Diplomatic Implausibility (14 page)

nga’chuq Leskit QongDaqDaq

je’ Leskit

Kurak Leskit nItebHa’

Leskit malrachaI ngech

tagh nga’chuq

yIQ

nga’chuq

’arlogh

Do’Ha’ Leskit

lo’laHbe’ghach Leskit

Kurak couldn’t help herself.

She laughed.

She laughed long and hard.

It was probably the worst piece of poetry ever written in all of Klingon history.

“Now that was what I was hoping for.”

Kurak whirled to see Leskit standing in the hallway.

“Did you write this drivel?” she asked, trying to get
her laughter under control and only partly succeeding.

“No,” Leskit said with a smile. “My son wrote it.”

“Your son? And his mother . . . ?”

“Does not speak to me if she can possibly avoid it. But my son does, as often as he can. He’s two, and there’s a three-year-old he wants desperately to impress. Sadly, being two, he can’t even wrestle a
glob
fly, much less a proper animal, so he has to settle for poetry.”

Kurak held up the padd. “If this is what he’s settling for, he’s in deep trouble. This isn’t even literate.”

“I know. I can only hope that he’ll learn to spell—or learn to hunt, so he won’t have to spell.”

“Speaking of hunting, I wasn’t aware that there were wild
lingta
on the
Gorkon.”

Leskit laughed. “I’m afraid you have your assistant to blame for that one. But I
did
order him to replicate the beast. It was the only way to get him to do it, as he expected you to react badly.” He considered. “You could still say I defeated a foe in order to lay this offering at your feet.”

“This was an insane gesture, Lieutenant.”

“It’s an insane universe, Commander. Besides, it did what it was supposed to do.”

“Make a horrible stench in my quarters?”

Again, Leskit laughed. “No, keep you in your doorway while you read the poem, so the door would stay open and I could savor your laughter. You have a beautiful laugh, Kurak. You should employ it more often.”

“I seem to recall, Lieutenant, telling you that you would cease your attempts to befriend or seduce me.”

Leskit grinned. “You did say something like that. As predictions go, I thought it fairly poor.”

Kurak took Leskit in. He was definitely attractive. He
smelled of sweat and grime. The presence of neckbones that Leskit had himself removed from Cardassian corpses sent a thrill through her. She even imagined that he had slain the
lingta
himself.

She looked into his eyes. “I don’t know whether to kill you now or make you dispose of the
lingta
first.”

“Dispose? And waste a perfectly good piece of meat? With your assistant’s facility for replicating food, it would make a glorious meal.”

“It would if
lingta
didn’t make me ill,” Kurak said.

“Ah.” Leskit unholstered his hand disruptor, aimed, and fired. The
lingta
disintegrated in a red glow. “Problem solved, then. I believe this is the part where you kill me.”

Kurak walked inside her quarters. “Perhaps later.” She turned around. Leskit still stood in the doorway. “Don’t just stand there, Lieutenant, come in. A man who disposes of a
lingta
on the threshold deserves at least a drink.”

Leskit grinned, holstered his disruptor, and entered. The door behind him ground shut.

What are you doing, Kurak?
she asked herself.
You
swore you wouldn’t get involved with anyone. Serve until
your nephews get old enough then get as far away from
the Defense Force as possible. Form no attachments,
make no impression, simply serve and get out.

But then she thought about how long it had been since she had laughed.

She asked the replicator for a pitcher of
chech’tluth
and two mugs.

Klag killed the last Jem’Hadar soldier with his
mek’leth
and screamed to the heavens.

Or, in this case, to the ceiling of the
Gorkon’s
holodeck.

Defense Force vessels had only recently been equipped with holodecks. But where Starfleet used them for a multitude of recreational and professional purposes, and the Ferengi used them for that race’s two favorite pastimes, profit and sex, the Defense Force employed them solely for military training.

Of course, technically, Klag wasn’t reliving the Battle of Marcan V as a military exercise. He was reliving it because he enjoyed it, and because he was in a bad mood and needed cheering up.

He was the captain. He could do that.

Right now, he really needed to kill something.

And what better way than by reliving his greatest battle?

“Computer,” he said, “restart program.”

He stood once again on the arid plains of Marcan V, near the wreckage of the
Pagh.
He did not need a scanner to know precisely where he would find the crashed Jem’Hadar ship.

Klag was not happy. He was a hero of the empire. He had been fortunate enough to receive a top-of-the-line ship for his first command—a rarity for a newly promoted captain—due in part to his heroism, in part to the shortage of captains, postwar. Soon, he would be inducted into the Order of the
Bat’leth.

But he was making a
targ’s
ear of his first mission.

A Jem’Hadar materialized six feet to Klag’s left, charging toward him. With a slash of his
mek’leth,
Klag cut the creature’s supply of the addictive ketracel-white drug and slit its throat.

It had all seemed so reasonable. After all,
jeghpu’wI’
were attacking on taD. Governor Tiral had no support. It was an intolerable situation, but the governor seemed
powerless to do anything about it. Klag had thought he could.

Two Jem’Hadar charged at him. Klag took one down, but the other knocked him to the ground, driving the
mek’leth
from Klag’s hand.

However, Klag was starting to wonder how much of taD’s difficulties were truly due to High Council recalcitrance, and how much was the fat governor’s own damn fault. The captain began to believe that Worf’s accusation of gubernatorial incompetence was completely accurate.

Klag unholstered his hand disruptor and fired on the Jem’Hadar. It disintegrated in a red glow.

Then there was Worf. For Klag to have his command undermined by that—that—

What is he, really?
Klag asked himself.
He claims that
he got his position legitimately, not as a member of the
chancellor’s House. Riker claimed the same. But Riker is
human, and Worf was raised by humans. Can they truly
be trusted?

He picked up his
mek’leth
and killed the remaining Jem’Hadar, then killed their Vorta.

It left him unsatisfied. He’d done this too many times. He knew what to expect.

It was too easy.

“Computer, end program.”

The holodeck returned to its normal grid. It occurred to Klag that he hadn’t programmed the right smells. The thing he remembered most about his fight against the Jem’Hadar was the oddly appealing smell of their blood mixed with the white. The holodeck hadn’t re-created that to Klag’s satisfaction.

“Computer, call up image of M’Raq, son of K’Ton, from his last Defense Force service record.”

An image of Klag’s father appeared before the captain. It was M’Raq as Klag preferred to remember him: tall, broad-shouldered, thick beard, a proud warrior, a commander, first officer on the
K’mqar.

As opposed to the image of M’Raq that Klag would always remember, whether he wanted to or not: stooped-over, patchy white beard, dying, old, weak. Broken.

Fifteen years ago, the
K’mqar
had gone into battle against the Romulans. M’Raq was captured, and not allowed to die. The Romulans had tortured him, but he did not succumb. Eventually, he escaped and returned home. Since he had not actually given up any intelligence, he was given the opportunity to reclaim his honor by rejoining the Defense Force.

Instead, he had chosen to return to Qo’noS and live out his days like an invalid old woman. The very idea made Klag ill.

For over a decade M’Raq had lingered, his body slowly deteriorating, but the old man had refused to take the final step.

And for over a decade, M’Raq would not say why he chose this. Not that Klag ever really cared much. He had neither visited nor spoken to his father since he was first posted to the
Pagh.

But he knew that his father was supposed to be a great warrior.

Kargan was supposed to be a good captain.

Tiral was supposed to be a competent governor.

Worf was supposed to be qualified to do his job.

“Toq to Klag.”

“Klag.”

“Sir, Commander Drex is reporting from Governor
Tiral’s satellite.”

“Put him through.”

“Captain,”
Drex’s voice said,
“request permission to
return to the
Gorkon.
I think I may have found a way to
locate the rebels, but I’ll need the ship’s sensors to do
it.”

“Granted. Meet me and the ambassador in my office,” Klag said.

“Yes, sir. Out.”

“Klag to Worf.”

“Go ahead,”
came Worf’s deep voice a moment later.

“Report to my office, immediately.”

“Acknowledged.”

Klag was surprised. He had expected the ambassador to at least ask why.

But no, Worf expects that the ship’s captain has a rea
son for such a summons, and that he will explain it soon
enough.

That annoying voice in the back of Klag’s head chose that moment to speak up again:
So why don’t you give
Worf the same courtesy?

“Computer, remove image and exit.”

The image of Commander M’Raq, great soldier of the empire, disappeared.

The image of M’Raq, the old man on his deathbed, remained in Klag’s mind.

Worf was already waiting for him as he entered his office. “Drex,” Klag said, “has a report regarding the rebels.”

“Good.”

Drex entered a moment later. “Report,” Klag and Worf both said simultaneously. Klag glowered at Worf. Worf didn’t even return the captain’s gaze.

Handing Worf a padd, Drex said, “I have examined the
visual and sensor records made during the attack. I noticed a similarity to something that happened during the war—specifically, on Dralnok.”

“That is a Cardassian planet,” Worf said.

Drex nodded. “We took the planet, but one Cardassian garrison eluded our patrols for days. The planet had underground tunnels that we were unaware of, and its crust was lined with a previously unknown element that our scanners couldn’t penetrate. The pattern of the rebel movements is very close to what the Cardassians did on Dralnok. And taD is similar to Dralnok geologically.”

“You suspect that this element is in taD’s crust as well?” Worf asked, looking up from the padd.

“Possibly. The element was simply given a number. But this planet has prewar sensor equipment.”

Klag nodded. “The
Gorkon
should be able to detect this new element?”

“Yes, sir. Any sensor array built after Dralnok was taken, as the
Gorkon’s
was, would be able to.”

“Do it,” Klag said, getting up. He, Worf, and Drex adjourned to the bridge.

“Lieutenant Toq,” Drex said as they entered, “adjust the sensors to penetrate Element 604.”

Toq blinked. “Ah, yes, sir.”

“Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir. I was simply under the impression that there were only six hundred and three elements.”

“This one is new,” Drex said slowly.

“Yes, sir,” Toq said, operating his console.

The bridge guard let out a bark of laughter, as did several others. Klag had to admit to being mildly amused himself. Toq had proven to be an excellent second officer, but he was still quite young.

“Adjustments made, Commander,” Toq said. “Preliminary surface scan indicates that the element is present throughout the planet’s crust.”

“As I suspected,” Drex said. “Scan the area around the topaline refinery that was recently attacked.”

“Yes, sir.” After several seconds: “Sir, there is a network of tunnels under the refinery that do not match either our previous scans or the geological records of the planet.”

“Good,” Klag said.

“Do an extensive scan of the entire planet, Lieutenant,” Drex said. “I expect a complete report within half an hour.”

“Yes, sir!” Toq said eagerly.