly from her forehead and tumbled in long rivulets to her waist. Her purple eyes glanced quickly around the room, contacting each council member, finally resting on Gowron. She smiled winningly and stepped forward, cat-like.

Behind her, B’Etera carried a long suitcase in her hand—the bat'leth was inside.

Gowron wistfully watched K’Lira approach the dais and came down to meet her, stopping on the first step to keep his head at the same height as hers.

“Welcome home, Matron K’Lira,” he said loudly.

“Thank you, Chancellor,” she responded gratefully. “It has been a long time.”

“Too long,” he agreed.

He glanced at the suitcase B’Etera had. “It is there?”

“Indeed,” K’Lira affirmed.

She turned to B’Etera. “Do the honors, Captain,” she invited.

“The honor is mine,” B’Etera said.

Stepping forward, she opened the case and brought forth the first bat'leth ever made.

The council members inhaled sharply at its magnificence.

Almost two meters long, the crescent-shaped broadsword shone brilliantly in the lurid firelight. The edges of its five razor-sharp tines gleamed, and the runes carved into its darkly polished blade almost glowed with significance. It looked venerable, powerful, dangerous, and sleek because it was. It simply had no equal in its type anywhere.

The sword's advent

B’Etera knelt before the chancellor and silently held it up to him.

K’Lira knelt, too, bowing her head, and she heard rustling as others did likewise around the room. The poignant moment hung long in the air.

Gowron was touched and torn. The part of him that knew his duty warred against the part of him that coveted the weapon’s prowess. He knew he’d made enemies over the years. One couldn’t be chancellor long without incurring the disfavor of those who felt they’d be a better one. His fear of being deposed in combat drove that forward. The peerless bat'leth tempted him strongly. With such as that in his hand, he could defeat any challenger, even Martok, and the rest of the Council would fall in line… or else.

K’Lira looked up at Gowron, noticing that his face was tense with desire, and an insane gleam was back in his widened eyes.

Gowron caught her concerned gaze and paused. His face slackened as he remembered their earlier conversation. Her opinion of him mattered because he valued her friendship and loyalty. He’d earned both when he’d forgiven her for hiding her augment nature. She’d proven her fervor as a Klingon was unmatched before and since that time, and her loyalty was now above reproach. She was Dahar Master material, in his opinion. If he failed her now, if he claimed the sword for himself then and there, he dreaded to think how she would react. Would she still regard him as a friend? Could he continue to trust her?

She would abandon you, he realized. There was no doubt in Gowron's mind, and that certainty made him shiver.

His stubbornness rose to the fore. He assumed a stony demeanor and took up the famous blade, holding it aloft for all to see. “The bat'leth of Kahless is home at last,” he intoned. “May we never lose it again.”

He turned aside. “Do you still doubt it, Son of Duras?” he asked Toral. “Now is your chance to examine it.”

“I still have Worf’s scans in my tricorder,” B’Etera added quietly, “if you wish to borrow them.”

Toral looked uncomfortable. “I… no, thank you,” he whispered.

Smug, Gowron turned to the chamberlain. “Secure this for transport,” he said, giving it to him.

Talmok took it and moved back.

Gowron glared around the room. “That is all,” he growled with finality, ending the meeting. Then he stalked to one of the side doors and disappeared towards his quarters.

The hall immediately became abuzz with conversation about the sword's advent, Gowron's unilateral decision, and his frame of mind.

Toral, predictably, was petulant about being shamed into accepting the sword's veracity on Gowron's word. He had no faith whatsoever in Starfleet's purportedly good intentions, and Morlo’s stipulations about the sword felt like Federation interference in Klingon cultural affairs to him.

While some of the other leaders thought as Toral did, more expressed troubled opinions about Gowron's decision to send the sword back to Boreth without consulting the High Council. As Martok had seemed concerned about that in the meeting, they pressed him for support, but he wisely kept his peace and said nothing.

Instead, he gestured to K’Lira that he wished to speak to her. They entered an empty room to one side of the hall, and Martok closed the door. They were alone.

“There are two matters I would discuss with you, Matron K’Lira,” he began gravely.

She waited, a dim foreboding in her heart. Martok didn’t often request privacy or mince words. If he needed to talk in secret, she was sure the unusual precaution was warranted.

“I would first ask your opinion of Gowron's recent behavior,” Martok said.

“You mean regarding the sword?” she asked.

“Partially,” Martok agreed. “While he has never been confident of his supporters, Gowron seems worried lately that he is losing control of the Council. His ire seems especially against me and even you, though he hides it well. In your opinion, is his fear justified?”

K’Lira thought carefully. She and Martok were similar in many ways. Both had known Gowron for years, but Martok had known him longer. Martok was a powerful general in the Klingon Defense Force and had been an influential member of the High Council since 2377. She’d served with him in the Klingon Defense Force during the Klingon-Cardassian and the Dominion Wars and had been in Gowron's inner circle of advisors until she’d retired in 2375. Martok was a contemporary warrior with an even more blooded reputation than hers. Like her, he led his own House, but his was large enough to warrant a seat on the Council whereas hers was quite small by comparison. They were highly regarded by the Council, but he was of greater renown, given his longer service record and larger holdings. She’d heard that there were sentiments on the Council that Martok should be chancellor instead, but she’d never been one to credit rumors. Gowron, though, was.

“With the sword in play, it may be,” she answered slowly.

“As for his outbursts,” she continued, “He reacts easily to any provocation of his authority or judgment, as any leader would.”

“You seem to tolerate it well,” Martok observed bluntly.

“I have been away from court for several years, so I have not needed to practice that,” she said. “When I was in the Yan-Isleth, and Gowron would make a request I did not like, I would usually get one of the others to handle it for me, then report that I had done it. Not honest, I admit.” She shrugged.

“But prudent,” Martok said approvingly.

“During the Dominion War,” he continued, “I was increasingly tasked with unreasonable odds against the enemy. I swear on my life, I do not know how I survived some of those battles. When I realized that Gowron kept doing that because he feared me as a political opponent, I was hurt that our past camaraderie had come to mean so little to him. I feel the same way towards him now. He is unsure of his generals’ loyalty. You have not seen this?”

“As I said,” K’Lira answered, “I have had no reason to spend time around Gowron. I retired and moved to Deep Space Nine five years ago, and I have not been back to the Great Hall… until today.”

“And now that you have?” Martok asked.

“He has definitely changed,” she replied. “He is less confident of his support, as you say, and thus more demanding of others. His fear erodes his confidence, and his impatience with procedure comes easily. He told me he did not want to debate with the Council about the sword. That is not the man I used to know.

“Now, with the sword of Kahless among us, his fear grows as he senses his support waning. He is going to become more paranoid and erratic.”

“Yes,” Martok agreed. “How do we help him?”

“He needs to regain confidence in his supporters,” K’Lira advised, “you, in particular.”

Martok sucked in his cheeks and sighed. “That may prove difficult. Gowron, in effect, tried to have me killed by the enemy many times during the Dominion War. I will not forget it or put anything like that past him again. The truth is I no longer trust him as a field commander. Do you?”

“I may no longer be in the Klingon Defense Force or the Yan-Isleth,” she said, “but my continued loyalty to the Empire assures my citizenship, so I have no choice. Gowron saw to that when he forgave me a decade ago.” She paused, remembering.

K’Lira had been born with a deadly genetic defect that slowly weakened her body. Her childhood was riddled with sickness and injury. Finally, she’d turned to a mysterious doctor who’d promised to cure her. Desperate beyond caution, she’d unthinkingly agreed to his offer without telling her parents. The procedure worked, but it permanently altered her genome, turning her into an augment, a version of Klingon that, by ancient law, was shunned by Klingon society and had no rights. She’d spent the following two decades trying to make up for that horrible mistake. Fearing rejection, she’d hidden her augment features behind prosthetic disguises and often lied by omission about her background so she could move freely about the Empire. In 2370, she’d been forced to reveal the truth to the High Council to save herself and her House from the one who’d turned her into an augment in the first place. Gowron showed her leniency by forgiving her for lying about being an augment on the condition that she remain unwaveringly loyal to the Empire. Afterwards, she’d fought a ferocious duel in the Great Hall against the evil doctor and killed him.

Martok nodded. “I was there—you were… magnificent.”

She smiled. “I still am,” she said softly.

He smirked. “And as brash as ever, I see.”

She chuckled demurely, then returned to the matter at hand. “Martok, you must find it in yourself to forgive Gowron,” she said. “If you do not, he will use that as an excuse to never trust you again. Your mutual mistrust will irreparably divide you both and the Council with you.”

Martok heard the prophetic truth in her words, but resentment still festered in his heart.

Why should I be the first to offer the olive branch? he thought.

“Gowron will always see me as a threat,” he said doubtfully. “Why would he believe me if I try?”

K’Lira tilted her head to one side. “You are his oldest ally. Though he fears you as a rival now, he still respects you as our greatest general, and you were best friends once. Rediscover that with him.”

Martok nodded, musing. “I am glad to receive your wisdom, Matron.”

“And I am glad you have ears willing to do so, General,” she said, returning the compliment.

“What was the other reason?” she asked.

“Hmm?” Martok asked, momentarily confused by the subject change.

“You said you had two things to discuss with me,” she clarified.

“Yes, that,” he said, remembering.

He pulled a PADD from his belt and paged through several things, looking for a specific report. “You will recall that the Federation attacked a True Way research facility in the Mariah System last week,” he began.

“Yes,” K’Lira said. “My husband was injured in that raid.”

Commodore Davir Benmata had been reconnoitering the Mariah System before the raid. His crew aboard the U.S.S. Phantom, a prototype intelligence escort, had discovered that the True Way was using a research facility at Mariah IV to implement an orbital delivery system for an illegal mega-weapon that destroyed genetic material. The Jem’Hadar discovered their presence, and Davir lost the Phantom just as the Federation fleet arrived in the system. He and some other Phantom officers had been captured by the True Way, and he’d been tortured for information before Federation ground forces rescued them. He’d been brought back to Deep Space Nine afterwards for treatment of his injuries.

“Is he well?” Martok inquired.

“He is recovering,” she said. “Thank you for asking. Does this concern him?”

“No,” Martok answered, “I was just being polite.”

“After the Federation fleet returned to Deep Space Nine, a rogue Klingon ship apparently working with the True Way sabotaged the Bajoran wormhole, collapsing it unrecoverably,” he said. “It escaped the Bajor System, fleeing towards the Betreka Nebula. A Federation vessel gave chase but was unable to capture it, and the ship flew into deep space. We are still trying to find it.”

K’Lira waited, saying nothing.

Martok found what he was searching for and handed the PADD to her. “Have a look at that.”

She took the PADD.

The tablet had a long-range sensor record from the U.S.S. Kaiser, the Federation ship that had chased the rogue ship into the Betreka Nebula. The Klingon ship itself was cloaked, so the Kaiser hadn’t been able to detect it directly, but the rogue left a temporary tachyon trail in its wake, so the Kaiser had followed that. As the ships passed the Trivas System, the rogue had sent a high bandwidth data burst towards Trivas System III’s moon. The Kaiser's sensors additionally had recorded some strangely phase-shifted transmissions from there. The Federation had shared its data with the KDF's intelligence division, and the information had since been decoded: the signal ciphers were True Way in nature.

K’Lira didn’t immediately put things together, and she gave Martok a quizzical look.

“We have yet to find that rogue,” he said, “but it inadvertently gave away the position of a True Way base in the Trivas System—I am sure of it.”

“Trivas is very near Bajor,” K’Lira said worriedly. “If the True Way strikes from there and uses that genocidal weapon of theirs, losing Bajor would be catastrophic to the quadrant.”

“I am fairly certain it will not come to that,” Martok said, “but you are not wrong about the result.

“I am planning an assault on the True Way forces in the Trivas System, and I intend to wipe them off the face of the Alpha Quadrant.”

K’Lira was uncertain of his assessment. “That is a big gamble, General. What if you fail?” she asked.

“I will not,” he replied confidently.

“We have already received intelligence from Deep Space Nine confirming the enemy’s assets. Having been alerted to the signals coming from Trivas, Starfleet intelligence continues to pick up transmissions about True Way ship deployments, fuel reserves, and other items, indicating it is a major staging area with at least one ground-based facility on the moon itself, maybe more.

“The alliance needs to eliminate the threat of that super-weapon once and for all. It was not at the Mariah System as Vice Admiral Jantson had hoped when her fleet attacked it. Now that we know where they have been staging themselves, though, we can cripple them by destroying the weapon if it is there. We simply cannot allow a rogue faction like the True Way to retain superpower status for the foreseeable future. Either way, a preemptive strike is called for.”

K’Lira was still ambivalent about the idea. “I do not disagree with you, General, but this is a major undertaking. You will need carriers to bring in enough assault troops to overwhelm the ground forces on the moon, and a large fleet to do the same to the enemy ships in orbit. Whoever you have in charge on the ground is certainly going to have their hands full. If Trivas is as important to the True Way as you suggest, they will surely be expecting an assault from the alliance.

“Do you have a battle plan?” she asked, handing the PADD back to him.

“I most certainly do,” Martok said.

“We may not have any serviceable carriers in that area, so I have arranged to ‘lend’ several Klingon cloaking devices to Admiral Jantson so she can use them on a few old cargo ships she has acquired for this operation. Our cloaks are better than the Federation’s. The additional advantage of ship stealth will allow us to sneak into the Trivas System undetected. I am going to lead a combined fleet of Klingon raptors and Federation escorts against the True Way flotilla in orbit of Trivas III. Our smaller ships will easily be able to outmaneuver their larger ones. We will have several battlecruisers in support to do the heavy lifting.”

K’Lira nodded. It was a good plan.

“What of the ground assault?” she asked. “The True Way base will certainly be on high alert once your ships decloak and attack.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “The assault teams will need a capable and robust commander who knows how to defeat Jem’Hadar and Cardassian soldiers and defensive emplacements. Otherwise, the battle will be lost before it begins.”

Martok recruits K'Lira

She nodded in agreement. “Whom do you have in mind for that, General?”

Martok smiled widely and let the boot drop. “You.”

“Pfft,” K’Lira snorted dismissively, certain that he was joking or that she’d misheard him, but then she saw that he was serious.

“NO, General!” she insisted stubbornly. “I have already told you—I am retired!”

Martok stepped close to her. “You once told me that true warriors are always ready to fight. I have not forgotten your prowess. You were one of our best commanders during the Dominion War. I may have won more battles, but that is because I was in more battles than you. I regret Gowron held you back for personal reasons, but I think you were always the more capable warrior. You are an artist in personal combat. Even Jem’Hadar Firsts fear facing you.”

He snapped his fingers pensively. “What was it the Brotherhood used to call you?” he asked.

“jubwI',” she answered in a small, shocked voice.

“Yes,” he said, remembering, “the immortal one. So called, I believe, not because you are difficult to kill (though that is true), but because you tend to not stay dead.” He raised an eyebrow. “A fearsome trait, indeed.”

K’Lira flashed back six years to the Dominion War wherein she’d been a KDF general while serving as a top agent in the Yan-Isleth, the Brotherhood of the Sword. The war hadn’t gone well in its early months. In 2374, to break the alliance quickly, Dominion assassins had twice tried to kill Gowron while he was touring the front lines in the Alpha Quadrant. The Yan-Isleth in accompaniment had done their duty defending his life with their own in Klingon fashion, and K’Lira had been killed by Jem’Hadar soldiers while helping clear his path to safety. Her body was recovered from the field of battle afterwards. Although the Klingons were sure she was dead, her corpse was soon seen to have some residual brain activity. Also, her healthy cells were cannibalizing dead flesh to create new flesh, closing her wounds. A few hours later, she’d begun breathing, awakening with no memory of having been dead. She was whole again in a few days. The doctors had no medical explanation for her regenerative powers, but after the second such episode, her fellow Yan-Isleth had nicknamed her the immortal one, and the moniker had stuck.

Martok arched up on the balls of his feet and made his best pitch. “The Jem’Hadar may fight fiercely because they believe victory is life, and the Cardassians are wily, too, but none among the True Way can match your heart. As you say, this is a major undertaking, so I want the cunning and courageous jubwI’ leading the ground mission.” He put his hand on her beefy shoulder. “What would induce your return to serve the Empire one more time?”

For one of the very few moments in her life, K’Lira felt tiny. Martok, ever the shrewd politician, was playing to her pride as a Klingon and a warrior, and it was a good ploy. Klingon warriors were naturally proud of their battle prowess, and she was a typical example with lots of experience and a penchant for leadership. He and others tended to think of her as one of the Empire's best warriors, loved by her friends, respected by her enemies, renowned among Klingons. That persona had worked well as the founder of House Trestian when a legendary warrior was all she’d wanted to be. Now in her middle years, she’d become used to the idea that her military career was long passed, and she just wanted it to fade into the background of her family life. Marriage and motherhood had come late to her, but she’d taken to both and cherished them. Her well-toned body remained strong, and her eidetic mind was as sharp as ever, but she was deeply in love with the husband and two small children who were awaiting her return to Deep Space Nine, not the Empire. Taking up the bat'leth now would threaten their futures, too, not just hers. That gave her pause.

We are already in danger, she countered thoughtfully. The kids just do not know it yet.

If she didn’t try to stop the True Way when she could have made a difference, and the True Way attacked Bajor with their biological weapons, billions would die; not just the people—every living thing would perish. There was no guarantee her young family on Deep Space Nine would escape.

I would never forgive myself, she realized.

She looked at Martok.

“I… honestly do not know how to answer that, General,” she replied. “I really should speak to my husband.”

Martok released her. “Understandable. Well, it will be several weeks before we are ready to strike Trivas, so I can give you a few days to decide. Go home and talk to him, but do not use subspace to speak about our plans. Do that only in person.”

“Of course, General,” she said. “Thank you for this opportunity. I will let you know soon what I decide.

“Was there anything else?”

He shook his head. “No, Matron. Thank you for your time.”

She bowed her head in deference. “By your leave, sir.”

Martok left the room.

K’Lira stood there, pondering recent events as they lay in her mind like a giant tridimensional chessboard.

It had been five years since she’d been to the Great Hall. In retrospect, some of the courtiers had been distant towards her. She knew their names, but they acted as if they didn’t know her. The room itself was subtly different, too, but she couldn’t quite see how. Gowron seemed warm enough, but he was afraid of losing the Council's support due to the contrasted popularity of his generals, Martok's in particular and probably hers, too. The chancellor had no real reason to be mistrustful—his generals were loyal. Where was his angst coming from?

Martok was bent on ridding the galaxy of the True Way and their anti-genetic super-weapon. It was a campaign several years in the making, ever since the Dominion War ended and those who’d felt the Cardassian Union would never return to its former glory had broken away to form their own faction. The True Way, as it called itself, was a motley bunch of malcontents, in her opinion, and she shared Martok's desire to take their super-weapon out of the math for everybody’s sake. The galaxy simply didn’t need another tyrant with a crazed agenda sitting next to Bajor. While she still couldn’t quite credit Martok's desire for her help in this action, she felt ready to fight for the right cause, and his was a good one.

But what would Dav think? she wondered, then shrugged inwardly, having no answers at this point.

She brought her wrist communicator up. “Ak’Voh, HIjol,” she said quietly.

The red glow of a transporter beam enveloped her, and she disappeared.

FOOTNOTES

jubwI'

Klingonese: "Immortal one."

Ak'voh, HIjol 🔉

Klingonese: "Ak'voh" (the name of K'Lira's ship), "beam me up."

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

K’Lira awoke in the cramped quarters of a Federation cargo hauler heading to Trivas III. The tiny room was one of hundreds, and most had multiple bunks. The makeshift troop transport was overcrowded, but she was one of the few passengers privileged to have a berth to herself. The constant hum of the ship’s machinery was pervasive. She could feel it in her bones although the ship wasn’t at high warp. The air was warm, still, and a bit rank, as if the environmental equipment wasn’t quite up to the task of providing clean air for over 400 soldiers.

Well, it is old and probably not worth refitting for just one op, she thought.

The ship was one of several cloaked transports heading to the Trivas System with the best of General Martok’s fleet in accompaniment. Starfleet had recently found a True Way staging area on one of Trivas III’s moons and passed that information to Klingon Intelligence. Martok had organized a preemptive strike with the help of engineers from Deep Space Nine. The combined fleet’s mission was to destroy the True Way assets in the Trivas System, including the enemy’s super-weapon, an isotopic bomb capable of destroying planetary ecosystems at a genetic level from orbit. The threat of using such a device couldn’t be ignored, especially as close to Bajor as Trivas was. The enemy had a large fleet in orbit of a reinforced facility on the moon’s surface. This was undoubtedly where the True Way super-weapon was kept as the moon was heavily defended.

A month ago, Martok had approached K’Lira and expressed his need for an experienced battalion commander to lead the ground attack part of this mission. He’d selected her even though she was retired from military service, citing his admiration of her expertise and valor during the Dominion War. As a Klingon, she’d been tempted by the chance to earn additional glory for herself and her House, but she was also part of a very young family. She didn’t want to risk leaving them motherless, so she deferred Martok’s invitation until she could speak to her husband, Starfleet Commodore Davir Benmata, on Deep Space Nine.

Davir and K’Lira had agreed that the chance to protect the Alpha Quadrant by defeating the True Way permanently was too great to ignore. The risk to their family was already the same risk every family on Bajor and elsewhere faced. The options were straightforward. If they didn’t do anything and the True Way used the super-weapon on Bajor, the resulting catastrophe would be unthinkable, and the quadrant would never recover. If they did nothing and the True Way didn’t use the weapon, things would continue as they were, and the quadrant would still be under threat. If they tried and failed to end the True Way now, there’d be nothing to stop the enemy from threatening everybody in the quadrant, including her family, so that was the same result and likely worse. The only solution that offered improvement was to win. They felt obligated to try because they could do something about that, and K’Lira was the best choice for the job. She’d agreed to come out of retirement and lead the ground assault as part of Martok’s raid.

Martok’s goals were simple: first, destroy the super-weapon, and second, leave no survivors. His fleet had three Negh’Var cruisers at its core, each with a general in command, Martok among them. They would concentrate on the True Way’s heaviest ships as their escorts dealt with the Jem’Hadar attack ships and fighters. While the fleets engaged each other, K’Lira’s cloaked transport would approach the moon and beam down assault teams to enter the base and sabotage the shield protecting it from orbital attack. With the shield down and the True Way ships already distracted, the other transports would then beam down their troops to rejoin K’Lira’s and eliminate all ground opposition. Their primary target was the super-weapon believed to be stored in the base. Davir had already received orders to meet Martok outside the Trivas System with his own fleet of Federation escorts, recently reinforced with the addition of a Galaxy X-class dreadnought, the U.S.S. Venture, as his flagship. He would act in support of the Klingons.

Now that she was part of Martok's operation, K’Lira had been reinstated with her former rank of brigadier general, and she had a staff meeting right after breakfast. She glanced at the chronometer above the narrow door: it was zero five thirty, ship’s time. It always took a while to braid her extremely long hair after a shower, so it was best to start the day early.

Ah, the joys of life in the military, she thought, sighing ruefully as she arose to begin her routine.

She used the head, then undid all her braids, shaking out their graying indigo locks to make them easier to clean, and got into the sonic shower. The one in her quarters on the Ak’voh was adequate, but space on this ship was more limited, so everything about it was smaller. She had to hunch her muscular, 190-ish centimeter frame because the tiny stall wasn’t designed for tall people. In her youth, it had been easy to maintain a bodybuilder-like physique, thanks to her diligence at exercise and augmented genes. That was harder now that she was over 50 and had two children. She still liked to exercise often, but she doubted there’d be time for that today. The shower’s barely audible ultrasonic pulses tickled her scarred, lightly tanned skin as they removed sweat and residual particles from her voluptuous hair and body. The sound bothered her a little because the hearing aid surgically implanted above her right ear was more sensitive to those frequencies, but she tolerated it. Showering didn’t take long anyway, but re-braiding her hair afterwards took most of an hour. As an augment, she didn’t have a ridged, hairless pate like normal Klingons did. Her hairline started at her smooth forehead like a human’s and tumbled in long, wavy ringlets to her waist. The follicles were thick and could be rebellious at times, but her expertise normally made quick enough work of it. She donned leather garments and fastened her recently polished armor over them. She left most of her weapons on the bed as she wouldn’t need them for breakfast and a simple staff meeting, but she always wore a d’k tahg at her hip.

K’Lira left her quarters and headed towards the ship’s mess, which doubled as a briefing room because it was the only place on the ship big enough for both. There was already a crowd in the room when she arrived. She sat by herself and pondered the day ahead as she ate. It would certainly be challenging, and their success at Trivas was hardly assured. Trivas III was a gas giant with a class Y moon, and the True Way’s base was on the latter. Its gravity was about 70% of Qo’noS’s. Class Y was also called “demon class” because the moon’s atmosphere was toxic, its surface temperature was well above normal limits, and thermionic radiation discharges were common. She’d brought a good environment suit to survive on the ground.

After breakfast, Martok called her ship to review the crew’s battle deployments. He was on his flagship, the I.K.S. Kor’gun. The transport’s mess had a large video screen on one wall so they could teleconference.

“Your attention, please,” he said.

“My fellow warriors, we embarked on this historic campaign to rid the galaxy of a dire threat: the True Way and its anti-genetic bomb. Their base on Trivas III’s moon is heavily defended, but our fleet is strong and well equipped. The Cardassians and their Jem’Hadar allies will fight hard, but I am sure we will fight better for we are Klingon! Some of you may not survive this battle, but your memories will live on in our songs as we celebrate your arrival in Sto’Vo’Kor.

cheghta’ jubwI'

“Company captains,” he continued, “meet your commanding officer. ”cheghta’ jubwI’.”

He looked at her. “Brigadier General K’Lira of House Trestian, front and center, please.”

The crowd murmured excitedly as she obeyed and stood confidently before them now.

“I have personally selected her to lead the ground assault against the True Way,” Martok endorsed. “She has my full confidence as battle commander. Obey her as you would me, and she will lead you to glorious victory!”

“General,” he addressed her, “your transports carry three companies of infantry, each with medical personnel and logistical support. Based on the comm traffic we have intercepted, the moon’s base has up to 500 troops, plus support staff. It is both the True Way’s main research facility and the closest staging area they have to Bajor’s trade routes. The base itself is protected from orbital assault by an energy shield, which must be dropped before our capital ships can bombard the surface. That, General K’Lira, is your assignment.

“The moon is class Y, as hostile as it gets, so everyone will be using environment suits. You will also have personal cloaking devices reverse engineered from Jem’Hadar examples. While my fleet engages the enemy ships in orbit, your transports will approach under cloak and beam your companies to the surface. The thermionic discharges in the area should mask your transporter signatures. Even if they do not, your stealth shields should prevent early detection by the enemy. The base’s thermal exchangers transfer ambient heat away from the base and are therefore not shielded. You will enter through those and invade the base.

“Your goals are twofold. First, find and disable their shield grid so we can attack the base from orbit. Second, find and either destroy or dismantle all their anti-genetic weaponry and delete their research files, including all backups. It is critical that the True Way never rises to superpower status again. You are the tip of my d’k tahg on this operation, General. Qapla’.”

She put her fist over her heart, smiled, and bowed slightly. “SoH je, General Martok,” she replied.

He nodded and closed the channel, and the room was hers. Her pulse increased.

K’Lira’s presence on board had hardly been a secret, but she’d stayed in her cabin most of the time. Few had seen her. Scanning the faces in the crowd, she saw many were quite young, others older (like her), but all were eager. A few looked curiously at her augment features, but she was used to that. While she didn’t recognize any of them, she guessed none had ever met her either, but that most remembered her by reputation.

Five years is not that long, after all, she thought. That should make commanding their respect easier.

“Warriors,” she began loudly, “while your obedience to Martok’s leadership is obligatory, I understand your respect for mine is voluntary. I will engender both by the day’s end.” She picked up a goblet of bloodwine. “qapmaj tInqu’ vItlhutlh batlhmeH!” she yelled and drained the cup. It warmed her blood further.

The crowd erupted with cheers, many drinking in response to her toast.

“Colonels, to me,” she ordered. She touched a control on her wristband, and the viewscreen behind her alit with a topographical map of the area around the True Way's base. “We have a ground assault to plan.”

FOOTNOTES

cheghta’ jubwI' 🔉

Klingonese: "The immortal one has returned."

SoH je 🔉

Klingonese: "You, too."

qapmaj tInqu’ vItlhutlh batlhmeH 🔉

Klingonese: "I toast to honor our great success."

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

The Federation’s 124th Support Group dropped out of warp into the Trivas System near General Martok’s Klingon fleet. Both flotillas were cloaked and operating under subspace radio silence, per their orders. Neither could detect the other, but they were supposed to rendezvous for this operation, so each knew approximately when and where the other was supposed to be. Commodore Benmafa had a new flagship, the Galaxy X-class U.S.S. Venture, and this was his first time taking her into combat outside the Bajor Sector. The rest of his ships were five escorts with veteran crews ranging from the Prometheus-class U.S.S. Aegis to the Typhon-class U.S.S. Tandrilüs.

Rather than risk being overheard by the enemy in the nearby star system, the Venture dropped a class-one probe that used a ship-to-ship frequency. Such weak transmissions were useful only between very nearby vessels. The I.K.S. Kor’gun, immediately picked up that signal and acknowledged in kind so Davir’s fleet could form up with the Klingons’ fleet without decloaking. The flotilla then continued at impulse into the Trivas System.

Legate Oran Marek, the True Way’s military leader, sat at his desk aboard a Keldon-class Cardassian cruiser in orbit of Trivas III’s moon. He was reviewing fleet deployments in the area. Most of the True Way’s naval assets were there, comprising some 50 escorts and attack ships of both Cardassian and Jem’Hadar make. The Dominion assets were commanded by a Vorta aboard a battleship, and that’s where most of the fighter support lay. Many of the True Way’s ships were being fueled, outfitted, or repaired, including his own.

The True Way was planning a major foray into the Bajor System to challenge Vice Admiral Jantson’s resolve in defending Deep Space Nine. The Federation’s recent campaign against the True Way research facility on Mariah IV had set Marek’s forces back considerably, but Oran knew that Admiral Jantson’s task force was also recuperating at the Bajoran space station from that engagement. Starfleet would not be ready for a large retaliatory strike so soon afterwards. If the True Way could break the alliance’s grip on Deep Space Nine, Bajor would easily fall, and Cardassia Prime would be held in the True Way's dissident sway.

The Union’s mismanagement of our forces and foolish neglect of our interests during the Dominion War will finally be avenged, he thought. We just need to finish…

An alert klaxon screeched, breaking his train of thought, and he reflexively slapped the comm button on his desk to call the bridge. “Report!” he demanded.

Through the connection, he could hear chatter coming in from the fleet, indicating that something was very amiss. He heard weapons fire, explosions, shouts and screams, and the general chaos of a space battle.

“I SAID REPORT!” he roared.

The Klingons are attacking!” someone finally answered, panicked. “Our escorts in orbit are under heavy attack from enemy birds-of-prey. Their battlecruisers are hitting everything that isn’t underway.

“Where the hell did they come from?” Oran asked, mostly to himself.

The bridge answered anyway. “We never saw them coming, Legate. We’re not even sure how many there are. The smaller ships keep cloaking to escape while others decloak to attack. Only the heavy cruisers are staying visible, and the Dominion battleship is taking a beating.”

Oran stood to leave. “Battle stations,” he ordered. “I’m on my…”

The ship rolled hard as it took a powerful torpedo barrage on the port side.

“RAISE SHIELDS!” he shouted. “Prepare to…”

Surprise attack

Static burst from the comm as a thunderous roar shook the ship. He heard the unmistakable sound of air escaping, followed by bulkhead doors slamming, then the connection went silent.

“Bridge?” he asked. “Bridge?! SOMEONE ANSWER ME!”

Oran never got the chance to save his ship—a second torpedo explosion ripped open the duranium wall of his office and spaced him instantly. Seconds later, his ship exploded in a brilliant fireball as its warp core cataclysmically ruptured, taking a nearby Jem’Hadar" attack ship with it.

Martok grinned with battle lust. The sneak attack was going splendidly. His captains were making quick work of the enemy ships caught in various states of unreadiness. They’d heavily damaged the only Jem’Hadar battleship in the area and had even destroyed a Cardassian capital vessel before his heavier waships could engage it. He felt like singing, but there’d be time for celebration later.

The easy part is over, he thought.

He checked his tactical display closely and noticed a large crowd of tiny blips making a flanking run on his fleet. Inbound fighters, he realized.

“New course: zero one zero, mark twelve!” he ordered. “Ahead two thirds. Engage broadside beam weapons on those ships.”

His massive battlecruiser obeyed as quickly as it could, but his escorts were smaller and therefore nimbler; they got there first. Yellow disruptor arcs flashed in a bizarre cross-section in front of the incoming Jem’Hadar ships, destroying several outright. The rest came on, aggressively returning blue polaron fire and the twang of photon torpedoes. The escorts took the brunt of it, and several of them were disabled temporarily while others took moderate damage. The Kor’gun shook violently as many torpedoes struck its shields, draining them below 50%, but it was otherwise unharmed.

“Emergency power!” Martok shouted. “Stand to all weapons! Fire at will!”

Each of the battlecruiser’s beam arrays spewed multiple arcs at as many enemies as it could target, but it couldn’t cause enough damage quickly enough to fend off all of them. One of the fighters collided with the aft shield near the battlecruiser’s drive area. A second bounced off the weakened port shield near the warp pylon. Both Jem’Hadar vessels exploded at close range, and their shrapnel caused much damage despite the shield’s best efforts to deflect debris.

Martok picked himself up off the bridge’s floor amidst the whine of the battle klaxon. His crew shouted as they fought fires while trying to man their stations. Smoke and steam spewed from vents in the walls. The reddish lights were dimmer than normal, but that was offset by the ominous brightness of the fires in the area. The uncomfortably warm, smoky air held the tang of ozone and fire retardant.

They are making suicide runs! he thought, astonished. The petaQpu’ are that desperate!

He climbed back into his chair atop the command dais and re-checked the staticky tactical display on the viewer.

The attackers were circling quickly back for another pass, and he knew his ship wouldn’t survive it. What was left of his damaged escorts were too far away to run interference this time. Worst of all, the Jem’Hadar battleship had somehow managed to join the fray and was making straight for his ship at slow impulse. Its shields were lower than his, but its weaponry pods glowed menacingly.

“All available power to the structural integrity field,” he ordered quickly. “Prepare to come ab…”

Saving the Kor'gun

From the aft quarter, a thick stream of yellow nadion energy crackled through the space between the Kor’gun and the Jem’Hadar battleship. It slammed into and instantly collapsed the enemy’s much weakened forward shield. A split second later, a heavy barrage of quantum and photon torpedoes shot past Martok’s bridge and buried itself explosively all over the battleship’s exposed front quarter.

The result was spectacular, like the finale of a large fireworks show. The front of the hull was vaporized, secondary explosions rippled back towards the engineering areas as the ship’s systems failed catastrophically, and the battleship lit off even more brilliantly than Marek’s ship had. When the glare finally abated, the battleship, the nearby dock, and most of the accompanying attack ships were gone, completely atomized by multiple warp core breaches.

The Venture paused above the Kor’gun, its phaser lance still glowing as Federation escorts began picking off the True Way’s fighters that had been damaging the Kor'gun

“We’re extending our shields and beaming over damage control teams,” Davir said over the ship-to-ship comm. “Do you also require medical assistance?”

Martok sighed, relieved. “Likely, Commodore. We are still assessing things over here, but I think we have the critical problems under control. Thank you for your help.”

He paused, remembering that Davir had learned some Klingonese from K’Lira. “Tell your tactical officer from me, ‘bachvetIh tInpu’!’,” he added, smiling lopsidedly.

Davir took a moment to unravel the syntax, then he grinned. “Qochbe’! luq, qaHneS,” he replied in his best Klingon accent. “Let us know if you need anything else. Max, out.”

He closed the channel, then half-turned in his chair to look at the big Betazoid officer using the tactical station behind him. “Loso, the general sends his compliments about your timing.”

Chief Sgiza looked momentarily surprised, then smiled triumphantly. “maj, sir,” he rumbled proudly.

Apparently, I’m not the only one K’Lira’s been teaching, Davir thought, pleased.

K'Lira stood below one of the transporter pads on her modified carrier, eager to hit the ground. The ship had sneaked into planetary orbit above the moon base under cloak while the Klingon and Federation fleets had easily decimated the enemy flotilla. She’d been waiting for Martok’s signal to begin the mission’s ground phase.

Her entire contingent was in armored environment suits, fully prepared for combat in a class Y environment. The suits could withstand temperatures above 600 degrees Fahrenheit, several times normal atmospheric pressure, and toxicity strong enough to kill a bull targ in minutes. Each warrior also had a Dominion-style personal cloaking device. She carried a full-auto blaster rifle with a scope, her bat’leth was strapped across her back, and a d'k tahg was in one of her pockets. The suit's multifunctional bracer tied to her helmet-mounted display. Her unusually long hair was tightly braided and tucked down her back inside her suit.

She’d personally selected a squad of the finest shock troops available to accompany her inside the base as she led the first of three companies. The colonels in the rest of the battalion would lead the other two companies parallel to hers, and she was fully confident of them. All was in readiness.

A yeoman’s whistle sounded over the ship’s intercom. “General K’Lira,” Martok said, “begin landing your troops. Qapla’!”

Her heart rate quickened, warming her blood to the task, and her eyes turned a darker shade of purple in response. She whistled sharply to get her squad’s attention. “Ha’! Forth to battle!” she shouted.

She climbed onto the pad as her squad filed in behind her and turned to the transporter chief. “Jol yIchu’,” she ordered. A few seconds later, K’Lira and her squad became the first Klingons to set foot on Trivas III’s moon.

The first thing she noticed was the gravity: it was somewhat less than what she was used to aboard her ship, about two-thirds or three-fourths that of Qo’noS. She felt light on her feet, but that was the only appealing thing about the place. The air was like an oven. The blasted and barren landscape had no water or vegetation, just broken foothills of glazed rock covered with windblown dust, all bathed in the pale glow of Trivas’s white solar giant. Trivas III was below the horizon; otherwise, it would’ve been brighter but not better. Fiery fumaroles kicked up clouds of sulfuric dirt as they scoured the hills. Her sensors showed dangerous levels of thermionic radiation and sulfur dioxide in the air. It was easily the most inhospitable place she’d ever visited.

Which is probably why the True Way has a secret base here, she reasoned. Who would expect to find that in a place like this?

She saw they were on a shallow rise overlooking the True Way base in the near distance. Most of the installation was underground, but the squat buildings on the surface were connected to a landing pad above a protected bay. An energy shield completely enclosed the base, precluding orbital attack. It also prevented beaming. There were towers stationed around its perimeter, each with several turrets that faced outward, constantly scanning the nearby terrain for movement. She was glad the warriors’ environment suits had been fitted with personal cloaking devices to preserve the element of surprise; otherwise, they’d already be under attack.

As a demon-class planetoid, the moon was geothermically active. Anything built underground would be subject to extreme heating, so the base had three thermal exchangers that went through the shield to vent the facility’s excess heat to the surface. Since the Klingons couldn’t beam through the shield, the plan was to invade the base via its cooling ducts, then storm the facility to achieve their objectives.

That is our way in, she thought.

The mission called for radio silence until the base’s perimeter had been breached, so no one said anything. She couldn’t see her fellow warriors either as they were cloaked, but each environment suit had a short-range transponder that sent coded signals she could track on a minimap projected inside her visor, so she knew where everyone was. When all three companies had beamed to the surface, she started towards the nearest vent. The colonels leading the other two companies saw that on their maps and started moving in on the other two vents.

The turrets in the towers couldn’t detect the cloaked Klingons, so her squad reached the first vent unchallenged. It was a tall, rectangular bellows connected to a flanged tunnel that led underground into the hillside. As she approached, it opened and blew a blast of superheated air that nearly knocked her off her feet. Her sensor said it was over 200 degrees and gusting to nearly 40 kilometers per hour. The lower G made it harder to keep her balance, so she knelt to wait it out. It blew past for about 30 seconds, then started to abate, so she stood up, leaning into the wind.

Immediately, a hail of blaster fire erupted from the tunnel beyond.

She ducked quickly behind a nearby outcropping.

How do they know we are here? she wondered.

She took a tricorder reading to see if there were any enemy soldiers in there. The tricorder registered no life signs inside the tunnel, but there were several electronic signals spaced evenly along its length.

Sneaking in

There are turrets lining the entrance, she realized, but how do they know what to shoot at?

Then she remembered a similar engagement in the Klingon-Cardassian War where the enemy had used sensors that detected airflow obstructions. The Klingons were invisible, but their bodies disturbed the airstream as long as they were standing in it. The burbling effect that caused could be used as targeting information for the turrets.

The best way past them is to stay down while the wind is blowing, then move when it is not, she realized.

There was no other way—she would have to break radio silence to warn her team. She switched her transponder from beacon to voice to keep the coding intact. “The guns in the tunnels look for heat turbulence,” she said. “Stay down until the wind stops, then proceed and disable them. Time your advances, and switch to the alternate frequency now.”

The Klingons changed their transponders in acknowledgement, hoping the enemy hadn’t been alerted to their presence.

The vents cycled regularly, and K’Lira’s team led the way down the tunnel. It was dim and steamy within, and her visibility was limited to just a few yards. The metal in the floor and walls was slimy and uncomfortably hot even through her suit’s protection. She reached and examined the first turret quickly. It had an access panel on one side, but it was locked. She struggled to pry it open with her dagger, but just then the wind began to blow. Instinctively, she flattened herself against the hot floor, gripping a series of handholds embedded in its metal plating. She hoped the other warriors did the same.

The heat was even more intense inside the tunnel than it had been outside, almost 300 degrees Fahrenheit. We are getting closer to the exchangers, she thought.

The turret didn’t shoot, and the wind died.

She resumed attacking the panel and managed to get it off. Inside, she saw isolinear circuitry and power feeds going into the turret. She didn’t have time to be cautious, so she stabbed at it repeatedly with the dagger, causing showers of sparks as small electrical explosions marked the turret’s demise. Her suit protected her completely.

She scanned the area again and saw the next turret about 15 meters further along, and another after that. She could tell from the transponders that there were already warriors disabling them. Beyond the last turret were narrow pipes that bled heat into the tunnel: that’s where all the hot air was coming from.

The heat exchangers for their geothermal powerplant must be down there, she thought.

By her estimate, the Klingons were already within the shield’s perimeter, but they hadn’t breached the base yet. She’d assumed that the enemy would be guarding the powerplant’s cooling system as it was the only way into the base. The plan called for some misdirection to distract the enemy. One of the warriors at the last turret had explosives with him to blow up the far end of the shaft in a fake attempt to gain entry there. As the True Way reacted to that, her group would cut through the vent wall and enter the base some distance from the exchangers. The other two companies would do likewise. The Klingons would then flank the enemy and storm the base to clear the objectives. Hopefully, Martok’s fleet would eliminate the True Way ships, and her cloaked transports would be standing by. Everyone in the base would meet below the landing pad for egress as the shield would be down by then, too, and Martok would bomb the base to rubble. Everything hinged on getting into the base, then finding and destroying the super-weapon and all data associated with it.

K’Lira cycled her transponder in a specific way, indicating to her team to begin the entry phase of the operation: two clicks, pause, one click; second phase, step one.

One of the warriors armed with a laser cutter went to the left wall of the tunnel and began slicing through its duranium. His cloak concealed the tool but not the beam itself, so the green laser looked like it appeared out of thin air. It took a few minutes to cut a large hole in the wall, held in place by little more than molten metal.

K’Lira signaled again via transponder: blow it.

The first explosion took place at the end of the tunnel where the pipes were. The Klingons there, having set their charges, had backed off to avoid the fallout. The tunnel shook violently as several dozen kilograms of high explosive ripped the entire terminus to shards of jagged metal. The Klingons ducked flat as superheated steam and smoke blasted down the tunnel at them and continued into the landscape outside.

In the same moment, smaller explosives dropped the cutaway door, creating a makeshift entrance into the base. The larger explosion’s cacophony covered the noise from the smaller one.

K’Lira could see enemy life signs on her minimap scattered about the rubble at the end of the tunnel. The True Way soldiers were inspecting the damage and looking for the Klingons, but the rubble prevented them from reaching the tunnel itself.

Still, she thought, it is a sure bet they know we are here.

She cycled her transponder to start the attack: three clicks, pause, one more click: begin the assault.

The Klingons streamed through the hole in the wall, K’Lira at their head, blaster at the ready, looking for signs of the enemy.

The hole opened into a wide hallway that was part of the base’s outer perimeter, a circuit of underground rooms surrounding the central part of the base. These areas were used primarily for staff quarters supplies storage, and utilities infrastructure. The corridor connected them to the base’s interior at regular intervals like wheel spokes. Small teams of Cardassian and Jem’Hadar soldiers patrolled its length, but they hadn’t expected the Klingons to breach there. As hoped, the enemy’s attention had been on the exchangers at the ruined end of the tunnel, so those in the corridor were not on alert.

The Klingons came out firing, using various outcroppings for cover and shooting at anything that moved. Their personal cloaks gave them the element of extreme surprise, and their tactics supported their efforts to move ahead as one team covered the next team’s advance. While the Jem’Hadar had cloaks, too, they were trained with the presumption of being the only ones who did, and they couldn’t see their cloaked fellows. To avoid fratricide, they tended to verify, then shoot. The Klingons had no such handicap, thanks to their transponders. They sped rapidly in both directions down the circular corridor in stairstep fashion, blasting open locked doors, checking rooms, and killing anything not wearing a transponder, visible or not. Their rear guard quickly dispatched any cloaked Jem’Hadar who managed to get behind them. The floor was soon slick with blood stains, the damaged lights flickered erratically, and the air stank of ozone. The corridor rang with the sounds of shouts and screams, blaster fire, and exploding grenades. It was a turkey shoot.

K’Lira was lost in her battle lust, moving fluidly from lucidity to berserkery. Leading her squad, she’d long since spent her blaster’s ammunition, so she’d dropped it, unslung her bat’leth, and started killing with practiced, precise strokes. Her deadly craft was born of decades spent crusading in the outer reaches of the Empire while studying combat arts under various Dahar Masters. She’d fought in two long wars and spent years instructing in the Brotherhood of the Sword. She’d faced thousands of opponents in that time, from Andorians to Yridians, and she’d defeated most of them, many with great difficulty. She’d been killed twice in hand-to-hand combat defending Gowron from alien assassins, and she’d resuscitated herself each time. Though she had no idea how that had happened, she bore her moniker as proudly as a Dahar Master. She’d been out of the Klingon Defense Force for the last five years, but her passion for skill at arms hadn’t waned at all, and she was in high form this day.

As the battle progressed towards the shield generator in the base’s interior, it became clear to the other Klingons in her squad that General Martok had chosen their ground assault leader well; K’Lira simply had no equal. Every time the True Way tried to fortify a position against them, she found a way to flank it. When the enemy charged, her nanopulsed bat’leth spun hungrily through the air, blocking blaster fire and piercing both armor and flesh with equal ease. All who tried to stand against her perished quickly and miserably. When they retreated from her terrible fury, she screamed and threw debris at their backs, then chased them down and slew them anyway, giving no quarter. She sent no further orders as there wasn’t time, seeming instead to instinctively know how to counter whatever the True Way would do next, and she was always right. Her leadership inspired her warriors to valor, then praise, and they found themselves chanting in time with the beating of their hot hearts as they followed in her glorious wake: JUBWI’, JUBWI’, JUBWI’!

Half an hour had passed since the Klingons had beamed down, and K’Lira found herself panting on a catwalk overlooking the room with the shield generator. She had no recollection of finding it, just fading memories of the battle. She recognized the aftermath of her berserker mindset and shook her sweaty head to clear it of the ugly vestiges.

The shield room was big and round, over thirty feet across to a similar catwalk on the other side of the chamber. The air was not as warm here, and the machinery in the area was raucous with loud coolant pumps. The generator itself resembled a giant hive half buried in the metal floor, its curved dome reaching nearly to the ceiling a dozen feet above her head. Its surface was a patchwork of curved metal ribs interlaced with rows and stacks of slits brightly lit from within. Floor consoles surrounded it, beeping repeatedly as they regulated the generator’s output. The device was the base’s largest power load, and its output went through the ceiling via a sealed conduit to a series of antennae on the roof.

She heard rather than saw the rest of her squad approach from behind.

“jubwI’neS,” one of them said as he removed his helmet so she could see him, “your suit, your cloak…”

Startled, K’Lira examined herself.

Her visor was cracked, and the readouts indicated that its environmental system had failed. The only thing keeping her alive was the base’s own environmental system, which was still running. The suit itself was blackened with blaster scars and slick with Cardassian and Jem’Hadar blood. Its outer armor was bent and burned through in many places, exposing the polyweave layering beneath. Then she realized she could see herself. Her cloaking device was gone—she had no idea where it was or how long she’d been without it.

“How…?” she began uncertainly. “I did not… do not know…”

Without stealth, she didn’t have the element of surprise. Yet she’d led the fight to this point, slaying everything in her path with grave efficacy. She wasn’t even injured.

Dare I believe it myself? she wondered fearfully. Am I really… immortal?

There was no point in wearing the now useless environment suit, and it tended to hamper her mobility anyway. She removed it except for its inner polyweave armor and its breastplate, both scarred and bloody from combat.

The Klingon warrior put his helmet back on, stepping invisibly back to his fellows.

“There she is!” someone shouted from the room below. “KILL HER!”

Sparks erupted from the catwalk railing behind her as a hail of enemy blaster fire forced her to duck instinctively. Three groups of True Way troops ran across the floor, shooting as they came. One group each went for the staircases that led up to the catwalk, and the Klingons ran invisibly to meet them at the top of the stairs. The last group ran to the generator, still shooting crazily at the only Klingon they could see.

Snarling, K’Lira gripped her broadsword in one hand, and leaped from the catwalk even as the section she was on collapsed with a groaning snap under the strain of blaster-induced metal fatigue. Waving her arms for balance, she landed on the generator and slid down its curved shell. Her feet hit a horizontal beam that stopped her about two meters from the floor. Looking quickly over her left shoulder, she saw eight enemy soldiers taking aim behind nearby consoles. She stabbed her bat’leth’s tines into the generator for use as a brake and jumped off the ledge, tearing a long swathe through the generator’s skin as she slid towards the floor. She must’ve hit a sensitive part of its internal mechanism because a large explosion suddenly ripped through the skin, roughly flinging her to the floor. She landed just past the console perimeter and tumbled forward, losing her bat’leth. A Cardassian’s smoking corpse lay behind her, caught in the explosion that was now spilling glowing coolant across the floor.

K’Lira’s momentum carried her back to her feet, and she immediately attacked the nearest soldier with her fists.

He shot her in the chest at point blank range with his gun, but that was all he had time to do; she was too fast to dodge. What remained of her breastplate took the brunt of the blast and finally gave up, shattering as it fell off, but she never felt it.

K’Lira’s blood boiled, her heart raced, her mind fogged up, and the only thing her stormy eyes could see was the enemy. She knocked him down, ripped his throat out, grabbed his gun, and stood up, all in the same attack.

There were six large brutes left before her: five soldiers and a Jem’Hadar Second, all armed with blasters and each angrier than the last. They looked like a vengeful firing squad as they raised their weapons as one.

She pulled the secondary trigger on her stolen gun, hoping for a wide beam setting, but nothing happened.

“KILL!” the Second screamed.

Instantly, everything slowed down for K’Lira as she turned into a whirling dervish, spinning her way into the small crowd almost before they could defend themselves. Blaster fire ripped into her suit at extremely close range, but what would have dropped a bull targ barely slowed her. She flew crazily from soldier to soldier, knocking them down or into each other with powerful kicks and punches, twisting away from their fields of fire, using consoles and their own bodies as makeshift cover and anything that came to hand as a weapon.

Her squad, having dispatched the other two groups, ran to her aid, but they slowed as they surrounded the fight, staring in awe at the sheer beauty in her martial art.

Crazed as she was, K’Lira knew what was happening around her. All her senses were heightened. Her blood ran colder because she had no adrenalin left, so she could think more clearly. She was extremely tired, but she knew that while she maintained her speed and power, no one would likely be able to pace or repel her.

Her luck held as well as her stamina—the True Way soldiers couldn’t touch her. Every single one of them fell before her in miserable fashion until only the Second was left.

Panting heavily, covered head to boot in blood not her own, she stopped about three meters away to assess him as an opponent. He was a giant of a Jem’Hadar, easily more than half again her own considerable size. Long legs, wide reach, heavy build, she thought. Best beware his radius, but he should be slower than these sorry petaQpu’.

She noticed that though he had a blaster rifle, he’d refrained from using it, probably to avoid hitting his own men until he had a clear shot. Then why doesn’t he try to shoot me now? she wondered.

The Second’s face was a mask of barely controlled fury. He’d watched K’Lira’s tactics prevail in slaying his fellows, but they were much weaker than he was, and he’d seen enough to believe he could take her single-handedly. He discarded his gun, drew a scimitar from his belt, and held it up menacingly. “I’ll surely make First for killing you,” he growled vengefully in bass tones, then settled into a guarded crouch. “ghoS Suq’op,” he hissed past clenched teeth, challenging K’Lira in a poor attempt at her language.

Unimpressed with his Klingonese, K’Lira glared coldly as she pulled her d’k tahg from its harness and opened the dagger’s tines with a sharp click. “jajvam qab wa'DIch mojmeH nIDmeH,” she replied, raising an eyebrow as she beckoned with the tip of her blade, “'a toH nID.”

The Second had no idea what she’d said, but he gathered from her arrogance that she’d rebuffed him somehow. His temper finally failed, and he charged headlong.

15 seconds, K’Lira thought, predicting the length of the fight.

He roared thunderously as he swung his knife at her head.

Too soon, she admonished inwardly, and from too far away.

Rather than parry the strike, she simply stepped back, letting the sword whistle past her face.

He tried to reverse the strike, but she slapped the back of his elbow as it went by, forcing him to continue his motion away from her while throwing him slightly off balance. He stumbled down towards her.

12 seconds, she thought, counting down. He is vulnerable.

Taking advantage of his carelessness, she drove her right knee up into his groin, then uppercut him in the chin with her right fist in the same motion.

He howled in pain and staggered backwards, dropping his weapon to protect his face.

Eight, she thought. Take him down.

Eight, she thought. Take him down.

She spun quickly to her left for momentum and leaped atop a nearby console, then jumped onto his shoulders. She caught his throat in a leg vise, and her inertia forced them both to the floor, but K’Lira didn’t release her grip on his neck as they fell. She landed atop his wide chest with a heavy thud, knocking the wind out of his gaping mouth, but her leg vise partially restricted his airway.

Five. Kill him.

She took the dagger in her left hand and stabbed him through his gasping mouth, pinning his head to the floor. Then she twisted the knife vertically and slapped the d’k tahg’s handle, driving the edge of the blade straight through the top of his head, splitting his skull like a lobster tail.

He died instantly.

One second…

K’Lira slumped to one side and lay there, panting for air herself. Her polyweave clothing was covered in gore. Her berserker rage was spent. The thumping of her heartbeat slowed in her ears as she relaxed back into lucidity.

Around her, the Klingons in her squad removed their helmets and deactivated their cloaks. Their sensors showed there were no enemies left in this part of the base—K’Lira had slain over 100 herself. A lieutenant helped her to her feet while another returned her bat’leth. More Klingons from her company appeared around them, staring at the carnage she’d wrought, remembering much the same elsewhere in the base. They wondered at her survivability and said nothing, but the ones in her squad, who’d witnessed the entire feat, couldn’t restrain themselves.

“QAPLAAAAA’!!!” one of them screamed in victory, brandishing his dagger aloft.

“JUBWI’, TRESTIAN!” others began to chant in discordant unison.

Two of them tried to put K’Lira on their shoulders, but she shoved them rudely away. Exhausted as she was, her wider senses were returned to her in that moment, and she thought she saw her destiny through their eyes.

She was the founder of the small but ascendant Klingon House of Trestian, then slightly over a thousand warriors strong. It was the nature of Klingons to laud prowess in combat as a measure of one’s self-worth, especially as a military leader. The more battles you won, the more prestige you’d earn as a warrior. Do that often enough, and you’d garner a following and, perhaps, form a House. Stay that course, growing the honor of one’s House and the size of one’s holdings, and you’d eventually rise to a position of prominent leadership, such as a high councilor or perhaps chancellor or even… empress. It had happened before. While K’Lira was proud and happy to serve her House at need, she was averse to being on the High Council or leading it in any sense. She imagined there were some who were born to that, but she didn’t see herself in that mold. Apparently, though, some did, and there’d be more after word of this victory got around.

But am I just seeing my own hubris, she wondered, writing my ego upon their hearts and hearing my secret desire on their lips?

She couldn’t credit an answer, and she wouldn’t request these warriors’ allegiance despite their praise. She told herself not to assume anything about them, and she told herself why.

K’Lira looked around at their faces. The ones who’d attempted to parade her around the room were standing a very short distance away, uncertainty in their eyes. She could address that. Most of her squad were still cheering her moniker in wild excitement at their mutual success. She was fine with that, too. The rest of her company were backfilling the shield generator room by then, and everyone was watching to see what she would do next.

Strike while the anvil is hot, she thought. Give them something to focus on instead of me.

She rose to full height. “Warriors,” she shouted over the din, “we have come this far together, and our victory Is indeed nigh! But it will be for naught if we do not accomplish our objectives in coming here!” She pointed with her dagger at the damaged shield generator nearby, which was still running. “yIjormoH!” she commanded.

The uproar was intense as everyone in the room cheered in response.

While explosives experts set charges around the generator, K’Lira stepped aside to use the comm in her bracer. There was no point in secrecy anymore.

“Companies Two and Three, this is General K’Lira,” she said. “The shield will soon be down. What is the status of our objectives?”

The second company had been tasked with discovering and deleting all the True Way’s research into anti-genetic weaponry. The colonel commanding company two reported that they’d reached the base’s computer core with some difficulty as that area was rife with automated defenses. The Klingons were still in the process of downloading data files. A computer virus was prepared to go into the True Way’s network to destroy it. He needed about 10 more minutes.

The third company had been assigned the most important goal of finding and destroying all examples of the True Way’s super-weapon at the base, including its delivery systems. The colonel in charge reported that his troops had suffered heavy losses as the True Way had left the rest of their garrison guarding their weapons stores. The enemy had eventually been defeated, though, and the Klingons had found anti-genetic bombs in a vault at the bottom of the research wing. He and his remaining troops were already heading to the hangar with all the weapons, the intent being to destroy them from orbit after the Klingons had left the surface.

The question of casualties interested K’Lira. As the second phase’s overall commander, the ground troops’ lives were her responsibility. The easiest way to verify who remained was to check the transponder system: dead Klingons would register no life signs.

K’Lira waved over a lieutenant. “My helmet is broken,” she explained. “I need a headcount. How many casualties are there by company?”

“Give me a moment, Matron,” he said, checking his readouts. “Each company had 430 warriors. Company three reports 289 casualties, and company two reports 104 casualties. That is 393 deaths out of 1,290 warriors. Survivability is 70%.”

That sounded too high. Something was missing. “What about our company?” she asked. “Company one?”

The officer paused, frowned slightly, then re-checked his readouts. “There are no deaths, Matron,” he finally said. “All our transponders are green except yours, of course.”

K’Lira sat down involuntarily, weak from stress, shocked and pleased at the stunning result. As far as she knew, never in the history of Klingon warfare had a major ground offensive gone without casualties. Granted, this operation was bigger than just her company, but that accomplishment was still unheard of. She was privately thrilled but cautious.

“I will want those results double-checked after we are away from here,” she ordered.

“Of course, Matron,” he replied.

Another lieutenant approached. “The charges are set, Matron. We need to leave,” he said.

K’Lira stood. “Get everyone into the corridors outside and seal the doors. We will head up to the hangar bay to meet the other companies, then blow the generator so we can beam everyone out of this abysmal place,” she ordered.

Her lieutenants obeyed with alacrity, knowing that destroying the generator would likely take out everything it was connected to. No one would want to be around for that.

Company one soon arrived in the hangar bay, which took up nearly all of deck two. The other two companies were already there, so the huge room was filled with warriors, both injured and whole. The dead had been left where they’d fallen as the super-weapon would dissolve their remains anyway. All honor would be afforded to them posthumously.

K’Lira touched her bracer’s comm. “General Martok, this is General K’Lira. Tell my transport to beam me up with the walking wounded as soon as the shield comes down.”

She turned to her demolition teams. “jormoH!”

Several floors down, the shield generator flashed once as a power surge sent electric arcs crackling around the device. A moment later, all the charges went off with an earth-shaking roar. The electric storm rippled out through the ceiling conduit to the antennae on the surface, where it could go no further. The antennae exploded, spewing sparks and debris in all directions, and the shield fell. In the underground hangar, the lights flickered and went out, plunging the entire base into darkness. The emergency power came on automatically, but that wasn’t enough to reactivate the shield.

K’Lira touched her communicator again. “yIjol nom,” she ordered before the moon’s oppressive heat could cook her alive.

In space above the moon, the transports began bringing the Klingons aboard a dozen at a time as Martok’s heavy cruisers moved into high orbit, preparing to bombard the base. The evacuation took several minutes, and K’Lira was among the first to return.

She materialized on the cargo transporter pad with a group of injured Klingons and went straight to the ship’s main corridor. Her bloody armor clung to her body as she hastened to the bridge. She could hardly wait to change her clothes; they reeked of sweat, burned fabric, and dried blood, but that would have to wait.

This is not over, she chided herself. That base must be destroyed and the super-weapon with it.

The bridge was little more than a raised deck: a command chair with only two ops consoles in front of it, nothing else. It had an efficient layout, but it was too small for her liking. She missed the Ak’voh’s bridge.

K’Lira walked up to the captain, who saluted, fist over heart.

“General,” he greeted, getting up, “I understand it was a successful raid. Do you wish to sit down?”

She saluted, then waved him back down. “No, Captain. Sit. I will not be staying long.”

She pointed at the viewer. “Get me Martok, please.”

One of the bridge officers tapped a comm control, and Martok appeared, tight-lipped but excited. She could tell he was in his element.

He was always best in space, she thought.

“Matron K’Lira,” he said, saluting as he used her formal title, “are all the survivors aboard?”

“All objectives attained, General,” she replied, saluting proudly, “and all surviving personnel are accounted for. You may begin the bombardment. The primary target is in the hangar bay on deck two. Open the doors, destroy the super-weapon, and no one will be able to recover anything from the base.

“We are clearing the area now,” she finished, nodding to the captain to affect that instruction.

“Excellent,” Martok said, smiling in anticipation as he turned to his tactical officer.

“Sogh, pengmey Hoch yIbaH,” he ordered.

The viewer automatically switched back to an overview of Trivas III's moon. Dozens of warheads poured out of the heavy cruisers’ torpedo launchers. The bombs hit the hangar squarely, and the concussions sent visible shock waves racing across the blasted landscape as the bay doors disintegrated. Without a shield, there was nothing to keep the demon-class environment out, and the inclement weather instantly encroached, setting fire to everything in the hangar including the canisters of anti-genetic isotopes the Klingons had intentionally left in the open. The uninsulated containers began to cook under the assault of several hundred degrees of atmospheric heat. It took only a few minutes for them to start exploding, one after another, spewing their radioactive contents all over the base and its surroundings.

No one will ever go down there again, K’Lira thought in grim satisfaction. If the True Way’s test results were accurate, it will be uninhabitable for centuries even with environment suits.

Martok reappeared on part of the viewer, tired but satisfied, and Davir aboard the Venture appeared on the other part.

Trivas III Aftermath

“General, Commodore, I salute you,” Martok said. “Today, we have changed the face of the quadrant for much the better. Thank you both for your help.”

“On the Federation’s behalf, sir, thank you,” Davir said.

“My compliments to you, General,” K’Lira acknowledged, “and to you, husband.”

“These after-action reports are very favorable,” Martok continued, “especially from your unit, K’Lira. The battle record shows there were no casualties in it—quite remarkable.”

“I am glad, General,” she said simply.

Davir beamed at her but didn’t interrupt.

“I will schedule a debriefing later,” Martok said, “but that is a formality at this point. I already know what I need to tell the High Council. In the meantime, I am hosting a small celebration tonight aboard my flagship to honor those who fell in battle today and to recount our victory in true Klingon fashion.”

He looked at Davir. “You are invited, too, of course.”

The commodore opened his mouth to reply, but K’Lira spoke first. “I will attend, General, but right now I am exhausted and quite in need of a proper bath and a meal.”

She turned to Davir. “May I come aboard?”

Davir smiled lovingly and nodded. “Your VIP quarters are ready. The replicator has your favorites—programmed it myself.”

SShe smiled gratefully. He knows me so well, she thought.

She returned to Martok. “By your leave, General,” she said, saluting.

“Of course,” he said, returning her salute.

K’Lira turned towards the doorway at the back of the bridge, intent on getting over to the Venture to be with her husband.

“I will keep the bloodwine warm for you,” Martok added.

She grinned and kept walking. The door opened ahead, and she pointed upward in emphasis as she passed the threshold. “I like mine spicy!”

Martok guffawed as the door closed behind her.

FOOTNOTES

bachvetIh tInpu’! 🔉

Klingonese: "That was a great shot!"

Qochbe’! Luq, qaHneS. 🔉

Klingonese: "Agreed! I will, sir."

maj. 🔉

Klingonese: "Good."

Ha'. 🔉

Klingonese: "Let's go."

jol yIchu’. 🔉

Klingonese: "Energize the transporter."

jubwI'. 🔉

Klingonese: "Immortal one."

jubwI’neS. 🔉

Klingonese: "Honored immortal one."

ghoS Suq’op. 🔉

Klingonese (transliterated): "Come get some."

jajvam qab wa'DIch mojmeH nIDmeH, 'a toH nID! 🔉

Klingonese: "Today is a bad day to try to become a First, but try anyway!"

Trestian 🔉

"Trestian" is the name of the Klingon House that K'Lira founded.

yIjormoH! 🔉

Klingonese: "Blow it up!"

jormoH! 🔉

Klingonese (clipped): "Detonate!"

yIjol nom. 🔉

Klingonese: "Beam me up now."

Sogh, pengmey Hoch yIbaH. 🔉

Klingonese: "Lieutenant, fire all torpedoes."

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

The I.K.S. Kor’gun flew alongside the U.S.S. Venture at low warp back towards the Qo’noS System in the Beta Quadrant. Martok’s fleet had been temporarily repaired well enough to make the trip provided no additional fighting ensued, and none was expected.

The Kor’gun’s wardroom was nearly full because every ship commander in their navies was there to celebrate their outstanding victory over the True Way and to honor those who’d perished in the action. The warm air was abuzz with conversation, toasts, and laughter. The heady scent of bloodwine added to the festive atmosphere. A steaming vat of it occupied the center of the room, and the tables surrounding it were laden with food of all kinds.

General Martok stood near the bard at the front of the room, looking resplendent as he laughed joyously at the camaraderie and conversation in his vicinity. Commodore Benmata and Commander Nerayerku, the Venture's intelligence officer, were nearby in Starfleet dress uniforms. Security Chief Sgiza was there, too, in similar attire. K’Lira stood next to Davir, nearly a head taller than her husband. She’d bathed, then changed into a new set of leather clothes with new armor atop that. A golden circlet bearing the symbol of her House adorned her brow amidst long locks of indigo hair tumbling unbound to her waist. The colonels who’d led companies two and three were nearby in their full regalia. Everyone was celebrating happily while the bard played his instrument and sang of the battle of Trivas III.

Martok eventually rapped his empty goblet on a nearby table to get the room’s attention, and everyone quieted expectantly.

“My fellow warriors and our Starfleet friends,” he said, “as you know, we gather for two purposes tonight. We celebrate ourselves and we celebrate those who have honorably preceded us into Sto’Vo’Kor this day. Their contribution to this victory will be remembered forever in our loremaster’s song and in our Heghtay.”

He paused deferentially. “While this is not normally allowed in the company of non-Klingons, our Federation allies helped save this ship and win the battle, so I am permitting them to participate, if they wish.”

He bowed his head in silence for a moment. Then, suddenly, he and the other Klingons threw their heads back and screamed inarticulately at the ceiling for several seconds. “RAWRRR!!!”

Heghtay

Davir joined in, knowing from K’Lira what to expect, but Nerayerku covered her ears at the din, and Losozola looked slightly uncomfortable.

When the shouting abated, Martok walked to the steaming vat of bloodwine on one side of the room, refilled his flagon, and turned to the Federation officers. “I am sure you will find the next part more to your… sensibilities,” he chided, smiling lopsidedly.

Many of the other Klingons refilled theirs, a few of them chuckling at the general’s humor.

Martok raised his goblet and toasted, “Heghpu’vaD batlh!”

As one, the Klingons drained their mugs of bloodwine, then roared in happiness at their mutual success: “Qapla’!”

“Be seated,” Martok invited. “Eat!”

The evening progressed as dishes of traditional Klingon and Federation foods traveled about the room while the bard plied the crowd, singing versions of his tale to see what people liked and what still needed work. The Klingons added to this by regaling each other with tales of their exploits, each trying to surpass the glory of the last. Although the loremaster often asked K’Lira to clarify her part in the battle, she was strangely quiet about that, preferring instead to recount the glory of others’ successes rather than her own. She knew he could get better retellings of her deeds from her warriors. She ate little, having already had a meal aboard the Venture, and her weariness was heightened by bloodwine on a full stomach. She watched the festivities through half-closed eyes, her attention wandering aimlessly about the room as she gradually lost track of time.

Martok’s communicator beeped, alerting him that he’d received a high priority communiqué, so he paused in his revelry to read it silently. The message was from the chancellor’s office, and it concerned the disposition of Kahless’ sword: apparently, it had yet to arrive at the monastery on Boreth. The Council had received information that it might’ve been taken aboard one of Martok’s ships, so Gowron wanted him to investigate to see if that was true.

Martok was shocked and his face fell. Who amongst my crew would do such a thing? he wondered incredulously.

Federation agents had recently recovered the bat’leth from the Mariah System and returned it to the Klingons with the stipulation that no one should ever purport to own it. K’Lira herself had brought it to the Great Hall from Deep Space Nine a month ago and presented it to the chancellor. Gowron had ordered it sent to the royal archive on Boreth for safekeeping where it would be guarded by the Yan-Isleth. Martok had just assumed it was there, though he’d heard nothing of it since… until now.

“Excuse me, please,” he said to the guests at his table, and he left the room to see to this mystery.

Kahless’ sword had a specific isotopic signature due to its unique composition, and internal sensors could be calibrated to detect that unless it was shielded. It didn’t take long to sweep the Kor’gun—the sword wasn’t on sensors. He was considering having his security teams conduct a room-to-room search just to be sure when another report arrived. The bat’leth’s signature had been detected on one of the troop transports Martok had used to bring an army to Trivas III.

Relieved, he immediately ordered the sword retrieved and the party culpable for having it arrested.

He was devastated when a security team reported that they’d found the sword in K’Lira’s cabin.

Certain there’d been a mistake, he watched the team’s video record of the retrieval, then re-checked their scans. It verified that Kahless’ sword was found underneath her cot, and they were bringing it back to his ship, as instructed.

He still couldn’t believe it and decided he wouldn’t until he’d exhausted every investigative avenue. He ordered her room to be searched thoroughly for any signs of intrusion or evidence that someone other than K’Lira had been there, but that would take time. Meanwhile, his duty was clear: he had to detain K’Lira for having the sword of Kahless illegally.

His heart heavy, he requested a security team meet him in the wardroom with instructions to arrest K’Lira.

Three security guards met him at the wardroom’s door. He could hear that the celebration was still going strong. He hoped this could be done unobtrusively, but he doubted that. Knowing K’Lira, she wouldn’t come quietly if he confronted her directly.

“Set your weapons to heavy stun,” he advised. “Follow my lead.”

As the guards checked their disruptor pistols, Martok opened the door, and the noise spilled into the hallway. He stood in the doorway and looked around. He remembered K’Lira’d been sitting to his left, next to Commodore Benmata, and that she’d seemed sleepy.

Has she retired in the interim? he wondered.

The Federation officers the commodore had brought with him were still present, and he quickly found K’Lira standing next to her husband as Davir was discussing something with them.

Martok walked slowly up to the group, his guards in tow. “Excuse the interruption, Commodore,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Davir replied, shrugging equably. “We were just about to call it a night, if that’s all right? I’ve been ordered back to Deep Space Nine.”

Martok nodded. “We need to speak to Matron K’Lira.”

Davir looked curious. “What about?”

“It is a private matter,” Martok answered obliquely.

He opened his palm to K’Lira. “Matron, come with us, please.” His tone left no room for refusal.

Davir shared a concerned glance with his wife but said nothing.

K’Lira noted Martok seemed uncomfortable and out of sorts, quite different from when she’d last seen him. She looked behind him and noticed that the guards were tense and sweating as though wary of her. While their weapons weren’t drawn, the holsters were unbuckled, and she could see that their guns were set to stun.

Not the company you bring to a party unless you are expecting a fight, she thought.

The hair on the back of her neck tingled. Something was amiss and it somehow involved her.

Martok would not say what in front of Dav, K’Lira thought, which led her to believe that he thought either it wasn’t any of Starfleet’s business or the commodore would object if he’d known. Whatever it was, the general was being intentionally secretive. That never boded well, but Martok was her superior officer, and she trusted his judgment.

“Very well,” she said, and they left, trailed by the guards.

A few seconds passed.

“Well, that was… weird,” Davir said, puzzled.

He turned to Losozola. “Did you sense anything?”

Sgiza sighed. “Deep concern from the general, nervousness and fear from the guards, all very focused on her. By the way, she’s as confused as you are and somber—I can still feel her from here. Whatever’s going on, she’s clueless but not expecting it to be good.”

Davir looked in the direction his wife had gone and frowned, wishing he’d accompanied her, but it wasn’t his place to intrude as Martok had requested privacy.

Mildly frustrated, he tapped his combadge. “Venture, this is the commodore. Three to beam aboard.”

Martok, K’Lira, and the guards arrived at the Kor’gun’s brig. It was a wide room with four cells on the left and four on the right. A guard station with a weapons closet was on the back wall. The station controlled the cells, all of which were empty.

We did not take any prisoners, she remembered, so that makes sense.

“What is wrong, General?” she asked anxiously.

Martok sighed deeply, looking forlornly at the floor. He’d reviewed the evidence against her, desperate to find some way to avoid arresting her for a crime she’d allegedly committed. He finally met her gaze and was momentarily struck by how vivid her eyes were. He knew their shade changed with her mood; he didn’t know what bright purple meant, but he was sure it would change when she heard what was on his mind.

There are times when I truly regret my responsibilities, he thought remorsefully. Maybe I should have retired, too?

“Matron,” he began, “you will recall that Gowron ordered Kahless’ bat’leth sent to the Boreth monastery.”

K’Lira nodded, remembering. “We were there.”

“Yes,” he agreed, then he continued. “Well, the Yan-Isleth have reported that it never arrived.”

K’Lira stared at him silently, not knowing what to say.

She knew that Ambassador Aegis, who’d coordinated returning the sword to the Empire, had stipulated that Kahless’ bat’leth should be presented to all the Klingon people, not to a specific House or person. She and Gowron had agreed with his wisdom. Morlo’s fear was that someone would use it to set themselves up as a dictator and disband the Federation-Klingon-Romulan Alliance. Now it dubiously seemed someone had taken the first step on that terrible path.

Lost again! Stolen in transit, she suspected, jumping from conclusions to questions. By whom? How? Why?!

Her face paled as her heart rate slowed, and she slumped, catching herself against a nearby wall.

Martok saw her distress and felt bad for causing it. How will she react when she hears the rest? he wondered.

He quickly reached out to her. “Are you ill, Matron?” he asked, concerned.

She took his hand gratefully, breathing deeply to recover herself. Her color quickly returned as she straightened. She placed her hand over his heart and anxiously asked, “They found it, yes?”

Now it was Martok’s face that paled.

Nodding, he gave her his PADD with trembling hands, the damning footage already set to replay.

She took it and watched in growing dismay as its awful accusation played out.

K’Lira’s reputation as an exemplary Klingon warrior, the worthy founder of House Trestian, a famous Yan-Isleth instructor, and a notable general was well deserved but tenuous. She’d accidentally become an augment as a teenager. By ancient law, augmented Klingons had no rights. They were Houseless outcasts, pariahs amongst their own people, forbidden to trade goods and services or to fight alongside normal Klingons. She’d spent two decades making up for that by garnering a grand reputation performing many heroic deeds around the Empire’s fringe. However, she’d used prosthetics to look more normal for fear that others would reject her if they knew she was an augment.

Finally, 10 years ago, K’Lira was forced to reveal her secret to the High Council. Gowron’s forgiveness for lying about that had secured the leniency she needed to remain a Klingon in good standing. He’d conditioned that benefit upon her continued loyalty to the Empire. She’d happily agreed as she was already loyal, and her security and pride in being an honorable Klingon had been untouchable since… until today.

Jailed for larceny

Gowron will surely condemn me for grand larceny! My honor, my House and its warriors and holdings, all I value as a Klingon is in jeopardy now, she realized, horrified. It was her worst nightmare.

“Matron K’Lira of House Trestian,” Martok said regretfully, “you are hereby placed under arrest for illegally having the sword of Kahless. A trial…”

His words were like icy daggers stabbing at her soul, but she mercifully never heard the rest of it as she fainted dead away.

K’Lira awoke with a splitting headache on a cot in one of the cells. Disoriented, nauseous, and groaning in pain, she put a hand to her clammy forehead and slid off the cot into a squat. The chill of the floor bit into her feet and knees, and she realized her crown, weapons, and armor were gone. Suddenly, her memory came back: the great battle, the raucous party, Martok’s incriminating video, its awful consequence, all of it.

She pitched forward and vomited until her stomach finally stopped flipping.

What really happened? she wondered angrily. How did it get into my room? Who is framing me and why?

There were no answers to be found while kneeling in her own bile, and she started to stand.

“The headache will stop soon,” a warm, dulcet voice said behind her.

K’Lira whirled, reaching instinctively for her absent dagger; she saw no one.

Her inner ear churned nauseatingly, and she hit the floor again on all fours, dry heaving.

“As will the nausea,” the female voice added.

A slim hand touched K’Lira’s right shoulder, and she looked up to see a lovely Orion woman in a white medical uniform kneeling next to her.

“Who…?” K’Lira asked between spasms.

Smiling, the woman stood up and stepped away. Her movements were noiseless, and she suddenly disappeared, then reappeared in another part of the cell. Walking quietly back to K’Lira, she said, “I’m the ship’s emergency medical hologram, of course, the only person allowed in your cell. I was told you were distressed and instructed to help you.”

She knelt again and looked closely at K’Lira, appraising the patient. “You’re physically unharmed despite your ordeal,” she observed. “By that, I mean the battle. Your current state is a result of overstressing your heart.” She tilted her head to one side. “Did you know you have an atrial murmur?” she asked. “We can fix that.”

K’Lira had finally had enough. Her emotional turmoil couldn’t be soothed by a hologram’s condescension, nor could her legal peril be resolved by a medical program. Her eyes darkened dangerously as her ire rose, and she shoved the nurse rudely away, causing it to vanish. She stood, stalked to the force field in front of the cell, and addressed the guard at the back of the brig.

“I want to talk to Martok!” she yelled.

“He is not here,” the fat slob of a Klingon muttered past a mouthful of lunch.

“Tell him Matron K’Lira requests to speak with him immediately,” she tried again.

“You do not give orders in here,” he sneered, then he returned to his meal, simply ignoring her.

Apoplectic, K’Lira swore violently and struck the force field repeatedly. “I AM TALKING TO YOU!” she exploded.

The field predictably absorbed and dissipated her best efforts, and the guard continued as before.

Waste of time, she told herself despondently as she gave up. He has been instructed not to listen to me.

It would take the ship several days to reach Qo’noS at low warp unless Martok accelerated home ahead of his fleet, which was unlikely. She’d never been jailed before, and her soul ached at the thought of what this would do to her family. She didn’t even know if Davir had been told of her predicament. Ugly words like “thief,” “convict,” and “prisoner” plagued her mind, and she tasted bile rising again at the idea that they apparently applied to her. She knew she was completely innocent, and it vexed her greatly that she could do nothing until her trial. She’d see all the evidence and meet her accuser then, but she was sure whoever had framed her would meanwhile try to make sure her trial was a sham, and that her conviction was a foregone conclusion. She could only surmise that whoever had stolen the sword then planted it in her cabin wanted her out of their way for a reason, but she had no clue who or why. That troubled her most of all.

Frustrated, overwhelmed, and helpless, K’Lira sat on the floor, hung her head between her knees, and started to cry. Her long hair hid her face, and she initially failed to notice the EMH had returned, standing unobtrusively in a corner.

The holographic nurse noiselessly approached the distraught Klingon, knelt, wrapped her arms around K’Lira’s shaking shoulders, and wept, too.

K’Lira was so emotionally spent she forgot holograms were just programmed force fields and photons. While some could emulate behaviors, most were incapable of actual empathy or emotion. Even with psychological subroutines, it was unlike any standard EMH to share in a patient’s emotional outpouring. In that moment, though, it was exactly what K’Lira wanted, and she didn’t mind the difference. She pulled the nurse in and sobbed into her shoulder.

FOOTNOTES

Heghtay 🔉

Klingonese: "Death ritual,' a Klingon ritual to warn the honored dead that another warrior is entering Sto'Vo'Kor.

Heghpu'vaD batlh 🔉

Klingonese: "To the honored dead."

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“Don’t speak, Matron,” someone said quietly, “just listen.”

K’Lira’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself still on the cold floor of her dingy cell. Her clothes and hair were sticky and reeked of bile. She had no idea who was speaking to her, so she sat up and looked around. In the dim light of the cell’s solitary lamp, she saw the nurse was back in one of the corners of the little room. K’Lira remembered crying herself to sleep in the hologram’s embrace, and she didn’t know how much time had passed, but the EMH was the only other person there. Even the security guard was gone.

“Who…?” she asked sleepily.

“Hush, listen,” the voice insisted. “There’s little time—the guard will return soon.”

The voice was male, and she noticed now that the hologram’s lips were moving, though it was otherwise still. Someone was clandestinely speaking to her through the EMH.

Fully awake now, K’Lira watched the hologram closely. “Who are you?” she couldn’t help asking.

“My name isn’t important,” the voice said, “but what I have to say will change everything for you. Gowron, too. I know who framed you.”

Galvanized, K’Lira’s heart raced. She had no idea who this person was or how he’d hacked the EMH, but she was glad he had. She instantly memorized his voice. It had a lilting trill she found hard to place.

“The Kor’gun’s being trailed by another ship whose crew are working with the True Way. Their leader’s called His Eminence—I don’t know his real name. He got Kahless’ sword from a Klingon court official who told him to frame you with its theft.”

K’Lira nearly screamed for joy: Someone else knows I am innocent!

This was the break she hadn’t dared hope for.

He needs to testify on my behalf, or I must somehow corroborate what he is saying, she thought. She wanted desperately to ask question after question because her mind was so full of them, but she told herself not to interrupt.

The voice continued, growing staticky. “There’s more, much more I need to tell you, but there isn’t time. I need asylum. Tell Martok to look… escape pod…"

The EMH suddenly stopped talking, its mouth frozen in mid-sentence.

K’Lira immediately stood and went quickly to the hologram, suspecting something had gone wrong, perhaps on the hacker’s side. She snapped her fingers in front of its face—no reaction. She tapped it on the forehead—still nothing. “Computer, deactivate the EMH,” she said. The hologram remained, its open mouth almost comical in appearance.

Either it is programmed not to take orders from me, or it is broken, she thought.

Her heart fell. She was sure whatever else the hacker had intended to say, it would’ve added value to what he’d already told her, but that chance was passed. Still, she felt vindicated that someone was willing to risk helping her prove her innocence, even if she didn’t know who or why. She was even more anxious to talk to Martok.

She turned back towards her cot to wait for the guard’s return.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” the EMH’s now-female voice said brightly behind her.

K’Lira realized the program had evidently reset itself, and the hacker was truly gone.

His Eminence’s battlecruiser, the Jagh ghogh, had been following the Kor’gun under cloak since the battle of Trivas III. The Enemy’s Voice’s mercenary crew was mostly Klingon, with some vassal aliens, none of whom were loyal to the Empire. The warship had an austere interior designed for military efficiency: dim red lighting, warm temperature, metallic walls and flooring, few windows, trapezoid doorways, and Spartan furnishings.

In a dark crawlspace near an unused storage room, a male Lethean and a Gorn sat next to a female Ferasan named Sathran. Her narrow yellow eyes reflected the light of the PADD she held. She’d tapped the ship’s navigational array with it and used the array’s carrier wave to hack into the Kor’gun’s main computer. Once inside, she’d reprogrammed its holographic projection system. Apparently, the Jagh ghogh’s automated security system had discovered her illicit activities and shut down the nav array.

“Connection’s been broken… on our side,” she muttered, annoyed, and handed the PADD to the Lethean. “What now, Rimic?” she asked worriedly.

Rimic took the PADD and looked for himself, confirming her fear. Their plan needed to accelerate.

Dissatisfied with their prospects in working with His Eminence, the three mercenaries had recently decided to defect to Martok’s House. That required asking his permission to seek asylum in exchange for their insight into His Eminence’s operations. To avoid tipping off His Eminence, they’d devised a hack into the Kor’gun’s computer and tried to use its EMH to privately ask him to beam them aboard while the Jagh ghogh's shields were down. The problems were that the EMH could only go where there were holoemitters and that Martok rarely went to those places, so he was proving too difficult to isolate. Time was running out.

Their backup plan was to appeal to Matron K’Lira on the same basis, hoping her friendship with Martok would play out in their favor. She had influence within the Empire as a House leader, but she’d been difficult to isolate, too, until she’d been thrown into Martok’s brig. Sathran had quickly discovered the reason for her incarceration, and Rimic realized he had additional leverage in K’Lira’s case.

The alien trio knew His Eminence had long been working with rogue factions in the Klingon Empire. One of his goals was to disrupt the alliance to its breaking point. Besides the mercenaries aboard the Enemy’s Voice, there were rebel cells throughout the Empire. The return of Kahless’ sword was an excuse to light it all off, so someone connected to the High Council had given the sword to His Eminence with specific instructions to frame K’Lira. Rimic had overheard the conversation himself. When he realized Martok was almost unreachable but that K’Lira was alone in the brig, accused of a crime he knew she hadn’t committed, he’d switched to plan B and used the EMH to talk to her.

His Eminence would soon learn that someone aboard his hidden ship had tapped its navigational array in a way that might’ve given away the ship’s presence. He’d surely sweep the ship, looking for whomever had done that to make an example of them. Sathran was right—they’d run out of time and needed to adapt.

Their original plan to escape from His Eminence’s ship had involved Martok arranging a site-to-site transport while the Jagh ghogh’s shields were down. They were always down while in stealth mode because shields were detectable through the cloak. As for the Kor’gun, Rimic couldn’t beam over as long as its shields were up because he didn’t know the shields’ modulation frequency, so the transport had to be initiated from the Kor’gun.

All of that now had to change. K’Lira was their only contact, and there was no way she could help them from Martok’s brig. The three mercs needed to escape His Eminence’s ship on their own and hoped K’Lira could advise Martok in time. Rimic had been explaining that to K’Lira when Sathran’s connection to the EMH had been cut.

Modified escapade

“His Eminence will have already disabled the transporter system,” Rimic said to Sathran. “Shuttlebay’s gonna be heavily guarded, too. The only way off the Jagh ghogh now is to use the escape pods. They’re never locked down.” He shrugged. “It was all I could think of.”

“What if K’Lira can’t talk to Martok in time?” Sathran asked.

Rimic shrugged again. “We need to buy her time. Otherwise, we’re screwed.”

He turned to the Gorn on his other side. “Rogazh, we need a distraction so we can get to an escape pod. You’re an engineer—any ideas?”

Rogazh’s large black eyes stared lidlessly at them both while he thought.

Creeps me out, Rimic thought. Can’t tell if he’s looking at me or past me.

“I’m a diagnostics engineer, Rimic,” the Gorn finally hissed, his S sounds slightly lengthened, “but I think the best way to distract His Eminence long enough to launch an escape pod is to disable its weapons and transporters so that our pod doesn’t get shot or we don’t get beamed back aboard before Martok can reach us. Also, pods can’t be launched at warp—they’re strictly sublight because they don’t survive the transition back to normal space. That means the Jagh ghogh needs to drop out of warp, which likely means Martok would have to do so first.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Rimic agreed. “How do we do all that without getting caught?”

“I can access any terminal on this ship as long as it’s not locked down,” Sathran chimed in. “Just tell me which system to touch, and I can do all the damage we’ll need with my PADD.”

“Doing a level five diagnostic on the warp core or the transporters would automatically require disabling them long enough to finish it, which is why we don’t do it at warp. I know which fault codes would take the longest to fix, but I don’t know how to fake them authentically. Do you?”

Sathran grinned, her feline fangs reflecting the dim light, and handed him the PADD. “Show me what to put where.”

Rimic watched as the Gorn and the Ferasan worked, privately gratified that he’d been brave enough to include them in his plans to defect to the Klingon Empire. He and they made a trio of perfect misfits. While they’d had different reasons for joining, Sathran and Rogazh were talented specialists. Rimic was the mastermind of the group with his knowledge of the Jagh ghogh's general operations. Together, they felt unstoppable. Rimic hoped his confidence wasn’t an exaggeration. They’d need more than luck to pull off their ruse.

K’Lira lay awake on the cot in her cell. The nurse had replicated an ordinary tunic and pants with simple leather boots and a belt for her, all black. She wore no armor or other embellishments as those weren’t allowed, but everything was fresh and clean. The nurse had even arranged to wash the bile from K’Lira’s hair, and the cell smelled normal again.

A different security guard was on duty now at the back of the brig, and K’Lira resolved to treat this one more respectfully than the last. She was feeling better about her prospects since talking to her mysterious benefactor via the EMH, so she’d asked the guard to pass a message to Martok about needing to speak at his convenience as she had new information to share with him.

The guard had agreed to do so, but that had been several hours ago.

Martok must be sleeping off all that bloodwine, she thought ruefully, but there was nothing to do except wait. She closed her eyes.

The guard’s voice came over the cell’s speaker. “The general’s coming down in a few minutes,” he said.

K’Lira started awake and realized she’d dozed off. She got up quickly, then remembered that she didn’t have access to the amenities in her cabin, so she couldn’t freshen up.

Well, Martok has seen me covered in gore. If my worst state does not faze him, nothing will, she concluded, shrugging.

A few minutes later, the brig door opened, and General Martok walked in, accompanied by two bodyguards. He looked haggard as though he hadn’t slept much.

“Matron, are you well?” he asked, stopping before her cell. He sounded tired, too.

“Under these circumstances, well enough,” she said.

Martok looked slightly abashed. He regretted the necessity of jailing her until they reached Qo’noS, but protocol demanded it. He was sure she wouldn’t forgive him, and he could live with that, but it had preyed upon his mind all night and haunted his fitful dreams.

“If there were any other way,” he started, “I…”

K’Lira held up her hand, stopping him. “General, I brought you down here to tell you that someone else knows I am innocent.” She told him about the conversation she’d had with the mysterious hacker during the night.

“Have your technicians check the EMH program for signs of tampering,” she advised. “The hacker specifically said he needed our help. If that is true, he might have left clues about that in your computer system.”

Martok was amazed. A cloaked ship close aboard? A nameless hacker begging for asylum who’d remotely invaded a complex computer network to tell him to look for a pod? Someone who allegedly had evidence of K’Lira’s innocence? It was hard to credit. Still, he’d known K’Lira for over 20 years, and she was the most level-headed person he’d ever met. It was completely unlike her to make up such an outlandish tale, even to save herself, and he was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt. It did no harm to check it out.

He nodded musingly. “I have already updated Gowron about your situation, but this warrants another report. I will have a photonic studies scientist check the computer network and the EMH specifically.”

K’Lira was relieved that Martok had listened to her, gratified that he was willing to help, and hopeful that he’d find what they were looking for. Her eyes brightened. “Thank you so much, General.”

He started to leave, then turned back. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Starving!” she agreed.

Martok smiled. “Your husband is not the only one who knows how to program a replicator. I will serve you from my own table,” he said and left, taking his guards with him.

A few hours later, after a lovely full-course breakfast, Martok returned to the brig, triumphant and eager. He went straight to the guard’s station at the back of the room. “Release Matron K’Lira,” he ordered.

The guard didn’t even question Martok’s instruction and dropped the force field in front of her cell.

K’Lira stepped forth quizzically.

“You were absolutely right,” Martok exclaimed, gladly confirming her suspicion. “The network was hacked and by an apparently very clever person. The EMH has numerous irregular command protocols in it. We are reviewing them now, but it is clear they were added quite recently and not by anyone aboard. Given what you told me, it seems likely that someone wants your attention… or mine. Either way, there is enough reasonable doubt about your guilt to warrant reducing your incarceration to a form of house arrest until we can officially clear your name.” He paused. “You are restricted to quarters aboard my ship until we reach Qo’noS tomorrow evening. Will you comply?”

K’Lira’s heart fluttered. It wasn’t everything she’d hoped for, but it was enough and a good start to her defense. She still didn’t know what to make of the hacker’s request for asylum, but it was clear Martok believed her innocence could be proven, and he was doing his part. She realized he had to keep her under guard while she was in his custody. She had no intention of making that difficult for him as long as she wasn’t treated like a convict.

Her gratitude overwhelmed her, and she surprised him by pulling him into a bear hug, her powerful muscles making his back creak in protest as she squeezed.

“Oof!” he grunted.

K’Lira recovered herself and released him. “Of course,” she said. “You are a good friend, General.

“If I may ask,” she continued, “have you told my husband about my situation yet?”

Martok looked uncomfortable. “I have not.” He held up a hand to forestall her protest. “Not because I did not want to, but Gowron specifically told me not to discuss the sword’s theft with anybody in the Federation. He sees this as a strictly internal matter and wishes to avoid potentially embarrassing the Empire publicly.”

K’Lira frowned, pinching her lips into a line. She wasn’t convinced of Gowron’s logic in keeping his cards close to his chest. She resented that his decision necessarily kept her family in the dark, and she hurt because Davir had no idea she was in trouble. She wasn’t sure how he could’ve helped her legally, but his compassionate presence would’ve comforted her, and she missed him terribly.

Martok noted her sour expression and sighed. “I will try again,” he promised resignedly.

K’Lira softened. “You must feel as though I have you wrapped around my finger, eh?”

“It just seems like the right thing to do,” he answered.

She smiled gently. “Again, I thank you.”

Martok straightened. “If there is nothing else, Matron, the guard outside will take you to your quarters. We have brought your personal belongings there. You are required to stay in your room for the duration. Any requests you may have should be directed to the deck officer on duty.”

He waved openly to the doorway, and K’Lira left, glad to exchange imprisonment in a tiny brig for house arrest in an unused crew berth.

FOOTNOTES

Jagh ghogh 🔉

Klingonese: "Enemy's Voice." It's the name of His Eminence's ship.

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His Eminence had been trailing Martok’s fleet under cloak since Trivas III. Aboard the Enemy’s Voice, Rimic, Sathran, and Rogazh were crammed into one of the warship’s escape pods, finally ready to risk everything to seek asylum on General Martok’s ship. The plan was to force the Jagh ghogh to drop out of warp long enough to jettison their escape pod, then rocket off in Martok’s direction, hoping he would beam them aboard before His Eminence’s ship could get underway again to catch them. With Rogazh’s help, Sathran had pre-programmed a series of false faults in the Enemy’s Voice's computer, which would require taking the ship out of warp for diagnosis and repair. Rogazh had disabled the ship’s tractor beam and transporter systems in the same way. As an added measure of protection, Rimic had brought a transport inhibitor with him in case the Jagh ghogh managed to get its transporter running before Martok could reach them. Once they were safely on his ship, they would barter their knowledge of His Eminence’s operations for asylum in Martok’s House. If that didn’t work out, they’d do the same for asylum in House Trestian.

In K’Lira’s case, Rimic had additional value regarding her legal defense. He knew she’d been framed by someone connected to the High Council for stealing Kahless’ sword, which would be scandalous news when it broke. He also knew K’Lira was in prison aboard the Kor’gun, and he was anxious to talk to her in person, too.

“We’re almost out of time, Rimic,” Sathran said. “Martok will reach Qo’noS tomorrow, and he and K’Lira will be impossible to reach then. It’s now or never.”

Rimic glanced at Rogazh, who said nothing, then he looked back at her and shrugged. “Do it.”

Sathran pulled out her PADD to link to the pod’s unsecured computer, then used the pod’s hardline connection to run the modified diagnostic routines Rogazh had recommended.

In the ship’s engineering area, a series of fault codes related to the port nacelle’s performance appeared on the chief engineer’s console, indicating the nacelle wasn’t maintaining a warp field properly. The computer recommended dropping out of warp until the nacelle’s issue could be resolved. As long as warp power was available, the ship’s cloak would keep the ship hidden, but the Enemy’s Voice would fall behind as Martok continued on to Qo’noS, unaware he’d been followed by the most wanted ship in the galaxy for collapsing the Bajoran wormhole.

The engineer called the bridge to tell the captain about the reason for the computer’s recommended action.

While he and the captain discussed options, Sathran used more of Rogazh’s engineering knowledge to make the nacelle scram itself, forcing it to fail. Everyone except the ones in the escape pod was surprised when the ship’s warp field collapsed asymmetrically. The Enemy’s Voice veered hard to port, and only the inertial dampeners kept the crew from being tossed wildly as it stumbled back into normal space, leaving behind subspace ripples even the ship’s cloak couldn’t hide.

The Kor’gun’s scanners detected a large sensor ghost close aboard that fell away aft, and the general was immediately summoned to the bridge. He’d been forewarned by Rimic via K’Lira to look for an escape pod. While there was no way a pod could create a subspace disturbance that big and chaotic, it obviously bore investigation under the circumstances. Martok ordered his warship to come about while the rest of his fleet continued to Qo’noS.

Aboard the Enemy’s Voice, the crew recovered as the ship came to a full stop a short distance from where it had fallen out of subspace. The port nacelle was dark, but the other systems were working, including the cloak. The captain could already see the Kor’gun approaching on the tactical viewer. He knew His Eminence valued the Jagh ghogh's secrecy more than anything else, so he ordered the ship to clear the vicinity on impulse power so that it would not be discovered easily.

That’s when Sathran played her next trick. Tapping into the bridge’s tactical display, she watched the Kor’gun approach to get the timing right, then she jettisoned their escape pod. The jarring jolt and sudden acceleration away from the hull pressed her into her seat, and she almost dropped her PADD. The star field outside the pod’s only window spun crazily as the vehicle tumbled away from the invisible battlecruiser. The thrusters fired, and their trajectory stabilized after a few seconds.

She turned to Rimic. “Turn on the inhibitor.”

Rimic did so, and the Klingon device began to glow red as its particle disruption field enveloped the little pod. Now, the only way to capture them was to tractor the pod.

“You sure you disabled their tractor beam?” he asked Rogazh.

The Gorn started to hiss in reply, then stopped and pointed out the window.

Cloud of pods

Rimic turned to look, hoping to see Martok’s ship in the near distance. Instead, a cloud of escape pods met his view, dozens of them. Still more appeared as they emerged from the Enemy Voice’s cloaking effect. He couldn’t count them all, and he was sure His Eminence’s crew couldn’t tractor so many of them anyway.

He turned to Sathran in mild shock. “You launched all of them?”

She looked up, feigning innocence. “Oops.”

Rogazh hissed, laughing as he turned to Rimic. “Yes, I’m sure their tractor beam won’t work.” He handed Rimic an odd-looking mechanical component. “It’s the tractor’s emitter regulator. It won’t work without one, and I spaced all their spares before I took that one out.”

Rimic smiled in satisfaction as things were going well… so far. He checked the pod’s sensors. The Kor’gun was closing fast on the cloud of escape pods. The real danger at this point was His Eminence’s fully armed ship. If the captain opened fire to prevent their defection, their pod would be destroyed very quickly. Rimic was betting that His Eminence didn’t want to reveal his ship’s presence by dropping the cloak long enough to power the weapons, not with another warship actively scanning the area. While he couldn’t see the Enemy’s Voice, he was sure it was lurking in the immediate vicinity, and that its Klingon captain was seething that he could do nothing to prevent Martok from picking through the escape pods.

Martok needs to find us quickly, Rimic thought. He turned to Sathran and opened his mouth.

“Way ahead of you, Boss,” she interrupted.

She retrieved her PADD and tuned to the escape pods’ emergency frequency. Sending an SOS broadcast command, she soon had all the others chirping in unison, but she left their pod silent by contrast. If anyone was scanning the pods, the lack of an SOS from theirs would seem oddly conspicuous.

Rimic saw the Kor’gun stop about 10 kilometers away, apparently scanning the field of drifting escape pods, looking for life forms. Without waiting for the scan to finish, he deactivated the transport inhibitor, hit the pod’s thrusters, and flew directly towards the Kor’gun, trusting that K’Lira had convinced the general that the rogues were friendly and should be allowed aboard.

The Kor’gun opened its shuttle bay, locked onto their escape pod with its tractor beam, brought them straight in, and closed its bay. A red haze surrounded the mercs as the Kor’gun’s transporter removed them from the pod.

Rimic, Sathran, and Rogazh materialized in separate cells in the ship’s brig.

Rimic slumped down onto his cot, relieved they’d made it aboard the Kor’gun without major incident. She did it, he thought, referring to K’Lira.

“Rimic,” he heard Sathran call nervously from the next cell, “tell me this was part of the plan.”

Before he could reply, the voice of the guard at the back of the brig sounded over the speaker system. “The prisoners will stand and remain silent. The general will arrive shortly.”

Prisoners? Rimic thought. Definitely not part of the plan.

He stood and looked around curiously, noting the other cells were unoccupied. Where’s K’Lira? he wondered, unaware she’d been moved.

The brig door opened and Martok strode in, accompanied by two guards. He went straight to Rimic’s cell and stood there, taking in the three prisoners with his one-eyed gaze, unsure what to make of his catch. Based on K’Lira’s information, he was fairly certain one of them had been the one who had spoken with her the night before and told them to watch for a pod. The request for asylum could wait until he determined their identities and the value of any information they had to offer in exchange for that.

“I am General Martok,” he said by way of unnecessary introduction.

“Who are you?” he asked, looking at Rimic first.

Flee to Qo'noS!

“Thank you for rescuing us, General,” Rimic replied. “I’m Rimic, and these are Sathran and Rogazh.” He indicated the others in turn. “We can talk all you want later, but I should warn you that a nearby cloaked ship armed with isotopic torpedoes like the kind you destroyed at Trivas is recovering from the sabotage we conducted to escape it. It’ll likely attack your ship as soon as possible to eliminate us. You must leave immediately! Rejoin your fleet and flee to Qo’noS! It won’t follow you there.”

The strong advice didn’t startle Martok because K’Lira had already warned him of a possible cloaked opponent nearby. He didn’t understand how Rimic and the others related to that enemy, but the news that the True Way’s super-weapon was still in the game filled him with frustration and dread. He was frustrated that his successful attack on the True Way base hadn’t eliminated all the super-weapons. He feared the mysterious enemy ship would use it on a populated world to avenge that attack. He couldn’t risk that, nor could he risk standing toe to toe with an enemy vessel armed with anti-genetic isotopic torpedoes. His ship was still somewhat damaged, and if one of those weapons got past his shields, he was sure his crew wouldn’t survive the result. It seemed prudence was indeed the better part of valor.

He brought his wrist communicator up. “Bridge, this is Martok. Rejoin the fleet, then make best speed to the home world. DaH!”

“Executing, sir,” the helmsman affirmed, and the Kor’gun went to warp.

Rimic sighed, visibly relieved. “Thank you, General,” he said.

“You can thank me best by answering my questions,” Martok said gruffly. “Start with why you are here.”

“In short, we’re defecting to your House,” Rimic answered.

“From where? And why should I grant any of you asylum?” Martok wanted to know.

“That’s… complicated,” Rimic admitted hesitantly.

“Make me understand,” Martok challenged, folding his arms expectantly.

Rimic sighed again and sat down, knowing this would take a while.

“I am… or was an intelligence officer on His Eminence’s ship. Sathran, the Ferasan in the next cell, is a computer specialist, and Rogazh, the Gorn over on the end, is a diagnostics engineer.”

Rimic explained that the three of them had been recruited to salvage an abandoned Klingon warship adrift in the Badlands in 2377. The Jagh ghogh had suffered some damage from the adverse elements, but almost none from anything else. Its warp core had been ejected, and it was unclear what had happened to the ship’s crew, but the ship was otherwise spaceworthy. The salvagers rigged up a replacement core and tried to fly the ship to a Cardassian shipyard, but His Eminence captured it, and the three of them had been annexed into his gang. Rimic, Sathran, and Rogazh found worthwhile work, but they eventually became disillusioned with His Eminence’s agenda against the alliance, his antithetical fascination with the Bajoran wormhole aliens, and his partnership in turning the True Way into a galactic superpower. They’d been looking for a new home for months, and they’d decided Martok was their best chance.

“You were this Eminence’s intelligence officer?” Martok asked.

Rimic nodded. “The ship’s second officer,” he confirmed.

Martok nodded musingly. A highly placed command officer with insight into the enemy’s operation and resources was definitely a boon against the True Way, so he could easily see Rimic’s value.

He moved on to the Ferasan’s cell and opened his mouth to address her.

Sathran raised a furry hand preemptively. “I can hack anything with an interface. It was I who broke into your network, then reprogrammed its EMH. I also sabotaged the Enemy’s Voice’s computer to prevent His Eminence from recapturing me… us. And…”

“Do you always interrupt your superiors before they get a word in edgewise?” Martok asked, annoyed.

Sathran shrugged proudly. “I’m a Dahar Master when it comes to hacking computers, so I don’t have a superior.”

Martok decided not to rebut that because she wasn’t actually a member of his House or the Empire, so technically he wasn’t her superior officer. Also, hacking the Kor’gun’s computer network was, in his estimation, quite a feat at that, and he wasn’t averse to crediting her success in doing so. A computer specialist with expert hacking skills and troves of data from His Eminence’s files was another asset Martok coveted, even though Sathran apparently had an arrogant streak.

He moved on to the last cell, stopping in front of the Gorn engineer.

Rogazh just stared back at Martok with his lidless, black, multifaceted eyes and hissed slightly as he exhaled.

“And what do you offer in exchange for asylum, Mister Rogazh?” Martok asked.

“I know His Eminence’s ship well,” Rogazh replied. “It’s an older Negh’Var than yours, and I made modifications to its defenses, modifications I’d share with your tactical team in exchange for asylum.”

Martok considered their petitions. His crew was top notch, but if Rogazh could help them find weaknesses in the Enemy’s Voice’s defenses that could be exploited in battle, that would also be worth the exchange. However, what these three had done to get away from His Eminence, they could do to his ship, too. He decided to be magnanimous but cautious.

“Very well, Mister Rimic,” he said, returning to the Lethean’s cell. “I hereby grant you and your companions asylum in exchange for your professional services to the Empire and my House. I also grant you amnesty for the dishonor inherent in betraying your former master when you decided to defect.”

He took a breath and tried to annex them himself. “It is common for new crew members, particularly raw recruits, to go through a probationary period to evaluate their skills and placement and to let them acclimatize to working aboard a warship. You three clearly are not recruits, and you have served on a warship like this one before, but you are new to this crew, so a probationary period is still appropriate to see where and how well you fit in. A month should suffice. I will have my first officer draft your orders tomorrow. Is that satisfactory?”

Rimic frowned slightly. “Not really, General,” he answered. “Let me explain. We do want amnesty in House Martok in exchange for our particular skills in your campaign against the True Way, but we’ve had our fill of serving on warships. We don’t want to join your crew. We just want to help and to have the freedom to choose our own way within the Empire. Is that reasonable?”

Martok found himself amenable to anything that provided what he needed against the True Way and their allies. He was used to leveraging his warriors to that end, but if Rimic and his friends were more interested in being consultants, that still worked for him.“Of course,” he answered, “as long as you make yourselves available to the Empire’s need of what you know and do.”

Rimic nodded assent. “We have an accord, sir,” he agreed.

“Now that that’s out of the way, what can you do about our accommodations while we’re aboard?” he asked.

Martok shrugged. “You are not actually prisoners,” he said. “The brig was just a precautionary measure until we could confirm your intentions. I will have the deck officer see to your guest quarters.”

Rimic nodded again, then he had a second thought. “Speaking of the brig, where’s General K’Lira?” he asked. “I understood she was being held in here, too.”

That is none of his business, Martok thought warily. How would…? Then he remembered. The EMH, of course.

“She is restricted to quarters,” he answered curtly without further explanation.

Rimic took his emphasis, but he also remembered his earlier conversation with her via the EMH about her being framed for stealing the sword of Kahless. He anxiously wanted to speak with K’Lira so he could tell her what he knew about that. He decided to press the general anyway.

“Is she allowed visitors?” he asked. “It’s very important that I help with her legal defense.”

“Only with my approval,” Martok replied. “I am aware of the matron’s legal issues. What do you want to tell her?”

“Matron?” Rimic asked, confused. “She’s not a general?”

“Her military rank was temporarily restored for the action at Trivas III,” Martok explained. “Her rank is rescinded because that operation is now over, but she remains the founder of her House.”

“I see,” Rimic said.

“Well,” he continued, “I intended a private conversation, but I wanted to tell her what I know about who framed her for stealing Kahless’ sword.”

Martok knew that such a witness would be eminently useful to K’Lira’s defense. As her friend, he’d been lenient with her accommodation while still complying with Klingon protocols for transporting prisoners. When they got to Qo’noS, he would deliver her to the High Council for pre-trial proceedings. His duty then fulfilled, he’d have to distance himself to preserve his objective candidacy as a character witness in her case. Rimic could be her leading witness, assuming his testimony could be proven. That determination had to start now while the evidence was available on board.

“I will arrange it,” he said, turning to leave.

“Most satisfactory, General,” Rimic said, leaning back on his cot to wait for Martok to keep his word.

FOOTNOTES

Jagh ghogh 🔉

Klingonese: "Enemy's Voice." It's the name of His Eminence's ship.

DaH! 🔉

Klingonese: "Now!"

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K’Lira’s berth on the Kor’gun was typical of its kind. The trapezoidal door was the only way into the room, and the deck officer had assigned a guard to make sure she stayed in her cabin. The rectangular room was bigger than the berth she’d had on the transport she’d taken to Trivas III, but its accommodation was almost as severe. A single light fixture was embedded in the ceiling, uncomfortably reminding her of her recent stint in the similarly lit brig. The metallic walls and floor were completely bare and reflected the chill in the air, but she had a proper bed instead of a cot. The bed fully occupied the wall nearest the door. The living area in the middle of the room had a small desk with a computer. The replicator was on the wall opposite the doorway, and the entry to the bathroom was next to that. The sonic shower was thankfully bigger than the one on that transport ship, so she could use her full height when taking a shower. Overall, it was as comfortable as could be expected on a Klingon warship. She was fairly sure Martok’s own quarters were not much better than hers.

K’Lira lay on the bed, thinking dourly about her precarious situation. Her computer access was limited to the ship’s library files and communication network. The replicator would dispense only food, water, and ordinary clothing; armor or weapons of any kind were strictly prohibited. She was fine with all of that, but she had no access to information from outside the ship, so she was unaware of wider happenings in the Empire. She was frustrated that she couldn’t contact Qo’noS for additional information about the evidence against her. For now, she would have to continue relying on Martok.

She had a lot to lose if she was found guilty of grand larceny. Her honor was fundamental to the House she’d founded over 30 years ago. It was presently a little over a thousand warriors strong with a small space fleet including her flagship, the I.K.S. Ak’voh. She had some land holdings on Qu’Vat II. Although she hadn’t led her House since she’d retired, her stellar reputation still drove it to prominence, and it was a popular choice with recruits from the Klingon Defense Force Academy

There was also the unusual matter of her status as an augment. By ancient law, Klingon augments found disloyal to the Empire were not citizens but were cast out of Klingon society. Only Gowron’s forgiveness for her lying about being one kept her from losing her rights, and that forgiveness was contingent upon her continued loyalty. A guilty verdict would be the most damning thing imaginable to her as she would then lose everything that she valued in being Klingon: her honor, her citizenship, her House and property—everything. While her human family would remain, being bereft of her Klingonhood would, to her, be worse than dying… again.

The doorbell to her quarters chimed, thankfully giving her an excuse to put that distressing train of thought quickly out of her mind.

She sat up, eager to have visitors. Has Martok brought news? she wondered.

“Enter,” she called.

The door opened, and the guard stood in the doorway. “You have visitors, Matron,” he said.

She watched curiously as a Lethean, a Ferasan, and a Gorn followed the guard into the room. The small crowd filled the space in the middle of the cabin, and she took up the stool in front of the little desk so the visitors could use the bed because it was longer. “Please, sit there,” she indicated.

The guests sat down as the guard left, closing the door behind him.

K’Lira watched them silently for a moment. She was sure she’d never met them before, and she sat still, letting them take their own impressions of her while she did likewise of them.

The Lethean was tall but slight of build, and he had the same air of command about him that she did. She knew Letheans were telepaths; his black eyes watched her carefully, and she felt his mental presence at the front of her mind as he probed instinctively.

He probably cannot help it, she thought as she closed her mind to protect her privacy.

Surprised, he blinked and looked abashed for a moment as she turned to the next visitor.

The Ferasan had short black fur and yellow eyes. Pale fangs protruded from the sides of her mouth, and her wiry frame fidgeted nervously under the matron’s purple gaze.

The Gorn next to her was the most enigmatic, breathing but otherwise still and expressionless as a rock and built just as solidly. She could make little of him at a glance, and she was sure he preferred that.

K'Lira meets Rimic

She remained on her guard, especially around the Lethean.

“I am K’Lira of House Trestian,” she began by way of introduction, then waited expectantly.

Rimic had never met such an imposing Klingon leader. She gave him the impression of being confident, fearsome, and winning all at the same time, and he was sure there was more depth to her. He’d tried to read her psyche to get a sense of her mood, but she’d surprised him by detecting the overt attempt and shutting him down. He’d thought Klingons couldn’t do that, and he wondered what else was unusual about her.

“Thank you for seeing us, Matron,” he replied in his typical lilting tone. “I’m Rimic and these are my friends Sathran and Rogazh.”

K’Lira’s eyes widened. “I recognize your voice!” she exclaimed. “We spoke through the EMH last night.”

Rimic smiled wanly. “Yes, Matron,” he affirmed. “I apologize for the brevity of that conversation. The connection was cut off.”

“Not my fault!” Sathran objected suddenly, her tail twitching.

K’Lira glanced at her, then returned quizzically to Rimic.

He sighed and explained their involvement in escaping from the Enemy’s Voice as he had told Martok.

“And now you are fugitives,” K’Lira gathered.

“Not anymore,” Rimic said. “Martok’s granted us amnesty in his House and citizenry in the Empire.”

“In exchange for…?” K’Lira asked expectantly.

“Our help against the mercenary faction supporting His Eminence’s alliance with the True Way,” he answered.

“I’m sure General Martok could use all the help he can get there,” she commented.

“He’s not the only one we can help, it seems,” Rimic hinted.

K’Lira got down to business. “Who framed me?” she asked pointedly. There was a note of anger in her tone now. She’d already decided to leverage Rimic’s insight into that crucial matter, and she hoped he understood that her wrath was directed at the situation, not at him.

“Someone on or near the High Council,” Rimic answered.

K’Lira frowned and her eyes darkened a shade. Rimic was the only person who could objectively help prove her innocence because his message indicated he knew who was trying to frame her. His indistinct answer to her direct request was disappointing. She’d expected a name, a description, and maybe even a reason why.

“You do not know who specifically?” she asked impatiently.

Rimic squirmed, knowing what was coming. “Not by name,” he answered hesitantly, trying to avoid her glowering stare. “That is, I didn’t recognize him,” he explained quickly, “but I feel I would if I saw him again.”

His lack of precision was devastating to her case. She needed an indisputable eyewitness with hard evidence to avoid being convicted and thereby losing her honor and her rights. Rimic’s message said that he’d known who framed her, but it now seemed he couldn’t identify her real enemy except on sight. Even if he accompanied her into a Klingon courtroom, she couldn’t imagine that any prosecutor would put the real criminal on the witness stand, knowing that a Lethean on the defense’s team could recognize who’d set K’Lira up.

That is almost useless, she thought. There is no way to be sure he will ever see that person again!

She made a concerted effort to compose herself and tried again, desperate for any sure headway. “What do you actually know?” she begged.

Rimic leaned forward conspiratorially. “I accompanied His Eminence when he received the sword of Kahless and was told to frame you with its theft,” he said.

“That makes you my star witness,” K’Lira agreed, “but you will have to do much better than that. The judge will ask many questions. I want names, dates, places, anything specific you can remember. You do not know the name of the person who gave the sword to His Eminence, so we do not actually know who stole it. I can get an alibi for whenever the sword was stolen, but I do not know when that happened. You say you were there when His Eminence received it, but he is not in custody, so he cannot be cross-examined. Why were you there anyway? I cannot even explain how the sword ended up in my quarters, and I have no clue why anyone would frame me for stealing it.”

She sighed. “Let us start at the beginning. What is… or was your relationship to His Eminence?”

Rimic explained that he’d been His Eminence’s intelligence officer aboard the Enemy’s Voice, the Klingon battlecruiser he’d helped salvage in the Badlands three years ago. His Eminence’s mercs had captured it en route to Cardassia. Rimic, Sathran, and Rogazh were annexed by His Eminence’s faction and served on his crew until their recent escape.

“This faction you described,” K’Lira mused, “can you tell me who is in it? How big is it? What is their agenda?”

“I was privy to much information as the ship’s intelligence officer,” Rimic answered, “but His Eminence kept the wider issues much to himself. Like the True Way, this faction is a mixture of Klingons, Cardassians, Maquis and others disenfranchised by their governments after the Dominion War. They operate secretly in cells throughout the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. The Jagh ghogh is the only warship I ever served on, but I don’t think the rogues have anything larger than that, which is why His Eminence uses it as his flagship. Their main goal is to disrupt the alliance between the Empire and the Federation, but I don’t understand why. I can tell you that arming the True Way with that isotopic super-weapon was His Eminence’s idea and, in his opinion at least, his greatest achievement. His Eminence is a geneticist and a genius. His ship has a full complement of torpedo types, including that one, and he hates the alliance. We’re all in great danger as long as his ship remains at large.”

She nodded agreement. “General Martok has orders to stop the True Way and their allies. While I support that, my priority must be to remedy my legal situation. Let us return to that.

“When and how did His Eminence receive the sword, and what was your role in that?”

“Last month,” Rimic answered, “around stardate 56780. His Eminence had received a private message asking him to go to Qo’noS. I don’t know who sent it, but His Eminence often asked me to accompany him when he needed me to protect him telepathically, so I did. We shuttled to the Qo’noS System, snuck past the Klingon sensor nets, and stayed in the Praxis asteroid field. A bird-of-prey decloaked right in front of us, and we were contacted to come aboard via the airlock.”

“Why the airlock?” K’Lira interrupted. “Why not the transporter?”

Rimic shrugged, puzzled. “I didn’t think to ask.”

She let the oddity drop. “Continue.”

“A Klingon met us inside the bird-of-prey’s airlock and gave His Eminence the sword,” Rimic finished.

“That is when you saw him,” she said, “the one who stole it. What was he like?”

Rimic shrugged. “Like most Klingon men I’ve met,” he said equably, then his tone darkened. “But this one was much more… menacing. He was quite tall, over two meters, and robed head to toe. I don’t think he was as heavily built as you, but he had hidden prowess, I’m sure.”

K’Lira shrugged back. “We Klingons always pride ourselves on our battle prowess. By itself, that is not much of a distinguishing feature. Describe his face if you can.”

Rimic struggled. “It was long in shape with widely spaced eyes that moved a lot, as though he was nervous. They were dark brown in color. I couldn’t see his skull plate because he wore a large hood that covered it and his hair. Speaking of which, his facial hair included a thin moustache and a goatee with nothing on the cheeks. His voice was very low, almost bass, and he spoke with gravity as though everything he said had extra meaning. But it was his mind that was menacing.”

“How so?” K’Lira asked.

“I’ve touched many minds,” Rimic said pensively, “and I’ve sensed a lot of things in people, but the malice I found in that… thing was powerful and profound. He was hatred personified.” He shuddered. “I hope I never sense that again.”

K’Lira was silent. She had the date of the theft and a description of the real thief including a psychic impression of his personality. While that and an alibi were enough to cast doubt on her alleged guilt, it wasn’t enough to convince a court she was innocent. She needed the thief’s name. If she could find him, she feared she’d have to ask Rimic to expose himself to that same malice to confirm his account of the encounter, though it pained him. The only other eyewitness to the sword’s theft and transfer was His Eminence. She had nothing there; even if he were captured, she was sure he would lie to the court to condemn her out of spite. No, it was Rimic or nothing.

Something else occurred to her. “You said he was a courtier, Rimic,” she said curiously. “How do you know?”

“From the pendant he wore underneath his hood,” Rimic said. “I saw it when he turned to leave the airlock. You’d recognize it, too, I’m sure. Anyone would—it was the High Council’s symbol.”

“Only High Council members and their attendants are allowed to wear that,” she said eagerly. “Whoever the thief is, he is highly placed, so the list shortens. This is scandalous, but now we are getting somewhere.

“If only you had heard the thief’s name,” she muttered to herself, “or recognized him.”

“The Council and its retinue are a matter of public record,” Rogazh interjected. “Can you bring up that list?” he asked, indicating the computer.

K’Lira’s face brightened. “Absolutely!”

She spun in her chair and opened the computer link, shortly bringing up a photographic list of current officials on or associated with the Klingon High Council.

Maybe Rimic will recognize the right one, she hoped.

She got up to let the Lethean sit at the terminal while she stood behind him. “Take your time,” she advised. “You must be certain.”

Rimic obediently began paging through the pictures, quickly dismissing most while pondering a few as possible matches. It took almost an hour, but he finally sat back, a puzzled look on his face. “He’s not there,” he concluded quietly.

’Lira was disappointed and at a loss about how to proceed with her investigation. She was quickly running out of leads.

Rogazh cleared his throat, a wheezy whistling sound from a Gorn. “Show her,” he said simply.

Everyone turned to look at him, confused.

“Show me what?” K’Lira asked.

Rimic paled, suddenly taking his friend’s meaning. “No,” he refused adamantly. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What is?” K’Lira asked anxiously.

Rimic held up a hand to calm her. “You already know Letheans can communicate telepathically. We can share memories that way, too, not just thoughts. What Rogazh is suggesting is that I share my memory of the encounter in the airlock with you telepathically so that you can see the thief as I remember him. You were in the Brotherhood of the Sword for years, and you worked closely with the High Council. You know more people in their circle than I do. It may be that while I didn’t recognize the courtier, you might.”

“Do I not have to be telepathic, too, for that to work?” she asked.

“Well, aren’t you?” he responded, shrugging.

“No,” she objected.

Rimic looked hard at her. “You’re quite sure about that?” he queried pointedly. “When I read your mind earlier, you shut me down with all the facility of a trained telepath. If you’re not one, you’ve at least got some latent skills in that area. Have you ever taken an esper test?”

’Lira frowned. She knew that many people feared espers (people with extra-sensory perception) as menaces to society. The superiority that resulted from using mental powers often also brought their vagrant personality traits to the fore, leading to conflicts with normal people. Some espers had been killed because they’d proven too difficult to control.

“Never,” she answered, offended by the implication. “Why would I?”

Rimic leaned forward. “You might be surprised,” he whispered, touching his finger to the side of his nose.

K’Lira was unsure how to take that, so she filed the idea away for future reference and returned to Rimic’s earlier refusal. “What is so dangerous about Rogazh’s suggestion?” she asked warily.

RRimic sighed. “Letheans transfer memory engrams electrically by touching the temples. We have tissues in our brains to prevent the electric discharges we generate from causing damage, leaving only a psychic imprint behind. That’s how it works with Letheans.

“The problem is, Matron, you’re not Lethean. The same process would likely kill you or leave you brain damaged. That’s why I won’t do it.”

K’Lira nodded again. “I see.”

Rimic tilted his head slightly. “There may be a different way, though,” he said thoughtfully. “Does this ship’s medbay have a psionic reader?”

K’Lira had no idea what that was. “You would have to ask the ship’s doctor,” she answered to hide her ignorance.

“What is the other way?” she asked.

“A psionic reader is a device that records engrammatic activity in the brain and translates it into isolinear code for a computer or a holodeck. I thought if you had one on board, we could use that to download my memory of the thief, then run that through a facial recognition program to identify him,” he explained.

“We are scheduled to arrive at Qo’noS tomorrow,” K’Lira said. “How long would that take?”

Rimic shrugged. “The engrammatic download? I don’t know—I’ve never been through that procedure before.”

“But you are sure you can identify the thief, and you are willing to undergo the procedure?” she asked.

Rimic sighed. “Yes, and I am,” he acquiesced.

Reaching past him, K’Lira touched the comm button on the desk. “Deck officer, this is Matron K’Lira.”

FOOTNOTES

Jagh ghogh 🔉

Klingonese: "Enemy's Voice." It's the name of His Eminence's ship.

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

Aboard the Jagh ghogh, His Eminence fumed at Rimic’s defection. Losing his intelligence officer left a deep wound in his confidence that everyone on his ship was loyal to his cause. The apparent gap invited others to question that loyalty, and His Eminence was keen to close it.

He entered his private quarters and went straight to the communications suite ensconced on one side. A dim yellow lamp lit the little room as the narrow door closed behind him. He sat down on the red satin pillow in the middle of the floor and opened the top drawer of the tiny cabinet to one side. Removing a facial mask with a voice modifier in it, he put it on, then touched a button on the nearby wall to open a comm channel to First City on Qo’noS. A squat pedestal slid out from the adjacent wall panel with a screen atop it. The symbol of the High Council appeared on the screen.

Passcodes

Talmok, dressed resplendently, answered the call. “taH HoSwI’pu’,” he said.

“'ej Hegh pujwI’pu’,” His Eminence replied.

“Report,” Talmok said curtly.

“The Klingon Defense Force’s attack on our main base at Trivas III was devastating to the True Way,” His Eminence began. “All their isotopic warheads were destroyed, and the contamination level on the moon means that no one will be able to survive on the surface for the foreseeable future. I doubt the True Way will recover from the attack, but all is not lost on that front. I retain a full complement of isotopic torpedoes aboard my ship and the research data to make more. We just need to acquire the resources to do so.”

“Do you have a plan there?” Talmok asked.

“There are a number of groups abroad that have the scientific wherewithal to accomplish this,” His Eminence answered. “I plan to approach them next.”

“What of K’Lira and the sword?” Talmok asked. “The chancellor’s support weakens daily, but the alliance must reach a tipping point before we begin supporting you openly.”

“We planted it in her cabin, as you asked,” His Eminence said. “It was an easy matter to beam it aboard under cloak because her transport’s shields were down as it retrieved troops from the moon’s surface. Your tip about it being on one of Martok’s ships was a stroke of genius.”

“It cannot be traced to me,” Talmok affirmed. “I placed that thought in the mind of a Yan-Isleth who was supposed to take it to Boreth.”

Now His Eminence squirmed nervously on the pillow. “About that,” he cautioned, “it might be traceable.”

Talmok frowned. “How so?” he growled menacingly.

“I’ve… lost several of my crew,” His Eminence confessed.

“Lost?” Talmok asked. “Whom did you lose, and how is this consequential? Explain quickly.”

“My intelligence officer and two of his friends defected to House Martok today,” His Eminence answered.

Talmok frowned again, trying to remember. He’d made His Eminence’s acquaintance several times over the years while forming cells of rogue factions throughout the Klingon Empire, so he knew what His Eminence looked like without the mask. While he’d incidentally met some of the Jagh ghogh's crew, he found he couldn’t recall the ship’s intelligence officer, never mind Rimic’s friends.

“I do not remember that person,” he said. “What does his defection mean to us?”

His Eminence sighed and briefly explained Rimic’s background along with Sathran’s and Rogazh’s. “He’s a Lethean, a telepath. Although you don’t remember him, he was with me when you gave me Kahless’ sword, so he’d remember you psychically no matter what you look like.”

Talmok immediately saw the danger. As an Undine, he normally used the guise of Gowron’s head chamberlain, but when delivering the sword to His Eminence, he’d used the disguise of a Klingon warrior he’d killed almost a decade ago because Talmok thought it was unlikely anyone would’ve remembered him. That worked with normal people, but telepaths recognized others primarily by sensing psychic impressions because each living mind had a unique sense of identity. Rimic likely wouldn’t have failed to sense Talmok’s mind when they’d been in the airlock during the sword’s exchange, so he could telepathically identify Talmok as an Undine in any guise.

“Why did you bring him with you?!” Talmok asked angrily.

“To protect me from telepathic attacks such as yours,” His Eminence immediately responded, “and to reveal the hidden intentions of the people I negotiate with. I thought he was trustworthy.” He shrugged. “I was wrong.”

Talmok was incensed. This was disastrous to his long-term plans. The point in using the sword was to erode the trust between the Klingons and the rest of the alliance by causing unrest within the High Council. Pitting K’Lira against Gowron by making him think she was trying to usurp him was a clever way to do that. Talmok had been playing the long game by manipulating Gowron against his generals for years, but the advent of Kahless’ sword had presented a new advantage, a faster means to the same end. Talmok had enlisted His Eminence to help him leverage that. The plan depended on secrecy at the highest levels. No one could suspect Gowron’s chamberlain was an Undine infiltrator bent on annulling the Empire’s alliance with the Federation and the Romulan Empire. That secrecy was now threatened by a telepath who could recognize Talmok’s psionic signature and place him at the exchange used to set K’Lira up as a scapegoat.

He instinctively considered going after Rimic personally, but years of living secretly among Klingons had shown him that a kut’luch was often more effective than a d’k tahg. Talmok was not an assassin, despite his nature.

“The matron is under arrest aboard Martok’s ship,” he reasoned, “which is due to arrive at Qo’noS tomorrow evening. She will protest her guilt in court, using any alibi she can come up with in her defense. If this telepath becomes part of her legal team, his memory of you receiving the sword will form the core of her defense since he will remember that K’Lira was intentionally framed for stealing it. However, I used Master Ashtan’s form during that exchange. Would your disreputable petaQ of an intelligence officer know Ashtan?”

His Eminence sounded thoughtful. “It’s hard to say,” he answered, “because I found him and his friends in the Badlands only three years ago. As I recall, the real Master Ashtan died long before then. It’s possible Rimic might’ve seen him in the news, but very unlikely he’d have ever met him in person.”

Talmok looked relieved. “Then even if he sensed my mind in the airlock, he would associate the impression only with Ashtan, not with me, even if he knows the difference,” he concluded. “I just have to be careful not to use that form around him.

His Eminence shook his head. “It’s not that simple,” he said ruefully. “He may have seen your other form and sensed your mind then, but you really need to keep your distance from him entirely as he’d now recognize you psychically in any form you use. We really need to take his eyewitness testimony away from K’Lira so that her remaining defense is purely circumstantial in nature.”

Now Talmok looked taken aback. “What do you propose?” he asked.

His Eminence knew Martok would transfer K’Lira to protective custody when the Kor’gun arrived. If Rimic was also part of that transfer because he was a material witness in her case, the best time to eliminate him was between his arrival and the time he and K’Lira reached a safehouse. After that, he’d be too well protected.

“Contact one of your cells in First City,” he answered. “Have them eliminate the threat tomorrow night. Quickly.” He sent Talmok a picture of Rimic and closed the channel.

FOOTNOTES

Jagh ghogh 🔉

Klingonese: "Enemy's Voice." It's the name of His Eminence's ship.

taH HoSwI'pu'. 🔉

Klingonese: "The strong will survive."

'ej Hegh pujwI'pu'. 🔉

Klingonese: "And the weak will perish."

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

K’Lira and Rimic beamed down to a side court just outside the Great Hall in First City the next evening accompanied by one of General Martok’s security details. The massive capirol building loomed above them in the twilight of the setting sun, austere and daunting. Braziers flamed at the courtyard’s corners, doing little to soften the dry night air, and the cool breeze instantly raised goosebumps on K’Lira’s bronzed skin.

She was conflicted about returning here. On one hand, she’d been to the Great Hall a few weeks ago to happily deliver the sword of Kahless to Chancellor Gowron, but prior to that it had been five years since she’d set foot inside the building. Now, less than a month after bringing Kahless’ sword, she was little better than a prisoner, accused of grand larceny for stealing that very artifact. She knew she was being framed for stealing it, but she didn’t know by whom or why. That’s where Rimic came in.

She noticed the Lethean seemed unfazed by the chilly air, the imposing surroundings, and her unspoken tension in being here.

Then again, she thought, he is not being framed, so he has nothing to lose. Still, I am glad he is on my side.

A few weeks ago, Rimic had seen His Eminence receive Kahless’ sword from someone affiliated with the High Council, along with instructions to frame K’Lira for stealing it. That testimony was the key to her innocence, but Rimic hadn’t recognized the person who gave the sword to His Eminence. He remembered the man’s face and voice and carried a telepathic impression of his hateful mind, but not his name. Finding the real thief with only that to go on was going to prove difficult, but K’Lira was confident that Rimic’s eyewitness account of events would at least cast doubt on her alleged guilt.

A guilty verdict would be especially damning in her case because she was an augment. She could be stripped of her rights and holdings and cast out of mainstream society. As the founder of House Trestian, K’Lira stood to lose much more than her personal honor. Her House’s prestige and properties, indeed its very existence, were at stake, too, as her reputation affected everybody in it, so she was well motivated to succeed on behalf of her clan.

A small contingent of KDF warriors met them in the courtyard. “Come with us, Matron,” their lieutenant said, then he nodded at Rimic. “You, too.”

K’Lira and Rimic fell in step as the squad led them towards a windowless van.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To a safehouse,” the lieutenant replied. “Your trial begins tomorrow afternoon. Protocol requires that you be kept under house arrest until then.”

“Am I in house arrest, too?” Rimic asked, curious.

The lieutenant glanced at him as they reached the van. “Only the matron is under arrest, but your House leader requested we safeguard both of you until the trial. The easiest way to do that is to keep you together.”

Makes sense, I guess, Rimic thought, shrugging.

The van’s side door opened, everyone got in, and the vehicle went towards a safehouse on the far side of the city.

A Nausicaan assassin sat at an elevated apartment window across the street from the front of the safehouse, waiting for Rimic to arrive. At His Eminence’s request, Talmok had placed an assassination contract on the traitorous intelligence officer. Privy as he was to most of the High Council’s dealings, Talmok didn’t know which safehouse Rimic would be using, so he’d stationed his henchmen at all the ones he knew of. He’d forwarded Rimic’s picture so the assassins could identify the target. The contract’s terms were simple: kill the target, nobody else; leave nothing traceable. The Nausicaan’s beam rifle had a scope for precision. He wore a light environment suit to keep the scene sanitary, but he had no helmet. The apartment’s lights were off, and the windows were closed against the night’s chill except for the one he was using.

He sat silently as foot traffic on the street passed below his station, his eyes flicking back and forth in predatory fashion. He heard the van before it turned the opposite corner and parked in the safehouse driveway. Raising the rifle, he watched through the scope as the lieutenant got out first, followed by Rimic.

“Target acquired,” he whispered into the microphone built into the neckline of his suit. “Prepare for extraction.”

Traitorous bastard, he thought as he curled his index finger around the trigger.

Rimic stepped out of the van and looked around. The safehouse was a suburban Klingon home with a front lawn bordered by thin flagstone paths on all sides. The porch stepped up to a darkened entryway. He could see a dining niche through the bay window next to that. The garage door was open, and the garage itself was cluttered with odds and ends as though the house was occupied, but he knew that was just a front. Safehouses were often dressed up to disguise their intent.

I’ll bet the weapons are locked in the basement, he thought casually. It doesn’t much matter since I’m…

“Rimic…,” K’Lira said idly, looking up as she started to step out of the van.

FZZZAP! A bright green disruptor bolt flashed through the air, drilled through Rimic’s chest, and charred the pavement next to the shocked lieutenant.

Rimic's death

K’Lira watched in frozen horror as her star witness and the only man who could vouch for her innocence stumbled while turning to look at her, morbid surprise on his face. She could see through the smoking hole in his chest.

NO! her mind screamed.

Rimic pointed behind her and tried to say something when a second shot ripped past her and blew his right arm off at the elbow, dropping him to the floor in a bloody heap.

“bachwI'!” the lieutenant shouted. “Get them inside!”

Several KDF warriors ran out the front door at the commotion.

“Across the street! Up there!” the lieutenant directed them as his squad helped K’Lira past Rimic’s prone form and into the kitchen. He dragged an unconscious Rimic into the room and left him in the middle of the floor. Then he cautiously took up station next to the window facing the street, looking for their assailant.

K’Lira was weaponless but hardly helpless. The safehouse had no weapons other than what the KDF warriors had brought with them. Her arrest meant that she wasn’t normally allowed any weapons anyway, but these circumstances were hardly normal. She started rummaging madly through the kitchen, looking for a knife. She was going to chase down and kill whoever had slain Rimic by shooting him in the back like a coward. She felt her berserker state rising to the fore at that.

He deserved to die in battle, she thought.

“Matron…,” someone whispered.

K’Lira spun around and Rimic’s black eyes met hers.

“How are you alive?” she gasped, quickly kneeling next to him. “MEDIC!”

Rimic knew he was dying. No one could save him—he’d lost too much blood. He rasped past the gurgle in his throat, and coughed blood as he tried unsuccessfully to speak. He wanted to give K’Lira the help she needed, but there hadn’t been a chance to download his memory of the infamous exchange in the airlock between Talmok and His Eminence. Engrammatic recordings were so rarely performed that the Kor’gun’s doctor had no experience with such an exotic procedure, and the ship’s medbay didn’t have a psionic reader anyway. Rimic realized he had no choice. Mustering every erg he had left, he flailed his remaining arm upward, grasped K’Lira’s hairline at the right side of her face, and instinctively discharged his memories into K’Lira’s mind… all of them.

Blue arcs of electricity shot out of his hand and wrapped themselves around K’Lira’s head and body, paralyzing her muscles, whitening her hair where Rimic held it, and rendering her unconscious before she could scream in surprise. Electric tendrils ricocheted all over the kitchen, leaving scars in the floor, walls, and ceiling. Lights and other electric appliances sparked wildly. The warriors in the adjacent living room shouted in consternation at the din in the kitchen and flung themselves behind the furniture for cover. The lightning storm lasted about 10 seconds, then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

The lieutenant and his fellow agents came out of hiding, staring wide-eyed at the aftermath, uncertain what had happened or why. The other warriors who’d been sent across the street to catch the assassin also returned, shocked and wondering, but empty-handed. Everyone tried to take it in, but they were afraid because they didn’t know the cause. The kitchen stank of smoke, blood, and ozone.

Rimic was utterly gone. His clothes were burning, and there was little left but a blackened, shriveled corpse underneath.

How am I going to explain this to my captain? the lieutenant wondered.

“Put these fires out,” he ordered in a small voice, looking for K’Lira as his warriors obeyed.

She lay face down against a wall several meters away where the last electric explosion had flung her prone body. She didn’t appear to be breathing. Then she moved slightly and let out a small groan.

“Oh, my head…,” she whispered painfully.

She tried to get to her hands and knees and failed, slumping heavily to the floor.

“Matron!” the lieutenant exclaimed, relieved. He rolled her over by the shoulder and leaned her head against the wall so he could check her condition.

K’Lira’s tough clothing was sooty and stained with Lethean blood but not burned like Rimic’s. Her exposed skin had pale new scars where the electricity had pierced her. The right temple had a severe electrical burn where Rimic had touched her, and the hair there was burned down to stubby white roots. Her pulse was strong and a bit rapid, her forehead was warm and dry, and her breathing was returning to normal.

What surprised the lieutenant was her eyes: the uveas were white and pulsing. He’d heard the scuttlebutt that K’Lira had striking purple eyes that changed shade with her mood. It was widely regarded as one of her more enticing traits. He remembered noticing how vivid they were when he’d met her for the very first time in the courtyard and thought the same, but he didn’t know they could be this bright or oscillate so quickly. It was mysteriously captivating. Even as she stared up at him, they flared brilliantly, then returned to their normal medium purple hue.

K’Lira felt her strength return. So did her memory of recent events, and her expression broke.

“Rimic,” she mourned, leaning forward to hide her tears behind her long hair as she wept.

The lieutenant took stock of the situation. One of his charges had been killed, but the lieutenant didn’t understand Rimic’s importance. He just assumed the hitter had killed Rimic to get to K’Lira, whose value he knew. He needed to keep her safe to stand trial, but the safehouse system had been compromised. He called a dispatcher at KDF headquarters to report the incident and get a squad to lock the safehouse back down.

“What’s the matron’s condition?” the dispatcher asked.

The lieutenant hesitated, thinking fast. He wasn’t sure how a sniper knew where K’Lira would be staying, but he suspected an informant and no longer trusted the KDF’s witness protection service. He needed someplace off that grid.

“Safe,” he answered simply and hung up.

The lieutenant assumed the assassin had been trying to kill K’Lira and missed.

“Matron,” he addressed the woman crying softly before him, “we didn’t catch your friend’s killer, but whoever did it will likely try again to kill you.” He stood and extended his hand down to her. “We have to leave.”

K’Lira sniffed and wiped her nose with her wrist, then looked up. “To where?” she asked forlornly.

Again, the lieutenant thought quickly. The next closest safehouse was about 10 blocks away, but using another one was likely not feasible. If the killer was after K’Lira, he’d probably strike again while they were in transit. If they went there by land or air, their vehicle could be easily attacked. It would be quicker to use a site-to-site transport to the next safehouse, but the killer might cause a transporter error to degrade her pattern, leading to a horrible death. He needed a safe destination the killer wouldn’t expect. The germ of an idea percolated in his mind.

He raised his wrist comm. “Videssan, two to beam aboard,” he ordered.

A fuzzy red haze surrounded them both, and they disappeared.

They rematerialized in the transporter room of an ship K'Lira didn't recognize. She stood up and looked quizzically at the lieutenant.

“Welcome aboard the Wanderer-class O.S.S. Videssan, Matron,” he said by way of explanation. “We are currently under cloak in the Praxis debris field. Your compatriots Rogazh and Sathran are already aboard and waiting for us in the wardroom. This way, please.” He waved towards the transporter room’s door in invitation.

Things were happening too quickly for K’Lira to acclimatize herself. She’d thought to be guarded in a witness protection program by now, working on her case in a room of her own, not whisked away to a strange ship by someone she didn’t even know. She needed medical attention for the aching burn on her forehead, time to assimilate Rimic’s memories, information about any additional evidence arrayed against her, and a long rest to recover herself physically. Her trial was scheduled to begin tomorrow. How was any of this going to help her?

“This is an Orion ship. If you were a KDF warrior, you would be on a Klingon vessel, so I gather you are not really KDF,” she guessed. “What is your name?”

The lieutenant arched up and thrust his chest forward. “Erak, formerly of House Grilka,” he said proudly. “I may not be in the Klingon Defense Force, but I am your friend, and that is more important right now.”

K’Lira leaned forward, still about 25 centimeters taller than him. “I choose my friends more carefully, Erak,” she growled, then leaned back, “but I admit you have made a good impression… so far.”

Erak gulped. Well, it is something that she does not think of me as her enemy, he thought.

Again, he extended his hand. “If it pleases you, Matron,” he offered.

K’Lira followed his lead, conversing to fully understand the situation. “Why are we here, Erak?” she asked.

“You needed protection,” Erak replied simply. “Whoever killed Rimic was likely going to try again to kill you. Public transportation was unsafe, so I opted to bring you here off the transporter grid. No one in First City knows this ship exists. We are connected to the planetary computer network and the KDF main grid, so you can get any information you wish. You should be safe enough… until the trial.”

“Why then?” she queried.

Erak looked up at her, surprised. “You really do not know what you are up against, do you?” he asked.

“What is going to happen to me at the trial?” K’Lira asked anxiously.

Erak stopped walking and sighed deeply. “You suspect you were framed for stealing the sword of Kahless?” he asked. “That’s bad enough.”

She nodded, waiting.

“That, dear Matron, is the tip of the kut’luch,” Erak continued. “While you and Martok were galivanting all over the Alpha Quadrant, the Empire was descending into turmoil over the sword’s advent. Half the Council members alone wanted to lay claim to it themselves and said as much. People from all over the Empire flocked to Boreth, hoping to see it in its archival setting, dreaming likewise about its prowess. When it did not arrive, they were disappointed and suspicious, quickly raising concerns about where it could be, who might have it, and what their intentions were. To avert mass hysteria over that, an investigation was conducted into the Yan-Isleth who had been assigned to transfer the sword to Boreth. After several weeks of grueling public hearings, one of them gave the chancellor’s chamberlain a tip that one of Martok’s ships might have it aboard. I think you know what happened then.”

K’Lira’s eyes darkened as he spoke. Never in her life had she been accused of a high crime. Her loyalty to the Empire and the chancellor had been unquestionably above reproach until now. Anger overshadowed fear as she thought about who had dared stain her reputation and the evidence they’d levied. She was certain the sword had been planted in her cabin. If there was any other evidence, she was still unaware of it, but she needed to form her defense and soon.

“Indeed,” she agreed with Erak.

“Who accuses me of this wrongdoing?” she asked.

“Gowron, for one,” he answered quietly. “He ordered it sent to Boreth. Talmok, for another, for he was tasked with getting it there.

“You have to understand, Matron,” he continued. “Tensions in the Council are at an all-time high while trust between its members is scarce. Your return is a lightning rod for controversy for no one knows what to make of you.”

K’Lira frowned impatiently.

“Consider carefully,” Erak continued. “You were a renowned general for years before you consigned leadership of House Trestian to your cha’Dich, retired from military service, and moved to a Federation space station in another quadrant to raise a hybrid family. To some, that means you abandoned your public role in the Empire. Then, years later, you returned to help end the True Way in grand fashion at Trivas III. News of your resounding victory has had the knock-on effect of causing the Council to focus on you, especially Gowron. Many question your ulterior motives. A common sentiment among our people is that the battle at Trivas III was successful, at least in part, due to the sword’s presence aboard your ship, that it somehow added its power to your prowess while you were attacking the moon base. There are those on the Council who wonder what it could do in their hands instead. That is their jealousy and it is born of fear.”

“That is on them,” K’Lira growled.

The scale of things

Erak sighed, then finished. “The High Council fears you because many of them no longer know you. The fact that the sword was found in your room strongly suggests to Gowron, Talmok, and others that you intend to depose the Council and set yourself up as the de facto leader of the Empire. You are not accused merely of grand larceny, Matron—you are being tried for attempted treason.”

K’Lira could hardly believe her ears, but she finally saw the big picture. Gowron, once her friend, was now opposed to her presence in the Empire as it presented an existential threat to his chancellorship and, perhaps, his life. He was afraid she would challenge him for leadership of the Empire and use the sword to defeat him. It didn’t matter that she’d always been loyal—it mattered only that he now believed she was willing to usurp him.

He is protecting his power and pride, she realized. He thinks eliminating me as a rival is the best way to do that, and he is using this farce of a trial as an excuse to accomplish it.

Rage exploded heavily in her mind, but she beat it quickly back until it became a cold eagerness to anger.

“Their fear is unwarranted,” she objected, her tone unintentionally menacing. “I have never been disloyal a day in my life, I am not going to usurp anybody, and I did not steal the sword.”

“I am not the one you need to convince,” Erak said flatly, “but yes, those are the points of your defense.”

He resumed walking, K’Lira in tow. “The hospital is here,” he indicated, pointing. “Let us get your burns treated.”

After that, Erak took her to the Videssan’s wardroom, a long space with several narrow bench tables. The room was sparsely occupied. K’Lira immediately noticed Rogazh standing in a corner. He was hard to miss as his mottled, scaly yellow and gray skin clashed with literally everything in the dim room. Sathran sat cross-legged in a cushioned lounge chair nearby, her black fur blending with the dark furniture so that only her yellow eyes stood out as she flicked her feline gaze about the room. They turned to greet K’Lira as she approached.

Rogazh nodded but said nothing, typically stoic as he was.

"Well, look who’s here,” Sathran exclaimed, rising. “The would-be Queen of the Klingons.” She made a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

K’Lira resisted the sudden urge to snap the Ferasan’s neck while it was bent in mock subservience.

“Sathran,” she greeted cooly, “and Rogazh. Erak told me you were aboard. While I understand his duty to protect me, I do not understand your presence here.”

“Martok made us citizens of the Empire,” Rogazh said. “While we can go where we please, Rimic told us to stay close to you.”

“Where is Rimic anyway?” Sathran asked curiously. “He was supposed to meet us here, too.”

K’Lira hesitated, then looked at Erak. “Maybe you should…?”

Erak sighed and caught them both up on recent events. “I thought it best to bring her aboard for safekeeping until tomorrow,” he finished. “The KDF knows she is safe, but that is all.”

Rogazh sadly bowed his head as Sathran sat down hard on the lounge chair, her normally wry humor silenced in shock. Neither had anticipated losing Rimic, and they wondered how it had happened. Erak hadn’t understood the lightning show in the safehouse, so Sathran and Rogazh didn’t know Rimic had given K’Lira his memories psionically.

“Rimic asked us to help him defect because he wanted to stop His Eminence and help you at the same time,” Sathran recalled forlornly. “Without him, I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”

K’Lira softened. Rimic would certainly be missed, but his value lay primarily in what he knew of His Eminence’s operation and, for her, what he knew about how and by whom she’d been framed. She had that knowledge now, but his memories were deeply buried beneath hers and difficult to resurface, like trying to remember the specifics of a long-faded dream.

“Do not despair for that,” she said, then she explained what had happened in the safehouse.

The others listened silently, amazed at the implications of her revelation.

“So that is what that was,” Erak said softly. “I had no idea Letheans could do that.”

“It is very rare for them to try it with non-Letheans,” K’Lira answered, “but it does happen.”

“I thought Rimic was unwilling to psionically transfer his memories,” Rogazh said, “because it was too dangerous.”

“That’s right,” Sathran agreed. “Why did he change his mind? How did you survive it at all?”

K’Lira exhaled and shrugged. “He had no choice—he was dying. I have no idea how, but I have his memories now.”

“What is it like having another person in your head?” Erak wondered.

“It is not like living with a real person inside your mind,” she clarified. “I have Rimic’s memories—that is all. His personality, his soul, if you want to call it that, is gone. It is like having lived two lives, but only mine continues now. It is hard to tell mine apart from his sometimes, but I have a naturally eidetic mind, so I can compartmentalize things I want to recall. I have his knowledge but not his intuition or understanding. Given time and study, I think I can regain both of those.

“An attempt was made on my life today, and Rimic paid the price,” she said sadly. “Clearly, someone does not want me to come to trial or they do not want me to have Rimic’s help. For my sake, no one else must know what Rimic did. Whoever killed him might try again to kill me to destroy the information he gave me if they knew I have it now. Are we agreed?”

The others nodded quickly.

K’Lira put her hand to her forehead tiredly. “I just wish I had time to finish sifting through Rimic’s information. What would he do now?”

Rogazh stood silently aside, thinking. “It’s hard to say what he would advise, Matron,” he finally offered, “but I don’t think he wanted us to just give up on you. I understand your trial is tomorrow. We should all rest first. If nothing else, you’ll need all your wits about you when you meet your accuser and see all the evidence then.”

Erak nodded as K’Lira sighed. It had been an extremely taxing day, and she was indeed exhausted, sad, and anxious. “That is the best idea I have heard all day,” she agreed wearily.

Then her stomach growled, and she brightened. “What is for dinner?”

FOOTNOTES

BachwI' 🔉

Klingonese: "Shooter" or "sniper."

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K’Lira tossed as she slept fitfully on the lower bunk in the cabin she shared with Sathran. The Videssan was not designed for diplomatic transportation, so it had no private cabins. As with most military vessels, space was at a premium, so the berths were shared between crew members in shifts. The cabin was sparsely furnished and dark with only the computer console on the far wall lending its dim light to the tiny room. The chilly air left goosebumps on her clammy skin as she slept atop the lower bunk’s coverlet.

Yesterday, her friend Rimic had psionically transferred all his memories to her as he lay dying in her arms, so K’Lira now had the recollective wealth of two lifetimes (hers and his). Rimic had been His Eminence’s intelligence officer for several years before defecting to the Klingon Empire. He was of special worth to her because he had firsthand knowledge that His Eminence had framed her for stealing Kahless’ sword, considered a high crime in Klingon culture. His eyewitness account was the key evidence K’Lira needed to prove her innocence and protect her honor. Now that Rimic was dead, His Eminence felt secure in the belief that K’Lira had no choice but to take the fall for the crime she’d been framed for. At this point, no one except K’Lira and her friends Erak, Sathran, and Rogazh knew that Rimic had given his memories to her, thereby saving his value to her case. The problem was that his and her memories were jumbled together, and it was hard for K’Lira to tell them apart when she was awake. Asleep, her subconscious struggled to do exactly that. Rimic’s memories tended to surface more easily in her sleeping state, and that’s what she was dreaming about.

Seen dimly through Rimic’s senses, K’Lira found herself in a Klingon airlock. The only windows were in the closed doors on either end of the tiny room, but they were opaque. Status indicators blinked and chirped quietly on a computer console in one wall, and K’Lira noticed the stardate: 56780.

Her skin felt cold, and she shivered as she suddenly realized Rimic wasn’t alone. A man walked past him, and K’Lira understood that Rimic knew him.

Dressed entirely in black, His Eminence moved to stand in the center of the small room. K’Lira couldn’t see his face because he wore some kind of mask with an odd-looking mouthpiece.

Why is he called “His Eminence?” she wondered idly. What is his real name?

Apparently, Rimic didn’t know, and the dream shifted vaguely forward.

From Rimic’s memory, K’Lira understood that he often used his Lethean telepathy to protect His Eminence on away missions. His Eminence had received a message a few days ago from a highly ranked Klingon official, asking His Eminence to come to Qo’noS on private business. Rimic didn’t know who’d sent it or why, but His Eminence didn’t want to refuse. He’d brought Rimic with him in a shuttle to the Qo’noS System, and they’d docked with a bird-of-prey warbird. Now they were waiting to meet the person who’d invited them to Qo’noS.

The room suddenly chilled in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature as a very malevolent telepathic presence approached the airlock’s outer door. Rimic had never sensed such a powerful mind or a more hateful one. It was mountainous, dominant, and predatory.

Rimic instinctively recoiled. “Someone… or something evil’s here,” he whispered to His Eminence.

“I’m aware,” His Eminence replied, his distorted voice sounding robotic through the mask. “Do your job.”

Rimic cautiously reopened his mind to protect His Eminence telepathically.

The newcomer’s mind instantly quelled itself and waited.

The airlock opened and the silhouette of a Klingon giant appeared in the doorway. His physical stature almost matched his mind. He was over two meters tall and weighed at least 140 kilograms. His armor gleamed in the light, and K’Lira saw he wore the High Council’s symbol on a gold necklace. He had a long suitcase with him, which he set against the wall.

As the Klingon and His Eminence began speaking to each other, Rimic found the giant’s constant mental probing distracting and offensive. It was hard to concentrate on the conversation or his assigned duty, and Rimic came back to attention only when the giant picked up the suitcase.

Framing K'Lira

“I have acquired the sword that once belonged to the first Klingon emperor,” he said, picking up the case. “Take the sword and use it to frame K’Lira of House Trestian for stealing it.”

K’Lira’s mind reeled at the revelation, and she memorized what had happened as His Eminence handed it to Rimic. The rest of the dream sank back into her subconscious.

K’Lira lay on her cot in the wee hours of the morning, pondering the dream’s troubling implications and the upcoming court case about her alleged theft of Kahless’ sword. She’d discovered that it had disappeared from custody on or shortly before stardate 56780. She’d gone over her movements during that time to compile an alibi, but that was all she could do for now until her hearing began later in the day.

To bolster her defense, she’d also learned that Rimic had witnessed the sword given to His Eminence, who’d then used it to frame her for its theft during the battle at Trivas III. That’s why she was being tried for grand larceny and treason.

She’d just dreamt of the sword’s exchange from Rimic’s viewpoint. He hadn’t recognized the Klingon courtier who’d given it to His Eminence, but she saw that he’d worn the High Council’s emblem. That implied that whoever had given the sword of Kahless to His Eminence with instructions to frame her with it had been either a high councilor or someone who worked for a high councilor’s office. K’Lira didn’t want to believe it, but it seemed that the High Council, at least in part, was corrupt and bent against her.

The additional problem was that her only evidence of that was inside her mind, psionically placed there by a now-dead eyewitness. That had some objectivity to it, though; it was Rimic’s memory, not hers. Still, citing someone else’s recall when that witness couldn’t be cross-examined would be difficult to handle in court. She didn’t think the prosecution would tolerate that, but it was the core of her defense. K’Lira needed time to explore Rimic’s memories and see if he had remembered anything else useful to her.

That is my best recourse, she realized resolutely.

Convinced, she pulled up the coverlet and went back to sleep.

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

Sheer ebony walls of rough-hewn rock formed the tall, circular courtroom and arched up to the spotlight far above. The room remained dim despite the lamp’s brilliance as it illuminated the dirt floor in the middle of the chamber and little else. The judge’s bench had its own spotlight and sat in a stony alcove about three meters above the floor. Stone benches carved into darker, tiered alcoves above that allowed a live audience to view the proceedings below. The dull murmur of a crowded room thrummed hungrily in the background. Klingons enjoyed the execution of their own laws, and the archaic and chilly courtroom held the imposing air it was intended to convey.

The judge presiding over K’Lira’s case was known for his lack of sympathy and as imposing as his courtroom. His craggy brown features stood out in sharp relief in the bright spotlight, and his dour expression suggested his mood. Despite the High Council’s intent, word of the sword’s theft was galactic news by now, and it was impossible to find a Klingon who didn’t have an opinion. The frenzied attention that invoked had turned his courtroom and this trial into a circus. Fully half the people in the room were news agency affiliates.

I hate reporters, he thought, disgruntled, but I hate disloyalists more.

There were foreign visitors, too. Sitting above and to one side of the judge were K’Lira’s husband and two of his most trusted officers, Commanders Nerayerku (his Deltan/Betazoid intelligence officer) and Losozola Sgiza (his Betazoid security chief). When Davir realized his wife was having legal problems and somehow unable to contact him, he’d taken a leave of absence and flown to Qo’noS. Plying the High Council gave him only rudimentary information about what had happened after the battle of Trivas III, but he was determined to be by K’Lira’s side no matter how her trial turned out.

Our shuttlecraft is standing by for us, he thought, but I don’t know how we can help K’Lira.

Opposite the judge sat Chancellor Gowron, his intense gaze focused on a doorway to one side of the floor, behind which waited court officials, counsel, accused, witnesses, and bailiffs, everyone needed to conduct the trial. His head chamberlain, Talmok, was Gowron’s closest advisor and an expert in Klingon law. He would be prosecuting the case and cross-examining K’Lira’s witnesses. Gowron was confident the evidence against her was airtight and damning—the sword of Kahless was found illegally in her cabin after he’d ordered it moved to the Boreth archive. There could be no better evidence of K’Lira’s disloyalty. In his mind, mere possession of the sword itself spoke of her treasonous intent. This trial was only a formality to him. Seething with distrust, he’d already decided her fate and spoken to the judge.

Discommendation will force her to flee the Empire, never to return for fear of capture and execution, he thought gleefully. My throne will never suffer her or her upstart House again.

K’Lira and her court-appointed counselor were in an interior office, discussing preparations for her hearing. She knew what to expect generally, having attended other hearings as the leader of House Trestian. While it was unusual for Gowron to attend them, this case was particularly important to him, so his presence was expected; it just wasn’t welcome. Ever since Erak had explained that Gowron had accused K’Lira of treason, she’d regarded the chancellor as an enemy prima facie, notwithstanding their former friendship. Gowron’s opinion carried much weight on the High Council, but this was a lower court. She needed to convince the judge to give her additional time to find the sword’s real thief, then use that to exonerate herself despite Gowron’s foregone conclusion. Otherwise, she was doomed.

“What do you intend to say to the judge?” her lawyer asked.

K’Lira explained that she had insight into how the sword had been used by enemies of the Empire to frame her for stealing it, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t disclose how she’d come by that knowledge because engrammatic memory transfers were almost unheard of. She was still recovering from the aftermath of her experience with it, and she was sure she’d be in mortal danger if it was common knowledge that Rimic’s memories were hers now.

“Do you know who these enemies are?” he asked.

“I know of one of them, yes,” she said, “the very same who’s been helping the True Way against the alliance. His Eminence likely has conspirators among us, and I need time to discover them.”

“You claim he framed you, presumably with the help of disloyalists,” the lawyer said. “You’ll need either a confession or other undeniable proof they did so.”

“I am sure I can get it,” K’Lira affirmed. “I just need time.”

The lawyer sucked in his cheeks doubtfully. Conspiracy theories, even plausible ones, were frowned upon as very unprovable defenses, and he was afraid the court had assigned him an unwinnable case. Still, it was his duty to advise his client towards a provable hypothesis.

“Do you have alibis for where you’ve been since the sword was stolen until it was found aboard your ship?” he asked.

“Mostly,” she said. She hadn’t had time to recollect alibis for every day in that span, but she had an eidetic memory, and she was sure she could fill in the gaps.

The lawyer sighed, relieved. “Tell that to the judge,” he advised. “If you can materially account for how you spent the intervening time, the judge will likely consider that a credible defense and afford you additional time to form the rest of your defense. Avoid anything that sounds like a conspiracy theory—he will not credit that. Neither will the prosecutor.”

“Chancellor Gowron?” K’Lira asked.

“Head Chamberlain Talmok,” the lawyer clarified.

K’Lira frowned, confused. “What is Talmok’s stake in this?”

“He has much legal expertise,” the lawyer said. “It was he whom Gowron tasked with getting the sword to Boreth, so it was he who suffered dishonor when it was reported stolen. Since his personal honor is at stake, Gowron granted him dispensation to prosecute your case.”

K’Lira nodded, unsurprised.

She’d first heard of Talmok nine years ago when she was a colonel in the Brotherhood of the Sword. Back then, he was a thoroughly unremarkable bekk in service to House Gowron. Shortly after the Klingon-Cardassian War began in 2372, he had returned the deceased body of Dahar Master Ashtan, reportedly slain in battle though his body bore no wounds and was unpoisoned. Afterwards, Talmok had applied himself to studying Klingon history, culture, and law, and he rose meteorically amongst his peers to acquire Gowron’s notice. The chancellor made him a steward, and Talmok quickly achieved a leading role there. Five years ago, around the time K’Lira had retired from military service to raise a family on Deep Space Nine, Talmok had begun to worm his way into Gowron’s inner circle and by now was privy to most matters of state. She had no idea an Undine changeling had killed both the real Ashtan and the real Talmok, then assumed their identities to subvert the High Council and weaken the Empire from within.

In the courtroom, the judge pounded his gavel. “Bring forth the accused and her counsel,” he said loudly.

“Here we go,” K’Lira’s lawyer said, standing to walk towards the door. “Stay focused.”

K’Lira followed grimly, her every step haunted by the spectacle she knew awaited her.

The darkened courtroom looked menacing when viewed from the defendant’s point of view. K’Lira shuddered as she entered through the door. The raucous crowd above clamored at the sight of her; many jeered, others shouted in indignation, but everyone hushed when the judge rapped the gavel again.

“Bring in the prosecutor,” he said.

From another door opposite hers, the chamberlain entered the room. Talmok was an ordinary 1.6 meters tall and weighed only 85 kilograms soaking wet, but his manner was proud, and his air was supremely confident. He wore the robes of his office as Gowron’s head steward, his resplendent clothes shimmering in the brilliance of the spotlight. He was in his element.

The crowd shouted again, as confident as Talmok was in the case against her.

In an alcove above, Losozola was very disturbed. As a Betazoid, he normally practiced discretion with his natural telepathy, avoiding intruding on the minds of others, preferring instead to be passively open. The courtroom was filled with angry Klingons. He normally would’ve closed his mind to keep out their chaotic thoughts and emotions, but the commodore had asked him to leave it open, hoping the chief might sense something that could help K’Lira’s case.

The moment Talmok strode into the room, Losozola felt the atmosphere change in a telepathic way. Talmok was like a bubbling cauldron, seething with malicious heat. He was completely focused on K’Lira and didn’t seem to realize there was another telepath in the room. His heart boiled over when he saw K’Lira, and his black and unrelenting hatred blinded Losozola with its intensity.

The Betazoid recoiled instinctively, but just before he did, he sensed Talmok’s emotion had a distinctly non-humanoid source behind it that Losozola couldn’t fathom, as though Talmok was thinking in a language the universal translator couldn’t interpret. He closed his mind to protect himself, leaving the mysterious chamberlain to his own formidable mental devices.

He leaned towards the commodore’s ear. “There’s something different about that Klingon,” he whispered harshly.

“Which one?” Davir asked, confused by the unclear reference.

“The prosecutor,” Losozola clarified. “His mind is very strong and… distinctly not Klingon.”

Davir glanced worriedly at his security chief. Losozola’s forehead was beaded with sweat despite the chill, and he looked pained.

Davir put a hand on Losozola’s shoulder. “Understood,” he said. “Let Talmok go. Focus elsewhere,” he advised.

Losozola quickly relaxed as the trial began.

Talmok's accusations

The judge loudly pounded the gavel on his stone table. “Present your accusation and evidence to the court,” he said.

“Yes,” Talmok responded.

“The defendant, K’Lira of House Trestian, is accused of stealing the sword of Kahless with dishonorable intent to use it to usurp Chancellor Gowron,” he began.

K’Lira snorted derisively at that, and Talmok glared at her.

So did the judge. “Matron, keep your peace,” he commanded. “You will have your chance.”

He returned to Talmok. “Continue, Prosecutor.”

“To begin,” Talmok resumed, “it must be noted that K’Lira, strictly speaking, is not a Klingon in the conventional sense. She is an augment. Were it not for the chancellor’s grace upon that discovery some years ago, she would already be an outcast, bereft of honor.”

K’Lira seethed silently as many in the murmuring crowd wondered how that had happened.

Talmok didn’t explain but continued, “Chancellor Gowron forgave her for that on the condition that she remain loyal to the Empire and its leadership. Failure to do so would compromise her citizenship and expel her from the Empire, according to the ancient law about dishonorable augments. This case will prove that K’Lira has demonstrated her dishonor in violating Chancellor Gowron’s order to keep the sword of Kahless at the archive on Boreth and, as such, no longer deserves his leniency and protection.”

The crowd murmured excitedly as the judge pounded the gavel again. “Present your evidence,” he said.

Talmok replayed video footage of K’Lira delivering Kahless’ bat’leth before the High Council, noting to the court that Gowron had received it on behalf of the Klingon people, then ordered Talmok to prepare it for transport to Boreth.

“It never arrived,” he concluded.

“How not?” the judge inquired.

“The Yan-isleth assigned to safeguard it did so,” he answered, “but they reported it missing the next day, shortly after K’Lira’s vessel left Qo’noS. It is unknown how the sword was apparently removed from custody without observation. That is still under investigation. What is unmistakably clear is that it was found in K’Lira’s possession about a month later.”

Talmok replayed Martok’s footage describing the sword’s discovery underneath K’Lira’s cot on the troop transport she’d taken to Trivas III.

“General Martok dutifully apprehended the accused and confiscated the sword before she could escape with it,” Talmok said. “The sword is now under guard in the royal archive at Boreth, which is where it should have been all along.

“K’Lira possessed the means to take the sword for it was she who had acquired it from a Federation agent on Deep Space Nine before she brought it here. Even after the Yan-Isleth received it that day, it is presumable that she, as a former member of their order, would be familiar with their normal security measures and, thus, plausibly able to defeat them. There is, in fact, footage of her carrying it aboard the ship she took with Martok’s forces to the Trivas System.”

Surprised, K’Lira remembered boarding the transport while it was on a landing pad in First City. She watched as Talmok played another clip clearly showing her boarding the rickety ship while carrying a bat’leth-sized suitcase in her hand, the very one she’d used to bring Kahless’ sword to Qo’noS. She had kept it because she’d needed a good one for her own Kahless’ sword with her.

Talmok said, “It was this evidence that prompted a Yan-Isleth warrior, questioned under oath, to suspect it might be aboard one of Martok’s transports. That turned out to be true, obviously.”

K’Lira privately conceded that his point was incriminating and well played. She still couldn’t objectively prove how the sword came to be in her berth. Even Rimic hadn’t witnessed it being transported into her room—he’d only known that His Eminence had done so.

That is going to be hard to disprove, she thought, worried.

“K’Lira also possessed the motive to use the sword for her own ends,” Talmok went on. “Having founded House Trestian in 2348, it nonetheless remains unrepresented at the highest levels of the Empire. It is known among the High Council members that K’Lira’s relationship with Gowron was strained, and Trestian has suffered since she retired. Her recent advent to return Kahless’ sword could be seen as a flailing attempt to give her House more prominence. With such a weapon, she might even challenge Gowron for the chancellorship. This was surely the secret thought of her heart.”

Again, the crowd shouted its unwitting agreement with Talmok’s assumption of K’Lira’s motive.

Talmok defined her opportunity next. “Martok’s campaign against the True Way was the chance she needed, so she took the sword to Trivas III to plausibly prove her worth with it there and thus elevate her House to the Council.

“The sum of it amounts to both grand larceny and, presumably, given her implied intent, treason,” he concluded.

As the crowd’s uproar filled the room in response, K’Lira was incensed by the tempting leaps of illogic Talmok had so easily woven into his accusation. While she was certainly proud of her House, it wasn’t in her heart to be disloyal to Gowron. Her retirement from the KDF had nothing to do with any bad blood based on House rivalry. Rather, she’d retired because she wanted to focus on starting a family with her husband on Deep Space Nine. She hadn’t imagined that her decision would foster such hostility between her and the Empire’s leadership. It made no sense to suggest that she now secretly aspired to return to leadership at Gowron’s expense. Her participation in the battle of Trivas III had been a concession born of need, not greed. While she was glad to help Martok defeat the True Way, she now saw that her return to prominence had unexpected negative consequences. Gowron, reminded of her prowess in battle, feared she’d use the sword against him.

No one knew Talmok had been telepathically inciting Gowron against her for years, not even Gowron himself.

In the raucous audience, Davir was afraid for his wife’s future. He knew her Klingon heritage was a core value to her, indeed, the basis of her self-worth. K’Lira had long ago explained M’Rek’s law about disloyal augments to him so that he understood how Gowron’s forgiveness guaranteed her citizenship as long as she was loyal. Sword or no sword, it had never occurred to either of them that their mutual decision to help Martok with the battle at Trivas III would conflate to a false charge of treason against K’Lira. He found himself hating the chamberlain’s negative attention towards K’Lira, and he wanted desperately to somehow save her Klingon dignity. He simply didn’t know what he could do, and he listened in growing fear and disgust as Talmok made his case against her.

Such utter lies, he thought angrily. ost of his evidence is circumstantial and presumptuous. If he knew her half as well as he thinks he does, he’d repent immediately and beg her forgiveness for falsely accusing her so egregiously.

He looked apprehensively at the chancellor across the room. Gowron had an inscrutable expression on his face. Apparently, he was satisfied with Talmok’s summary, and felt the case was off to a fine start.

Davir turned his attention back to the proceedings as the judge pounded the gavel again for silence. “Defendant, present your arguments,” he yelled.

K’Lira’s lawyer stepped forward. “Honored judge,” he began, “the defendant, K’Lira of House Trestian, humbly begs the court’s indulgence. Our defense against the charge of grand larceny is incomplete at this time, pending the results of the Yan-Isleth’s investigation into the sword’s apparent theft. We need additional time to provide K’Lira’s alibis for her whereabouts from the time Kahless’ sword was returned to the Klingon Empire to the time it was discovered aboard her transport.”

“I see,” the judge said. “While a verified account of her movements in that interim would be helpful, the head chamberlain has already presented visual evidence of her purportedly taking the sword with her to Trivas. Are you prepared to refute that or the fact that it was discovered in her cabin shortly afterwards?”

“Again, no,” the lawyer answered.

“Let me guess: time?” the condescending judge asked.

“Yes, your Honor,” the lawyer replied abjectly.

“And treason,” the judge continued, “what of that charge?”

K’Lira had finally had enough. Despising the lawyer’s pandering, she felt she could do a better job defending herself against Talmok’s spurious accusations and presumptive arguments.

“I have done nothing treasonous!” she objected loudly.

Everyone in the room stopped, startled.

“What my client means, your Honor…,” the lawyer began.

“Is exactly that,” she finished for him.

“Your Honor, I formally request to represent myself in this case,” she said.

The judge sucked in his cheeks in response as the lawyer stepped back. “On what grounds?” he asked.

“In my experience as the leader of a House, I have spent years arbitrating disagreements,” she said. “I understand the severity of the charges against me, but I have evidence my lawyer is not aware of, and I can argue my case now without my attorney’s help.”

The judge sighed. He’d heard a lot of defendants make the same claim in lesser cases. This one was already a media circus, and it was no help that K’Lira was a prominent public figure with enemies in high places. He didn’t want to allow the defendant to take a course that would likely make managing this case harder, but K’Lira was within her rights to refuse counsel.

“I do not recommend this, Matron,” he advised grimly, “and I doubt your attorney does either. Is this truly what you want?”

I have been both lawyer and arbiter before, K’Lira thought confidently, and I can be so again.

“Yes, your Honor,” she affirmed aloud.

The judge turned to the defense lawyer. “You are dismissed, Counselor,” he said resignedly.

“Matron,” he addressed K’Lira, “the floor is yours.”

As the lawyer left, K’Lira stepped forward to make her rebuttal. “Thank you, your Honor,” she said gratefully.

“The court is aware of the manner of the sword’s arrival and the concessions made upon its return?” she asked.

“It is,” the judge said guardedly. “What of it?”

“Federation Ambassador Morlo Aegis specifically selected me to be his agent in returning it to the Empire,” she said. “I would ask the court’s opinion of that choice?”

“And I would ask the defendant to explain the relevance of her question,” Talmok interrupted.

K’Lira warily regarded her opponent and opened her mouth, but the judge replied before she could.

“In this court’s opinion, it was a convenient choice,” he said. “It is commonly known that you are one of the few Klingons to live on Deep Space Nine, which was where you acquired the sword. It makes sense to use a Klingon to interface with the Empire. You were available and willing to complete the transfer.”

“It was more than convenience, your Honor,” K’Lira said. “I have worked with Ambassador Aegis before. He is a Tellarite, and not one prone to trust easily or repeatedly. That bat’leth is a supreme weapon, and Klingons are known to covet prowess in battle, yet Morlo entrusted the sword to my care. I felt personally honored to bring it to our people. If I were the treasonous thief the prosecution believes me to be, it occurs to me that the trip to Qo’noS would have been the best time to abscond with it to serve my supposed ambition. I did not. Objectively, I can be trusted to handle priceless artifacts without dishonoring myself. Morlo already knew this, which was why he chose me.”

K’Lira stood there, triumphant in the surety of her argument.

“My Lord Chamberlain,” the judge asked, “rebuttal?”

“Defending one’s own reputation is self-serving and, in this case, irrelevant, your Honor,” Talmok replied smugly. “Citing someone else’s opinion to that end, especially a non-Klingon’s, does not help either. She stole the sword, then took it with her to Trivas. We found it in her cabin after the battle. Any honor she might have had at that point, objective or else, is consequently gone. While the sword’s presence aboard the Ak’voh enroute to Qo’noS a month ago is explainable, its presence aboard her transport a few days ago is not. I will ask the defendant to address that, if she can.”

Let her try to contest that, he thought smugly.

The judge sat back expectantly as did many in the crowd. Even Gowron watched in anticipation, his narrowed gaze fixed on her.

K’Lira understood this moment, the pivot on which her hope rested. Even with only partial answers, she felt confident she could convince the judge to grant her time to discover the real thief. She hadn’t finished reviewing Rimic’s memories, but telling the judge about engrammatic transfers would likely gain his disfavor. She knew she was on thin ice there. She remembered her erstwhile lawyer’s advice: do not say anything that sounds like a conspiracy theory—he will not credit that.

She smiled quickly over at her beleaguered husband and did a swan dive into the rest of her defense.

“As to grand larceny,” she began, “there is absolutely no direct evidence I stole Kahless’ sword. The chancellor himself gave it to the chamberlain after I delivered it, and that, I swear, was the last time I saw it until Martok discovered it in my cabin. I have no idea how it got there, but I did not bring it aboard with me for I did not have it. The suitcase you saw me carrying onto the transport was indeed the one by which I delivered Kahless’ bat’leth. I kept the case because I liked it and needed one for my own bat’leth. That is what was really in it when I boarded. Both it and its contents were confiscated along with Kahless’ sword when I was arrested, so the court can verify that I speak truth just by opening it. The prosecution’s claim that Kahless’ sword was inside it is a baseless presumption. Believe what you actually saw, not what the prosecution wants you to imagine.”

The crowd murmured quietly, unsure if she was lying.

Talmok stood by impassively. He’d known his accusation was weakly based on an assumption of K’Lira’s guilt and the suitcase’s presumed contents, which no one could prove or disprove just from the video. He hadn’t expected that argument to withstand cross-examination anyway. What mattered was that His Eminence had planted the sword as instructed to incriminate K’Lira. I must end House Trestian. That would devastate her, he thought icily.

Across the chamber, Chancellor Gowron fumed in frustration, his lips pressed into a thin line. He’d hoped Talmok’s second line of evidence would be more convincing. Talmok needs to do better than that, he thought nervously.

Meanwhile, K’Lira continued, oblivious to Talmok’s internal scheming. “The charge of treason is as presumptuous as larceny in that it assumes my intent in allegedly taking Kahless’ sword. It may have been found under my cot, but I have also testified that I did not steal it or board ship with it. I repeat, I have no idea how it got there.”

She knew the last part was a lie, but she didn’t want to risk alienating the judge by disclosing that she knew she’d been framed because she now possessed the memories of a dead Lethean.

“The sword’s theft is still under investigation,” she continued, “and I will fully cooperate, your Honor. Hopefully, catching the real thief will dispel any thought of my involvement. I meanwhile uphold my personal honor.”

She cannot know I gave it to His Eminence, Talmok thought as a nagging doubt crept into his mind about that.

The defense rests, your Honor,” K’Lira finished, “for now.”

“I see,” the judge said flatly.

It was clear Talmok’s arguments were thin and based largely on the presumption that K’Lira had stolen Kahless’ sword for herself. While the theft was still being investigated, the question of who’d actually taken the sword was open, so K’Lira couldn’t (yet) be convicted of stealing it without direct proof she’d done so. The grand larceny charge wasn’t baseless (the sword had been found in her cabin), but it was premature and warranted additional time for the pending investigation to close. Also, the larceny charge depended causally on the treason charge as there would be no reason to steal the sword unless one presumed that K’Lira intended to use it treacherously. Until the Yan-Isleth’s investigation was done, K’Lira remained merely a suspect, not a convict.

The crowd waited expectantly, and the background of anxious whispers filled the room.

The judge cleared his throat and pounded the gavel for silence.

“It is the considered opinion of this court that the prosecution’s charges of grand larceny and treason are not supported by sufficient objective proof that the defendant actually stole Kahless’ sword or that she possessed it with treasonous intent. The ongoing investigation into the sword’s disappearance and reappearance needs to shed its light on the facts of this case before a verdict can be rendered. Until then, the defendant is remanded into protective custody in First City, pending another hearing after that investigation is done.”

The room erupted as the crowd shouted and screamed in dismay or vindication.

Davir was relieved.

Gowron, oddly, still wore an impassive expression.

Talmok was incensed but silent. Time for Plan B, he thought.

K’Lira, of course, was elated. She’d lost so much to get to this point that the deferral of her case felt like the payout of a long-awaited and hard-earned victory. Her ordeal wasn’t over, but it felt like she’d reached a milestone. All she needed was time to put Rimic’s information to its best use.

The only bad thing about the judge’s decision was the part about being placed back into protective custody. Rimic had lost his life because the KDF’s witness protection program was insufficient to the task. K’Lira knew whoever had killed him would likely try again to kill her. She needed to stay alive long enough to exonerate herself and her House, so she appealed to the judge.

“Your Honor, by now, the court’s aware that I was attacked at a safehouse yesterday,” K’Lira said over the din.

“The KDF filed a report, Matron, and yes, we are aware,” the judge answered testily.

“Then the court also knows that there was one casualty in that attack, a Lethean, shot dead by an assassin across the street from the safehouse. The warriors who accompanied me did not catch the killer, but I am convinced the shooter meant my death instead and missed. He will likely try again. Since the safehousing system is obviously compromised, I beg the court’s permission to remain in protective custody in a different way; let me stay under house arrest aboard the Ak’voh.”

“Preposterous!” Talmok objected instantly. “The crew are undoubtedly loyal to her. They will break orbit the moment she beams aboard.”

“The court can order the Ak’voh’s warp drive and cloaking systems to be disabled for the duration,” she offered placatingly. “I will accept any security officers the court sees fit to add if they are vetted by the Yan-Isleth, and I will always wear a locator beacon.

“Your Honor, I am trying to be cooperative, but I sincerely believe my life is in danger. It does me and the court no benefit to lose the case and my life because a hitman who apparently knows our safehousing system found me again. My ship is the only place I can guarantee my personal safety until my case is resolved.”

The judge paused. He knew about the KDF’s incident report, but he hadn’t read it, so it was news to him that protective custody had recently been compromised with deadly consequences. He needed K’Lira to stand trial again when the Yan-Isleth’s investigation had finished, but Talmok had a point, too.

“Matron,” he replied, sighing, “your request tests the court’s tolerance mightily. If you are not safe in First City, I doubt you would be safe anywhere else. But the court is not completely averse to your suggestion about security. The Ak’voh will do as long as it is disabled to prevent it from leaving orbit. All crew and visitors will be vetted by the Yan-Isleth. You are restricted to quarters aboard the Ak’voh until your next court date.”

He checked his calendar. “Your next appearance will be scheduled by…,” he started.

CONDEMN HER! Talmok thundered telepathically. House Trestian must fall!

In the stands above, Losozola flinched at the mental shout.

House Trestian falls

A shadow fell across the courtroom floor as Gowron rose from his seat, his wide-eyed glare upon the judge.

“Hold,” he commanded sternly.

The judge looked apprehensively at him. It was unusual enough for the chancellor to personally observe a lower court case, but the judge understood Gowron’s interest in this one. Gowron had spoken to the judge before the hearing and made it clear that he already considered K’Lira to be completely guilty. The judge had agreed to take Gowron’s opinion under advisement but nothing more. He had not expected Gowron to interrupt the court’s process, though, and he wondered what the chancellor wanted.

“As chancellor, I hereby overrule this court’s decision and pronounce K’Lira guilty on all charges,” Gowron said.

The cavernous room erupted again, shouts echoing long and loudly. It was almost a minute before the judge could make himself heard above the din.

“ORDER!” he screamed hoarsely. He struck the stone gavel so vehemently that it shattered, and he had to pound the table with his fist instead. “I WILL HAVE ORDER OR I WILL CLEAR THIS COURTROOM!”

Davir sank into his seat, gravely disappointed in the Klingon justice system. The Empire was a feudal oligarchy of royal Houses, most of which had their own judiciary. The top 24 Houses were represented on the High Council with the chancellor at its head. As such, the chancellor was the highest legal authority in the Empire. He could pardon any convict or convict anybody he thought was guilty. Davir realized the awful truth: Gowron was an enemy, and he’d summarily condemned K’Lira.

He can’t be allowed to get away with this, Davir thought angrily. She was winning!

He instantly swore he would somehow find a way, legal or not, to make Gowron pay for misjudging his wife and destroying her hard-earned reputation.

Gowron wasn’t done.

“My forgiveness for hiding her augmented nature some 10 years ago was predicated upon her continued loyalty, which is now void,” he continued icily, “and I rescind my grace and her citizenship. House Trestian is hereby dissolved, its holdings and fleet (including the Ak’voh) confiscated by the Empire. Its members are discharged but not dishonored for K’Lira’s guilt is hers alone, and they may join any House that will have them.

“vInoHta’,” he finished, retaking his seat with grim finality.

Talmok, privately pleased with the result of his mental manipulation, wisely kept his sentiment to himself. He didn’t need telepathy to read K’Lira, though, whose attention was on Gowron.

She was livid. Her eyes flashed darkly. Condemning her without sufficient proof was bad enough, but disbanding her House was a deeper evil. She’d spent decades building House Trestian’s reputation. Her second ran it now since she’d retired, but her honor as its founder still supported it. If she lost the case, she’d hoped the judge’s sentence would be confined to her alone, but Gowron, in his mysterious hatred, had bypassed all her efforts and condemned her and her House. Now, the lives of hundreds of warriors and their families, people who’d heretofore respected her leadership, would be disrupted, perhaps permanently. She wouldn’t blame them if they never forgave her for that, but she blamed Gowron for taking it that far.

She realized this also made it impossible to use her flagship and its crew since they weren’t hers anymore.

The Ak’voh is gone, she thought anxiously. How will I protect myself now? Where can I go?

Helpless, she turned to the judge. “Your Honor, please!” she begged.

The judge was as displeased as K’Lira was but for his own reasons. In fairness, he wasn’t convinced the Matron was innocent, just that the evidence against her was very subjective and circumstantial. Any verdict he might’ve rendered on that basis would’ve been suspect anyway, not to mention premature. The Klingon spectators were the usual riffraff who filled courtrooms just to jeer at convicts, and this was a high-profile case, attracting the worst of the lot. The judge had long since lost control of the crowd in the stands, and trash now littered the dirt floor, tossed down by the spectators as they roared in combined anger and disgust at the various proceedings. Then there was the press. News agencies loved negative drama, and Gowron’s stunt was perhaps the most theatrical thing that could’ve happened. This was a complete disaster of a trial, and he sincerely wished he hadn’t presided over it.

Frustrated, his threadbare patience with the whole affair down to its last strand, he glared down at K’Lira and felt sorry for her.

This case may be a fiasco, and I may end up being the laughingstock of my profession for taking it, but I will be damned if I fail to get her to trial safely, he thought. This will end, but how?

Suddenly, he had an idea.

“Matron K’Lira, formerly of House Trestian,” he began, “it is not in this court’s power to countermand Chancellor Gowron’s judgment. His word is indeed law.” The judge glanced obliquely at Gowron, who was watching him closely.

“However,” the judge continued, “proper jurisprudence is how verdicts are reached and true justice is dispensed, which is our highest form of law. The chancellor may disfavor you in this case, Matron, but even his judgment must comply with jurisprudence. As the prosecution’s case depends upon actual proof you stole the sword, I will grant a stay of execution on your sentence pending the result of the Yan-Isleth’s investigation.”

Satisfied, the judge sat back and pounded the stone table before him once with his hand since he didn’t have a gavel. “vInoHta’,” he said in smug defiance.

Gowron had done all the damage he could. He fumed but said nothing and turned to leave.

Talmok didn’t say anything either. While he held Gowron in his mental sway through long association, he had no power over the judge’s mind.

K’Lira must not discover my larger designs, he thought. Rescinding her rights and disbanding her House will force her out of the Empire for her perceived disloyalty and divide the High Council besides. The chaos from that will render the Empire’s military ineffective as a unified force. When the strongest member of the alliance weakens, the alliance will fracture, and my brethren will invade this universe more easily.

Talmok was sure His Eminence and the remaining True Way dissidents didn’t see the big picture, and he wanted it to stay that way. He simply needed the True Way’s disruptive influence on the Alpha and Beta Quadrants to keep the alliance off balance and preoccupied while he telepathically worked Gowron and the High Council in secret.

Devastated, K’Lira stood in the middle of the floor as Talmok left the room. She swept her long hair forward to hide her face as she wept, holding a hand up to shade her eyes against the bright spotlight far above. She couldn’t believe Gowron’s unfairness when the case against her was incomplete and baselessly presumptive. She knew she’d been framed, but she’d hoped that he would see through the weakness of Talmok’s evidence and agree with the judge’s decision to wait and see. In condemning her, Gowron had taken everything she valued about her heritage: her honor, rights, House, fleet, and holdings. All but convicted of disloyalty despite the judge’s abeyance, she couldn’t appeal to the court or her ship’s crew to help her; no Klingon would risk dishonor by association to try. All she could do was wait for the Yan-Isleth’s investigation to finish to see how that would bear on her sentence.

“I have no choice but to remand the accused to protective custody,” the judge finished impassively. “Please clear the courtroom as I need to try the next case.”

K’Lira looked forlornly up at the judge’s craggy face, half hidden in shadow. She knew he, too, could risk nothing more than what he’d already done for her, and she was grateful enough for the delay. It simply did nothing to assuage the loss of her rights meanwhile. Still, she didn’t blame him; she blamed Gowron.

“Yes, your Honor,” she said meekly.

K’Lira turned and saw Davir in the stands. She shared her husband’s agonized gaze for a long moment, and an unspoken understanding passed between them: he would help her in any way he could. “Meet me outside,” she said, then walked through the doorway she’d entered by, closing it behind her.

The commodore and his security chief excused themselves, working their way to the corridors outside, looking for K’Lira. Davir was anxious to commiserate with her about the dire situation Gowron’s verdict had caused, but she wasn’t waiting for him there. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen.

Worried, he stopped a nearby bailiff. “Have you seen Matron K’Lira?” he asked. “She just came out and was supposed to be placed into protective custody.”

The Klingon frowned. “I have not,” he said, “but if she is supposed to be processed for that, she wuld be in the waiting room at the end of that hallway.” He pointed down a nearby corridor. “Last room on the left. That is where we tag them with locator beacons so we can track them. The clerk there will know.”

Davir nodded gratefully. “Thanks.”

He and Losozola walked quickly down the hallway and entered the last room. It was a narrow compartment with bench seating on one wall, a closed door on the far one, and a windowed alcove opposite the bench. There was no one waiting on the bench, and only a female Klingon standing on the other side of the window.

Davir walked up to her. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he began. “I’m looking…”

Just then, a Klingon warrior burst into the room from the opposite door. Breathless, he dashed past the Starfleet officers, practically shoving Davir out of the way to get the clerk’s attention.

“jaH’pu K’Lira!” he shouted. “Qolpu’ tu’ DeghwI’ wItuQmoHlaHpa’!”

Confused, Davir watched as the woman behind the window snarled in disgust and struck the general alarm control on her desk. Doors slammed shut, transporter inhibitors activated, and bootsteps thundered down the corridor outside as the courthouse went into lockdown.

“Stay in this room,” the lady told them, then she and the warrior left to join the vain search for K’Lira.

Davir and Losozola sat on the bench, bewildered by this unexpected turn of events.

The commodore understood that K’Lira’s honorable Klingonhood meant everything to her, but with that now gone, he wasn’t sure how far she’d go to get it back. He guessed she knew the Klingon Defense Force’s methods and capabilities well enough to take advantage of them. Had she planned an escape without telling him? Did she have help? Where had she gone? Would he see her again soon? How could he help her now?

He didn’t know anything, and his helplessness mounted as he was sure K’Lira’s had when Gowron had judged her so harshly.

The KDF will surely want to question me, but she’s truly on her own, he thought forlornly. Good luck, bangwIj.

FOOTNOTES

vInoHta’. 🔉

Klingonese: "I have judged."

jaH’pu K’Lira! Qolpu’ tu’ DeghwI’ wItuQmoHlaHpa’! 🔉

Klingonese: "K'Lira is gone! She beamed herself before she could wear a tracker!"

bangwIj 🔉

Klingonese: "My love."

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

The Videssan’s transporter pad lit up, and K’Lira materialized upon it.

“She’s aboard,” a male operator said into the transporter console’s communicator.

“We’re almost there,” a female voice replied.

Surprised, K’Lira looked about and realized where she was. There could be only one explanation: her friends had intervened.

If the judge thinks I ran away, he will surely consider that an implied admission of guilt, she thought fearfully.

She turned angrily to the operator and stepped off the pad. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” she shouted.

Before he could respond, the door opened and Erak entered the transporter room, closely followed by an Orion man and an Orion woman.

Erak saw the tension in K’Lira’s face straight away. “Matron,” he began, “calm…”

Empire in turmoil

“Send me back this instant!” K’Lira interrupted angrily, turning back to the pad.

“If we do that, you will die,” Erak said desperately, “and the Empire with you.”

K’Lira stopped. She was still angry with his interference but confused by his reply. She understood her own peril very well and Gowron’s role in it, but what was this about the Empire falling? She trusted Erak’s judgment because he’d protected her after Rimic died, but she’d not known him to lie or be overly dramatic.

“How do you mean?” she asked.

Erak sighed, relieved. “There have been… developments, Matron,” he answered, “things you do not yet know.”

K’Lira folded her arms across her broad chest and leaned back, glowering. “What now?” she growled. “And who are they?” she added, indicating the two Orions.

Erak nodded to the Orion man and moved back.

“Honored Matron,” the man said in a deep baritone, saluting as he stepped forward, “I’m Captain Vaza, and this is my Chief of Operations, Silernna,” he said, indicating the Orion woman. “It’s a pleasure to have you aboard again.”

Somewhat mollified, K’Lira returned the salute, fist over heart. “Captain,” she greeted.

She returned to Erak. “What has happened?” she demanded to know.

Erak opened his mouth to reply, but Vaza interrupted him. “Perhaps this conversation should be moved to a more private setting?” he asked, nodding towards the door. “The Videssan’s conference room isn’t far.”

The four of them walked down the hall to a narrow, dimly lit room with a long table and chairs. A viewer was on one of the walls. Vaza took the chair at the head of the table. Silernna sat next to him as K’Lira took a seat next to Erak and waited expectantly.

“To begin, Matron,” Erak said, “your trial has sparked a rebellion, the underpinnings of which have been building in the Empire for a long time.”

K’Lira frowned mightily. It was as if she’d been accused of insurrection herself. She held her peace and waited for him to explain further.

“Before the trial, cells of rebellious Klingons, Orions, Gorn, Ferasans, and Letheans took control of certain military facilities across the Empire and its vassals. Their apparent intent is to overthrow the Empire in every Klingon world, but it is unclear who is leading the insurrection or how best to restore order. The Klingon Defense Force is also showing signs of fracturing as various units are reporting dissension within their own ranks. Finally, the High Council itself is distressed by the open rebellion and divided in the use of its power to stop it. Some Houses want to use their own paramilitary forces rather than risk the apparent instability of the KDF. Others are begging Gowron to either put down the rebels or immediately step down as chancellor and let someone else do the job their way. In short, the Empire is falling apart along political lines.”

He didn’t bother to add his opinion that Martok or perhaps K’Lira would make a better chancellor than Gowron.

K’Lira was stunned. While she’d always known that Gowron had enemies on the High Council, his rule had been heretofore unchallenged, and his leadership uncontested. The news that the High Council was proving ineffective at controlling dissent within its military was extremely disconcerting. The KDF was the strongest arm in the alliance. Its fracturing undoubtedly spelled the alliance’s doom unless the damage could be repaired and soon.

That thought brought a new one to K’Lira’s shrewd mind. “You said a rebellion has been brewing for a long time,” she said. “How is that so and what else do you know of it?”

Erak sighed, then continued, “It is not such a long story in the telling as it is a long time in the making. The truth is Gowron’s support as chancellor has been waning for years. Many in the Council and the KDF opposed the decisions he has made. While that happens to every chancellor, Gowron suffered it more than most. Things came to a head when it became clear he was abusing General Martok’s success during the Dominion War. Gowron kept sending him into the thickest, most unwinnable battles, hoping he would perish. Gowron has always feared Martok’s popularity and thought to get rid of a political rival the easy way. Many considered that a dishonorable choice because Martok is a loyalist.”

K’Lira was one of Martok’s contemporaries and, by his own admission, more skilled at warfare than he. She remembered his grudge against Gowron, but she didn’t understand its importance in the current situation. “What does Gowron’s quarrel with Martok have…?” she began.

Then K’Lira answered her own question—Gowron feared her as he feared Martok and for the same reason. He thought one of them would surely wrest the chancellorship from him, so he was trying to get rid of her, too, in her case by forcing her into involuntary exile from the Empire.

Her face darkened and her contempt for Gowron’s gall flared inside her. Now I know how Martok feels, she thought bitterly.

Erak nodded sagely. “You now see it through his eyes, do you not?” he asked. “His fear drives his hatred and his actions against you as it did against Martok. Gowron is a lying politician…, but at least he is consistent. Ironically, dissidents throughout the Empire are now uniting to remove him in favor of Martok.” His voice grew small and hesitant. “Or someone else… like you,” he ended, seemingly embarrassed to even suggest the possibility of bidding her for the chancellorship.

K’Lira had never sought leadership beyond House Trestian. That didn’t matter now that it was defunct, but what apparently mattered to some was that Gowron had dishonored himself again by stripping a popular House of honor without conclusive proof its founder had done anything dishonorable. She was strangely pleased to realize that others agreed with that so much that they were willing to rebel. Apparently, it was the latest in a long line of offenses that fostered discontent and distrust of Gowron’s judgment. The High Council didn’t trust him either and had split its support along dissident lines, some siding with Martok, some with other leaders, but none with Gowron. Even his own House was divided.

K’Lira contemplated things quietly. In forcing her demise, Gowron had condemned himself in one go. The Empire was crumbling around him, and everything seemed to revolve around her case. In a private flash of contempt, she asked herself why she even cared since she wasn’t legally a Klingon anymore anyway, but she just as quickly shrugged off the self-piteous thought. Her earlier advice to Martok about forgiving Gowron came to mind, and she bitterly realized it also applied to her, but she found she wasn’t ready to take her own advice. She wanted strongly to continue hating Gowron for what he’d done. Her self-righteousness hardened her heart and provided the merciless justification she needed now.

“I do not care if the rebels manage to depose Gowron or who replaces him,” she growled through gritted teeth. “He can rot in Gre’thor. I just want my honor back. If I have to slay him myself to do that, so be it.”

Spoken like a true Klingon, Erak thought, bemused.

He hadn’t seriously considered K’Lira to replace Gowron even if she had a reason to challenge him for the chancellorship. He actually agreed with the judge’s decision to wait and see what the Yan-Isleth discovered about how the sword had been stolen, hoping it would exonerate K’Lira, but he knew that wouldn’t change Gowron’s verdict anyway. No matter what else happened in court, the only avenue to legal restitution involved confronting Gowron, in this case, in the context of open rebellion.

Will we survive? And what will the Empire be afterwards if we do? he wondered.

“Be prepared,” Vaza said to K’Lira. “It may indeed come to that.”

“A true warrior is always prepared for battle,” K’Lira replied menacingly, “though I wish I had my weapons.”

Silernna sighed. “Well, if we’re gonna be renegades, I’d best prepare the crew,” she said in a light alto voice.

She turned to Vaza. “Captain?”

He nodded at her and stood. “Dismissed.”

K’Lira raised a hand to stop them both from leaving. “One other thing,” she said.

Vaza turned. “Yes, Matron?”

K’Lira looked sheepishly up at him. “Do you know any good Lethean doctors?”

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

The High Council was in emergency session, but, due to the rebellion, only a few councilors were in attendance. Gowron sat in the chair at the head of the room. Talmok stood behind him. Seated around the room were Toral of House Duras, Grilka of her own House, Martok of his own, and a few other House leaders. Less than half the Great Houses were represented.

“We are not a quorum,” Gowron noted, “but this session must proceed anyway, so I am dispensing with protocol. The Empire is in peril. How should we proceed against our own brothers?”

Toral had an arrogant look upon his narrow face. “Like the traitors they have shown themselves to be,” he replied. “I recommend mass discommendation, Chancellor.”

Most of the councilors nodded in agreement. Rebelling against the chancellor or a House leader was grounds for dishonorable discharge from one’s House or the Empire unless the rebel won his cause in honorable combat. Since the rebellion was widespread, it was functionally easier to publicly declaim all the rebels. That would certainly distance the High Council from the rebellion, but it wouldn’t stop the infighting. Indeed, most of the missing councilors were absent because they were busy doing exactly that with what resources they had.

Talmok said nothing, preferring instead to listen telepathically to the audience and especially Gowron, his slight mental touch directing the chancellor’s mind. Keeping the Empire distracted and off balance worked in his favor as that would make it easier for his Undine brethren to destroy the Empire when they invaded.

What of the ringleaders?, he thought craftily, letting the question drive Gowron.

“I will not tolerate insurrectionists,” Gowron said vehemently. “We must make an example of their leaders.”

Martok cleared his throat. “We have to find them first,” he advised.

“Yes,” Gowron agreed, “and have them executed for treason.”

“My forces are already engaged in rooting them out in Qu’Vat City, Chancellor,” Grilka said. “I have forces abroad doing the same, but the Empire is vast. I have received reports of similar rebellions in our vassals where I have no military presence. What of them?”

Gowron considered briefly. “I will ask the vassal leaders to assist in putting the rebellion down as quickly as possible, violently, if needed,” he said.

“The rebels are disorganized and apparently operating in cell groups,” Martok said. “It will be some time in getting to all of them. Meanwhile, our loyalists will die in this pursuit as will the rebels themselves.”

“You sound sympathetic, General,” Toral sneered. “Are you afraid as well?”

Martok wisely let the snide accusation pass, knowing the only opinion that mattered was Gowron’s, but he didn’t know Talmok mentally had Gowron’s ear.

Can you use Martok again? Talmok thought maliciously. If he fails, he dies.

Gowron had so often succumbed to telepathic suggestion that he could no longer distinguish between Talmok’s mental voice and his own—they were the same to him. His jealousy returned, and he surrendered again.

“The rebels have chosen Gre’thor, General,” Gowron said. “Use whatever resources you need to discover them,” he ordered, “and bring them in chains to our court that we may dispense justice.”

Fine words from a cold heart do not convey bravery, Martok thought grimly. I have no choice but to obey him, but will my fellow warriors respect me in Sto’Vo’Kor for this?

HHe put his misgivings aside. “Of course, Chancellor.”

“Qapla’, General,” Grilka offered as he turned to leave the council chamber.

Martok paused, doubtful, but said nothing and left the building.

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

Many light years away, in a basement office in Starfleet Intelligence’s reconnaissance wing, Ambassador Aegis watched the galactic news. The elderly Tellarite looked more haggard than usual as he sat at his broad desk, loudly tapping a porcine hoof as his ignored coffee mug slowly cooled. His ex-Borg lead analyst, Lt. Commander Victoria Alain, stood calmly behind him, PADD in hand, ready for Morlo’s instructions.

They were very worried by the news coming out of the Klingon Empire.

“The Klingon Empire is apparently in the early throes of what has the potential to be called a civil war,” the briefing said. “Details are still incomplete, but there are increasing reports of open opposition to Chancellor Gowron on every Klingon planet and major outpost in the Beta Quadrant. The Empire’s vassal states are also reporting uprisings in their territories. Chancellor Gowron has made a statement disavowing the rebels and calling on all true Klingons to reaffirm their loyalty to the Empire by turning in any rebels they find. Other House leaders can’t be reached for confirmation or comment, implying that the threat requires the Council’s undivided attention. The KDF is being fully mobilized, but it’s unclear to what extent the Klingon military may or will be used to handle the outbreak. The reasons for the rebellion are unknown, but there are unconfirmed rumors that it involves the theft of Kahless’ sword last month and the more recent downfall of the House of Trestian, whose founder is dubiously linked to the crime.

“Given the scope and severity of the situation, the United Federation of Planets has issued a temporary ban against travelling to the Empire, citing the safety of Federation citizens as a priority. However, Starfleet operations are unaffected by the ban.

“We’ll keep you appraised as this story develops,” the briefing finished.

Morlo had heard quite enough and angrily punched the off button on the monitor, killing the feed. Victoria watched warily as fear, wrath, and calculated logic warred for dominance on his expressive face.

“Bastard,” he rumbled.

Victoria knew he meant Gowron.

His baritone rose as he continued, “I thought this might happen. I knew it!”

Morlo had warned the chancellor that the famous bat’leth would be a tempting target for any Klingon with aspirations of becoming the next leader of the Empire, so it had to be protected from misuse. When its theft had finally been leaked to the public, Morlo’s heart had fallen; he knew it was inevitable that someone would blame Gowron. Worse, he feared someone would raise their House to prominence by winning the chancellorship in battle, which would further destabilize the alliance. Morlo shuddered to think what the alliance would become without a strong and stable Klingon Empire at its core.

But what caused this disturbance? he wondered.

The briefing had referenced K’Lira in connection with the sword’s theft, but Morlo knew K’Lira well and couldn’t believe she’d stolen it. Maybe one of her warriors went rogue and took it, he thought. Either way, I need to know what happened.

“Get me K’Lira,” he said to Victoria. “Security protocol one. Now.”

“I’ll try, Ambassador,” she replied hesitantly, “but the High Council’s being very hush-hush and Gowron’s incommunicado right now. What if I can’t reach her either?”

“I can’t make intelligent decisions in a vacuum,” Morlo growled. “Get me someone who knows what’s really going on. Anyone! I don’t care as long as they know more than we do right now. Go!”

Victoria went back to her own office.

In less than a minute, Morlo’s comm pinged.

Too good at her job, he thought grudgingly.

“I have Commodore Davir Benmata for you about his wife’s situation, sir,” Victoria proclaimed proudly.

That’s not who I asked for, but maybe he can help? Morlo wondered.

“Secure the channel and put him through,” he ordered.

“Stand by,” she responded.

“Ambassador,” Davir greeted as his image appeared on Morlo’s computer. His low tenor was quiet and weak.

He sounds worse than I feel, Morlo thought.

K'Lira's a fugitive

“Dav,” he asked, dispensing with protocol, “what the hell’s happening on Qo’noS?”

The commodore sighed heavily, then proceeded to catch Morlo up on recent events from his experience, everything through K’Lira’s recent escapade. “I don’t know where she is, Morlo,” he finished forlornly. “She’s a fugitive, and I don’t know how to help her.”

Stunned, Morlo didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected anything like this would befall his friend’s wife. While he empathized with the commodore, lamenting it didn’t solve the main problem. The sword was back in custody, but no one on the High Council trusted Gowron’s judgment. That distrust extended throughout the Empire and its vassals. His dishonorable treatment of House Trestian had erupted a political caldera that had been building since the Klingon-Cardassian War.

Gowron’s anomalous behavior has been worse since the Dominion War ended. He’s up to something, but what? he wondered.

“I’m deeply sorry for her loss, Dav,” he replied, “and I hope you believe me when I say that I never meant to bring this upon your family when I recruited K’Lira’s help in returning that damned sword.”

“No, of course you didn’t,” Davir agreed.

“I just wish… I don’t even know what I wish,” he continued. “Everything that could’ve gone wrong since has gone very awry. Well, everything except beating the True Way at Trivas, but even that happy day was marred by her being arrested. It’s like someone has it in for her in a very bad way, and they’re using Gowron to get to her.”

Morlo was immediately suspicious. There was no reason to presuppose Gowron was being manipulated against K’Lira, but if he was, that would explain everything except who was doing so and why. It occurred to Morlo that the chancellor’s averse behavior went all the way back to the way he abused Martok’s successful track record during the Dominion War.

Is he merely jealous? Maybe it’s deeper than that, he thought.

“During the Klingon-Federation War,” he said slowly, “we suspected Dominion interference in Klingon politics, and we thought Gowron might be a changeling spy. We were half-wrong; disruption as a prelude to war was the motive, but Martok was the real changeling. He was motivating the chancellor against us.”

Are the Founders at it again? he wondered inwardly. They must know we’d be wary of more changelings sent among us. Why risk it?

Davir nodded, remembering. He was just as glad the war hadn’t lasted a year, but then the Dominion War had started before anyone could recover. As far as he was concerned, the only good thing to come of it was that the war had brought him and K’Lira together. But Morlo’s reminder had given his nebulous fear of Gowron’s antipathy a new shape, something to focus on.

“Do you suspect the Founders might be interfering with the Empire again?” he asked worriedly.

Morlo sighed. “I do but that’s not proof. Fortunately, I know how we might get what we need.”

Davir looked up hopefully as he realized who Morlo meant. Of course… Odo, he thought.

Odo was a Founder who was loyal to the Federation and sympathetic to its ally, Bajor. He was now with the other Founders, teaching them to respect “solids” for their better qualities, being a role model for a less fearful, more tolerant Founder society.

“If anyone would know if the Founders have started interfering with the Empire again, Odo would,” Morlo said. “The problem is that he’s on the Founders’ home world in the Gamma Quadrant. The Bajoran wormhole was the only fast way to get from the Alpha Quadrant to the Gamma Quadrant. His Eminence sabotaged the wormhole several months ago, so transit between the two quadrants has been hampered since.”

He stopped pensively.

“How will you bring him back now that the wormhole’s gone?” Davir asked.

“Oh, I just need to talk to him,” Morlo corrected.

“Again, how?” Davir pressed, exasperated.

Morlo’s expression slackened, and he just stared at the commodore.

Davir recognized the ambassador’s poker face and realized the answer was above his clearance. If Morlo can’t answer that to me, it must be quite a secret, he thought. Best not hound him. It’s enough that he has a plan.

“I see,” Davir concluded, implying the opposite. “Well, Qapla’ with that, then.”

Morlo relaxed a bit. “I’ll keep you informed, Commodore,” he said. His old eyes softened kindly. “And if I can help your wife’s situation in any way, you know you just have to call.”

Davir smiled wanly. “Of course. Benmata out.”

The channel closed.

Morlo sat silently at his desk for almost a minute before he called Victoria. “Get me Chairman Koval of the Tal Shiar on a secured line,” he ordered, “priority one protocol.”

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

Chancellor Gowron sat proudly at the desk in his dim office in First City. The wall behind him was cluttered with accolades of his past exploits. Someone had groomed him for his upcoming press release by reducing the emerging gray in his otherwise brown hair, slicking it with oil until it shone. His chest was adorned with many medals, and a brooch with House Gowron’s symbol was pinned to a lapel. The chancellor’s heavy, fur-lined cloak was draped over his shoulders. He wore a confident expression, looking every bit the epitome of a strong national leader.

Head Chamberlain Talmok stood behind him, comparably regaled and holding the sword of Kahless for Gowron. Resting upright on its tip and gleaming in the red lighting, it, more than anything else in the room, was the undeniable symbol of Klingon leadership. As far as anyone else knew, Talmok merely completed the ensemble for the audience, and his stoic expression gave away none of his inner thoughts.

The transmit light on the monitor lit up, showing that the chancellor was now online with the whole of the Empire.

“Attention, loyal citizens and vassals of the Empire,” Gowron began sternly, “I am Chancellor Gowron.”

They should have confidence in your actions, Talmok thought to Gowron.

“The Empire is presently in unprecedented turmoil due to a revolt caused by traitors seeking to usurp me and the High Council and plunge our great state into chaos. The maghwI'pu’ are scattered throughout Klingon space and loosely organized into cells. I and the Council are united against all forms of national dissent, of course, and in our shared duty to protect the Empire, we are deploying defense forces in every sector to seek the traitors out and bring them to justice. You may remain confident that they will be successful and that our state will soon return to normalcy.”

And what of K’Lira? Talmok asked telepathically, stoking the chancellor’s mind with his prejudice. What should they do if they see her? How would you warn those who might help her?

Gowron's warning

“The rebellion began at Matron K’Lira’s trial,” Gowron continued as Talmok brought forth the bat’leth. “It is well known that the augment founder of House Trestian brought the sword of Kahless back to us over a month ago. It was subsequently stolen, then found aboard her ship after the Trivas III incident. So I discommended her, disbanded House Trestian, and confiscated its assets, but K’Lira herself escaped custody before she could be sent to Rura Penthe. She is currently at large and considered dangerous. If you know her whereabouts, you will be rewarded for that information. If you encounter her, detain her until security forces arrive to take her into custody. But use caution—she is as deadly as any warrior, especially now that she is an outcast.” He lowered his tone and glared menacingly. “For those of you with doubts, if you aid her, you will share her fate.”

On Earth, Ambassador Aegis listened to the chancellor’s broadcast with a heavy heart.

The Klingon Empire had descended into civil war, due in part to his generosity in returning a prized artifact of their history. K’Lira was now a fugitive from her own government. Even her family didn’t know where she was. The chancellor’s speech was intended to calm the populace and bring the war to a swift end, but Morlo feared it would have exactly the opposite effect. Gowron might as well have set a bounty on K’Lira’s head himself. Morlo was sure there’d be bloodshed by the end of it.

Will the alliance survive? he wondered.

Starfleet’s forces were being mustered to the Klingon border to protect Federation interests in the area. That bold move would, no doubt, be viewed provocatively by the Klingons as tensions between them and Starfleet were escalating.

Morlo had recently spoken to several Romulan officials, including Consul Koval of the Tal Shiar, about managing the alliance without being able to rely upon Gowron’s forces. The Romulan government was cautious about maintaining the security of its borders as it had lost territory before to the predations of Klingon rebels. It was uncomfortable with an unstable, historically aggressive neighbor. Koval had confessed he was pessimistic about avoiding conflicts with Klingon fleets near the Neutral Zone should the Klingon civil war spill over its borders. He was committed to protecting Romulan forces and outposts with every resource he had.

Which means the Romulan fleet will have fewer ships operating in the center of its own empire, Morlo realized, and the same will be true for the Federation. That could become a tipping point. His thick brow furrowed even more deeply, and he wondered, Is that really what this is about? Who could (or would) take advantage of the situation?

He hadn’t connected that thought with any specific faction because he didn’t know Talmok was an Undine spy or that he and His Eminence had collaborative goals. Morlo certainly didn’t suspect that an invasion from the fluidic universe was imminent. While he knew that K’Lira claimed she’d been framed to get her out of the way, there was no direct evidence the Klingon civil war that had erupted in the wake of her episode was part of a larger design against the alliance. It just seemed like an unfortunate coincidence.

Still unsatisfied, Morlo cupped his chin in one hand and rubbed his white beard as he considered Gowron’s words. Something didn’t sit right about any of this, but it definitely felt like someone was manipulating the players to intentionally distract the Klingons on a grand scale. He had no proof of who or why, only a nebulous fear that he was right. It occurred to him that he should warn Starfleet Intelligence, but one didn’t elevate suspicions to high command without reliable evidence.

Time to get some, then, he thought.

Morlo touched the comm on his desk. “Commander Alain,” he addressed his aide, “has the Klingon court released a transcript of Matron K’Lira’s court case yet?”

“Let me check, sir,” Victoria replied. It took only a few seconds, then she answered. “Yes, sir. I’ll forward a copy of it now.”

“Along with the list of court officials and attendees,” Morlo added.

“Of course, sir,” Victoria said, complying.

Morlo reviewed the transcript at length, replaying certain segments, looking for clues and clarity. He didn’t fully appreciate Klingon law or its jurisprudence, but he understood that Klingons valued personal honor above all else. By the end of it, Morlo was convinced that the trial was a sham, the easiest way for Gowron to convict someone he’d precluded was guilty. The trial exemplified exactly why Morlo was glad Federation law presumed the innocence of the accused rather than the opposite. The chancellor’s word was law. Morlo was intensely sorry he’d indirectly placed K’Lira squarely in the High Council’s limelight by asking her to bring back Kahless’ sword, thereby making her the next target for Gowron’s fearful antipathy.

I had no idea Gowron was so impossible, he thought morosely. No matter how this turns out, I owe her a huge apology.

Morlo perused the listed attendees next, noting that Commodore Benmata had been in the audience with his Security Chief Losozola Sgiza.

Makes sense, Morlo thought. He knew that wild targs couldn’t have kept Davir away from First City’s courthouse that day. He also recalled that Davir had a habit of always having at least one telepath on the bridge crew of every ship in his fleet, usually in a support role. While Morlo was ambivalent about it, he understood that Davir considered telepathy to be an advantage, especially in tense situations.

Like trials, Morlo thought, an idea germinating in his mind.

His flag’s on the Venture, he remembered.

Curious, he looked up the Venture’s current bridge roster and noted that Chief Sgiza was a highly adept Betazoid, a telepath. Morlo knew he’d struck latinum.

“Get me Chief Sgiza on the Venture,” he ordered over the comm, “priority one.”

Victoria didn’t even bother to acknowledge the request. She simply worked magic at her console. “Here he comes, sir,” she said and transferred the call to the ambassador’s computer.

Lozozola appeared on Morlo’s monitor, his broad shoulders nearly filling the screen’s width. Davir’s security chief and resident telepath was a big fellow, standing about 1.9 meters tall and weighing around 115 kilograms. He was bald except for a short, blond mohawk, a thin moustache, and an attached goatee. His bright blue eyes blended well with his lightly tanned skin. The yellow Starfleet uniform he wore struggled to contain his muscled frame, and its stiff collar barely fit around his throat. If he shrugged, Morlo thought the rank pip might pop off.

Losozola was standing at his bridge station behind the Venture’s command dais. Morlo could see people milling about behind him, and he decided he wanted privacy for this.

“Hello, Chief,” he greeted. “May we speak privately?”

Losozola recognized Morlo on sight and nodded, but he couldn’t leave his bridge station unattended, so he beckoned to someone offscreen. “Lieutenant, take over, please,” he said.

Then he approached the commodore’s chair. “Sir, may I borrow the comm station in your office for a bit?” he asked.

Davir, busy with a status update from a yeoman, barely looked up with a curt nod. “Sure.”

Losozola entered the Ready Room and locked the door behind him. Then he went to the desk and re-opened the ambassador’s channel from there.

“What is it, Mr. Ambassador?” he asked.

“Is the channel encrypted on your side?” Morlo queried cautiously.

Losozola touched a button to that effect. “It is now.”

Morlo had never interviewed Chief Sgiza before. Crew selections were strictly a commanding officer’s job, and he didn’t want this inquiry to become an issue for either Losozola or Davir.

“Chief, I need information that you might be uniquely able to provide, but before I begin, I want you to know that anything you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence, per Starfleet Intelligence general orders. I’m sure you’re familiar with that.”

Losozola felt a qualm in his gut. Secrecy about top-secret matters was commonplace between high-end officers, but he was unsure why the ambassador had called him for a classified conversation.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

Morlo smiled. “You may call me by name, Losozola,” he offered gently.

The big man didn’t budge. “What’s on your mind, sir?” he maintained stoically.

Well, that’s fine, I guess, Morlo thought equably.

I understand you’re a telepath,” he began, “and it’s that insight I want to utilize in one of my investigations.”

Losozola sighed, having been through this before. Starfleet Intelligence types always coveted telepathy in their industry. He understood Commodore Benmata’s background in diplomacy had a crossover in espionage, but Losozola wasn’t a fan of using telepathy to that end. He wasn’t surprised that few telepaths worked for Starfleet Intelligence. Betazoids were taught that a person’s mind was sacrosanct, the venue of one’s own sense of self where privacy was paramount. Invading it was akin to rape, often with consequences for both parties.

“Don’t bother asking,” he replied flatly. “The answer’s no.”

Morlo was slightly confused. He hadn’t anticipated Losozola’s refusal and didn’t understand its basis. The chief’s record indicated he was used to going on away missions with the commodore as a guard with telepathic prowess.

Then Morlo put two and two together and smiled again.

“You misunderstand me, Chief,” he clarified. “I don’t need you to spy telepathically for me. I just wanted to ask you what you remember.”

Losozola was nonplused. “About what?” he asked.

“K’Lira’s trial,” Morlo answered.

Losozola’s face darkened as a torrent of painful memories came back to him. He couldn’t think of a single good thing from that episode and heartily wished the ambassador hadn’t brought it up.

“That’s in my report,” he said truthfully, shrugging the request aside.

“So I’ve read,” Morlo countered. “I noticed you didn’t mention any mental impressions you might’ve had or been exposed to. Why was that?”

“That’s irrelevant,” Losozola said quickly.

“I differ,” Morlo countered instantly. “It matters greatly because, if my suspicions are correct, your telepathic insight may provide the information I need to save our alliance with the Klingons. May I continue?”

Losozola was upset at the ambassador’s preoccupation with an experience that was still a sensitive one in his own mind. He didn’t know what the ambassador suspected or how he might be able to help, but Losozola was curious enough to cooperate.

“Err…, all right,” he said nervously.

“Relax, Chief,” Morlo reassured him. “I’m just going to ask some pointed questions. Answer them as honestly as you can based on what you recall.

“When the trial began, the prosecutor presented his charges. As the trial progressed, K’Lira managed to refute the spurious accusation that Talmok had any evidence she’d stolen Kahless’ sword. Even without using your telepathy invasively, you would’ve been aware of the general tenor of the other minds in that courtroom. What was Gowron’s reaction?”

Losozola remembered briefly, then replied, “The chancellor seemed nervous when K’Lira refuted one of Talmok’s arguments against her. I think he was hoping the court would believe the evidence as Talmok had presented it rather than see through it. Talmok was angry about that, too. He seemed angry all the time, that one.”

MMorlo nodded thoughtfully and continued, “Talmok later presented videographic evidence of the sword being found in her cabin, the one she’d stayed in before the battle at Trivas III. K’Lira denied she even knew it was aboard. How did that declamation affect Gowron?”

“He was gleefully confident, almost smug,” Losozola replied. “I’m sure he thought that was the most damning bit of evidence used against K’Lira, and Talmok felt the same. I got that sensation from them both at almost the same time.”

Again, Morlo nodded musingly. He could see a behavioral pattern developing between Gowron and Talmok, but he needed evidence of a causal connection, so he pressed on.

“At the end of the trial, K’Lira’s defense rested on the observation that there was no direct evidence she’d stolen the sword of Kahless, but she couldn’t explain how it had appeared in her room. While the judge agreed that the evidence against her was largely circumstantial, the only lenience he was willing to give her was time to prove her innocence until the Yan-Isleth’s investigation concluded. Gowron then overruled the judge’s decision and convicted K’Lira. Do you know what prompted him to do that?” he asked.

A telepath's insight

Losozola didn’t even hesitate. “Talmok made him do it.”

Morlo blinked slowly in silent triumph.

“How so?” he asked gently.

“He’s telepathic,” Losozola explained. “I noticed it as soon as he walked into the courtroom. He has a strong psionic presence, much stronger than most other telepaths I’ve met.”

“I see,” Morlo replied. “What was his mind like during the trial? Did you sense his thoughts? Did he sense yours?”

Losozola began to open up, relieved to be getting this off his chest. “He was powerful, yes, and highly focused on K’Lira. All his animosity was on her. I don’t think he even knew I was there. Frankly, I’m glad; he was… blatantly hateful.”

“And Gowron, did he know Talmok’s a telepath?” Morlo queried.

Losozola paused at that. “I doubt it,” he replied slowly. “He didn’t seem to anticipate Talmok’s reactions. He just sort of jumped whenever Talmok sent a psionic outburst. That’s what I meant when I said he made Gowron condemn K’Lira. He practically screamed a telepathic command into the ether. I doubt any other telepaths in the building could’ve missed that, if there were any.”

Morlo considered something else. “Did you sense any other telepaths in the vicinity?”

Losozola shook his head. “No, there were none. Just Talmok and I.”

Morlo nodded understandingly. “I’ll defer to your judgment on that point, Chief. Outside of your species, I’ve heard that telepathy in humanoids is very rare, especially Klingons. It can be induced, but that’s even rarer.”

“It’s unheard of, really,” Losozola agreed. “What are the odds?”

“Practically nil,” Morlo confirmed.

“And you suspect Talmok’s manipulating Gowron against K’Lira?” Losozola asked faintly.

"I suspect he’s been doing that a long time, Chief, and the chancellor’s unaware of it,” Morlo replied. “It would explain quite a few strange behaviors and bad decisions he’s made over the years.”

Losozola didn’t know what to say. Now that he heard it from someone else, it rang truer in his own mind, and he realized he’d suspected as much in that courtroom.

Then he remembered another observation. “Ambassador, there’s something else I think I should tell you,” he added cautiously.

Morlo raised his bushy white eyebrows curiously. “What’s that?” he asked.

Losozola shifted uneasily in his chair. “Over the years, I’ve met thousands of telepaths, most of them Betazoids like me, but other kinds, too. I’ve never had a problem understanding any of them telepathically. On that level, I understand everyone perfectly well because there are no definitive barriers when one speaks telepathically. Everything is clear.

“Not so with Talmok. Not only is he the only Klingon telepath I’ve ever encountered, his mind was most unusual. He seemed outwardly Klingon in every way. Inwardly, he was as non-Klingon as could be. I understood little of his psionic presence because he guarded himself extremely well, but no one can hide his true self perfectly all the time, and Talmok’s outbursts revealed something to me. He’s… not Klingon… at all. I don’t know how to describe the difference, but whatever else he is, it’s nothing like his fellows. I’d be wary to meet him openly.”

Morlo sat in silence for long moments, pondering Losozola’s warning carefully. The chief’s fear reflected his own uncertainty about Talmok’s nature. That belied Talmok’s intent towards Gowron, K’Lira, and to his fellow Klingons, if he himself could be called Klingon, that is.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he replied seriously.

“Chief Sgiza, thank you for cooperating with my inquiry,” he said, sitting back and crossing his arms atop his broad belly. “Your insight has provided much to consider. Again, anything we’ve said is to be taken into strict confidence and classified under our current intelligence protocols. Don’t even tell your commanding officer what we’ve said, if he asks. Understood?”

Losozola nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Morlo closed the channel.

Over 40 years of experience working in Starfleet’s Diplomatic Corps with Starfleet Intelligence came to bear. He’d known Gowron since before he’d become chancellor. The man was always considered an outsider for the role, but when he’d won the election, he had nearly the unanimous support of the High Council. Gowron had made many controversial decisions leading to Klingon involvement in several wars in the 2370s. Perhaps his most controversial had been starting a war with the Federation in 2372 while Bajor was fighting the Cardassian Union for its independence. Then there was the conflicting way he’d treated his generals during the Dominion War, especially Martok. Even Worf openly favored Martok to replace Gowron. It was no secret, then, that Gowron’s support had waned greatly, especially in the last few years.

Looking back on it in light of recent events, Morlo had to concede the possibility that Gowron’s decline had been engineered by his enemies with the help of someone innocuously close to him. A chamberlain would be the perfect cover for such an agent, and a telepathic one would be insidiously dangerous. Talmok apparently fit the bill. Morlo had never met him personally, but he now realized that was an advantage; Tellarites had no innate protection against telepathy.

He’ll need to be questioned, Morlo realized. If I’m wrong, it’ll likely just be a diplomatic incident, but if I’m right, it might avert another war with the Klingons.

Morlo remembered the human analogy about the heaviest head being the one that wore the crown. I’m no regent, but there are days when I can relate, he thought grudgingly.

He touched the comm on his desk again, keying a special code that opened a secure line to Starfleet Intelligence.

A moment later, an officer in a black uniform appeared on the screen. “Yes?” the officer inquired simply.

Morlo sighed, resigned. “I think I finally understand Gowron’s behavior, and we’ve got a bigger problem than I thought.”

FOOTNOTES

maghwI'pu’ 🔉

Klingonese: "Traitors."

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

The Videssan was deep in Klingon space, hiding in the Yan Nebula in the B’Moth Sector. Even though the area currently was not frequented by Klingons or Romulans, Captain Vaza thought it best to use the nebula’s signal masking properties to avoid the probing sensors of any passing ships. He didn’t want his primary passenger to be found aboard his ship by the KDF or anybody else, and neither did she.

A week ago, K’Lira had suffered the loss of her Klingon rights, House, and properties because Chancellor Gowron had summarily condemned her for stealing Kahless’ sword with treasonous intent, a capital offense she knew she hadn’t committed. K’Lira’s Klingon friend Erak had saved her by beaming her aboard the Videssan to escape custody before the KDF could process her sentence. They’d been on the run since.

K’Lira was well motivated to prove her innocence because if she didn’t, Gowron’s judgment against her would stand by default, and she’d never regain her honor unless she killed Gowron. K’Lira had no wish to become chancellor by right of combat. The better recourse lay in the judge delaying her sentence long enough for her to gather the evidence she needed to prove her innocence.

K’Lira already had that evidence, but accessing it was problematic. Rimic, formerly His Eminence’s Lethean second officer, was the only ally who knew she’d been framed for stealing the sword, and he was dead. He’d been present when His Eminence was given the sword and told to frame K’Lira with its theft. That insight was her salvation, but he’d been mortally wounded before he could testify in K’Lira’s defense. As he lay in her arms, he used the last of his strength to psionically deposit his entire memory into K’Lira’s eidetic mind.

K’Lira now had the sum of two lifetimes: hers and Rimic’s. Due to the chaotic nature of the psionic transfer, the Lethean’s jumbled memories were deeply hidden in her subconscious, but they tended to surface while she dreamed. In that way, she’d already witnessed Rimic’s memory of how His Eminence had obtained the sword and received instruction from a Klingon official to frame her with it. She knew there was more that Rimic would’ve told her had he lived to do so. Now, the only way to access the evidence she needed to win her case was to record Rimic’s memories while she slept.

Time was of the essence. Having two sets of memories in her head was invasively confusing. Even when she was awake, K’Lira would sometimes flash back to one of Rimic’s memories rather than her own. She found herself thinking unlike her normal self and sometimes acted oddly. It became increasingly difficult for her to tell which memories were hers and which were Rimic’s. She felt like she was suffering from a mild form of schizophrenia that was getting worse, and she didn’t want to go on like that.

Before he died, Rimic had spoken of a medical device called a psionic reader that could extract memory patterns from a person’s mind. The procedure was not well known and rarely used on non-telepaths, but Letheans, being naturally telepathic, were familiar with it. At K’Lira’s request, Captain Vaza had found a Lethean doctor named Deika who had a psionic reader and was willing to try to save her sanity by extracting Rimic’s memories into a holographic program matrix. Doctor Deika was now on board and had already interviewed K’Lira. The only other medical issue she’d mentioned to him was a murmur in one of her atrial valves, the remnant of an old injury.

The Videssan’s small med bay could be equipped for both procedures. The memory extraction involved several days of tests to establish a baseline of K’Lira’s brain waves. Rimic’s memories followed a unique engrammatic pattern. The idea was to stimulate K’Lira’s dream state to make specific memories surface while she wore the reader. The device would then store Rimic’s memories for future use and wipe them from K’Lira’s mind in the process. The more of them she remembered, the more complete Rimic’s story would be on the computer and the less confused her mind would become. Doctor Deika had assured her she’d be normal again by the end of it.

K’Lira slept on a biobed in the hospital’s recovery ward, wearing only a full-length white gown underneath her coverlet. The room’s only other bed was empty. The bed’s console beeped quietly as it monitored her vitals, the rhythm of her light breathing almost matching the console’s cadence.

Doctor Deika sat at his computer on the other side of an observation window, reviewing K’Lira’s pre-op results. To prepare to fix her malfunctioning atrial valve, he’d collected a complete physiological workup on K’Lira, and he was impressed with her general state. She was very fit for a middle-aged Klingon with a history of extreme combat behind her. While she wasn’t immune to anything, she also looked like she’d never suffered illness, just injury. Indeed, she had many scars, including a severe one atop her left breast which matched an exit scar in her upper back, the vestige of being run through with a bat’leth. He suspected the weapon had nicked her valve, but the medical team that had saved her hadn’t repaired the damage properly or perhaps not at all. It wasn’t life threatening, just a minor nuisance and easy to fix. Klingons certainly were hardy stock, and K’Lira was a fitting example. He expected that had something to do with her augmented genes.

K'Lira's bloodwork

Curious, he did a deep scan of her genetic profile from her blood and noticed something odd. K’Lira’s genes had extra pairs arranged in a triple helix format. As far as he knew, all humanoid genes were arranged in a double helix structure. He had no idea what the extra genetic material did or where it had come from, but he was concerned it might affect her surgery, so he consulted the Videssan’s medical database. After long searching and comparing, his computer simply classified the extra pairs as anomalous, effect unknown, origin unknown.

Deika clicked his mouth talons in dissatisfaction and widened his search to include extraterrestrial medical databases.

The first of many matches was a Borg database from the U.S.S. Voyager when the famous Federation ship had finally returned from the Delta Quadrant. The Borg there had encountered an alien race they’d called Species 8472 whose genes had a triple helix structure like K’Lira’s. The pairings were not a match, though. The comparison still returned anomalous results and unknown effects, but at least he had some idea where it might’ve come from. The next question was how.

“Doctor,” K’Lira’s voice called.

Looking up from the computer, Deika saw she was awake and watching him. He picked up a medical tricorder, went to her bedside, and scanned her briefly. “How do you feel?” he asked.

She took off the psionic reader she’d been wearing and gave it to him. “OK, I guess. Here.”

He took the reader and shuffled nervously.

K’Lira propped herself up on her elbows and gave him a knowing look. “What is it?” she asked cautiously.

“Well, Matron,” he began, “your physical results came back. You’re in great shape, perfectly fit for surgery, but…” He paused, uncertain how to address his question. K’Lira didn’t help him, so he continued. “In preparing your bloodwork, the computer noticed some anomalous genes in your platelets. It seems you carry traces of DNA from Species 8472. I’m completely unfamiliar with that genome, and I’m worried about the effect it might have on your surgery. Do you know anything about it?”

K’Lira lay back and smiled. “Plenty, Doctor,” she replied.

“When I was a young girl, I was afflicted with a genetic malady from my mother’s side of the family. It weakened me to the point that my parents were very overprotective of me due to my condition. When I was 18, a physician in Qu’Vat City was doing cutting edge research into Klingon genetic resequencing. I sought him out, hoping he could cure me. He made a serum by combining his blood with mine, then administered it to me. The serum worked by transforming me into an augment, but he did not expect or explain that result beforehand. He just used me as a lab rat, then disappeared. I found out years later that he was not a Klingon—he was an Undine posing as one of my kind. His alien DNA eradicated the genetic defect I inherited from my mother, and it has other effects, too, but they are not dangerous. I assure you, Doctor, I am as Klingon as can be. The only thing I cannot do is donate my blood to others, just to myself.”

Deika nodded musingly. Genetic defects were one thing, but alien DNA used as a cure? He knew he was out of his depth. “I’d like to consult with another doctor about this,” he said, “someone who…”

K’Lira suddenly became anxious as fear crossed her face, and her adrenal gland went off. Her purple eyes shone brightly as they dilated due to a drop in blood pressure. She tensed as her heart rate increased, and the beeping monitor increased its rhythm alarmingly.

“Matron, calm…,” he began earnestly.

“Do not finish that,” K’Lira warned.

She gripped the bedpost and made a conscious effort to take his advice anyway, breathing deeply to dissipate the adrenalin surge. After a few moments, her pulse went back down, her muscles relaxed, and her eyes returned to their normal hue. Her breathing eased and she sighed.

“I am sorry, Doctor, but I cannot let you do that,” she said quietly. “I am easily recognized as the only Klingon augment of prominence, and Gowron has made me a public enemy. From out here, the only way to contact a Klingon doctor for help is to use the Videssan’s long-range comm. The KDF monitors all commsats in the Empire. If you mention anything about me, they will trace your signal to find this ship, and all will be lost.”

Deika understood her fear.

“Well, this doctor’s not Klingon,” he replied. “He’s Romulan, a xenobiologist. We’ve been distant colleagues for years. Thing is, he’s hiding from the Tal Shiar, so he doesn’t use open subspace channels either—same reason. I use a mutually trusted contact when I rarely need his help. I wouldn’t mention you specifically, so it’s a good bet the KDF will ignore my innocuous message to the contact. You OK with that?”

K’Lira considered, then relented. “I will ask you to clear this with Captain Vaza first, Doctor,” she answered, “but your precautions are reasonable. All right, call him.”

Deika smiled. “I’m sure Professor Sendu will help me better understand your alien genome,” he said, starting to walk towards the med bay door.

K’Lira sat up, an odd look on her face. “Sendu, you say? Jehn Sendu?”

Deika turned, surprised. “You know him?”

K’Lira shrugged noncommittally. “Not well, no. It’s best to say I know of him, but my husband knows him better.”

She briefly explained that Davir Benmata and Jehn Sendu had been friends since 2367, several years before she’d met and married Davir. Jehn had attended their wedding at Davir’s request. While she’d never spoken with the Romulan, she knew he’d been an officer in the Imperial Navy for many years, attained the rank of subcommander, then became a medical professor at a military academy on Romulus. He’d had a falling out with the government over Romulan involvement in the Dominion War and incurred the disfavor of Tal Shiar chairman Koval. Jehn had been hiding since.

“We haven’t seen or heard from him in five years,” she finished, “but I think that’s intentional.”

Deika whistled softly through his sharp teeth. “What are the odds?” he wondered aloud.

“Well,” he added, “I don’t know where he is. I know someone who contacts him for me. Then Jehn calls me back, not the other way around.”

K’Lira nodded. “If that is the only way to get his attention, I accept whatever help he can give.”

“I’ll arrange it,” Deika said.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her.

K’Lira grinned. “You read my mind,” she answered.

““I would never, Matron,” Deika replied, smiling. “The replicator’s in my office. I don’t think it makes Klingon food but help yourself. I’ll be back in a while to begin the next recording session.”

He left as K’Lira climbed out of bed to get dressed properly and eat breakfast.

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

A couple of hours later, K’Lira was asleep in her biobed again and wearing the psionic reader. She’d already worn it long enough to help Doctor Deika establish her baseline brain wave pattern for reference. The secondary pattern was Rimic’s residual psionic signature. The goal now was to use a form of directed dreaming to isolate the memories with his engrammatic signature, store them in a holographic matrix, then wipe them from K’Lira’s subconscious to heal her mind. To that end, Doctor Deika had given her a mild sedative to help her stay in REM sleep. He’d also decided to go with Rimic’s most prominent memory, which K’Lira had already dreamed about, the episode where Rimic had seen His Eminence receive Kahless’ sword from a Klingon.

It should work, Deika thought, though it’s never been tried on a Klingon.

“She’s dreaming,” a technician confirmed. “The reader’s nominal. Datalink standing by.”

“Isolate the secondary pattern and let the reader get as much data as it can,” Deika instructed. “Now we wait.”

K’Lira dreamed that Rimic was at his console aboard the Jagh ghogh’s bridge. Looking through his eyes, she was amazed at how much clarity her directed dreaming technique provided. The first time she’d had this dream, the small details were non-existent, and she’d been only generally aware of specific things. She was now much more cognizant of Rimic’s surroundings and senses, and she was in directional control of the passage of events. The dream was still Rimic’s, but she knew and felt everything he did, so it was immediately immersive.

The comm beeped as a classified message addressed to His Eminence arrived. While Rimic knew better than to open His Eminence’s private messages, he noticed that this one was sent from the Klingon High Consulate on stardate 56779, and it was marked urgent.

The comm officer transferred it to the flag officer’s inbox. “My Lord, you have a priority communiqué from the Klingon home world,” the lieutenant said.

His Eminence was in his quarters. “I see it,” he replied over the intercom.

Shipboard operations continued while His Eminence read the message privately. Then, the relative silence on the bridge was broken as his next order arrived. “Captain, make best speed to Qo’noS immediately,” His Eminence said, “and engage cloak.”

“Acknowledged,” the captain replied, then gave the appropriate orders to change course and speed.

The scene shifted as dreams normally did, flashing forward to the memory K’Lira was already familiar with and needed to record. Per the directed dreaming techniques Doctor Deika had taught her, she kept concentrating on the details, merely observing the happenings through Rimic’s senses as the reader recorded everything.

Rimic stood next to His Eminence in the chilly airlock of a shuttle they’d taken to meet the sender of the message that had brought them to Qo’noS. They were deep in the Praxis asteroid field, and a Klingon bird-of-prey had decloaked to complete the rendezvous. While Rimic hadn’t known the contents of the message, whoever had sent it was apparently not someone His Eminence wanted to disappoint for the trip to Qo’noS had been done at high warp and under cloak.

His Eminence had specifically requested Rimic’s solitary company on this away mission. That wasn’t an unusual request. His Eminence often used telepaths on away missions for the advantage of psionic protection. He didn’t like telepaths poking around inside his head, but he trusted Rimic.

Rimic felt the arrival of a strong telepathic presence on the other side of the airlock door. Whoever it was, his mind was mountainously powerful, well protected, and threateningly evil. His Eminence seemed oblivious, but Rimic mentally recoiled as the telepathic presence flicked about, sensing the pair inside the airlock.

“Be very careful,” Rimic quietly warned His Eminence.

“I’m aware,” His Eminence replied testily. “Just do your job.”

Rimic swallowed nervously and guardedly reopened his mind, enveloping His Eminence’s at the same time.

The messenger’s mind reacted immediately, quelling itself without becoming any less imposing, and Rimic got the impression it was waiting for something.

The airlock beeped once in warning, then the door opened, and a slight breeze quickly equalized the difference in air pressure. The room seemed to chill further in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature as a male Klingon giant stepped through the doorway. Rimic’s first impression was that the messenger’s physical stature easily matched his mental girth. Nearly 2.2 meters tall and around 145 kilograms, his bulk dwarfed Rimic and His Eminence. He was dressed in a heavy robe with a loose hood over his head. His skull plate had three boney ridges, one on each side of his pate and the third down the center. Locks of gray and deep brown hair fell to his wide shoulders, oiled and shiny. Dense eyebrows overshadowed his sunken, dark brown eyes. His crooked nose bent well down over his upper lip, nearly touching his short moustache, which was attached to a thin but full beard, both mostly gray. The High Council’s brooch hung from a gold chain around his thick neck. He carried a long, narrow suitcase with him, which he placed against a nearby wall as he ducked through the airlock’s doorway.

Master Ashtan?! K’Lira thought, amazed, but she had no time to recover from her shock at recognizing the Klingon courtier because Ashtan began speaking with His Eminence, and she needed to concentrate on the conversation. It was vital that the psionic reader caught everything exactly as it happened.

“Greetings, Eminence,” Ashtan said in bass tones.

He glanced at Rimic. “Who is this?”

“This is my second officer,” replied His Eminence.

Rimic felt the messenger probe his mind like cold fingers down his spine, deft and direct. It was just exploratory, not invasive, but there was nothing gentle about it.

Apparently satisfied, Ashtan turned his full attention to His Eminence. “The Empire approaches a tipping point as Gowron’s support wanes. He will soon descend into paranoia and distrust. This is the goal we have been working towards for nearly a decade.” He put a hand on the suitcase and continued, “I have recently come into possession of a means to accelerate that goal.”

“How’s that?” His Eminence asked.

Ashtan looked down at the suitcase. “I have acquired an artifact of great value to the Klingon people: the sword that once belonged to their first emperor, Kahless, called the Unforgettable. It is said to have the mystical power to make its bearer undefeatable in battle.” He glanced up. “I do not credit such fables, of course, but there are those on the Council who do. Klingons tend to value prowess in combat quite highly. Gowron covets the sword as much as anyone would, but he fears what it could do if it fell into the hands of his enemies.

“I have an assignment for you, if you are willing to undertake it,” Ashtan finished.

His Eminence nodded.

Framing K'Lira

Ashtan picked the suitcase up. “General Martok is planning a major offensive. While he is recruiting many Klingons to his banner, there is one, a mighty warrioress, whom he greatly desires to lead the ground assault.” He presented the suitcase to His Eminence. “Take the sword and use it to frame K’Lira of House Trestian for stealing it. I have already convinced Gowron that she could usurp him. The uproar her theft causes should confirm his suspicion, erode his remaining faith in her loyalty, and divide the Council. When the alliance realizes its strongest partner is too weak from civil turmoil to respond effectively to the threat we present, it will fracture, too. We will strike openly then.”

His Eminence nodded again and took the suitcase, handing it to Rimic. “An agreeable plan indeed.

“How will I know where to find this K’Lira?” he asked.

“Martok must coordinate his plans with Gowron and other generals who have the resources he needs, K’Lira among them. I will forward her arrangements when I have them,” Ashtan answered.

“Satisfactory,” His Eminence acceded.

The rest of Rimic’s memory faded into the ethereal disarray common to dreams as K’Lira fell into a deeply restful state.

FOOTNOTES

Jagh ghogh 🔉

Klingonese: "Enemy's Voice." It's the name of His Eminence's ship.

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

K’Lira lay awake, having recorded a dream of the sword’s exchange from Rimic’s point of view. While he hadn’t recognized the Klingon courtier who’d given it to His Eminence, she finally had.

K’Lira had been in the Yan-Isleth, the Brotherhood of the Sword, for several years during the early 2370s. As an instructor in ground combat, she’d often sparred with Dahar Master Ashtan, respecting and learning from his skills as a weapons specialist. She’d performed the ak’voh after he’d been mysteriously killed in 2372 near the end of the Klingon-Cardassian War.

Yet it was he who’d given the sword to His Eminence in the airlock—she’d been shocked at recognizing him in her dream.

How could Ashtan have given it to His Eminence a month ago if he has been dead for eight years? she wondered, bewildered. The problem perplexed her because it made Rimic’s chronology of events impossible to believe, which cast doubt on his credibility as a witness.

If I cannot explain how Ashtan was there, Rimic’s account will be picked apart under cross-examination, and the judge will dismiss it, she thought. I could give Rimic’s account anyway and explain to the judge that Rimic did not know who the messenger was. Just because it looked and sounded like Ashtan does not mean it really was the Yan-Isleth’s weapons instructor.

During the Dominion War, Founders had replaced Klingon leaders with changeling infiltrators. Rescuing the real Martok from a Dominion internment camp in 2373 had revealed an imposter in his place, leading to the qa’meH quv’s demise.

K’Lira wondered what might’ve really happened to Ashtan. Is a changeling involved? she thought. What about Rimic’s impression, if it was really Ashtan? That did not seem like my old friend at all. He was strict but not evil. Whoever that was in the airlock, it was not the Ashtan I knew.

She had recorded Rimic’s memory, including his psychic impressions, but she had no other proof to support her suspicion.

I need to find and question that imposter, she thought. Getting him to confess his complicity is the way to prove I was framed and get my honor back.

She turned her considerable intellect towards finding a way to do that.

FOOTNOTES

qa’meH quv 🔉

Klingonese: "One who exchanges honor for dishonor." It’s a euphemism Klingons use to describe changelings.

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

K’Lira was walking towards the Videssan’s med bay from her quarters. She’d just finished eating and had been thinking how best to get some exercise when the comm in her wristband chirped.

Doctor Deika wanted to see her as soon as possible. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he’d said without explanation.

The hospital’s door swished open, and K’Lira entered. She saw Deika using the computer in his office, so she knocked on the window to get his attention, and he invited her inside.

“Come to this side,” he said, indicating his screen.

K’Lira walked around his desk and looked down at the monitor.

Jehn Sendu’s pale green eyes returned her gaze. He had thin gray hair cropped short in typical Romulan style. The four bony ridges on his forehead were slightly visible as they striated from his eyebrows towards his hairline. The narrow, greenish face bore a placid but curious expression; he hadn’t seen K’Lira since her wedding, and he wondered if she even remembered him.

“Doctor Sendu, Matron K’Lira,” Deika introduced. “I’m told you already know each other?”

“It’s been a few years, I think,” Jehn answered.

“Doctor,” K’Lira greeted, nodding.

“Tell her what you told me,” Deika said, getting up so K’Lira could take his seat.

Jehn watched as she sat down.

“Matron,” he began, “Doctor Deika asked me to review your genome as it contains a small amount of alien DNA, and he’s concerned if that in any way compromises your upcoming heart surgery. You should know that I believe the answer is no, and he now knows that. That’s the easy part.”

K’Lira frowned expectantly. “What is the hard part?” she asked.

Jehn looked uncomfortable. “Forgive my poor choice of words, Matron. By ‘hard,’ I meant that I need to have a difficult conversation with you about the social repercussions of combining Klingon DNA with DNA from Species 8472.”

K’Lira pressed her lips into a thin line. This topic had been her bane for most of her adult life. Klingons didn’t generally trust augments, ever since a band of them had nearly overthrown the High Council under Chancellor M’Rek’s rule in the mid-23rd century. Many Klingons still treated augments as outcasts from mainstream society. K’Lira had proven herself to be a genuine Klingon warrior for many years despite her DNA. It had taken Chancellor Gowron’s favor to preserve her citizenship. Yet, her hybrid family was still frowned upon by some Klingons. The last thing she wanted was for her two children to grow up afraid of what people thought of them. She was grateful that she and Davir had chosen to raise them on Deep Space Nine, away from that veiled hostility against anything non-Klingon in the Empire.

She sighed discontentedly and folded her arms. “How do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, it’s been all over the Empire’s news,” Jehn answered. “You’re public enemy number one for being on the run after being convicted of stealing Kahless’ sword.”

K’Lira glowered and bit her tongue. Jehn was just framing a question, nothing more. It wouldn’t do to interrupt by arguing about that misbegotten trial. The past couldn’t be undone.

“Your point?” she asked testily.

“Is that Klingons are prone to holding grudges,” Jehn finished softly. “I understand what you’re doing. Even if you succeed in exonerating yourself, you’d remain a pariah to most just for being at the heart of a rebellion you didn’t start.”

That thought had already occurred to K’Lira. She hated that her honor had been stained so egregiously, and she feared she’d never live that down even if she proved she’d been framed. The rebellion wasn’t her fault, and it irked her to realize many other Klingons would never forgive her for being used as an excuse to rebel.

Dr. Sendu's advice

“What do you suggest?” she inquired. “I cannot control what others think of me or command their respect. I have no stature left from which to do so.”

Jehn sighed sadly. “You need to resign yourself to the idea that you might never do so again, Matron. You and your family may need to live in ignominy as far as most of the Empire’s concerned.”

K’Lira fumed. She knew in her proud heart that Jehn was probably right, but she wanted that to be her last resort. She was on the run, exoneration her only goal. It certainly did her plans no good at all to advance on Jehn’s suggestion.

“You are lucky you are my husband’s friend,” she growled menacingly, “and not actually here.”

Jehn let the implied threat pass—he’d expected it from a Klingon, and it wasn’t actionable anyway.

“Matron…,” he resumed.

“Stop,” she interrupted curtly. “It is enough that having Undine DNA does not threaten me medically. I do not need non-medical advice from you.”

Jehn exhaled resignedly. “As you say,” he answered, backing down. “I wish you success in your endeavors.”

K’Lira didn’t even bother with a parting salutation. She simply closed the channel with dissatisfied finality.

She already knew there were Klingons who would never accept her in society again even if she proved she’d been framed. It disturbed her that non-Klingons knew that, too, and objectively didn’t hope she could regain her stature. Just as in her youth as an untested warrioress, her heart hardened around her resolve to prove herself worthy of the name Klingon… in every context.

The Lethean coughed lightly, and she remembered Deika was waiting nearby.

She stood, turning to the doctor. “Prepare me for surgery,” she ordered. “Let us get this over with.”

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

General Martok wore a sour expression as he reviewed operational readiness reports in his office aboard the Kor’gun, but his mind wasn’t on his work.

It had been barely a week since Gowron had convicted K’Lira. The recommended sentences for grand larceny and treason were imprisonment in Rura Penthe or exile. She’d escaped KDF custody, and no one knew where she’d gone. He was sure she’d had help, but there was no proof beyond the transporter trace she’d left behind. She hadn’t contacted her family or any of her friends since. He’d given standing orders to monitor the subspace comms network for any evidence of her whereabouts, but there were no leads so far.

Maybe that is for the best, he thought regrettably.

It was no secret that he genuinely liked K’Lira—most Klingons who knew her did. It was hard not to. True, she was an augment and many feared that, but most found her approachable not reproachable, intelligent but not arrogant, and fiercely loyal. She’d risen to the rank of colonel in her own House and instructed in the Brotherhood of the Sword. A consummate warrioress, she commanded her own warship and was legendary for her prowess in ground combat. Martok readily admitted that she was more skilled than he in certain ways, just not as blooded. In his estimation, she was Dahar Master material, and he knew Gowron had felt the same… once.

If her House were larger, she could have eventually vied for a seat on the High Council, but that does not matter anymore, he thought. How could someone so honorable have fallen so far from Gowron’s grace?

Frustrated, he returned his attention to the readiness reports and realized he was witnessing the result.

The KDF’s task forces were concentrated in the Beta Quadrant. Martok oversaw many of those in the vicinity of the Omega Leonis Sector where Qo’noS was. Before K’Lira’s very public trial, operational readiness in the sector was in the high 80% range with most units reporting temporary issues with supplies and equipment, which was normal. Everything had changed on June 10, 2380, the day of her trial; units all over the Empire began to report additional staffing and morale problems. Thousands of warriors rebelled, simply refusing to do their duties, many citing Gowron’s spurious condemnation of K’Lira. There was always a certain amount of dissension in any army, and much of it was opinionated about its leadership, but Martok had never seen so much of it at one time, never mind on the heels of a controversial case. Morale was sinking and the readiness reports were in the 50% range, the lowest he’d ever seen. Similar problems were erupting in the Empire’s outlying areas as militarized units in the Gorn Hegemony, the Orion Syndicate, and other vassals were reporting dissentious behavior, too.

If this says anything about that trial, K’Lira was more popular than even I might have guessed, he thought. Was Gowron right to fear that?

He shook his head ruefully and began issuing general orders to the fleet commanders to curtail the dissension in their ranks as much as possible, authorizing even extreme, non-lethal force when necessary.

“Having opinions about our leadership is unavoidable,” he added, “but there is no honor in dereliction of duty. Do not tolerate it.”

He considered further. I hope none of the Empire’s enemies decides to try to take advantage of us. In this state, we can barely defend the home world.

As usual, he then sent a message to the chancellor’s office describing the fleet’s lack of readiness, its root cause, and the orders he’d issued as a result.

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

Head Chamberlain Talmok was among Gowron’s most trusted advisors. In fact, Gowron listened to little else, and he’d long since ordered that Talmok should be copied on all KDF general orders to the field. He was alone in a small shuttle when Martok’s status report arrived via subspace. He read the general’s response and immediately knew the second part of his plan could finally begin.

The Klingon Defense Force hasn’t been this weak in over a century, he thought. It’s time for my people to strike openly at the heart of the alliance.

He’d left Qo’noS several days ago on the pretense of having taken ill and flown to the T’Kanis Nebula in the B’Moth Sector. It was easy to move between the Undine and the prime universes in that little-used region of space. Whenever Talmok wanted to report his progress to his Undine handlers, this was where he’d come to send messages to fluidic space. The Undine had been massing bioships and assault soldiers on their side for a decade, watching developments in the Beta Quadrant and waiting for Talmok’s signal to invade the Klingon Empire.

Begin the invasion

It’s finally time, he thought gleefully.

As changelings, no Undine could maintain a disguise indefinitely. Talmok had to take morphogenic enhancers regularly to sustain his Klingon form. Now that the Undine invasion he’d been working towards was about to happen, there was no need for that ruse anymore.

Shrugging his thin shoulders, he rolled his head about to stretch his neck and exhaled once with more than stress relief. His whole body glowed with a dim yellowish light as his Klingon features disappeared, quickly replaced by his true form. The Undine Talmok stood nearly eight feet tall and had clammy, pale gray skin. His wide, triangular head bore no hair, nor did the Undine have ears, a nose, or even a mouth. Two greenish, cruciform-shaped irises were framed below a deeply ridged skull. His tremendously long arms dropped from his skeletal shoulders and ended in clawed fingers. The equally bony trunk sprouted a third leg behind him, giving him a tripedal base. Its stumpy legs were powerful, and each foot had three long toes. The strange glow waned, and he was revealed in truly alien aspect.

Talmok used the shuttle’s deflector to open a quantum singularity portal to the fluidic universe. It wasn’t big enough to fly through, so he sent an encoded subspace signal to a listening post on the other side.

“The enemy is sufficiently weakened because the Klingon Defense Force is in a state of extreme unreadiness. Begin the invasion,” he said.

The listening post acknowledged automatically, and Talmok closed both the channel and the portal, knowing the Undine armada could initiate its own portal from fluidic space. All he had to do now was wait.

It wasn’t long.

A short while later, much larger subspace disturbances flooded the T’Kanis Nebula as dozens of Undine ships transited to the prime universe. The Undine fleet had a dreadnought accompanied by an abundance of cruisers, destroyers, and fighter support, everything the Undine needed to defeat anything the Klingons could throw at them. Their portal technology allowed them to jump to any location in normal space, and they had two additional fleets poised to attack the Federation and the Romulan Star Empire. This fleet, their heaviest, was best prepared to attack Qo’noS while the KDF was least prepared to stop them.

Talmok, being the Undine with the most insight into Klingon tactics due to his long tenure, was given command of one of the destroyers. He docked his shuttle on his assigned bioship.

Set course for Qu’Vat II, he thought, and the fleet warped away.

he transdimensional arrival of a large fleet was hard to miss even in T’Kanis space. A Klingon listening post at the nebula’s edge detected the Undine fleet’s subspace disturbance and sent a message to the nearest KDF outpost. The Klingon High Command was quickly notified that a large group of unknown ships was inbound towards Qo’noS from the T’Kanis Nebula. That part of space was known to be frequented by Species 8472. The High Command correctly presumed that a large-scale invasion was just underway and would reach Klingon space within hours. Such attempts had happened before, but from the extreme size of the subspace displacement, this fleet was larger than anything the Klingons had faced in decades.

General Martok’s brow furrowed in grim dismay at news of the invasion. This was exactly what he’d feared. The Empire’s enemies were attacking while the Empire’s defenses were at their weakest due to the recent rebellion. The outer territories were less affected, but most military installations in the Omega Leonis Sector were not ready to repel a large invasion. There was no way to overcome such unpreparedness in just a few hours. Mounting a counter-offensive would be an even longer affair assuming he could muster the required resources. No one knew where the Undine’s staging area was, but they typically attacked directly from fluidic space.

We need to delay them until we can get ground troops into place on key worlds between T’Kanis and Qo’noS, he thought. What troops we have anyway.

He sent a priority communique to the whole KDF. All available units were to ready themselves for alien ground assault. The Great Houses were to send their navies towards Qu’Vat and Qo’noS (the two most populated systems in the area) to delay any Undine forces they encountered.

I am not sure they will respond effectively, given our current state, he thought, but we will need all the help they can provide.

Lady Grilka stalked quickly into the communications room of her manor in Qu’Vat Colony to check her fleet’s progress. She’d received Martok’s warning about an hour ago and had organized a defensive team of warships from her own House and several others on Qu’Vat, including Trestian. With K’Lira’s downfall, the Matron’s former assets had been annexed by other Houses, so Grilka’s was a sizeable fleet, but it was all that could be spared.

Martok said to delay the Undine, she thought, but we must teach them not to sneak attack the Empire.

“Report,” she ordered of the duty officer.

“Our fleets are on station,” the officer answered, “but they have not yet sighted the enemy.”

“Even Undine ships leave warp trails,” Grilka said. “Check the deep-space sensor nets.”

It took a few seconds for the officer to bring up the requested sensor data on the tactical viewer.

Grilka stiffened: the Undine fleet was several times larger than the token force she’d sent out. The Klingons were very outnumbered.

“Can you tell what kind of ships they have yet?” she asked nervously.

The duty officer looked seriously over his shoulder at her. “Judging from the warp wakes on these readings, there is at least one planet-killer and over a dozen heavy warships with many support vessels, ma’am.”

“What’s our time to engage?” she asked.

He did a quick calculation. “They should be on long-range sensors in 20 minutes,” he answered.

“Can we divert our reserves to assist?” she asked.

“What reserves? We sent everything we had,” he replied.

Almost everything, she corrected silently.

K’Lira’s flagship, the I.K.S. Ak’voh, was the heaviest warship in Qu’Vat orbit. It wasn’t K’Lira’s anymore—Gowron had given it to Grilka. She intended to be aboard it if or when the Undine made it as far as Qu’Vat. Given the odds, Grilka was sure she’d get the chance, yet even she doubted its firepower would turn the enemy forces aside.

The Undine are determined to lay waste to the Empire today, she realized grimly. First Qu’Vat, then Qo’noS and perhaps more. We are not prepared to fight to the last warrior, given all the unrest, but we must nonetheless give our available forces the best chance of success. That task force will be overwhelmed. We will need every ship available for planetary defense.

“Prepare the Ak’voh,” she commanded, “and recall the fleet to Qu’Vat. We will present a combined front at the edge of the system, and, if necessary, fight them all the way to the colony. Inform the High Command. DaH!”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and took a turbolift to the nearest transporter room.

FOOTNOTES

DaH. 🔉

Klingonese: "Now."

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

The Undine fleet dropped out of warp at the edge of the Qu’Vat System. Flash after flash indicated the arrival of more than 100 ships in the flotilla: cruisers, escorts, and fighters alike. Finally, a large subspace disturbance announced the emergence of the Undine flagship. It was a spherical central mass surrounded by several kilometers of reticulated tentacles that slowly flexed as the ship oriented itself. The vessel dwarfed everything in the area, and its sole purpose was to destroy ships and outposts wholesale. The alien fleet spread out in an arc, its smaller bioships ahead and the larger ones behind with the dreadnought in the middle.

The KDF was ready to defend Qu’Vat II with support from the local Houses. They had nearly 50 vessels, mostly birds-of-prey and cruisers with fighter accompaniment. Grilka and the Ak’voh were in the middle with several Vor’cha-class battlecruisers around them in a spearhead formation.

The Klingons engaged as soon as the Undine were in range, sending waves of escorts into the fray ahead of their heavier warships. Using proven tactics, cloaked birds-of-prey dashed forward in twos and threes and uncloaked to fire disruptors and torpedoes at the surprised Undine bioships. Then they cloaked again to retreat.

The Undine held their lines around the planet-killer in the middle, blasting back with their beam weapons and usually scoring hits on the Klingons’ shields when they were visible. The bioships couldn’t often bring their firepower to bear unless the Klingons decloaked, and the formation’s edges flexed because the Undine kept trying to catch the birds-of-prey before they could recloak and escape.

For several minutes, neither side broke rank and the shields held, so casualties and damage on both sides were light. Then the heavy warships got into it with long-range torpedo attacks, and the battle to save Qu’Vat began in earnest.

The bioships closed ranks around the planet-killer as the Klingons approached, and the intensity of their combined firepower increased. Reddish explosions filled the intervening space, straining shields and ships, but the weight of firepower was on the Undine side. The balance shifted as the Klingons began to fail first.

Several Vor’cha warships took critical damage, and two of them exploded near the Ak’voh before anyone could reach an escape pod.

General Grilka hissed in warning as she watched her vanguard disintegrate. Without her battlecruisers, the Ak’voh was vulnerable to counterattack. I need reinforcements, she thought anxiously, but everything was already committed.

“Pincer attack!” she said instead, ordering her remaining warships to flank the enemy from both sides.

The Klingon spearhead began to split. The Undine bioships drove through the divide and began to invade the Klingon backfield, shooting chaotically at anything they could see while the Klingons collapsed their circle around the overeager bioships.

Then the planet-killer emitted a wideband signal in the same frequency range the Klingon ships’ computers used. The carrier wave sent a computer virus that infected their targeting sensors, affecting how the ships’ weapons systems identified targets. In seconds, the Klingons’ targeting systems failed—their computers couldn’t identify friend from foe.

The Klingon ships started shooting indiscriminately across the entire field of battle, sometimes destroying friendly ships as well as the enemy ones. Many Klingon crews died in the wake of the alien virus. The Ak’voh also fell under attack from several infected Klingon warships.

Grilka struggled to keep her seat as the Ak’voh shook violently from a torpedo barrage that had penetrated the aft shield.

“The warp core is damaged!” her engineer shouted above the din of battle, alarms, and the consternation of other crew members.

“We do not need it!” she shouted back. “Shut it down. Give what is left to the impulse drive. We must get out of this trap!”

She watched in horror as her own vessel’s automated fire control system shot down another bird-of-prey. It didn’t make sense that the Ak’voh’s computer could make that mistake, but she knew she had to put a stop to it.

“Tactical, disable the automatics! They’re killing US!” she added. “Aim manually!”

Before either of her orders could be implemented, the Ak’voh’s crew heard the unmistakable creak of duranium rending as the ship’s spine cracked under the sustained strain of friendly fire. The bridge lost gravity control. The deck tilted as the ship’s neck tore from the main hull, spilling air, debris, and bodies into space as it spun slowly away.

The Ak’voh may be lost, Grilka thought, but I can still save my crew. “Duj lon!” she screamed. “ghoS!”

The vessel continued to break up as she and the bridge crew used consoles and bulkheads to propel themselves through zero G towards a forward hatch that led to the nearest bank of escape pods, now their only hope.

Grilka strapped herself into a pod with three other crew members. Someone sealed the hatch and hit the eject button. The jolt of blasting clear of the doomed ship nearly jarred the teeth out of her head, and she felt nauseated as the pod spun wildly until it stabilized and sped away. Looking back at the wreckage through the tiny window aft, Grilka was relieved to see more escape pods moving away under power but not many.

They look so small, she thought, but the Undine can still find them.

With the Ak’voh permanently out of the fight, the imminent loss of the battle hurt badly. Grilka felt the loss of K’Lira’s old command heavily, but she was just as glad her friend hadn’t been there to witness it herself.

Grilka couldn’t risk broadcasting a signal that might give her pod’s position away to the nearby Undine, but the Qu’Vat System had a thin ring of asteroids that offered some protection from sensors. “Turn off the pinger and make for the asteroid field,” she instructed resignedly. “We will hide there until the Undine leave.”

The Undine fleet took losses, too, but they’d had more ships than the Klingons did to begin with. Grilka’s fleet couldn’t withstand the losses. It was defeated.

The planet-killer moved into range of Qu’Vat Colony and prepared to open fire with more than half its remaining entourage in tow.

As the Undine fleet entered planetary orbit, another large subspace disturbance rippled through the area, and reinforcements from Qo’noS finally arrived. Several dozen birds-of-prey belonging to various Houses made up the bulk of numbers, but the fleet included the Kor’gun and some Vor’cha-class battlecruisers. It was all the general felt he could spare from the defense of Qo’noS itself on short notice.

What was left of Grilka’s war-torn fleet joined Martok’s. The general was sorry he hadn’t arrived sooner, but there wasn’t time to mourn the loss of so many of Qu’Vat’s warriors. The planet-killer was heading for the planet.

He watched the Kor’gun’s viewer as the enemy dreadnought stopped in high orbit directly above Qu’Vat City. Thick yellow-green streaks of antiproton energy reached out to strike the ground. As each licked across the planet’s crust, it left canyon-sized furrows in its wake, felling buildings and people with its fury. The landscape itself was vaporized—buildings, people, flora, and fauna alike. The dreadnought didn’t hit just the urban areas but the outskirts and wilderness beyond, too, utterly destroying everything.

It is their version of genocide, Martok thought grimly.

His heart hardened even further. “This is General Martok aboard the Kor’gun. I am taking command of the fleet. All available ships, barricade the planet and focus all firepower on that mothership. Avoid its tendrils—aim for the hub in the center,” he ordered over the ship-to-ship frequency.

Turning to his tactical officer, he added, “Full power to the heavy disrupters. Override the safeties if you have to. We must penetrate their shields to do damage.”

Warbirds of every type and House came to the fray, decloaking to attack, cloaking to escape, pouring everything they had into trying to destroy the Undine planet-killer.

The enemy vessel shuddered visibly with the severity of the counterattack, but it kept firing its main weapon at Qu’Vat Colony every half-minute or so, destroying whole swaths of the city with each strike, killing thousands of Klingons on the ground. Its shields flared brightly as they absorbed the Klingons’ disruptor fire and torpedoes while it thrashed its enormous tentacles about, randomly trying to hit Klingon ships and occasionally succeeding. Small explosions near the planet-killer marked the demise of fighters and birds-of-prey as the capital vessels preferred to hold the line and launch volleys from the rear. The Undine bioships did the same, and the barricade settled into an exchange of heavy barrages in high orbit.

As flaming debris from both navies rained down, the enemy pressed the attack while their planet-killer kept shooting at the surface. They started beaming squads of soldiers to the edges of the colony where the damage was less. The shock troops organized themselves into small regiments and began invading the city’s interior, oblivious to the continued hail of weapons fire from their own ships.

The Klingons countered with blasters, grenades, and bladed weapons, trying to push the Undine back. For a few minutes, they succeeded.

Then, in a strange parody of the same tactic they’d used in orbit, the Undine began using their psionic abilities, confusing the Klingons so that they couldn’t tell friend from foe. The tables turned again as many more Klingons fell as much from battling their kin as from fighting the real enemy.

Trestian’s estate was just northwest of the city. Though the House had been disbanded, K’Lira’s family and servants still occupied the manor. In one of the building’s wings, her father Norrd and her mother Vasilla watched Qu’Vat City’s destruction in real time, fearing their own soon. They were old, but they had never experienced anything on this scale, especially so close to home.

Qu'Vat destroyed

The ruddy overcast flashed green as a brilliant bolt tore through the clouds and struck well east of the estate. The ground trembled as a century-old building crumbled to dust and rubble.

An attendant approached and urgently beckoned them to follow him. “Enemy troops are approaching the estate, sir,” he explained anxiously. “We must get you both to safety right now!”

Like most large estates, Trestian Manor had a reinforced underground bunker—strong, supplied, and big enough for the whole household.

The servant hurriedly led them downstairs to the main hall and along a wide passageway. Other members of the House joined them en route, many of them armed. He stopped at a thick door, entered a code into the lock, and stepped back as it swung out with a loud mechanical hum.

“Downstairs!” he exclaimed as the sound of weapons fire and distant screams echoed down the hall. “moD!”

When everyone was inside the bunker, he keyed another code and leaped through as the massive door shut behind him, its locks clacking into place.

“We will be safe in here,” Norrd said, holding his crying wife. I hope, he added silently.

In space, General Martok’s fleet had been whittled down to barely half its original strength. Many ships had been disabled, and bodies floated in debris fields scattered across the system. The barricade had long since broken, allowing the Undine to land troops on the planet. As they fought, the Klingons watched in sidelong horror as the enemy rampaged across the Empire’s second-largest colony. There was no time to mourn the losses for the enemy ships were regrouping.

Aboard the Kor’gun, Martok struggled to his aching feet and looked around the bridge. Most of the fires had been extinguished. Some of the consoles no longer functioned. The viewscreen was staticky. Distant alarms rang out as crew members attended to damage control amidst their battle stations. The crew were an efficient lot, but there was much to do as the Kor’gun had been the focus of many enemy bioships and fighters.

He glanced at the battle summary next to the viewer and grimly noted that the Undine fleet still outnumbered his by nearly two to one. The planet-killer seemed to be gathering its remaining cohorts for a final attack on the planet.

This is it, he thought. If we do not destroy that thing here, it will be the end of Qu’Vat, then Qo’noS, then the Empire.

He watched as yet another blast of its main weapon ripped into the colony below and gave a fateful order. “Ahead full—ramming speed!”

The helmsman dutifully didn’t even hesitate, and the Kor’gun surged forward at high impulse, its heavy weapons stuttering forth long bursts of yellow disruptor fire from the large pods beneath its fuselage. That and many torpedoes landed on and about the planet-killer’s central hub like destructive insects, its flailing arms too slow to swat them aside. Martok’s armada followed in kind, and the Klingons poured everything they had into the press.

Half the remaining Undine fleet turned to face them while the other half, including the planet-killer, remained focused on orbital bombardment and landing shock troops.

“Auxiliary power to forward deflectors! Ignore their tactics—focus on that dreadnought!” Martok shouted, and the Kor’gun charged on, dodging the enemy’s counterattacks.

The ship withstood much incidental damage from every direction, and it had already been damaged from earlier attacks. As it finally approached the planet-killer, several of the dreadnought’s tentacles wrapped around the Kor’gun, struggling to force it off course while trying to rip it apart at the same time.

“Structural integrity failing, sir!” one of the bridge officers screamed amidst the wail of warning klaxons and the groan of straining duranium.

“Reverse the hull polarity,” Martok quickly said. “Maybe that…”

“I already tried,” the officer replied. “It adapted. No effect!”

“Electrify the hull plating and change the frequencies irregularly,” Martok ordered. “Shock it into letting go. Quickly, before we implode!”

The officer followed the order, and after a few seconds the pressure on the hull stopped as the planet-killer lost its grip.

“Full impulse!” Martok yelled. “jaH!”

The Kor’gun leaped forward, its impulse nacelles glowing bright red as its main disruptors stuttered to life, spitting thick, yellow bolts of energy at the dreadnought. Martok had every intention of sacrificing his ship and crew by ramming the planet-killer’s central hub, but the Kor’gun was a massive warship and didn’t accelerate as well as the smaller Klingon ships. Four cloaked birds-of-prey broke formation and pulled ahead of the Kor’gun.

They are going to get there first, Martok realized, watching the tactical display.

“Give those ships cover,” he ordered. “Use everything.”

Due to the Klingons’ cloaks, the Undine dreadnought didn’t see the birds-of-prey coming, just the Kor’gun and her visible escorts. The invisible ships, trying to maintain the element of surprise, didn’t shoot lest the Undine see them. Instead, the birds-of-prey decloaked just before they reached the hub. They threw all their extra power into their arsenals and cut loose with everything they had right before impact. The combined collision of several warships obliterated the dreadnought’s hub in brilliant white and yellow explosions that rippled outward in waves, dropping flaming debris and Klingon and Undine bodies into the exosphere. The dreadnought’s tentacles went limp, and it started falling out of orbit, further disintegrating into burning fragments as it went.

The Kor’gun veered aside and tried to mop up the nearest damaged bioships, but the enemy fleet went back to fluidic space, leaving the planet-killer’s remains behind. Martok knew there was no way to track them, but he feared he could guess their next target: Qo’noS. Diminished though the Undine fleet was, it still possessed enough firepower to do significant damage to the Klingon home world, especially with the KDF in disarray.

A distress call came in from Qu’Vat’s surface. Undine warbands were still openly roaming the colony, destroying things and psionically attacking Klingon survivors.

“Can the enemy soldiers be targeted from orbit?” Martok asked his science officer.

“No, sir,” she replied. “We can see some of them, but they are using transport inhibitors and sensor masks. It is hard to lock onto them for either beam out or orbital bombardment. We would be firing aimlessly.”

“There is no help for it, then,” Martok said. “We will have to beam down and take them out on the ground.”

He turned to his ship’s captain. “Begin critical repairs. Ask the fleet to prepare as many away teams as we can spare and send them to the surface to defeat the Undine and restore order. Then break orbit for Qo’noS.”

“Yes, sir,” the captain replied and began conveying the general’s orders to the other captains in the fleet.

It took some time to organize an effective military presence in Qu’Vat Colony. Most of the infrastructure had been damaged or destroyed by orbital attacks and fallout. The city’s military defenses had been hit early and hard. Thousands of warriors were dead.

Most survivors had fled to the city’s outskirts for safety because the interior was rife with roving bands of Undine assault squads using their psionic powers to kill any Klingons they found. Some Klingons were psionically tricked by the enemy into mistaking other Klingons for Undine soldiers. They found themselves committing fratricide far too often, not realizing it until afterwards, if at all. Less than half the city’s normal population was left by the time Martok’s fleet began beaming down reinforcements and medical aid.

Fortunately, Klingon scientists had recently discovered that the best way for Klingons to resist psionic attacks from Undine was to inject themselves with psionic inhibitors that temporarily hampered the effectiveness of psionic attacks and trickery from Undine soldiers.

The away teams were made to take those injections and were also provided with enough inhibitors to immunize the remaining population on Qu’Vat. Beginning with the survivors at the city’s edge, the reinforcements made their way into the colony, waylaying Undine squads and rescuing any Klingons they found alive.

The death toll was catastrophic, especially in the military installations about Qu’Vat Colony, though less so in the outskirts. Where buildings and homes used to be, there were huge scars burned into the ground in long lines, speaking to the effectiveness of the Undine dreadnought’s main weapon. Smoldering foliage littered the farmland about the city where fields and livestock used to be, and fires raced across open ground. The air was thick with smoke and the odors of charcoal and ozone. It would be years before the colony could be restored. The evidence of the Undine surprise attack would always be there, buried in a thin layer of ash but not forgotten by those who’d survived it.

FOOTNOTES

Duj lon! ghos! 🔉

Klingonese (clipped): "Escape pods! Go!"

moD! 🔉

Klingonese (clipped): "Hurry!"

jaH! 🔉

Klingonese (clipped): "Charge!"

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

K’Lira was beside herself—grief and anger warred inside her as the attack on Qu’Vat Colony burned across all the news networks. The idea that her situation was the match lit to weaken the Empire was poison to her soul.

The alliance will not survive either, she realized morosely, which was likely their plan all along.

She no longer cared about recovering Rimic’s buried memories except insofar as his evidence towards her case went. Doctor Deika had already extracted and stored those memories in a holodisk for later reference anyway, then put the rest of Rimic’s engrams into a separate holodisk to cure her schizophrenia. She was finally herself again.

Not that it will do me any good if I do not prove my innocence, she thought. I will never be able to show my face in public otherwise.

Frustrated and preoccupied, she shook her head and tried to see the big picture so she could plan her next move.

Gowron is fixed against my innocence. Even if I bring my evidence to him or the court, they will not believe it. The only one who might is… Martok. He is openminded because he met Rimic, found reasonable doubt that I had stolen Kahless’ sword, and was willing to give me the benefit of that doubt. Even so, he is under orders to arrest me on sight for escaping custody.

I absolutely must get through to him, though, but how? The KDF monitors all subspace frequencies in the Empire, looking for me, so I cannot send him a message directly. If he learns where I am, he will bring a squadron to capture me. If a fight ensues, the Videssan would never survive, and I do not want the Orions who helped me to come to unnecessary harm. No, this must be done in secret and in a way that would prevent him from using his larger resources. He is cunning and not stupid, so he would suspect a trap if I contact him myself. Maybe an intermediary, someone he trusts.

K’Lira made up her mind. Morlo, definitely.

She opened a channel to the Videssan’s bridge. “Captain Vaza, this is Matron K’Lira. Please make best speed for the Qu’Vat System. Also, use my Federation cypher to reach out to Ambassador Morlo Aegis of Starfleet’s Diplomatic Corps. Tell him…” She paused, thinking. “Tell him that Ak’voh One wants to talk with him as soon as possible.”

A few minutes later, with the Videssan well on its way back into the heart of the Empire, an incoming communiqué was passed directly to K’Lira’s desk using a high-end cypher only she and a few others, including the ambassador, knew. She opened the channel expectantly. Morlo’s face appeared, and she immediately noted how haggard it now looked.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting, hoping you’d reach out?” he asked severely. “Your family…”

“Is not your concern, Ambassador,” she interrupted, “nor mine right now. I need your help, and there is not much time.”

Morlo stopped, uncertain. “What now?” he asked.

K’Lira put all her cards on the table. “By now, you are aware of the incursions the Undine have recently made into Klingon space,” she began.

“And into Federation and Romulan space,” Morlo confirmed.

K’Lira hadn’t known the Undine had attacked so far afield, but she quickly suspected that this was all part of the same plan.

“I see,” she acknowledged, “but that changes nothing for me. The fact is that the alliance is in danger of collapsing and surely will if the Empire falls to the Undine. That is the brink we have reached, Ambassador, and I will be damned to Gre’thor if I do not do everything I can to save it. Hiding does not serve my purposes anymore, so I have decided to return to the Empire. The only Klingon of prominence I might trust is General Martok. I need to arrange a meeting with him without being arrested, and that is where you come in. Contact him immediately and tell him I not only can prove my innocence, but I also have evidence that Chancellor Gowron is under the telepathic influence of a qa’meH quv somewhere in his court.”

Morlo sucked in his cheeks, then exhaled. “You think so, too?” he asked. “I’ve suspected as much myself, but I haven’t been able to gain any hard evidence of it, just speculations. It fits, though.” He didn’t want to give her classified information about Chief Losozola’s testimony. It was enough that she understood the danger as he did.

“Your suspicions were correct, Ambassador,” she said. “His Eminence has been affiliated with a changeling in the Klingon court for several years. Rimic knew of this by his duty to protect His Eminence from telepathic influence. In this case, the qa’meH quv is likely an Undine infiltrator, not a Founder from the Gamma Quadrant. Rimic met the creature in person once a few months ago, and I have a recording of that meeting, including Rimic’s psychic impressions. The mistake the creature made at that time was in using the form of one of my long-deceased instructors, whom I recognized. Given what Martok already knows about my situation, he should be willing to listen to the rest of what I know.”

“I hope you’re right about that,” Morlo said doubtfully.

Me, too, she thought.

“Your husband asked for my aid,” Morlo confided. “In my own investigation, I found out that before the trial Gowron told the judge he already considered you guilty as charged. Did you know that?”

“I did not,” K’Lira replied testily, “but that explains why he overrode the judge’s decision.”

Morlo shrugged noncommittally. Gowron isn’t our target, he thought. If she guesses whom to suspect and why, I still can’t confirm her suspicion without violating protocol. That doesn’t mean she can’t act on her own judgment, though. I just need to lead her in the right direction.

Morlo assumed the gentle demeanor he’d used in interviewing Losozola. “Tell me about Rimic’s evidence,” he requested.

K’Lira recounted what she’d discovered through her dream of Rimic’s encounter with the Undine changeling, including the mystery of his appearance as Master Ashtan.

“Why did that surprise you?” Morlo asked.

“Because Ashtan died in 2372,” she answered, “but Rimic met him—or someone who looked just like him—a few months ago. How is that possible?”

“You don’t know?” Morlo asked.

“Pfft!” K’Lira snorted. “Of course not.”

“Changelings can assume only forms they’ve seen,” Morlo explained, “so take your best guess. When was the last time anyone could’ve met Master Ashtan alive?”

“2372,” K’Lira answered, nodding as she began to see where the ambassador was going.

He knows more than he can tell me outright, she realized. I will play along.

“That, I assume, tells us how long your Undine qa’meH quv has been around,” Morlo concluded.

“Tell me,” he continued, “how did Master Ashtan die? What was the cause of death?”

K’Lira paused, remembering. “We do not rightly know,” she said slowly. “The autopsy results were inconclusive.”

“What causes did the examiner rule out?” Morlo asked.

She brought up Ashtan’s death record on her computer and read briefly through it. “Records show Ashtan was not wounded or broken, and there were no traces of poison in his body. He was found already dead, and his face was contorted as though he were shouting or screaming. The coroner said the cause of death was fright, cause unknown.”

“But well within a telepathic alien’s capabilities, I’ll warrant,” Morlo said knowingly.

The missing link

“Did anyone see how Ashtan died?” he pressed. “Who found him?”

Again, she consulted her computer. “Talmok recovered his body on Bajor in 2372,” she read aloud. “This does not say if he was cross-examined, though I presume he was.”

She put her hands on her hips impatiently. “What are you trying to say, old targ?” she asked.

Morlo smiled cryptically. “I’m trying to help you see at last,” he answered.

She glowered in frustration but said nothing and waited.

“One last question, Matron,” he begged. “Are you sure it was really Talmok?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, selecting Talmok’s vital record. “Of course, it was. It says right…”

She stopped because she noticed a note attached to the file. It said Talmok was deceased, too.

What? she wondered incredulously. She opened the note and her blood ran cold.

It seemed a Bajoran farmer in the Kendra Province had found a corpse in late 2374 while plowing his field. It was near the place where Ashtan had gone missing in 2372 with Talmok, then a bekk and one of his martial students. Forensic analysis showed that the partially decayed remains were Klingon, and the DNA profile matched…

Talmok! K’Lira realized, inhaling sharply in shock. He is the puppeteer! I knew there was something devious about that taHqeq the moment I laid eyes on him in that courtroom.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. Looking up, she noted the Tellarite’s triumphant expression and realized that he’d used his resources to figure it out, then guided her to the now-obvious conclusion.

“Can you disclose your source, Ambassador?” she asked hopefully.

“Not without Starfleet’s permission,” Morlo replied regretfully. “My evidence is classified. However, that note about Talmok’s death is not Starfleet’s data; it’s Bajoran. I had to dig deeply to find it, but it’s yours now.”

“I see,” she replied, half disappointed. “Well, at least that tells me whom to pursue. We must get Talmok away from Gowron to expose him. I am sure he will be in First City, near Gowron. Can you tell Martok what we suspect and ask him to meet me there?”

Morlo leaned back and pointed a porcine hand at her. “With respect, Matron, that’s properly your job now.”

K’Lira took his point, but she hesitated. “He will arrest me if I reveal my location by contacting him,” she said, worried.

Morlo blinked slowly. “Trust the general’s instincts,” he advised. “He’s more than a Klingon warrior—he’s your friend, and he loves the Empire as much as you do. Appeal to his honor there, and he’ll listen first.”

K’Lira found his advice sound and silently nodded her assent. “I will,” she replied.

“Thank you, Ambassador. Ak’voh One, out.”

She closed the channel, and her mind spun as she considered her next move.

She was still furious, cursing Talmok with every expletive she knew. He manipulated Gowron against his supporters to isolate him, exploited Gowron’s fear to ruin me, then used that outcry to weaken the alliance, she thought. Is that the extent of his evil? Does it go deeper than even Morlo and I suspect? How will I get Talmok away from Gowron?

She knew she had to convince Martok. Will he help me against Gowron and Talmok?

She had no answers, only vague hope. Well, that is no more than I have had since I lost my Klingonhood, and I have made it this far, she thought encouragingly.

FOOTNOTES

qa'meH quv 🔉

Klingonese: "One who exchanges honor for dishonor." It's a euphemism Klingons use to describe changelings.

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

The Videssan was in high polar orbit of Qu’Vat II to hide its presence from sensors as the crew surveyed the shocking aftermath of the Undine attack. K’Lira sat in her quarters, crying quietly as the data poured in, pages of it sliding past her screen with cold efficiency and impassive beeps. She’d thought herself emotionally prepared for the worst before the ship arrived. She was wrong.

First, the Videssan had come across the wreckage of the I.K.S. Ak’voh, her former flagship, near the edge of the system. K’Lira remembered commanding it during the Dominion War, and she still referred to herself as “Ak’voh One” although it wasn’t hers anymore. Gowron had reassigned it to House Grilka after the trial. Lady Grilka and Matron K’Lira respected each other as warrioresses and House leaders, but it still hurt to lose her favorite vessel even to a friend. Presumably, Grilka had taken the Ak’voh into battle against the Undine. Now the hulk was barely recognizable and thoroughly unsalvageable. Grilka’s fate was unknown.

Second, this was attempted genocide. The water-logged scars crisscrossing Qu’Vat Colony were visible from orbit. Smoke and dust rose like a volcanic pyre, filling the sky above the burning city. The military outposts were destroyed. The sea ships along the docks were sunk, and seawater had filled the crevasses left by the Undine planet-killer’s superweapon. Apartment towers, malls, parks, streets—scarcely a block hadn’t been touched. Most were reduced to smoldering rubble. While there were survivors, the death toll was in the tens of thousands. Even the outlying farmlands had been scorched from orbit.

Finally, Qu’Vat Colony was more than just the second largest outpost in the Empire—it was K’Lira’s home. She and Davir had been married in Trestian Manor’s main hall. Her family had lived and worked on the estate for generations. Her parents had likely been there during the attack, but K’Lira didn’t know if they’d been evacuated or perhaps hidden themselves in the underground bunker. The sensors showed that the manor was in flames. She felt bereft. Gowron had robbed her of everything Klingon, and the Undine had destroyed her home. Even if she managed to prove her innocence, she’d have to renew House Trestian with nothing but heart, and hers was broken.

At least I still have Dav and the children, she thought, consoling herself belatedly.

K'Lira's oath

Beneath the grief, her primal wrath at the ruination hardened into a cold rage that could be slaked only by revenge. If Talmok dies by any hand other than mine, I will not be satisfied, she promised herself inwardly.

Her door chime beeped.

“Come in,” she said, nervously wiping away her tears with the heels of her hands.

Commander Silernna stepped inside, followed by Captain Vaza.

Vaza noted her emotional state. “Matron, is now a bad time to discuss our next steps?” he asked.

K’Lira smiled ruefully. “I must look a mess,” she admitted.

They didn’t respond, waiting uncomfortably.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

They took the two chairs opposite her desk, and K’Lira filled them in on what she’d discussed with Ambassador Aegis about Talmok’s telepathic nature and influence on the events leading to the Undine incursion.

They were as shocked as K’Lira had been.

“How do you know it’s an Undine?” Silernna asked.

“Talmok’s an Undine spy,” K’Lira confirmed. “I’m sure of it—I just can’t reveal how.”

“Why not?” Vaza asked, dubious.

“Because that would make both of you Talmok’s additional targets,” K’Lira answered. “Right now, only I and Ambassador Aegis understand the details. Talmok does not even know I am onto him. I prefer to keep it that way until I confront him, so the less you know, the safer you will be from him.”

“We’ll take you wherever you need to go, Matron,” Vaza offered, “but it would be comforting to understand the why a bit better.”

“I know, Captain,” K’Lira replied, “but your ignorance may serve us better if we are captured, which is a risk either way.”

Vaza saw the impasse and nodded, resigned. “Where to next, Matron?” he asked.

K’Lira shuddered inwardly, loathe to leave Qu’Vat Colony behind, but there was little she could do without giving away her position to the Klingons who were dealing with the aftermath below. “Have Doctor Deika prepare as many medical kits as we can reasonably spare. Beam them down with a homing beacon for the Klingons to find,” she said. “Then set course for Qo’noS. We must catch up to Martok so that I may warn him of Talmok’s treachery.”

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

Talmok’s bioship floated in fluidic space, having returned there after attacking Qu’Vat. The dim green fluid filling the Undine universe swirled slowly, causing everything to drift slightly unless it was anchored. The base next to his ship resembled a bundle of nerve ganglia with open pods that admitted bioships to and from the base’s interior. Bioships were made of both inanimate material and biomatter, so repairs were always technical and biological in nature. Talmok’s ship needed to heal before attacking Klingon space again, so it was awaiting an open berth in the base.

The fleet was in moderate shape. Despite losing its dreadnought at Qu’Vat, the fleet had successfully decimated the colony there and caused grievous harm to the Klingons. Reports coming in from the Undine fleets attacking the Federation and Romulan outlands were less optimistic, but Talmok knew the Klingon Empire was caught in distress by the unreadiness his telepathic leverage and subtle interference had caused. He was anxious to transit back to Klingon space to finish the task of destroying the Federation-Klingon-Romulan Alliance.

We’ll need another dreadnought to attack Qo’noS, he thought. Otherwise, they’ll pick off our smaller ships several at a time by hiding under cloak until they’re ready to attack. That’s how they took out our planet-killer, forcing us to retreat after we’d destroyed their colony.

Fortunately, he was prepared for contingency losses. There was a mothership in reserve, being readied even now to accompany Talmok’s fleet to the Klingon home world. Egg-shaped, huge, and with menacing pincers on its blunt end, the vessel dwarfed even the dreadnought the Klingons had destroyed. It had the same planet-killing capability, but it had no tentacles, relying instead on its point defenses amidships and the heavy beam weapons around the pincers. It had no weapons aft, trusting in its powerful shield to absorb any abuse from that direction.

Talmok smiled inwardly. The Klingons don’t stand a chance.

General Martok sat at the desk in his quarters aboard the I.K.S. Kor’gun. It was very late at night, but he was wide awake, organizing the Klingon fleet around Qo’noS into some semblance of order. Most of the Great Houses were represented, so he had everything from capital vessels to fighters in support of his own battered fleet. However, their crews were in various states of unpreparedness and unrest from dealing with the chaos of the recent rebellions in the Empire.

Martok sighed heavily and put his head in his hands, knowing the Klingons weren’t ready for the frontal assault he was sure was coming. It was just a matter of when.

I must do what I can to inspire the warriors to battle the real enemy, not our own people, he thought. I do not care what Gowron said. We can quell the rebels after we deal with these Undine attacks. If we survive, that is.

His computer beeped as an audio request came from the bridge. It was flagged for him only and was encoded in a peculiar way he didn’t recognize.

Who is this? he wondered.

Curious, he opened the channel and was surprised to hear K’Lira’s voice. He’d been searching for her ever since she’d escaped custody after her trial, but he hadn’t expected her to reach out to him directly.

Why now? What has changed? he wondered.

“General,” K’Lira said, “I must speak with you urgently and privately. Is your side secure?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“Matron,” he continued, “you must know I have standing orders to arrest you. Why would you risk…”

“Because the time for hiding is past,” she interrupted. “Besides, my fate does not matter. The Empire is at great risk, but not from me. Our peril is much worse than you know, and I need you to just listen while I explain.”

K’Lira told Martok everything she knew about Talmok’s history, his alien nature, and his telepathic hold on Gowron’s mind. “I know Talmok stole Kahless’ sword from the Yan-Isleth, then he had His Eminence plant it in my cabin at Trivas while my transport’s shields were down. Talmok is an Undine infiltrator, a qa’meH quv telepathically manipulating the chancellor against us, against the Empire. While I begrudge them, the deeper truth is that we have had an Undine spy in our highest court for at least eight years, maybe longer.

K'Lira's plea

“I suspect the traitorous petaQ is now with his own kind at the head of an Undine fleet about to attack our home world. This is the culmination of his largest design.” Her voice broke as she finished. “MartokneS, HIQaHmeH qaqoy’. Find and reveal Talmok before he finishes his work. We are all doomed as long as he lives.”

Martok was torn. Duty demanded one course, but honor begged another. While he inherently trusted K’Lira’s openness and bravery in contacting him directly, he was a warrior of the Empire foremost. His orders were to bring her back to Qo’noS, in chains if he had to. Despite her message’s encryption, he knew his communications officer would likely have traced her call through the KDF’s commsat network, thereby pinpointing her position. The next dutiful thing to do was to send an armed escort to collect her, but if the Undine attacked Qo’noS, he simply couldn’t spare any warships, not even a shuttle. He’d need every ship he could get, including hers, if she had one.

“Where are you going, Matron?” he asked.

K’Lira hesitated, then she realized he wanted her help defending the home world. “I am several hours yet from Qo’noS,” she replied. “I have just one blockade runner, hardly worth adding to your fleet. I will certainly do whatever I can when I arrive, but if Talmok attacks before then, you are on your own.”

He sighed resignedly. “Warriors are always ready to fight,” he remembered aloud.

“And die,” she finished for him, “even against long odds.”

Martok’s heart hardened. This old grishnar cat is not ready for Sto’Vo’Kor just yet, he thought stubbornly.

“I have survived worse,” he growled, remembering his exploits during the Dominion War.

“Qapla’, General,” she offered quietly. “I will try to contact my husband. If he is in the area, he will certainly help.”

“Pfft,” Martok snorted doubtfully. “He is Starfleet, Matron. Commodore Benmata will follow orders.”

K’Lira hid a sly smile beneath her tone. “I can be very compelling, General,” she said softly.

Martok readily believed her. Wild targs could not keep me away from Sirella if I knew she needed me, he thought grudgingly. If K’Lira appeals to Davir on that basis,…

“I would accept whatever aid Starfleet can provide, of course,” Martok agreed.

“Take heart, General,” K’Lira said encouragingly. “The day is still young, and we may yet prevail.”

“From your lips to the ears of anyone who would help us,” he replied. “I think Fek'lhr’s going to be busy quite soon with many dead Undine.”

“Talmok among them,” she agreed. “Ak’voh One, out.”

FOOTNOTES

qa'meH quv 🔉

Klingonese: "One who exchanges honor for dishonor." It's a euphemism Klingons use to describe changelings.

MartokneS, HIQaHmeH qaqoy’ 🔉

Klingonese: "Martok, I am begging you to help me."

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

Quantum singularities opened across the Qo'noS System, and bioships of every class poured through them into Klingon space. The Undine fleet numbered over 100 ships plus fighter support. The massive mothership arrived last in a bright green flash, dwarfing everything else. Talmok’s forces were in position to divert the Klingons and make a path for the mothership to strike Qo’noS with its super-weapon.

The planetary defenses detected them and alerted Klingon High Command.

Dozens of Klingon vessels, mostly birds-of-prey and battlecruisers with several heavy warships, crowded around Qo’noS, ready to die defending their home world. The Undine fleet was larger, and it had a mothership. The Klingon navy was more heavily armed and armored, every House was in it, and everyone was desperate to prevent another catastrophe.

General Martok sat in the Kor’gun’s command chair, watching the Undine draw up their battle lines as he did the same with the KDF fleet, arranging his forces into mobile defensive groups. He had to coordinate with flag officers from other Houses, but he was the fleet’s overall commander. Qo’noS’s ground defenses were largely automated, and there were troops stationed throughout First City, ready to defend the capital if the Undine landed troops. He knew Chancellor Gowron was well protected by the Yan-Isleth in First City’s Great Hall.

K’Lira and the Videssan were still over an hour away from the Qo’noS System. Her story about Talmok’s negative influence on Gowron and the Empire had greatly disturbed Martok. If any of it was true, then the affront to the Klingon people was partly Martok’s fault for not recognizing a qa’meH quv much sooner rather than later. He was anxious to see how her evidence against Talmok would play out.

We must survive this first, he thought grimly.

Talmok stood on the bridge of his alien bioship, studying a bright display of Undine formations overlaid on the solar system’s layout. The much smaller Klingon fleet was concentrated around Qo’noS. He knew it would be difficult to penetrate their defenses and even harder to assault First City on the ground.

He’d spent eight years among the Klingons, working his way into their ruling court as a chamberlain in Gowron’s own House. He'd studied the KDF’s and the Yan-Isleth’s tactics and procedures while hiding his identity from everyone. There was little they could do to surprise him because he’d learned everything he needed from within their own government.

Talmok despised Klingons. He hated their harsh language. Their fixation on honor at any cost. Their feudal state. Even their need to eat. The only Klingon aspect that impressed him was their willingness to die for a cause they believed in. It was the only philosophical thing Klingons and Undine had in common. Given his Undine pride, Talmok discounted every race in the alliance, especially the Klingons. They valued combat prowess as a point of honor because it was the easiest way to express their core social value. Their warriors were some of the best in the galaxy, and they knew it. By contrast, the Undine had conquered all the other species in their pocket universe. Their strength lay in their ruthlessness and shapeshifting. This made them unrivaled at infiltration and spying, and telepathy was their most insidious weapon.

The irony of pitting Undine skill against Klingon prowess wasn’t lost on him, but it simply didn’t matter if the Klingons or anyone else thought they could defeat the Undine. Talmok knew his species deserved to rule the prime universe. The time had come to prove it, and he was as committed to the cause as any Klingon would be to theirs.

Begin the assault, he ordered.

Martok watched as the smaller Undine ships began moving through the Praxis asteroid belt around Qo’noS. When most of them were about halfway through, he turned to his tactical officer and simply nodded.

The officer touched a button on his console.

The asteroid field lit up end to end in a vivid display as hundreds of cloaked mines hidden in the belt exploded. The asteroids shattered into megalithic pieces and spun crazily about, damaging many of the Undine vessels. Debris from the stricken ships added to the mayhem, and the battlefield was soon littered with shards of broken bioships.

Martok smiled grimly. “Keep watch,” he told the fleet. “The enemy can survive in deep space, so stay out of the field for now. Point defenses, stand ready. Let them come to us.”

Then he thought better of that and ordered, “Have the science ships scan the field, then send neurolytic pulses across any frequency range in there.”

Several Klingon ships began emitting sensor noise into the belt, making it harder for the Undine to detect uncloaked Klingon vessels. The problem was that the signals tended to make the science ships priority targets, so Martok had several lighter warships stay near the science vessels to provide cover.

After the mines were spent, the Undine fighters were scattered throughout the asteroid field. While most were damaged or destroyed, some of them were operable. Now, the Undine escorts and capital vessels that had been held in reserve on the other side of the belt came cautiously forward. As they approached, they split up into two wings, one going above the asteroids and the other below, leery of additional traps the Klingons may have set.

The Klingons likewise split up, each group enclosing a heavy warship with several smaller ones for mutual support like tanks maintaining a flexible battleline.

Then all the Klingon ships cloaked.

The Undine had anticipated this—Klingons were famous for cloaking before striking to gain the advantage of surprise. In response, the mothership sent out a powerful screech of sensor noise like the tactic the dreadnought had used at Qu’Vat. The virus in the signal infected the Klingons’ computers by confusing their targeting systems, making the Klingons’ sensors think that their ships were Undine vessels.

The Klingons’ cloaks were up, so their shields were down, and they dared not uncloak to fire in case they might be risking fratricide.

Survivors from Grilka’s fleet had told Martok about this viral tactic employed with great loss of life at Qu’Vat. He’d tasked his engineers to find a remedy for it, and they came up with a solution.

The Klingons now had their targeting computers running on a separate network that had been firewalled from the main computer. The two systems were parallel for safety. The solution was to purge an infected targeting computer by deactivating the sensors long enough to restore them from the uninfected main computer. The problem was that process took nearly a minute, an eternity in combat, and sensors would be down meanwhile.

Martok had given his captains their liberty in deciding whether to implement the fix. All of them had equipped their vessels, and they used the fix now.

However, in the interim when the Klingons couldn’t risk using their weapons, the Undine struck back.

The group of bioships above the belt was large because it had most of the fighters and heavier ships, including the mothership. Talmok’s destroyer was in the smaller group below the asteroids. The mothership emitted a series of tachyon bursts that flooded the belt, briefly illuminating everything. There was no way to tell a cloaked Klingon ship apart from a sensor ghost, so both Undine wings raked the area with barrages of antiproton fire, hoping to do as much damage as possible.

The Klingons scattered, still under cloak, spiraling away from the ecliptic. Most escaped unscathed but a few were struck while their shields were down, which also knocked their cloaks offline.

The Undine fighters pounced like a pack of grishnar cats, quickly finishing off the exposed vessels, and that forced Martok’s fleet to regroup.

Talmok’s fleet hid below the asteroid belt, deflecting light debris with shields while avoiding the larger pieces. His ship flew past the morass at low power as it approached the belt’s inner edge, hoping to sneak past the Klingons by using the asteroids as cover. It almost worked.

House Korath guarded the lower region of the Klingon fleet. Their ships spotted Talmok’s vessels diverting below the belt. Korath alerted Martok to what was happening, then he attacked. Plunging down and towards the enemy, his ships decloaked and lit off with a brilliant curtain of red disruptor fire that cut off the enemy ships.

Talmok had told the Undine commanders to preoccupy and do as much damage as possible to the Klingon ships for as long as they could. While he was confident that the Undine had the advantages of numbers and firepower, if not purpose, he was less sure that his small group would reach Qo’noS unchallenged.

When House Korath intercepted him, Talmok chose to reveal his heaviest weapon to maximum effect.

Undine superweapon

The bioships formed a circle around Talmok’s vessel, emitting yellow beams of energy from their front spires to the spire of his ship. When the streams coalesced, a thick streak shot forth and hit Korath’s battlecruiser directly.

The Klingon ship’s nacelles separated as its main hull immediately collapsed, then exploded. Debris scattered across the battlefield. There were no survivors.

The Undine circle broke up, and the bioships resumed guarding Talmok’s ship as it resumed course towards Qo’noS.

Martok winced as he watched Korath’s death on the tactical display. While he personally had no alliance with House Korath, he needed as many Houses as possible to fend off the Undine, so he was sorry to lose even one general from any House.

He assessed the situation. The larger Undine fleet remained the main threat. He realized he couldn’t divert to intercept the Undine ships below the belt himself, but he couldn’t ignore them either. If they reached Qo’noS, they would likely land troops, and the battle would then have two fronts.

“Houses Mogh and Kor, attack the enemy ships below the belt,” he commanded. “The rest of you, concentrate fire on that mothership.”

The Klingons split up again, further diluting their defenses as more than a dozen ships turned to challenge Talmok.

Aboard his destroyer, Talmok noted the Klingons’ maneuver. He knew he wouldn’t survive an assault from so many Klingon ships, even with help from his small fleet. It took all eight of his ships to form the firing ring he’d just used, and the Klingons likely wouldn’t let him try again. They’ll approach under cloak for surprise, he thought, concentrate fire on my bioship to disable the ring, then decimate the rest of my fleet.

Unlike Martok, Talmok was apathetic to the loss of his fellow Undine, and he had other plans. He hadn’t spent most of the last decade subverting his way into the High Council’s circle just to prey on Chancellor Gowron’s mind. He intended the Undine to conquer the galaxy, and that required the alliance’s downfall. Attacking the Klingon Empire was a precursor to that, and Gowron had finally outlived his usefulness to Talmok. The Undine spy now intended to kill him and take Gowron’s place to trick the Empire into surrendering to the Undine armada.

Bring me a fighter, Talmok ordered telepathically. I need to reach the surface.

An accompanying fighter flew down to Talmok’s bioship, beamed him aboard, then broke formation and headed directly for the planet and First City.

Above the asteroids, most of the Undine fleet still engaged the KDF in pitched combat, preoccupying the Klingons, as planned. The mothership was almost within striking range of Qo’noS’s surface with its weapons. The Klingons fought tenaciously to prevent it from forming a firing ring like the one they’d seen Talmok use. Such a blast from anything as powerful as the mothership would likely destroy their home world.

Martok noticed the small fleet break up as it moved closer to Qo’noS. He took that to mean that it wasn’t as much of a threat as the large one, but he remained wary because he’d seen how efficiently the smaller bioships had killed Korath. He trusted the home world’s planetary defenses to protect the surface from any enemy vessels that broke atmosphere, but he didn’t realize that Talmok was sneaking towards the surface in one of the enemy fighters.

The Undine pressed the Klingons back through sheer weight of firepower and strength of numbers until the enemy fleet was within transporter range of First City. Then, as they had at Qu’Vat, they began landing troops in outlying areas where transporter inhibitors were not deployed. The Undine soldiers made their way towards the city limits, and the battle for Qo’noS took an uglier turn.

Now in high orbit, Talmok looked hatefully down at the planet he’d feigned as home for almost a decade. Its brown atmosphere’s rim shone orange in the light of Qo'noS’s star, and the main continent was approaching the planet’s night side. He could already see First City’s ruddy glow.

Talmok was telepathically following the chatter of Undine soldiers both in space and now on the ground. The troops still used their telepathic abilities to confuse Klingons into mistaking one another for the enemy. However, the tactic was less effective than it had been at Qu’Vat because the Klingons were using psionic injections to make themselves less susceptible to telepathic attacks. Talmok didn’t care—he just needed to get to the Great Hall, find and kill Gowron, then secretly replace him as chancellor to keep the High Command off balance.

The fighter rocked as its shield took light disruptor fire from a nearby bird-of-prey, and Talmok knew he was running out of time.

Get lower, he ordered his pilot.

The fighter entered atmosphere over First City and lowered its shield long enough for Talmok to initiate transport. Then it exploded under the weight of disruptor fire from the surface.

As the battle raged above, Talmok materialized in a dark alcove hidden from open view. Dim ruddy light from burning braziers on nearby stone walls lit the street at the end of the alley before him. The air was filled with the lofty smell of incense mixed with the stenches of ash and ozone. Flashes of light near the edge of the city indicated firefights erupting on the ground as the Undine troops approached the city’s defenses. Bomb blasts punctuated the night as Undine ships tried to shell and strafe Klingon gunnery emplacements. Some of the taller buildings were on fire, and much of the surrounding countryside was burning, too.

Talmok transforms

If my fellows invade much further, Talmok thought, the Yan-Isleth will consider moving the chancellor to a more secure location. That is my best chance. I need to be there when that happens because the Great Hall’s transporter inhibitors will prevent beaming into or out of the building.

Cast on a nearby wall, his Undine shadow flickered and morphed as he transformed into his Klingon disguise, then he took a public transport towards the city’s old quarter and the Great Hall.

On the outskirts of the city, the Undine assault teams kept trying to breach the city proper, but the KDF’s ground defenses held tenaciously, and progress was slow. The longer the assault took, the likelier it was that the Klingons would bring in reinforcements from nearby cities, and the ground attack would fail. The Undine ground commander called for an orbital strike to take out the Klingon High Command underneath the Great Hall.

The mothership slowly moved into bombardment range. The Klingon ships tried desperately to ward it off because they knew that it could level First City, but they failed. Several of the mothership’s artillery spires erupted, and a consolidated torrent of antiproton energy sped down with deadly precision.

Martok gasped in horror as his worst fear came true.

The beam struck the Great Hall squarely on the top of the ziggurat where the comm towers were. The building’s dome-shaped energy shield flared dim green as it took the full force of the mothership’s attack. For several seconds, it seemed the shield would hold, but nothing could long withstand that much firepower. The shield flickered a few times as its capacitance was reached, then overloaded, and the building’s primary power failed. The attack lasted for a few more seconds after the shield fell. There was a loud CRACK! The capitol building crumbled explosively. Stone dust and duranium fragments flew high through the air as parapets, towers, and the top third of the Hall’s superstructure were vaporized, exposing the building’s interior. Klingons died screaming underneath tonnes of rubble as the fiery aftermath lit up the overcast with a brilliant orange glow.

Martok immediately ordered the remaining KDF ships back into the fray, trying desperately to stop the mothership from firing again. While its first blast had been focused solely on the Great Hall, he feared its next strike would be more devastating.

“Bring shields and weapons to full,” he barked at his crew, “and come to 188, mark 9! Flank that mothership!”

The KDF fleet was down to less than half its original strength, but the Undine were taking heavier losses than the Klingons were. Still, Martok wondered if he had enough ships to withstand the battle’s attrition. He glanced at the long-range sensors next to the Kor’gun’s viewer just as a new set of signals approached the far side of the asteroid belt, behind the enemy fleet. The Kor’gun was so damaged that Martok couldn’t identify the new contacts.

Are they bringing in reinforcements? Martok guessed, his heart sinking.

“New contacts,” shouted his tactical officer, “bearing 240, mark 22, range 15,000 kellicams and closing fast!”

Martok was still uncertain. “Transponders?” he asked, trying to positively identify the new arrivals.

Before the officer could respond, a new voice drawled over the ship-to-ship frequency. “General Martok, this is Commodore Benmata aboard the U.S.S. Venture with the 124th Support Group. pagh yIchonmoH maHvaD!”

Martok almost laughed in relief. The Houses had sent all they could spare to defend Qo’noS despite the KDF’s unreadiness in the wake of the recent rebellion. Martok had resolved that it would have to be enough, but he hadn’t truly hoped the alliance would assist while the Federation and the Romulan Star Empire were under similar attack. He was very glad to be proven wrong.

“Klingons are always ready to fight,” he said invitingly.

“And a cha’Dich is a welcome aid,” Davir finished.

“Commodore,” Martok greeted as the Kor’gun shuddered again from an Undine barrage, “hit them from behind, and we will crush them between us.”

Davir obliged, deploying his escorts while the task force’s carrier launched clouds of drones and some Peregrin fighters to protect the larger ships.

The Undine hadn’t expected the Federation’s arrival either and the mothership turned away from Qo’noS to address the new threat.

That’s exactly what Martok was hoping as it took the pressure off the KDF to protect First City.

“Full impulse,” he ordered, regrouping his resources. “Into the fray!”

Hope rekindled, the KDF and Federation fleets drove into the enemy lines, torpedoes, phasers, and disruptors tearing into bioship hulls.

As the enemy navies clashed in space, the Undine troops on the surface had managed to breach part of First City’s perimeter. They were now pouring through the gap and heading towards the old sector where the partially ruined Great Hall was. The orbital strike had fueled their aggression, and they were still adept at disguising themselves and tricking unprepared Klingon warriors into fighting each other. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the Hall’s outer courtyard.

It was barely controlled chaos inside the Hall. Chunks of shattered stone littered the grounds from the upper floors that had been blasted away, and corpses could be seen throughout the rubble. The ground itself was scorched and slick with pink blood in many places. Fires burned throughout the facility, the air stank of charred flesh, and the sounds of approaching battle were slowly getting louder.

Talmok arrived in disguise at the Hall and approached the blasted building.

The guards challenged him at first, then they recognized him as the head chamberlain and let him pass.

Gowron will be in his office, Talmok thought, if it is still standing.

He quickly made his way through the ruined courtyard, ignoring the occasional cries for help that came from the rubble piles. He went straight for the chancellor’s office at the back of the first floor and wasn’t surprised to find several Yan-Isleth warriors coordinating efforts to clear debris from the chancellor’s doorway.

“What is happening here?” Talmok demanded harshly. “Where’s Chancellor Gowron?”

“Trapped inside,” one of them replied. “We are trying to clear the door, but we are not sure if the walls will hold. The building has taken critical damage, and we are not sure if the chancellor is still alive.”

Talmok’s plan to impersonate Gowron wouldn’t work if it was known that the chancellor had died during the attack. He could sense the Undine army approaching. That would create the chaos he needed to assume Gowron’s form, but he still needed secrecy to get rid of Gowron’s body.

Talmok thought quickly. “Are the inhibitors still functioning?” he asked.

“I think so,” the Yan-Isleth warrior answered. “We do not really know. So much has been ruined down here.”

“Then let us test them,” Talmok suggested. “Beam something traceable into the office. If it shows up on your tricorder, then the transport was successful, and you can beam the chancellor out of there.”

The warrior nodded and removed his bracer, which had a comm in it. Setting the proper coordinates, he put it on the floor.

“jol yIchu’,” he said, and the gauntlet disappeared with a red shimmer.

He opened his tricorder to check the office for the bracer’s signal and got a reading along with the chancellor’s faint life signs. “It worked!” he shouted, relieved.

Talmok noted that Gowron was alive. “Send me in there,” he ordered.

The Yan-Isleth warrior gave him an odd look. “Should we not beam the chancellor to the hospital?”

“The nearest one is outside this compound,” Talmok explained. “The Undine have already invaded, and First City is not safe anymore. I know a medical facility outside the city. Send me in, I will transport him there and make sure he gets help.”

The warrior didn’t question the chamberlain’s authority when it came to the chancellor’s safety. The Yan-Isleth assumed Talmok had Gowron’s best interest in mind, but protocol was that the chancellor never went anywhere without his bodyguards.

“I must come with you,” he said. His tone left no room for argument.

Talmok didn’t have time to figure out how to leave the Yan-Isleth behind without raising suspicion, but he was confident in his own abilities, so he nodded once in acceptance. I can rid myself of this nuisance later, he thought slyly.

“Let us go,” he said to the unsuspecting warrior.

FOOTNOTES

qa'meH quv 🔉

Klingonese: "One who exchanges honor for dishonor." It's a euphemism Klingons use to

pagh yIchonmoH maHvaD 🔉

Klingonese: "Save us some."

jol yIchu’ 🔉

Klingonese: "Activate the transporter."

Close ▲Section▼ ▲Chapter▼ ▲Page▼

Some 400 kilometers northwest of First City, Lake Lusor lay in a volcanic basin within the Kri’stak Mountains. Mount Kri’stak loomed just north of the lake, deep in an eruptive phase. The overcast sky churned with falling tephra, and reddish-orange flashes lit the volcano’s craggy peak as liquid rock fountained into the evening. The eruption’s distant roar constantly rolled across the valley below, trembling the water’s surface with each blast.

Lake Lusor itself was lifeless. A volcanic vent at the bottom made it too acidic, and even the local wildlife avoided its shores.

Lusor jem'IH

Lusor jem’IH was a small, little-known military facility on the lake’s northwestern shore. Used primarily for clandestine medical research, it was lightly garrisoned and relied mostly on isolation for defense. Talmok had learned of it from Gowron and chosen it for that very reason—remote, quiet, and ideal for disposing of the chancellor’s corpse.

The fort was made of mottled, slate-gray stone, its walls rising several stories high. A long, narrow bridge extended from the center of the wall and crossed the lake to a small bunker on the opposite shore. Cold, sulfurous winds swept across the water, and rain mixed with ash made the bridge slick underfoot. Yellow lamps lined its parapets, and white spotlights armed with turrets atop the walls swept the area as the garrison scanned the dark for signs of attack.

Talmok and Gowron materialized in a small transporter room inside the fortress. The room was almost empty because Talmok hadn’t called ahead to warn the garrison’s colonel that the chancellor was inbound, so the only one on duty in the transporter room was a very surprised bekk. While Talmok and the Yan-Isleth officer who’d accompanied him were all right, Chancellor Gowron was injured because his office ceiling had partially collapsed when the mothership attacked, and Gowron had been buried beneath the rubble. His left side was lacerated, his left shoulder was separated, and that forearm was mostly crushed. His left femur was broken in several places, too, so he couldn’t walk on it.

The bekk saw Gowron leaning on a Yan-Isleth for support with another warrior behind him. The bekk didn’t know Talmok or the Yan-Isleth, but he immediately recognized the chancellor.

Gowron looked up through a delirious haze of pain, and their eyes met.

Talmok also noticed that look. I do not want a crowd for this, he thought, referring to his plan.

It took the bekk a moment to get over his surprise, but he quickly snapped to attention.

"joHwIj,” he exclaimed, reaching for the comm button on his console to announce the chancellor’s arrival. He never got a chance to do so—a disruptor blast drilled through his chest, and he fell dead against the wall behind him.

The now-surprised Yan-Isleth warrior reached for his energy weapon, but it wasn’t in its holster. He looked up to see it in the chamberlain’s hand instead.

“Looking for something?” Talmok snarled smugly. Then he shot the Yan-Isleth in the head with his own weapon.

Bereft of support, Gowron collapsed to the floor. He was as surprised by Talmok’s behavior as the two now-dead Klingons had been. After all, the chamberlain had served House Gowron faithfully for nearly a decade, and Gowron had relied on him as he would one of his own hands. Talmok’s sudden murders were beyond Gowron’s ability to fathom, and he wondered if he’d ever really known Talmok at all.

He propped himself up on his good side and pushed himself across the floor away from Talmok until his back was against the wall.

“Talmok, why did you…?” he started to ask, then everything suddenly made sense.

That is not Talmok, he realized, at least not the Talmok I thought I knew, if he ever was. tojwI’! But how and for how long?

Talmok sneered down at him and said nothing, pondering how best to proceed. He no longer cared if Gowron finally understood that the chamberlain wasn’t what he seemed to be or if the chancellor suspected how long he’d been deceived. Gowron would soon be dead anyway. Talmok intended to impersonate him long enough to confuse the Klingon Empire by making it seem the High Command had conceded defeat. That wouldn’t hold long, but it required finesse and secrecy about the real chancellor’s death.

Martok’s in charge of their fleet, Talmok thought, and his House is sizeable. After Gowron’s death is revealed, what’s left of the High Council will surely look to Martok for succession, and my fellows will have to fight him again. I need to get rid of him, too, but how?

An improvised plot formed quickly in Talmok’s alien mind, and he glanced down at the injured chancellor once more, realizing that Gowron might yet be useful as bait to trap Martok.

Talmok went to the transporter console, opened the fort’s comm channel, and spoke, changing his voice to mimic Gowron’s. “Attention, all personnel, this is the chancellor. Species 8472 has invaded First City. By order of the High Council, all available defense personnel must defend the capital. This facility is now on lockdown. All remaining staff are confined to quarters until the lockdown is lifted. That is all.”

That’ll clear most people from the corridors, he thought, but I need to get out of this room before any of them decide to try the transporter.

Talmok gripped Gowron by the front of his uniform and punched him unconscious. Then he shot the transporter console to disable it. Dragging the chancellor’s body behind him, he proceeded down the hall outside. Avoiding the guards, he stole down an enclosed flight of stairs that led towards the front of the facility and the bridge that traversed Lake Lusor.

As Talmok was capturing Gowron, the O.S.S. Videssan warped into the system just outside the Praxis asteroid belt, and the Wanderer-class frigate immediately hid itself in the rocky field surrounding the Klingon home world.

Matron K’Lira stood next to Captain Vaza, watching Klingon ships chase the Undine among the asteroids. The Klingons held the line just within the belt’s perimeter, launching torpedo salvos at enemy warships and the retreating mothership while the Federation pressed the enemy from every side. While she was glad to see her husband’s fleet in action, the Klingon and Federation fleets had won the space battle at great cost.

Broken ships and bodies were everywhere.

K’Lira trembled with rage and grief as she stared at the carnage, wishing she could’ve arrived sooner. At her demand, the Videssan had burned out its warp coils to reach Qo’noS as soon as possible.

Too late, she mourned. Too many dead.

She spotted the Kor’gun in the distance, its mottled hull scarred and smoking from the damage it had sustained in the fights at Qu’Vat and Qo’noS. Martok’s flagship was far from defeated, though, and she could almost see the famous general. He would surely be storming around his bridge, she thought wistfully, berating the enemy even as the Undine shot volley after volley into his ship while he encouraged his crew to new heights of valor.

The vision brought her back to the reality of her personal mission. She had two goals in returning to Qo’noS. The first was to help defeat not just the Undine generally but Talmok specifically before the Empire suffered too many losses. The second was to find Gowron so she could finish her defense against his misjudgment and get her honor back.

“Open a secure channel to Martok’s flagship, audio only,” she requested.

The Videssan’s comm officer complied.

“General Martok, this is Matron K’Lira,” she began.

Martok sounded surprised. “Matron, you are here so soon?! Where? Never mind—can you fight?”

“Not well, General,” she replied, sighing. “The Videssan is just a blockade runner, not a warship.

“I need your help elsewhere now.”

For the Empire

“We are defending the home world from an Undine armada! Nothing is more important than that,” Martok said incredulously, forgetting their earlier conversation.

“Talmok and Gowron,” she reminded him. “The mastermind is still at large. It is more important to expose Talmok for the qa’meH quv he is. This attack is his end game, and we must stop him. Find Gowron and we will find Talmok. You and I, we must end this… for the Empire.”

The general growled softly, torn between his duty to defend the home world and the chance to put an end to the real mastermind, but his blood boiled more hotly at the sickening thought of the Empire falling to an Undine from within.

“I’ll cut his head off myself,” he swore under his breath, remembering the legend of Kahless beheading the serpent of Xol with his bat’leth.

He sighed deeply. “Very well, Matron. I will beam down to find Gowron and, hopefully, Talmok.”

K’Lira frowned slightly. “Do not imagine you can leave me behind as easily as that, General,” she said chidingly. “I am coming with you. Talmok may be our top priority, but I also have a matter of honor to settle with the chancellor.”

She paused. “Do you know where Gowron is?”

Martok checked the ship’s log. “At last report, he was gravely injured when the Undine blasted off the Great Hall’s roof. The log entry says he was alive and in the chamberlain’s company. Here is another log, just in. It seems Gowron ordered Fort Lusor’s garrison back to First City, probably to reinforce the capital. He then put Fort Lusor on lockdown. It does not say why. That was about five minutes ago.”

K’Lira frowned more deeply. “Lusor? The old research facility in the Kris’tak Mountains? Why would he go there?”

“My guess would be for protection from Undine assault squads,” Martok mused. “The Great Hall collapsed, and High Command is not responding. Maybe the chancellor thought Lusor’s medical facilities would be able to help him, and the facility’s somewhat clandestine location would be enough to keep the Undine at bay.”

K’Lira nodded in agreement. “Gowron always wears a transponder for emergency purposes. Can you verify if he is there?” she asked.

Martok checked the Kor’gun’s sensors, looking specifically for Gowron’s transponder frequency. “Confirmed, Matron, he is at Fort Lusor. With the fort on lockdown, we cannot get a transporter fix, so we will have to beam down outside the facility. I will meet you there.”

He closed that channel and opened a new one to the Klingon fleet. “Attention, all warriors. I am needed on the surface to defend the chancellor. House Mogh is now in command of the fleet. Qapla’!”

He turned to the ship’s commanding officer. “The Kor’gun’s bridge is yours, Captain,” he said, and without waiting for an acknowledgement, he stalked off the bridge and headed to the transporter room.

He materialized inside the bunker on the far side of Fort Lusor’s bridge, which was as close as he could get since the facility had been locked down. A few moments later, Matron K’Lira beamed down next to him. Both wore combat armor, daggers, and energy weapons. K’Lira additionally had her nanopulse-edged bat’leth.

They checked their weapons and moved towards the bunker’s door, which swished open at their approach. They were immediately met with a chilling blast of rainy air that smelled vaguely of sulfur. Raindrops steamed lightly with acid when they hit the ground. The thick clouds hid the normally ruddy sky behind a low-hanging roof of dark gray cumulous laced with ash. The Kri’stak volcano thundered distantly as orange light flashed from its hazy summit.

“Use your personal shield,” Martok advised, activating his.

K’Lira did likewise, and they proceeded into the relative darkness, running across the bridge towards the facility on the other side.

Talmok dragged an unconscious Gowron through the fort’s dim stairwells towards the gatehouse at ground level. He had to avoid elevators, lighted areas, and the people moving through the corridors because that would’ve given the chancellor’s presence away.

He reached the ground floor and approached a closed door leading into the entry hall. Dropping the chancellor’s limp body against the wall, he heard several guards in the hall respond to a commotion as someone arrived from outside.

“Stop!” one of the guards commanded. “Who is there?”

“I am General Martok,” the newcomer intoned.

Talmok’s heart jumped at the thought that Martok had somehow come to him. Saves me the trouble of finding him myself, he thought darkly and kept listening.

“Where is Chancellor Gowron?” a woman asked.

Talmok froze as he recognized her voice. No! he thought, amazed. The immortal one is… with him?

K’Lira’s reemergence was more than good fortune for Talmok—it was destiny. She’d been unfindable after her trial. In his mind, she was the only other person who could rally the Empire against the Undine, and that made her almost as dangerous as Martok.

Hatred welled up in his hard heart like fresh lava. I must kill her, too, he thought resolutely.

The guards explained that they hadn’t seen Gowron although he apparently was somewhere within the fortress because he’d locked it down aftert ordering the garrison back to First City. “We three are the last to leave,” one of them finished. “There is a transporter on the far side of the lake we can still use.”

“We just did,” Martok said. “Gowron is not out there.”

“We are trying to rescue him from a qa’meH quv posing as the head cham…,” K’Lira began.

petlhur!

The stairwell door burst open, and Talmok dashed into the foyer, panting heavily as though he’d been running to join them. He didn’t think his disguise would fool either Martok or K’Lira as they apparently knew what he really was, but it might surprise them into inaction long enough to let Talmok deal with the situation on his terms.

“General, Matron!” he exclaimed. “I have something for you—petlhur!”

“YOU!” Martok shouted in recognition. He drew his disruptor pistol, set to heavy stun.

Before he could pull the trigger, Talmok blasted all five of them with a powerful mental attack. A surge of psionic energy caught them unawares and smothered their minds with waves of blackness.

The three guards died instantly, but Martok and K’Lira had each taken psionic injections as a precaution to defend against such attacks. It wasn’t enough to completely protect them from Talmok’s extreme mental brutality, but it deflected much of that. They remained semi-conscious—barely.

Talmok didn’t hesitate. He seized a now-groaning Gowron by the collar and dragged him outside into the poisonous night. I’ll dispose of his body in the lake first, then return for Martok and K’Lira, he thought as he started across the muddy bridge.

On the outer wall, the fort’s automated spotlights tracked his movement.

Talmok ignored them, focused solely on reaching the middle of the bridge where the lake was deepest.

In the foyer, Martok slowly stood, shaking his aching head to clear it. Talmok’s mental attack had nearly killed him by trying to implode his mind, but the psionic formula he’d injected himself with before he’d beamed down had saved him… mostly. He had a splitting headache and felt weak and confused, so he used a stimulant from a nearby medkit, sighing gratefully as it took effect.

He heard a slight noise and noticed K’Lira lay face up a meter away, her bat’leth in her hand. She, too, was recovering from the attack.

“Matron,” Martok called, nudging her shoulder with his boot, “wake up. I need your help.”

He used a stimulant on her, too, and smiled as she quickly sat up, fully awake.

“Where did that… thing go?” she asked, looking anxiously around.

Martok pointed at the front door. “Outside. I think I saw him dragging Gowron with him, too, then I blacked out.”

K’Lira’s eyes darkened noticeably, and she gritted her teeth. “The qa’meH quv will kill the chancellor, then take his form and doom us all. He knows we are the only ones who can expose him, so he will surely come for us, too.”

She glanced warily at Martok. “How do I know you are not Talmok wearing Martok’s face?”

He smiled lopsidedly. “Two reasons.”

“One, you would already be dead if I were.

“And two,” he continued, remembering something only they would know. “When we spoke privately in the Great Hall a few weeks ago, I reminded you that true warriors are…,” he started.

“Always ready to fight,” she finished for him. “Fair enough.”

“Are you ready, Matron?” Martok asked pointedly.

K’Lira breathed deeply against an adrenal surge, tightened her grip on her bat’leth, and grimaced, baring her teeth. “ghopwIjDaq Hegh,” she swore under her breath.

Martok’s smile became grim, and he gestured wordlessly towards the door.

Together, the highest-ranking general in the KDF and the former leader of House Trestian ran into the night.

The rain had stopped but the rocky ground was still muddy, and the bridge was slick with ash. Talmok and Gowron had reached the bridge’s first span and continued across towards the bunker. The severity of the chancellor’s injuries made speed impossible because Talmok had to support a delirious Gowron, so their progress was slow and unsteady. Talmok couldn’t risk anyone finding evidence of Gowron’s body because that would raise too many questions, so he aimed for the bridge’s middle span as the lake was deepest there. Even uninjured, he would never reach the shore before the acid dissolved him, he thought.

As they finally approached the apex, Talmok suddenly sensed two other people behind him. Before he could turn to look, a disruptor blast hit the nearest parapet, spraying him with debris that ricocheted past the left side of his head.

“Talmok, STOP!” Martok yelled.

The chamberlain turned around, shifting Gowron’s body to act as a shield.

The chancellor groaned, now fully awake, aware, and in great pain. “Shoot him!” he screamed.

Martok hesitated because he didn’t want to risk hitting Gowron. He had to get the chancellor away from the chamberlain first, and his mind worked furiously.

Suddenly, a red blur whistled past him, spinning through the air towards Talmok and Gowron. K’Lira, consumed by rage, had caught up and flung her bat’leth like a boomerang. Its long tines glowed brightly in the night as the sword took a deadly arc.

The chamberlain coolly saw the weapon’s trajectory and quickly dodged to one side to avoid being beheaded by her attack, dropping Gowron to the ground at the same time.

K’Lira drew her d’k tahg and started to charge, but Martok grabbed her by the shoulder and held her back. “No!” he ordered sternly. “He’ll kill Gowron before you or I can get there.”

K’Lira curbed her wrath and stopped, breathing heavily as she watched Talmok with murderous purple eyes. After all she and her House had suffered, nothing less than Talmok’s death could assuage her. However, only Gowron could rescind his misjudgment of her for nothing else would restore her Klingonhood.

She caught Martok’s sidelong glance. He wants to save Gowron, too, she thought grudgingly.

Martok put his pistol on the ground, held up his hands, and slowly approached Talmok.

Gowron’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Fool! Pick it up and kill him quickly!”

“Tsk, he knows better than to try,” Talmok chided. “The top’a can’t outrun a psionic attack!” With that, Talmok struck out telepathically as before, hitting all three Klingons with a powerful burst of mental energy.

But he was weakening: the attack didn’t kill them—it temporarily confused them by distorting their senses.

Talmok grabbed Gowron and struggled against the chancellor’s resistance to gain the bridge’s apex a little further ahead. The wet ash on the smooth pavement made for slippery footing, and they both had trouble keeping their balance.

He had almost reached the top of the bridge when a series of blaster shots rippled across the ground in front of him. Irate at the distraction, he turned again to face his pursuers. Martok and K’Lira were almost upon him, the general firing relentlessly and the Matron waving her retrieved broadsword menacingly. Talmok activated his personal shield against the general’s firepower and kicked Gowron to one side.

The chancellor grunted as he slid against the nearby parapet and lay helplessly on the ground. The comm in his gauntlet was crushed, so he had no way to call for reinforcements or to be beamed away. His only hope was for Martok or K’Lira to rescue him.

Talmok had finally had enough. His psionic powers were fading because the effort of maintaining an unnatural form was weakening him. The last isomorphic injection he’d taken to help him keep Talmok’s form was yesterday, and he needed another.

He reached behind him to open the pouch where he normally kept his hypospray… and found it empty—he didn’t know how he’d lost it.

No matter, he thought. I’ll just finish them anyhow.

Talmok transforms

Talmok rose to his full height and began changing into his natural form. As Gowron watched in growing horror, Talmok glowed with a yellow halo as his Klingon body melted, reshaped, and grew to almost two and a half meters tall. A third leg protruded from his lower back, providing a tripedal base. His arms lengthened greatly to end in huge claws. The abdomen thinned as his rib cage became prominent. The shoulders and neck became bony, too, and his head took on a distinctly triangular shape with a bony skull very unlike a Klingon’s. Yellow, cruciform-shaped irises above a thin, gray-skinned snout of a face peered into the darkness as the bodily glow faded, and the Undine posing as Talmok finally stood revealed.

Both Martok and K’Lira slowed as they approached, staring at Talmok as he finished transforming. It gripped their minds as they panted to a stop just meters away and stared. It was one thing to fight an Undine when the Klingons already knew what to expect, but it was quite another to watch the head chamberlain they’d always known as Talmok transform into one.

Who are we dealing with now? Martok wondered.

The Undine infiltrator heard that thought and responded telepathically to everybody. I am…, he said, followed by a complicated sense of self that probably meant something to other Undine but which the Klingons couldn’t understand at all. Coupled with that came the mental impressions of both Talmok and Ashtan, whom K’Lira recognized as the Undine’s aliases.

This qa’meH quv has been impersonating more than one Klingon, she remembered. How many others?

The Undine replied confidently, No one else was needed. With just two disguises, I’ve brought the Klingon Empire and the alliance to their knees! Soon my kind will cleanse the Beta Quadrant of its impurities, then move on to the other quadrants.

The Klingons were appalled at the magnitude of his plan, but K’Lira instinctively seized the chance to close her case with Gowron present. “How long have you been among us?” she asked aloud.

She got the sense that if an Undine could smirk, this one would be grinning evilly. Over eight of your years, he replied telepathically, and no one’s been the wiser except His Eminence… and now you.

Crowing in crazed glee at his success, the Undine telepathically sent them a torrent of scenes describing his arrival in the Beta Quadrant in 2371, his murders of the real Ashtan and then-bekk Talmok, and his assumption of Talmok’s identity followed by his meteoric rise to prominence as Chancellor Gowron’s head chamberlain. Talmok’s stream of consciousness went on to illustrate how easy it had been to manipulate Gowron by playing on his and the High Council’s fears, learning their secrets and turning them against each other, all with the goal of eliminating the Federation-Klingon-Romulan Alliance so the Undine could easily invade the galaxy.

Gowron looked ashen, his shame now evident.

Gowron was my kingpin, dear Matron, the Undine finished condescendingly, and you were my kut’luch, insofar as either of you mattered. As for the boon of Kahless’ sword, using that was my idea.

K’Lira had been staring at her feet as she listened in shocked silence and quiet vindication, but her gaze snapped up and her anger rekindled as soon as Talmok mentioned Kahless’ sword. “You honorless vum,” she snarled, “it was YOU who framed me for stealing it. Then you made Gowron condemn me falsely. I lost every Klingon thing I valued because of YOU!”

Gowron flinched as he regretfully remembered that dark hour.

K’Lira raised her bat’leth, its tines glowing menacingly.

Not everything, apparently, the Undine said snidely, glancing at her weapon. He settled into a combative stance. ghoS, Suv!

Martok and K’Lira didn’t hesitate. The general began shooting disruptor bolts at the Undine’s bony head. K’Lira hissed in anticipation and leaped forward, striking at his neck with her nanopulse-bladed weapon.

Talmok let his shield absord the first few energy blasts, then he twisted around on his hind leg to spin away from K’Lira’s attack. He let her stumble past him, then he rushed at the general.

Surprised at Talmok’s sudden change of direction, Martok almost didn’t react in time. He barely dodged aside as the Undine’s long-armed claws swept through the place where he’d been standing. He rolled up on one knee several meters away and resumed firing, trying to do damage while staying out of the alien’s considerable reach.

K’Lira had recovered her balance and returned to the fight, rapidly striking with her bat’leth in an irregular pattern, trying to penetrate Talmok’s defenses. He was taller than she was and much stronger, but what surprised her was his quickness and skill. She guessed that this Talmok had studied combat arts under the Yan-Isleths’ instruction as she had. That explains this one’s skill at arms, she thought grudgingly and returned to the fore.

Suddenly, a series of red blaster bolts fractured a nearby parapet as the turrets atop the fortress’s wall saw the Undine on the bridge and opened fire. There was no one in the fort to turn them off, so they kept shooting as long as they could see the Undine. This turned the top of the bridge into a kill zone.

Martok kept shooting Talmok’s shield, trying to exceed its absorption rate so it would fail. The shield flared green each time a blast hit it, but it was dimming, and Martok guessed it wouldn’t last much longer.

Talmok knew it, too, and redoubled his efforts. While the shield held, K’Lira was the primary threat as her weapon could do more harm than Martok’s if it penetrated, so Talmok focused entirely on her. His quickness surprised even K’Lira. The Undine backhanded her with one clawed hand, forcing her to turn away. Then he immediately recoiled and raked her across the face with the other claw. The strike opened the flesh of her right cheek and jaw as sharp fingertips tore deeply through skin and muscle.

K’Lira screamed in pain and anger and dropped her weapon, holding the right side of her face with one hand as pink blood trickled between her fingers.

Martok and Gowron watched in stunned silence as the Undine gripped K’Lira’s throat with the left hand, lifted her off her feet, and slowly squeezed.

K’Lira gagged and struggled against the pressure that was slowly suffocating her. She needed to pant, but it was too hard to force air past the constriction. She tried to pick up her sword with the tip of her boot, but Talmok raised her further until her bat’leth was out of reach.

The Undine ripped her breastplate off and plunged the right claw into her abdomen, his elongated fingers tearing mercilessly through her organs.

K’Lira would’ve screamed in agony if she could’ve. She kicked weakly at Talmok, but her blows had no effect. Her consciousness began to slip away as she ran out of air, and her blood pressure dropped. With her last breath, she thought of her kids on Deep Space Nine and regretted her impending death on their behalf.

What happened next was instinct since she had not enough awareness left to form a conscious thought. She felt the hilt of a d’k tahg in her hand and reacted.

A mental scream echoed as the Undine suddenly released her and reeled backwards towards the broken parapet, his right claw missing.

K’Lira fell to the ground, badly injured, bleeding profusely, and choking hoarsely. Her dagger was stained with Undine ichor. She rolled weakly onto her back and watched.

Martok roared and resumed shooting. This time the additional fire from the fort struck home as Talmok’s shield finally collapsed, and the infiltrator took several hits directly in his torso.

Even that didn’t stop Talmok. He stumbled into the damaged parapet where Gowron lay, his legs scrambling on the slick, ash-covered pavement.

Gowron kicked Talmok’s hind knee with his good leg, knocking him backwards on top of the chancellor against the broken parapet.

A bolt of volcanic lightning crackled down from the low clouds and struck the wall, shattering the parapet behind them.

Talmok kills Gowron

NO! Talmok screamed, his malice an intangible echo in their minds.

Even as he stumbled over the edge, Talmok grabbed the chancellor by the back of the collar with his left hand, and Gowron was gone, too. A faint splash marked their demise far below.

The fort’s guns fell silent as Martok dropped his pistol in futility. His erstwhile friend had died despite his best efforts, and he grieved that he hadn’t reconciled with Gowron beforehand. He knew that failure would follow him to the grave.

“The Empire may yet survive this day, but I will never forget the cost,” he swore with trembling hands.

A warrior and chancellor had passed—there was only one thing left to do. Martok threw his head back and tearfully howled his Heghtay at the low-hanging clouds rumbling impassively overhead. He heard it echo back from the fort’s walls, as much a forewarning to the honored dead as a wail of agonized grief.

He deserved better, Martok thought sadly.

“Mar… tok,” K’Lira whispered into the relative silence when he had finished, “help…!”

The general whipped his head around, suddenly aware of her need, and he rushed to her side to examine her.

K’Lira had lost a lot of blood. Her armor and clothes were stained dark purple, and the ground around her was soaked with it. Her face was severely lacerated, and her abdomen had a large hole that wouldn’t stop bleeding. Her pulse was slow and uneven, almost undetectable.

He was amazed that she wasn’t already dead. She will be very soon if I do not get her to a hospital, he realized.

He was afraid to move her, so he brought his wrist comm up and opened a wideband channel. “To any Klingon warship, this is General Martok. Medical emergency! Two to beam directly to sickbay.”

The familiar voice of the Kor’gun’s transporter operator immediately responded. “Acknowledged, General. We are locking onto your coordinates now. Stand by.”

The red haze of the transporter effect enveloped them, and they disappeared.

FOOTNOTES

Lusor jem’IH 🔉

Klingonese: "Fort Lusor" or "Lusor Fortress."

joHwIj 🔉

Klingonese: "My Lord."

tojwI’ 🔉

Klingonese: "Deceiver" or "liar."

qa'meH quv 🔉

Klingonese: "One who exchanges honor for dishonor.” It’s a euphemism Klingons use to describe changelings.

petlhur! 🔉

Klingonese (clipped): "Catch,” (verb).

ghopwIjDaq Hegh. 🔉

Klingonese: "He will die by my hand.”

ghoS, Suv. 🔉

Klingonese (clipped): "Come, fight.”

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The soft beeping of a heart monitor slowly penetrated K’Lira’s dreamless state as she began to awaken. It was warm and quiet, and her eyelids fluttered as she struggled back to consciousness. Someone touched her left hand, then something cool touched her left bicep with a hissing noise. She awoke fully and found herself on a biobed in a Klingon sickbay.

She suddenly remembered everything, and the heart monitor quickened as her pulse increased along with her blood pressure. She grimaced as she tried to sit up, but someone had apparently used restraints to keep her from injuring herself while she slept. She realized that was a good precaution and relaxed.

It was over.

“How am I… not dead?” she asked, nonplussed.

“Thank the general when you see him,” the EMH answered as she walked up to the biobed so K’Lira could see her. “He got you aboard in time to save your life. In fact, he and several others donated blood.”

K’Lira recognized the EMH—it was the same one who’d attended her while she’d been in Martok’s brig.

“I am aboard the Kor’gun?” she asked.

The nurse nodded, smiling.

K’Lira remembered the battle above Qo’noS. “What of the Undine attacks?” she asked earnestly.

The nurse smiled again and raised a hand in deference. “Relax, Matron—we won. The Undine fleet fled back to fluidic space when their mothership was destroyed by the KDF and the Federation.” She paused, reflecting. “We are still mopping up the ground troops they abandoned on the surface, but every hospital is issuing psionic injections to our warriors to keep them from being tricked by any remaining Undine.”

K’Lira looked at her curiously. “Is the Federation still here?”

“Most of their fleet returned to Deep Space Nine yesterday,” the nurse replied, “but the U.S.S. Venture is still in stationary orbit. I took the liberty of informing Commodore Benmata that you are awake. He is beaming aboard now.”

K’Lira’s mind fluttered with joyous anticipation. Dav!

She hadn’t seen or spoken to her husband or their kids for nearly three weeks, but the intervening events made her feel like she’d aged a lifetime. The stealth required to stay ahead of the KDF also necessitated not communicating with anybody who might inadvertently reveal her location before she’d had a chance to prove her innocence. It had taken heart and far too much heartache to accomplish all she’d had to do. Now that the hard part was nearly over, her relief at reuniting with her family was the best balm for her soul.

Reunion

Commodore Davir Benmata dodged through the sickbay’s doorway before it finished sliding open and ran to her bedside, pushing the nurse aside in his haste to greet his wife. “bangwIj!”

He looked at her restraints and turned to the nurse. “Why is she still strapped down if she’s awake?” he asked.

“Self-protection,” the nurse said simply. “Her internal injuries were quite severe. They would be exacerbated if she moves around.” She touched his arm. “Be patient with my patient, Commodore, and be gentle,” she added.

“It is all right, Dav,” K’Lira happily conceded, trying to grin past her head bandages. “Now come down here and greet me properly.”

After they kissed, he sat on a nearby chair and plied her with many questions about her escapade after the trial and everything that had happened since. Some of it he already understood from Martok, but much surprised him, especially the part about saving some of Rimic’s memories in a holomatrix as evidence.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing. Is that acceptable as evidence? Where is it?” he asked.

“Aboard the Videssan,” K’Lira replied. “As for its admissibility, I hope so, but I also have Martok’s witness of Talmok’s confession on the bridge. That is objective proof I was framed and wrongfully condemned.”

Martok entered the room. “Did someone say my name?” he joked affably.

Davir stood, offering his seat.

“Sit, Commodore,” Marton said, waving him down. “I won’t stay long. I just wanted to check on our jubwI’.”

He looked K’Lira up and down, noting the various injuries she’d been treated for. “You gave us quite a scare, Matron. It was touch and go for a few hours before they could stabilize you.”

“I am told I have you to thank for your part in that,” K’Lira replied. “I would salute if I were able. For now, my gratitude to you and your crew for their generosity will have to do.”

Martok smiled in acknowledgement. “I will tell them for you.”

“She is strong stock,” the nurse observed, “and it helps that she heals very quickly.”

“Yes, amazing, that,” Martok muttered quietly.

He sighed and continued, “Well, I had best get back to cleaning up after the Undine. They made quite a mess of First City.” He turned to leave.

“General,” K’Lira called after him, “how bad is it out there? How many casualties?”

Martok turned back, a grim expression on his craggy face. It was several moments before he replied. “Tens of thousands are dead or missing,” he said slowly, “mostly on the ground and many of those in First City and its military facilities. It will take months to bury the dead and years to rebuild the capital. The Great Hall is smashed, but most of the councilors are accounted for. We found Councilor Grilka, too, in an escape pod hiding in Qu’Vat’s asteroid field. She sends greetings and best wishes for your recovery.

“The Undine mothership did most of the physical damage, ripping across the surface with its mega-weapon. When your husband’s fleet arrived, I assigned his ships to contain the enemy as I led mine against the mothership. We lost quite a few vessels, but we destroyed that blasted ship. After that, the Undine lost their will to fight and went back to fluidic space. We have not detected any Undine incursions since, and I am getting similar reports from Federation and Romulan forces in the Beta Quadrant.

“As for the Klingon Defense Force, that is a different problem. Dissension in the ranks cannot be tolerated, of course, but many warriors were deceived by Gowron’s head chamberlain and the High Council’s mismanagement. We need better leadership to recover the confidence of our remaining soldiers, both in the Empire and in its vassals. The High Council’s first duty is deciding who will replace Gowron as chancellor. I do not know what to anticipate after that, but I am hopeful.”

He left.

No one said anything.

FOOTNOTES

bangwIj 🔉

Klingonese: "My love."

jubwI' 🔉

Klingonese: "Immortal one."

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K’Lira had been transferred to one of the few hospitals still standing in First City, and Davir had elected to remain until she was ready to return with him to Deep Space Nine. In the last several days, the wounds on her face and abdomen had closed and healed superficially, but the underlying tissues still needed time to finish repairing. She was confined to a floating chair for mobility because even walking was too stressful on her still-damaged organs. The doctors were constantly recommending bedrest as they monitored her remarkable progress. K’Lira understood their advice, but she was frustrated by the necessity and bored from having little to do.

She sat in the antigrav chair near a window, watching the news on a console in her recovery room. To call the exterior view messy in the wake of the attack was a badly understated joke. Rubble still smoked amidst soot-blackened streets. Deep scars in the landscape made large parts of First City unrecognizable. The extreme death toll was infuriating, humiliating, and tragic all at once. K’Lira had to harden her heart to withstand the pain of it happening so close to home.

The aftermath reminded her of footage she’d seen of the attack on her home world, Qu’Vat II. It had suffered the same devastating orbital attacks and roving bands of Undine assault troops who were still being eliminated. House Trestian’s estate just outside Qu’Vat Colony had been bombed and burned, but she’d heard from some of those who lived there. They and her parents had hidden in the secured bunker under House Trestian’s main hall and survived without injury. Her parents were presently on a shuttle to Qo’noS to visit her. She was very grateful for that mercy and anxious to see them.

Davir’s support was important in the same way. After her escape at the trial, she’d remained off the grid to avoid recapture. Despite that estrangement, she’d hoped that he could accept the need for secrecy and not try to find her. His understanding was enough for her, but his help at that time was needed more by their family and by Ambassador Aegis. Now that K’Lira’s personal ordeal was over and she’d been reunited with her husband, she was as glad of his renewed companionship as she was of her parents’. He’d even been promoted to rear admiral (upper half) for his timely assistance in defending Qo’noS, and she was grateful for that, too.

There was a soft chime from the doorbell.

“Come in,” she invited, and Davir entered the room. He had a thornless rose bouquet in his hand and two shiny admiralty pips on his uniform.

She smiled as widely as her facial bandages would allow. Taking the bouquet, she sniffed the flowers deeply, then gave him a hug and a kiss.

“Please put these in water,” she said, handing them back.

Davir got a glass vase with water from the replicator, then put them on a table near the viewer.

“What ‘cha watchin’?” he asked.

“The news,” she replied. “Martok is going to address the Empire next, and he said he would speak to me privately afterwards.”

Davir nodded. “I’m glad the High Council elected him to be the next chancellor,” he said. “He’ll make a good one, I think.”

K’Lira nodded in idle agreement, then focused on the program. “It is starting.”

Chancellor Martok’s haggard face appeared on the viewer. Since the Great Hall in First City had been smashed, he was broadcasting from the Ty’Gokor military base, which hadn’t been attacked. He briefly addressed everything from the recent uprisings in the KDF to the subsequent Undine attacks on Qu’Vat and Qo’noS. That was remedial for K’Lira, but he then began to talk about how recent developments had affected her trial.

“As you may remember,” Martok said, “the singular event that led to the recent rebellions in the KDF was the conviction of Matron K’Lira, formerly of House Trestian, for stealing Kahless’ sword with treasonous intent. The proof initially leveled against her was incomplete as was her defense against it, but former Chancellor Gowron summarily condemned her anyway, discommended K’Lira, and disbanded her House.

Restitution

“In recent weeks, additional evidence has come to light about the sword’s theft and the presence of an Undine qa’meH quv in Gowron’s court posing as his head chamberlain. The High Council has reviewed all the relevant facts, and it is clear that Chancellor Gowron was under the telepathic influence of an Undine infiltrator posing as his head chamberlain when he condemned K’Lira for allegedly stealing the sword of Kahless with the assumed intent of using it to usurp him. In truth, it was Talmok who stole it, then he had one of his accomplices frame K’Lira for doing so. Our evidence includes the Undine’s culpable confession to those facts. Based on that, I hereby abrogate Gowron’s condemnation of Matron K’Lira. I return the honor, citizenship, and territories dishonorably taken from her, and I extend to her the Empire’s apologies and grateful thanks for helping to expose the real thief.”

The rest of Martok’s speech was lost on K’Lira as her mind exploded with relief and joy: she was legally an honorable Klingon… again.

Davir silently hugged her trembling shoulders, knowing what it meant to her as K’Lira cried on his chest for quite a while. When she finally composed herself, he let her go and kissed her on the forehead. It was the only part of her face that wasn’t wet.

Bless you, Martok, he thought. I take back everything I’d thought about Klingon justice.

Just then, the doorbell chimed again.

Davir looked quizzically at K’Lira, who shrugged.

“Come in,” Davir called, turning the viewer off.

Two Yan-Isleth guards stepped into the hospital room, followed by Chancellor Martok.

“Matron,” he greeted happily, “I am glad you are recovering. May I sit?”

“Of course, Chancellor,” she said, indicating another chair next to the table.

Martok took it, grunting as he settled, then he looked her up and down, noting her emotional state.

K’Lira guessed what this was about. “You said you needed to speak with me after your speech,” she said.

“Yes,” Martok agreed. “I came back to Qo’noS as soon as I had pre-recorded it. What did you think?”

“A fine speech, sir,” Davir offered.

Martok kept his questioning gaze upon K’Lira.

“I agree with my husband, Chancellor,” she replied evenly.

“What did you think of my decision about your case?” he asked pointedly.

He is getting at something, she thought shrewdly. Reviewing his commentary in her eidetic mind, she realized it was possibly as much what Martok hadn’t said as what he had said that mattered. What did I miss?

Martok had restored her honor, which was the basis for K’Lira’s reputation as a Klingon. With that, she could move freely through the Empire without the threat of reproach. She could buy and sell goods and services, fight alongside other Klingons, hire good help for her parents, build a fleet of ships and recruit warriors to crew them, grow her Hou….

She froze. Why did Martok not say anything about House Trestian in his speech? she wondered.

K’Lira gave him an icy stare, dreading the answer.

Martok squirmed as her expression changed. She is entirely too perceptive for my own good, he thought ruefully.

“Of course, I am grateful that you have restored my personal honor and assets, Chancellor,” K’Lira answered coldly, “but I noticed that you did not restore House Trestian.”

Martok sighed heavily. “No one can re-establish your House, Matron.”

K’Lira looked confused. “Gowron once gave House Mogh back its honor. If he could dissolve my House, albeit misguidedly, you, as chancellor, should be able to restore it.”

Martok leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “It is not that simple,” he explained. “Chancellors have the power to enact laws and the responsibility to lead by example in applying them honorably, true, but there is no law empowering a chancellor or an emperor to establish a Klingon House other than his own. Mogh’s House was merely dishonored, so Gowron could legally restore its honor since the House itself was never disbanded. However, your House was dissolved for Gowron was certain of his intent. The only way to restore it now is to start it anew. I cannot do that—only your family can since a Klingon House is fundamentally a family clan.”

Martok leaned back, begging her to understand with his eyes.

K’Lira didn’t doubt him, but she was disgusted and disappointed at this development. She’d fought hard to regain her honor, but the eventual failure to restore House Trestian was like poisoned bloodwine. It had taken years for Trestian to become an honored House in the Empire. She might’ve sat on the High Council at some point, though she had no such aspiration. Now, it would certainly take decades to regain her social stature. Wounded again, she didn’t know if she had the strength to try, so she just stared silently back.

Martok slowly spoke, “There is another solution you could choose.”

K’Lira raised an eyebrow quizzically but didn’t speak.

“Your family could join my House instead,” he offered simply.

K’Lira hadn’t expected that, and she glanced up at her husband, who was as startled as she was. “What?”

“I would be hon…,” Martok started.

“I heard you,” K’Lira snapped, then she immediately regretted her harshness.

“I am sorry, Chancellor,” she apologized. “Forgive my rudeness. I have been under a lot of stress, and your invitation surprised me.”

Martok nodded understandingly.

K’Lira took a deep breath. “Your kindness is appreciated, Chan… Martok. A place in your House is a worthwhile alternative to re-establishing House Trestian. I… will consider it.”

She looked up at her husband again, but Davir was wearing his poker face. That is his way of saying it must be my decision, she realized. K’Lira knew he’d support her regardless.

Martok smiled in his fashion and nodded patiently. “Do that, Matron,” he replied, “and get well soon.”

He got up to leave and tried again. “It is no secret I think you have been Dahar Master material since the Dominion War,” he coaxed. “Gowron thought so, too. You would surely be so in my House. Call me when you have made up your mind.”

K’Lira wanly smiled her assent.

“Let us go,” Martok said to the guards, and they left.

Davir didn’t speak for a few moments because he was deep in his own thoughts.

So was K’Lira.

“Well, that was… unexpected,” he understated. “What do you think?”

K’Lira gave him a pensive glance. “It did not occur to me that dissolving a House was irreversible,” she replied slowly. “I just assumed he would restore House Trestian, too, because Gowron took it from me.”

“Do you think you should restore it yourself or accept Martok’s offer?” he asked. “Which is easier?”

She glanced at him, slightly annoyed. “That, husband, is the wrong question. The correct one is which is right, not easiest.”

Davir shrugged indifferently. “So, which is it?”

K’Lira sighed. He does not understand, she realized, but I need him to now.

“You know I was born into the dishonored House of Brom,” she replied softly, “but I left it because the name of my future House, Trestian, was revealed to me in a vision when I was a young girl. I took that to mean I was destined to establish it, so I did. For decades, I had upheld its honor with my own… until now.”

Davir listened intently. K’Lira rarely spoke of her deep past. He’d heard the story of her vision quest piecemeal, but he wasn’t sure why she was bringing it up now.

“And now?” he asked encouragingly.

K’Lira frowned slightly and continued, “Now I am not sure that was the right assumption. Was I wrong?”

Davir looked concerned. “About founding House Trestian?” he asked. “How not?”

K’Lira looked at him, wondering how to say what she had never told another soul. “Trestian… is not a Klingon name,” she finally confessed. “It is not in my family’s ancestry nor in the ancestry of any other House, to my knowledge.”

“A break with tradition?” Davir asked. “Unusual, I’ll admit, but it’s probably happened before. What are you worried about?”

K’Lira sighed again. “Dav, when I founded my House, I lied in telling the High Council that the name was given to one of my ancestors. I had to falsify my genealogical records to cover that lie, and it has never been discovered.”

“The name obviously meant something to you,” Davir replied. “It makes sense to me that you would use it even if it isn’t already in your family tree.”

“‘Trestian must rise’,” K’Lira quoted. “I thought it meant to make a House of that name, but I now think I may have been mistaken. It was not the name of my House—it was the name of the person in my vision. ‘Trestian must rise’—that is what he prophesied.”

“Prophesied?” Davir asked, frowning dubiously. “Someone named Trestian told you his name in a vision, and you thought he meant for you to found House Trestian?”

“Stop mocking me,” she growled.

“I’m not!” he insisted.

“It sounds foolish when you say it like that,” she complained.

“I don’t think you’re foolish,” he retorted. “Confused, maybe…”

Her pulse monitor started to uptick alarmingly.

“Breathe, bangwIj,” Davir cautioned.

“Look,” he continued as she calmed down, “even if House Trestian was founded on a misunderstanding, that doesn’t void its value to you or the rest of the Klingons in it.”

“Yes, it does,” she answered fearfully. “My misunderstanding led to the dishonor of lying and falsification to establish a House others put their faith in.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” he asked, trying to be objective. “What if he did mean for you to found a House in his name? Even if it’s gone now, you still did what you thought he meant in good faith.”

“And the lie I told to do that?” she countered.

“Affects you, yes,” he agreed, “but the other members have always had their own honor.” He hugged her. “If yours still needs it, I forgive you.”

She hugged him back.

“There’s one thing more,” she mused.

Davir drew back. Now what? he thought, exasperated.

“The person I saw,” she continued, referring to the vision, “I never got a clear look at him—there was too much light. He seemed young, soft-spoken… and he was the first to call me ‘Matron’ although I was a teenager.”

Davir stopped. “’Honored woman’?” he asked.

“Possibly,” she clarified. “Others commonly call me that, too, because I have children, but when he said it, it had weight, like it… meant something special.”

Davir didn’t know what to make of that, so he said nothing.

K’Lira’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “It may not matter if I decide to join Martok’s House instead,” she said softly. “I founded House Trestian in good faith, as you say, albeit by dishonorable means, but that is past. If Trestian is to rise, it will not be by my stained honor… but by another’s,” she finished hopefully.

FOOTNOTES

qa’meH quv 🔉

Klingonese: “One who exchanges honor for dishonor.” It’s a euphemism Klingons use to describe changelings.

bangwIj 🔉

Klingonese: "My love."

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Enjoy the illustrations in book 2 of the Benmata Chronicles: "chegh jubwI' (The Immortal One's Return)."

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