Diplomatic Implausibility (21 page)

“So the truth of what is happening must be kept secret?”

Worf nodded.

Klag rubbed his chin. “I can’t believe the al’Hmatti will accede to this. It will give the perception that they are still
jeghpu’wI’.”

“I doubt that they will care,” Worf said. “They are only interested in their own freedom. When they appealed to outsiders for help, they saw no real distinction between asking for help from the Federation or from the Kreel.”

At the very mention of the Kreel, Klag spit. “I don’t know if that proves they’re uncaring, but it certainly proves that they are ignorant.”

“It is simply a matter of perspective, Captain. They applied to the Federation for help when they were enemies of the empire after the invasion of Cardassia. When no help was forthcoming, they simply went to another of the empire’s enemies.”

Klag shrugged. “I suppose. To be honest, Ambassador, this would not be my first choice for a plan. However, my first choice would probably be to obliterate the planet altogether. Then again, based on the report B’Oraq filed regarding the injuries you and
Bekk
Krevor suffered, the
al’Hmatti are not unworthy warriors, and deserve a better death than that.” Smiling, he added, “Besides, I can’t imagine the Federation supporting such an action.”

“No.”

“So, since my plan is untenable, I think yours is a fine one.”

“Thank you.”

“This, of course, leaves the question as to who to appoint as emperor. I take it you don’t find Tiral to be a worthy candidate?”

“Hardly,” Worf said with distaste.

“I agree.” Klag had another suggestion, but he wasn’t sure it would go over well with Worf. “Perhaps we could request a volunteer from the crew.”

Suddenly, a nasal voice said, “Uh, sir?”

Klag turned sharply. He had momentarily forgotten Vall’s presence. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“With all due respect, sir, I’d like to volunteer.”

“You?”

Vall nodded.

“Why you?”

Vall shifted from foot to foot. “I do not believe there is room for me to advance here, sir. I have made many suggestions for improving the prowess of this great ship, but the only ones Commander Kurak has allowed me to implement were in the heat of battle.”

Klag frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I—I was the one who conquered the energy distribution nodes to provide us with extra shield power during both battles against the foul Kreel.” Vall hesitated, then spit for effect. Klag tried not to roll his eyes. “You see, I was able to shunt power from the holodeck using a device that I—”

“Yes, yes.” Klag feared that Vall would go on at obscene length regarding his accomplishments. It was like a sickness with these engineering types. Get them started on something technical, and they babbled like humans. “And you say Commander Kurak has been unwilling to allow any upgrades?”

“I do not wish to speak ill of my commanding officer,” Vall said quickly and nervously. “If that is how she wishes to command, that is her prerogative. This is a
very
impressive ship, put together by some of the finest engineers in the empire, and I can see why she would trust the finest engineers in the empire before she would trust me.”

How did this
Grishnar
cat live this long in the Defense
Force?
Klag wondered. “So you wish to volunteer for this duty, because you feel it’s the best way for you to advance your career?”

“Perhaps not directly, sir, but— Honestly, sir, I am not much of a fighter.”

“That much is obvious,” Worf muttered, and Klag had to concur.

“I had hoped that my accomplishments as an engineer might make up for that—that my prowess in defeating the problems faced by engineers on a starship would overcome my deficiencies fighting foes on a battlefield. However—realistically, sir, I am not sure that that can last. Volunteering for this assignment gives me the chance to do something
for
the empire. I assume I will not
truly
be emperor, yes, Ambassador?”

“The position would be largely ceremonial,” Worf said with a nod. “Its primary function would be to create the illusion of power. You would act as the head of state to the galaxy at large, and write regular reports, but your power would be—negligible.”

“That is fine!” Vall said, gesturing in an inane manner. “I do not seek power! I only seek the glory that I can get through my work! And if I am a ceremonial emperor, I will have plenty of time to conquer some conundra that I have confronted of late. For one thing, there were some difficulties with the converter I used to dump holodeck power into the engines. This would give me the time to give that foe the attention it deserves.”

Klag shook his head. On the one hand, it was an ideal solution to the problem of Vall—
after all,
he thought,
just
look at him. It’s an embarrassment to have him on my
ship. It’s better for everyone if he’s exiled to some back
water ice-world.

On the other hand, it seemed he was more or less directly responsible for keeping the
Gorkon
intact long enough for Klag to triumph over the Kreel. He wasn’t sure he wanted to lose so valued an officer.

“Kurak to Vall.”

The voice startled Vall. He let out a yelp and dropped the tool he was holding.

Then again,
Klag thought,
perhaps we’re well to be rid
of him.

“V-V-V-V-Vall.”

“Haven’t you finished the damned repairs yet?”

“Uh, yes, Commander, I—I have, but—”

Klag was curious as to how Vall was going to explain his way out of this, but Worf came to his rescue.

“Commander, this is Ambassador Worf. Lieutenant Vall is presently in conference with myself and Captain Klag. We will return him to duty as soon as we are finished.”

There was a pause.
“Very well. Out.”

Worf turned to Vall. “This plan has the approval of Chancellor Martok and, naturally, of the Federation.”

“Why naturally?” Klag asked. “You haven’t sent any communiqués to the Federation since you returned from the surface.”

Turning back to Klag, Worf said, “Captain, I
am
the Federation as far as this mission is concerned. I do not need to beg for approval. My decision in this matter is final. That is my
job.”

Klag said nothing.

Worf looked back at Vall. “In any case, it still needs to be brought before Governor Tiral and the al’Hmatti. With your permission, Captain,” Worf said with a glance back at Klag, “I would like to have that meeting on the
Gorkon.”

“Fine.”

Worf peered down at Vall—the ambassador was a head taller than the lieutenant—and fixed him with a penetrating gaze. “Are you sure, Lieutenant, that this is what you wish?”

“Yes, sir! I am!”

“Very well. We shall meet in the wardroom in two hours.”

Worf then left, his aide trailing silently behind.

Vall twisted his hands around nervously. “I, ah, I suppose I should be getting back to engineering, sir.”

“That would be a good idea. But, Lieutenant?” Klag added as Vall turned to leave.

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t tell Commander Kurak—or anyone else—of what was discussed in this room until I give the order, is that understood?”

Nodding so hard Klag feared his head might fall off, Vall said, “Yes,
sir!
You can count on me, sir.”

Then he left.

Shaking his head, Klag got up to head for the bridge.

“
Toq to Klag
.”

“Klag.”

“Captain, you have received a personal message from
the Homeworld. It is tagged as urgent.”

Frowning, Klag sat back down at his desk. “Route it to me here, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

Klag played the message.

When it was over, he played it again.

M’Raq, son of K’Ton, former commander in the Klingon Defense Force and father to Captain Klag, had died in his sleep.

Just,
Klag thought with revulsion,
like that
jeghpu’wI’
emperor.

It was finally over.

Thirty years of noble service to the empire, followed by over a decade of disgrace.

M’Raq—and the rest of the family—had long since given up imploring Klag to visit the old man on Qo’noS. Klag had found his father’s behavior incomprehensible, and would not see him. He wouldn’t even set foot in the family’s home in the First City for as long as his father remained alive, because, to Klag’s mind, he had brought dishonor upon them.

The High Council hadn’t seen it that way. Those thirty years of noble service outweighed the years that followed, and M’Raq had never been officially censured.

Not that it mattered to Klag. Years ago on the
Pagh,
he had said to Riker, when the human was aghast at Klag’s insistence on not visiting his own father, “A Klingon is his work, not his family. That is the way of things.” He was a soldier of the empire. M’Raq may have forgotten what that meant, but the son of M’Raq swore he never
would. Even as his father disgraced the family, Klag would keep the family’s honor. That was why he had stuck it out for ten years under Kargan’s boot, because he knew that someday he would triumph.

And he had. He was a hero. He would be inducted into the Order of the
Bat’leth.
He had a fine ship under his command.

The only thing he didn’t have was a right arm.

Suddenly, Klag reared his head back and laughed.

He continued laughing for several minutes.

“Klag to B’Oraq,” he said when he had recovered enough breath to speak.

“B’Oraq.”

“Doctor, those biological requirements for transplanting a new arm—would a member of my family qualify?”

“Almost definitely. Why?”

Klag firmly believed that M’Raq’s spirit was headed straight for the Barge of the Dead in
Gre’thor.
He knew it in his warrior’s heart.

Unless Klag did something about it.
Perhaps, Father, I
can regain for you what you could not be bothered to
regain for yourself.

“I believe I have found a donor on Qo’noS.”

“This is
outrageous!”
Governor Tiral screamed. “I will not allow you to do this to me!”

Worf tried hard not to sigh, and did not entirely succeed. He had hoped Tiral’s reaction would be a bit less emotional. He hadn’t expected it, but he had hoped. To be fair, Tiral had been silent—fuming, but silent—while Worf outlined his proposal. In fact, Tiral spent most of the meeting glowering at re’Trenat and em’Rlakun, whom Worf had invited.

Also present were Worf, Wu, Klag, Drex, Vall—nervously fidgeting in his chair, of course—and Tiral, all seated around the table. Standing at one end of the room were the two al’Hmatti, who could not fit in the wardroom chairs. At the opposite end of the room, against the wall, were Tiral’s guards, Klag’s guard, and Krevor. Krevor had cut her hair short so that it was again all of an equal length.

The governor continued to rant. “I will not stand for this!” Contradicting this statement, he rose from his seat and glowered at Worf, his gray eyes smoldering. “I will not allow you to take this planet away from me. And you!” he added, turning his gaze upon Klag. “Is
this
how you fulfill your promise to me?”

Klag, for his part, looked completely unperturbed. “I told you once, Governor, and I will repeat, that I did precisely what I promised—a good word with the High Council.”

Pointing a pudgy finger at the captain, Tiral cried, “Make whatever feeble excuses you wish, Captain, but I can assure you that you will regret what you have done!”

“Commander Drex,” Klag said.

“Sir!”

“Make an appointment for me for three weeks hence.”

Drex tapped some commands into the console in front of him. “And the nature of the appointment, sir?”

“Set aside five minutes for me to be worried about the governor’s threat.”

Tiral snarled, unsheathed a
tik’leth
—similar to an Earth longsword—from a scabbard under his vest, and ran toward Klag.

Krevor and Klag’s own guard moved to block him. Undaunted, Tiral swung his
tik’leth.
Krevor blocked the
strike with her arm and then punched the governor in the stomach—the most obvious target. Klag’s guard grabbed Tiral’s arm and slammed it into his knee, loosening Tiral’s grip on the
tik’leth.
With a quick motion, the guard relieved Tiral of the sword, while Krevor pushed him away. Worf noticed abrasions on Tiral’s armor where Krevor had punched him, but the blades in her gauntlets had not penetrated the leather.

Tiral’s two guards stepped forward, their disruptors raised. Krevor and Klag’s guard responded in kind. They stood facing each other, each ready to kill the others. Blood stained Krevor’s sleeve where the
tik’leth
had struck.

“Enough!”
Klag cried, standing up. “Stand fast, all of you!”