The conversation in the Great Hall faded to a murmur, to a whisper, to an absolute silence in which the Chancellor's heavy footsteps was the only sound.
J'mpok mounted the steps and turned to face the assembly. "The matter is resolved," he declared. "Let us have the official wording out of the way, first. A joint task force of KDF and Starfleet vessels has engaged and destroyed the renegade Captain Klur in the Alpha Trianguli sector. The renegade's vessel was completely obliterated in the action."
There was still silence from the Councillors. J'mpok continued. "Physical evidence has been retrieved, and will be presented in due course, implicating certain persons in the... unauthorised action... at the Federation world of Bercera IV. One of those implicated is Councillor T'Jeg, who is - regrettably - unable to attend and answer these allegations." His voice dropped. "The evidence gathered by my agent, though, is enough to satisfy me. We can play this farce to the end, of course, with formal trials by the Council, examinations of records, speeches for the prosecution and the defence... but I grow tired of this business." His voice rose again. "Councillor Darg. Explain yourself."
"I -" Darg drew himself up. "I do not know what you mean, Chancellor."
J'mpok's lips pulled back from his teeth. He spoke with heavy emphasis. "Do not prevaricate with me, Councillor."
"I... reserve my rights. My rights to fair examination and fair judgment by the full Council. I admit nothing," said Darg. "But I will say, now, as I have always said. This war with the Federation is being mismanaged. It is being made an affair for dilettantes, almost a game, a patchwork, occasional, honourable, sportsmanlike war. And it should be no game! We should prosecute the war with every weapon, every stratagem, so that our enemies fear us! Total war will cow the Federation like the weaklings they are! It will bring us total victory! And if - someone - has chosen to force the Chancellor's hand, has pushed us down that path towards total victory - then so much the better!"
"Do not ever presume," J'mpok said, "that you can force my hand. Still, your position has at least one merit - that of consistency. You do not speak one thing and do another - unlike some in this Council. Is that not so, Councillor K'Tag?"
"Oh," K'Tag said, mildly, "I fear you do me an injustice, Chancellor. I have always spoken, to this Council, exactly what was in my heart and my mind. I concede, in private dealings with Councillor Darg, I may have dissembled, somewhat...."
"What?" Darg exclaimed.
"Dissembled," said J'mpok. His eyes flashed. "How much dissembling has there been, K'Tag?"
"Oh, no," said K'Tag, "no, neither Darg nor myself is of the qameh' Quv - at least as far as I know. No, this is entirely a Klingon affair... oh, be quiet, Darg. A player in a hopeless position should resign the game, that is only good manners. Was it the freighter? The freighter became a loose end.... Never mind."
"I will take your head for this slander!" Darg screeched.
"If you wish my head, esteemed colleague, you need only look atop my shoulders to find it," said K'Tag. "Yes, I conspired with Darg in this matter, and together, by various means, we convinced T'Jeg and the ambitious Captain Klur to become a part of it. Darg has explained his motives, and I think you can understand mine. I have spoken nothing more than the truth to this Council."
His tone grew bleak, his face seemed to age with each word he spoke. "Darg is a fool, and it pleased me to use him. He believes this suggestion that the Federation will retreat in the face of overwhelming force. Absurd. Did they retreat at Aznetkur, to name but one example?" He looked directly at J'mpok. "But you, Chancellor, are not a fool. You are a proud man, but not a fool.... Faced with the consequences of Darg's style of unrestricted warfare, you would have drawn the natural conclusions, and ended this foolish, wasteful conflict. In simple terms; if we crammed enough deaths down your throat, you would have wisdom enough to choke on them."
He sighed. "It should have worked better than it did. I can only conclude that some in the Federation realised they were being baited, and therefore refused to take the bait. Even with my little additional provocations in Yll-Torica... If Klur had managed to survive, to carry out a second atrocity, then they might have lost their heads. But it was not to be...." He shook his head, and the glance he shot at the Chancellor was a sharp one. "Understand this, I regret very little. Not the deaths at Bercera, not the loss of Klur and T'Jeg. My one regret is that it failed. Because I fear, Chancellor, that your sportsmanlike war, of which Darg speaks so slightingly, will in the end consume many more lives, many more worlds, than the short, sharp dose of Armageddon which I tried to achieve."
Darg had subsided into an angry muttering. No one else spoke.
J'mpok turned, and went to the wall of the Great Hall. He took down a bat'leth from its ceremonial mountings, then another, then a third. He strode to the steps, laid one weapon down on them, then advanced on the Council, one bat'leth in each hand.
He stopped. He raised the weapons over his head, then drove them suddenly down. The points bit into the ancient stonework of the floor with a sudden shrieking, grating sound. When he released them, the two weapons stuck there, quivering, in the floor.
"Conspiracies," said J'mpok. "Conspiracies and counter-conspiracies... let us have no more of such machinations. You disagree with each other, you two?" He pointed to the two bat'leths. "There are your weapons. Take them, and settle your differences like Klingons!"
Darg gaped at him. K'Tag smiled. "And, to the victor?" he asked.
"One of you sought discreditable war. The other, an equally discreditable peace." J'mpok turned. "Someone must uphold Klingon honour." He picked up the third bat'leth. "The victor faces me."
Shevet: I admit that the chapter before this one did sound rather final at its end. But I'm glad to see that there is still meat left on the bones (as a Klingon might say). Curious to see who will face off against J'mpok. Please tell me that you'll write a sequel to this story, even if it doesn't pick up where this one will leave off, and even if I have to be patient (that won't be easy) and wait weeks or months until you have enough free time to write more STO fan fiction. You write about these characters as if you've actually met them in-person. That's what makes them seem so three-dimensional, not flat cardboard. Qa'pla!
P.S.: Got about 8 or 10 pp into the newest draft of Chapter 21 of my story and it already seems to be losing track of where it's going. The post-October-24 stuff will likely be chopped out and thrown away. I guess I need to back off and do some more thinking with pen and paper (which seems to help me more than drafting on-screen does). I know where the characters/ship have to go in 2152 (to the First (in-person) Contact of the Federation with the Romulans), but what happens between now and their destination is what's still up in the air. Makes me wish I could plot as well as you can, where you're able to keep track of major plot points without losing the exciting immediacy of the story's ongoing flow. (sigh) Of course, eventually I'll have to go back and rewrite the whole story, tightening it up, fixing problems, etc. What's on this website as "Chapter 1" is only the first draft. Hopefully the next draft of it will be quite a bit better.
So that's how a Klingon prepares a dish tasting of Armageddon. Very nice.
Unfortunately, a power higher than any of us won't let the war really, completely end. (Or the year catch up with the story that advances in fits and starts, and any number of other things that would make far too much sense.)
The journey is almost over. As we drop out of warp, my sensors register, distantly, the approach of the KDF task force, coming to the border of the inarguably Klingon side of the Neutral Zone. They will meet with me here, take the freighter in tow, take it back home for the necessary forensic examination... necessary for form's sake, though all the important matters have already been very finally settled.
In my mind's eye, I watch the transmission from the Great Hall again. I smile, slyly, to myself. The Federation President will see that, too - and it may help, at the summit conference, if Aennik Okeg bears in mind just how forcefully the Chancellor can... express his views.
"Open a channel to the Starfleet vessels," I order.
The faces of Tylha Shohl and Ronnie Grau appear on my viewscreens. I smile. "Well," I say, "it seems our mission is now completed. I must say, for me it has been an enlightening experience, in many ways."
"Enlightening," says Shohl. "Yes. Quite." Her face is grim.
"And, in the end," I continue, "I believe we have achieved a satisfactory outcome, together."
"Oh, yes," says Shohl. She continues to glower.
"You do not agree?"
"No," she says, "no, I can't disagree...." Then her visible anger bursts out of her like the breaking of a dam. "Very satisfactory - from the Klingon point of view. It's got everything the Klingons would like, hasn't it, this story of ours? Bloodshed and gunfire, conspiracies, betrayal, severed heads rolling along the floor of the Great Hall - pride and madness, glorious battles and honourable defeats. Everything a good Klingon opera needs."
Her voice is shaking with rage. "Well, just remember something. When you stage this Klingon opera, just bear in mind you need a big chorus for it. A big, big backing chorus. Like, six hundred and fifty million, one for each of the innocents who died at Bercera IV. Personally, I don't think you've got a concert hall big enough." Her blue eyes are pure Andorian ice.
Obviously, she is right. Equally obviously, I cannot concede that.
I examine my fingernails. "I believe you two know your way back to Federation space."
Shohl glares at me. Ronnie Grau speaks for the first time. "Come on, Tylha," she says, in a voice full of weariness. "Let's go home."
Shohl spears me with one final stare, then cuts the connection. On the main screen, the Virtue and the King Estmere turn around, facing back the way we came. Their engines flare to sudden life, and then they are streaks of light, dwindling to a point in the immeasurable distance... and, they are gone.
"Your orders, sir?" K'Gan asks, carefully.
Orders. Ah, yes, orders.... One must always assert oneself before the Klingons; never show doubt, or fear, or confusion... never show anything they may see as weakness. There are times when I am so very, very tired of being Klingon.
But I cannot show that. "We return to Qo'noS and await new instructions," I say. "That was, after all, T'Jeg's order to us... I would not have it said that I disregarded a High Councillor's instructions."
And K'Gan laughs, and my Klingon mask slips comfortably back into place. It is almost a part of me, now, that mask. Perhaps, some day, it will be my real face. Perhaps.
Shevet: I feel like I've been reading an STO variation of a John le Carre' novel (especially the Smiley/Karla ones). Whether or not there are any more scenes to this story, it has been, as patrickngo said, "superb". The only regret I have is that it wasn't even lengthier than it was. "Short enough to be interesting, long enough to cover the subject" as someone in the 1960s once said about miniskirts.
Count me in as reader for any future STO fan fiction you plan to write (especially with these characters, or at least some of them).
"I still can't believe I let you talk me into this," the Caitian grumbled, as he led the way through the tangle of storerooms and maintenance corridors beneath King Estmere's starboard launch bay.
Kluthli laughed. "Orion wiles." She reached up with her free hand to scratch H'Russ's ear. The Caitian responded with a throaty purr. "No... it wasn't that. I wouldn't do that to a crewmate. But... you understand, don't you?"
"Yes," said H'Russ, "yes, I guess I do. And - well, I guess the Admiral would, too, wouldn't she?"
"Andorians do understand these things," said Kluthli. "And Admiral Shohl has more reason than most to be... tolerant." She smiled. "Still - I wouldn't want to trouble her with the knowledge. This will just be our secret, all right?"
H'Russ nodded. "All right."
"And don't tell me you weren't tempted, too, just by the technical challenge."
"It was a tall order, that's for sure." The Caitian visibly swelled with pride, his whiskers twitching, his ears lifting. "Don't think anyone else could have done it."
"You guys really are the best," Kluthli breathed.
"Better believe it. Here we are." H'Russ indicated a door, a storage room like many others, indistinguishable from the dozens that lined the corridor. Kluthli shifted the weight of the big fabric-covered case in her right hand.
"Thanks, H'Russ. I owe you for this, big time."
"Better believe that, too." The Caitian laughed softly. "I'll leave you in private. Door's keyed to your combadge." And he patted Kluthli's hand, then stalked off down the corridor.
Kluthli took a deep breath. She opened the door, went in, slid it shut behind her.
Tayaira looked up sharply. She was sitting on the floor, huddled in one corner of the small, bare room. She said nothing as Kluthli dropped the fabric case onto the floor.
"Camping gear, basically," Kluthli said. "Bedroll, ration packs, portable sanitary unit. You'll need that. You can't go outside."
Tayaira eyed her warily. "When does it start?" she asked.
"When does what start?"
"The interrogation."
"What interrogation? We already know everything, Tayaira."
Tayaira shook her head. "Then... why? And, for that matter, how?"
"How? We had all your biometric data, courtesy of Shalo... and King Estmere has the best flight deck transporter operators in the fleet. Of course, I'll have to keep H'Russ sweet, to stop him talking...." Kluthli smiled. "That will be no problem. Not even a hardship, actually."
"That leaves the difficult question," Tayaira said. "Why?"
"You're family."
Tayaira shook her head firmly. "That means... less than nothing, these days."
"I'm not so sure," Kluthli said. "Shalo and I... tore into each other, about the new loyalties we'd chosen. Perhaps we shouldn't have.... In any case, it seemed to me that it wasn't your fault you chose badly. You didn't know, did you, what Klur's plans were? Who his backers were?"
"No," said Tayaira. "Naturally not. What would you expect, of a conspiracy among Klingons?"
"Yes," said Kluthli, "among Klingons. Now, I can't promise you that no such conspiracy could ever form among the Federation... but, since I joined Starfleet, I've seen them in action, and they do try. We mock their ideals, but they try to live up to them, and sometimes they succeed. And when they do, they make the galaxy a better place to live in. The Federation way is not the Klingon way... but I think, I honestly think, it's a better one. That I made the best choice, out of the three of us."
"And if the House of Sinoom should rise again?" Tayaira asked.
Kluthli shook her head. "I don't know. Perhaps I could take some of the lessons I've learned from the Federation, put them to use in an Orion setting, but... I don't know. In any case, how might that ever happen?"
"I can't answer that one," Tayaira said. "Maybe, if Shalo rises to higher prominence in the Empire... or if you do the same in Starfleet, even." She smiled wryly. "At least I know I will never ascend to any heights."
"You can do whatever you want," Kluthli said. She reached into her jacket, pulled out a PADD. "Here. Shalo gave me this, I'm giving it to you. The remains of Cysitra's computer records. There should be things there you can... work with."
Tayaira made no move to accept the PADD. Kluthli stooped down and put it on the deck. After a moment, Tayaira picked it up.
"And what is the price?" she asked. "For this... for my life, such as it is. A wanted war criminal...."
"Not wanted. You're dead, Tayaira. Vaporized in combat with the King Estmere - no surer way to get dead. As for a price -" She shook her head. "It's one thing I've... learned... from the Federation. A person's life is too big a thing to put a price on. It can only be a gift, from me to you."
"More Federation idealism," said Tayaira.
"You'd be dead without it, so don't mock it," said Kluthli.
Tayaira nodded, slowly. "So what is the next step?" she asked.
"You need to stay here, for a while. I don't know what the Tholians used this room for, but we don't use it for anything. But if you venture outside, you'll be spotted, and that would be... inconvenient. On our current course, we'll be passing by a trade hub at Lutanis Beta within a day or so. H'Russ and I will sneak you off the ship then. After that -" Kluthli shrugged. "It's up to you." She turned to the door, then looked back. "It's a gift, your new life. Given freely. I don't ask any price... but I suggest you live it well. Dead woman."
She opened the door, passed through, let it slide shut and lock behind her. Tayaira sat staring at the closed panel for a long time.
Shevet: Hard to believe your story has ended. It seems like only yesterday when Klur ordered the tricobalt attack on Bercera. Ah, well. Any good story has a beginning, middle, and end. Otherwise, it's like a never-ending soap opera. If it were one of your stories, though, never-ending would suit me just fine. Thank you for your creativity/imagination and your willingness to share them. Looking forward to your next story.
Well, tomorrow is November 1st, which means it's the first day of NaNoWriMo (should be easy enough to find on Google if you've not heard of it). I've been doing NaNoWriMo every year since 2003, and I'm not quitting this year, so my creative energies for the next month will be heading in that direction.... However, I'll be back.
(If nothing else, this story's convinced me I'll be able to "win" NaNoWriMo again this year.)
Awesome conclusion, Shevet, to an equally awesome story! You have a knack for writing battle scenes, as all of yours were very tense and exciting affairs. The same goes for the whole mystery behind Klur and his backers-- I was reading the whole thing intently from start to finish to find out what his story was. Overall, I liked the interplay between your three captains, and like the way you rounded out the story in the end.
Regrettably, I won't be participating in NaNo this year (can't think of any original story ideas at the moment, sadly). However, I wish you the best of luck, and am confident that whatever you produce will be awesome, given everything you've written in Ten Forward thus far.
Well, tomorrow is November 1st, which means it's the first day of NaNoWriMo (should be easy enough to find on Google if you've not heard of it). I've been doing NaNoWriMo every year since 2003, and I'm not quitting this year, so my creative energies for the next month will be heading in that direction.... However, I'll be back.
(If nothing else, this story's convinced me I'll be able to "win" NaNoWriMo again this year.)
Good luck, though I don't think you need much of it. Actually I have heard of NaNoWriMo, and its kicked my literary efforts in the aft every time.
Comments
J'mpok mounted the steps and turned to face the assembly. "The matter is resolved," he declared. "Let us have the official wording out of the way, first. A joint task force of KDF and Starfleet vessels has engaged and destroyed the renegade Captain Klur in the Alpha Trianguli sector. The renegade's vessel was completely obliterated in the action."
There was still silence from the Councillors. J'mpok continued. "Physical evidence has been retrieved, and will be presented in due course, implicating certain persons in the... unauthorised action... at the Federation world of Bercera IV. One of those implicated is Councillor T'Jeg, who is - regrettably - unable to attend and answer these allegations." His voice dropped. "The evidence gathered by my agent, though, is enough to satisfy me. We can play this farce to the end, of course, with formal trials by the Council, examinations of records, speeches for the prosecution and the defence... but I grow tired of this business." His voice rose again. "Councillor Darg. Explain yourself."
"I -" Darg drew himself up. "I do not know what you mean, Chancellor."
J'mpok's lips pulled back from his teeth. He spoke with heavy emphasis. "Do not prevaricate with me, Councillor."
"I... reserve my rights. My rights to fair examination and fair judgment by the full Council. I admit nothing," said Darg. "But I will say, now, as I have always said. This war with the Federation is being mismanaged. It is being made an affair for dilettantes, almost a game, a patchwork, occasional, honourable, sportsmanlike war. And it should be no game! We should prosecute the war with every weapon, every stratagem, so that our enemies fear us! Total war will cow the Federation like the weaklings they are! It will bring us total victory! And if - someone - has chosen to force the Chancellor's hand, has pushed us down that path towards total victory - then so much the better!"
"Do not ever presume," J'mpok said, "that you can force my hand. Still, your position has at least one merit - that of consistency. You do not speak one thing and do another - unlike some in this Council. Is that not so, Councillor K'Tag?"
"Oh," K'Tag said, mildly, "I fear you do me an injustice, Chancellor. I have always spoken, to this Council, exactly what was in my heart and my mind. I concede, in private dealings with Councillor Darg, I may have dissembled, somewhat...."
"What?" Darg exclaimed.
"Dissembled," said J'mpok. His eyes flashed. "How much dissembling has there been, K'Tag?"
"Oh, no," said K'Tag, "no, neither Darg nor myself is of the qameh' Quv - at least as far as I know. No, this is entirely a Klingon affair... oh, be quiet, Darg. A player in a hopeless position should resign the game, that is only good manners. Was it the freighter? The freighter became a loose end.... Never mind."
"I will take your head for this slander!" Darg screeched.
"If you wish my head, esteemed colleague, you need only look atop my shoulders to find it," said K'Tag. "Yes, I conspired with Darg in this matter, and together, by various means, we convinced T'Jeg and the ambitious Captain Klur to become a part of it. Darg has explained his motives, and I think you can understand mine. I have spoken nothing more than the truth to this Council."
His tone grew bleak, his face seemed to age with each word he spoke. "Darg is a fool, and it pleased me to use him. He believes this suggestion that the Federation will retreat in the face of overwhelming force. Absurd. Did they retreat at Aznetkur, to name but one example?" He looked directly at J'mpok. "But you, Chancellor, are not a fool. You are a proud man, but not a fool.... Faced with the consequences of Darg's style of unrestricted warfare, you would have drawn the natural conclusions, and ended this foolish, wasteful conflict. In simple terms; if we crammed enough deaths down your throat, you would have wisdom enough to choke on them."
He sighed. "It should have worked better than it did. I can only conclude that some in the Federation realised they were being baited, and therefore refused to take the bait. Even with my little additional provocations in Yll-Torica... If Klur had managed to survive, to carry out a second atrocity, then they might have lost their heads. But it was not to be...." He shook his head, and the glance he shot at the Chancellor was a sharp one. "Understand this, I regret very little. Not the deaths at Bercera, not the loss of Klur and T'Jeg. My one regret is that it failed. Because I fear, Chancellor, that your sportsmanlike war, of which Darg speaks so slightingly, will in the end consume many more lives, many more worlds, than the short, sharp dose of Armageddon which I tried to achieve."
Darg had subsided into an angry muttering. No one else spoke.
J'mpok turned, and went to the wall of the Great Hall. He took down a bat'leth from its ceremonial mountings, then another, then a third. He strode to the steps, laid one weapon down on them, then advanced on the Council, one bat'leth in each hand.
He stopped. He raised the weapons over his head, then drove them suddenly down. The points bit into the ancient stonework of the floor with a sudden shrieking, grating sound. When he released them, the two weapons stuck there, quivering, in the floor.
"Conspiracies," said J'mpok. "Conspiracies and counter-conspiracies... let us have no more of such machinations. You disagree with each other, you two?" He pointed to the two bat'leths. "There are your weapons. Take them, and settle your differences like Klingons!"
Darg gaped at him. K'Tag smiled. "And, to the victor?" he asked.
"One of you sought discreditable war. The other, an equally discreditable peace." J'mpok turned. "Someone must uphold Klingon honour." He picked up the third bat'leth. "The victor faces me."
P.S.: Got about 8 or 10 pp into the newest draft of Chapter 21 of my story and it already seems to be losing track of where it's going. The post-October-24 stuff will likely be chopped out and thrown away. I guess I need to back off and do some more thinking with pen and paper (which seems to help me more than drafting on-screen does). I know where the characters/ship have to go in 2152 (to the First (in-person) Contact of the Federation with the Romulans), but what happens between now and their destination is what's still up in the air. Makes me wish I could plot as well as you can, where you're able to keep track of major plot points without losing the exciting immediacy of the story's ongoing flow. (sigh) Of course, eventually I'll have to go back and rewrite the whole story, tightening it up, fixing problems, etc. What's on this website as "Chapter 1" is only the first draft. Hopefully the next draft of it will be quite a bit better.
Unfortunately, a power higher than any of us won't let the war really, completely end. (Or the year catch up with the story that advances in fits and starts, and any number of other things that would make far too much sense.)
The journey is almost over. As we drop out of warp, my sensors register, distantly, the approach of the KDF task force, coming to the border of the inarguably Klingon side of the Neutral Zone. They will meet with me here, take the freighter in tow, take it back home for the necessary forensic examination... necessary for form's sake, though all the important matters have already been very finally settled.
In my mind's eye, I watch the transmission from the Great Hall again. I smile, slyly, to myself. The Federation President will see that, too - and it may help, at the summit conference, if Aennik Okeg bears in mind just how forcefully the Chancellor can... express his views.
"Open a channel to the Starfleet vessels," I order.
The faces of Tylha Shohl and Ronnie Grau appear on my viewscreens. I smile. "Well," I say, "it seems our mission is now completed. I must say, for me it has been an enlightening experience, in many ways."
"Enlightening," says Shohl. "Yes. Quite." Her face is grim.
"And, in the end," I continue, "I believe we have achieved a satisfactory outcome, together."
"Oh, yes," says Shohl. She continues to glower.
"You do not agree?"
"No," she says, "no, I can't disagree...." Then her visible anger bursts out of her like the breaking of a dam. "Very satisfactory - from the Klingon point of view. It's got everything the Klingons would like, hasn't it, this story of ours? Bloodshed and gunfire, conspiracies, betrayal, severed heads rolling along the floor of the Great Hall - pride and madness, glorious battles and honourable defeats. Everything a good Klingon opera needs."
Her voice is shaking with rage. "Well, just remember something. When you stage this Klingon opera, just bear in mind you need a big chorus for it. A big, big backing chorus. Like, six hundred and fifty million, one for each of the innocents who died at Bercera IV. Personally, I don't think you've got a concert hall big enough." Her blue eyes are pure Andorian ice.
Obviously, she is right. Equally obviously, I cannot concede that.
I examine my fingernails. "I believe you two know your way back to Federation space."
Shohl glares at me. Ronnie Grau speaks for the first time. "Come on, Tylha," she says, in a voice full of weariness. "Let's go home."
Shohl spears me with one final stare, then cuts the connection. On the main screen, the Virtue and the King Estmere turn around, facing back the way we came. Their engines flare to sudden life, and then they are streaks of light, dwindling to a point in the immeasurable distance... and, they are gone.
"Your orders, sir?" K'Gan asks, carefully.
Orders. Ah, yes, orders.... One must always assert oneself before the Klingons; never show doubt, or fear, or confusion... never show anything they may see as weakness. There are times when I am so very, very tired of being Klingon.
But I cannot show that. "We return to Qo'noS and await new instructions," I say. "That was, after all, T'Jeg's order to us... I would not have it said that I disregarded a High Councillor's instructions."
And K'Gan laughs, and my Klingon mask slips comfortably back into place. It is almost a part of me, now, that mask. Perhaps, some day, it will be my real face. Perhaps.
Count me in as reader for any future STO fan fiction you plan to write (especially with these characters, or at least some of them).
Kluthli laughed. "Orion wiles." She reached up with her free hand to scratch H'Russ's ear. The Caitian responded with a throaty purr. "No... it wasn't that. I wouldn't do that to a crewmate. But... you understand, don't you?"
"Yes," said H'Russ, "yes, I guess I do. And - well, I guess the Admiral would, too, wouldn't she?"
"Andorians do understand these things," said Kluthli. "And Admiral Shohl has more reason than most to be... tolerant." She smiled. "Still - I wouldn't want to trouble her with the knowledge. This will just be our secret, all right?"
H'Russ nodded. "All right."
"And don't tell me you weren't tempted, too, just by the technical challenge."
"It was a tall order, that's for sure." The Caitian visibly swelled with pride, his whiskers twitching, his ears lifting. "Don't think anyone else could have done it."
"You guys really are the best," Kluthli breathed.
"Better believe it. Here we are." H'Russ indicated a door, a storage room like many others, indistinguishable from the dozens that lined the corridor. Kluthli shifted the weight of the big fabric-covered case in her right hand.
"Thanks, H'Russ. I owe you for this, big time."
"Better believe that, too." The Caitian laughed softly. "I'll leave you in private. Door's keyed to your combadge." And he patted Kluthli's hand, then stalked off down the corridor.
Kluthli took a deep breath. She opened the door, went in, slid it shut behind her.
Tayaira looked up sharply. She was sitting on the floor, huddled in one corner of the small, bare room. She said nothing as Kluthli dropped the fabric case onto the floor.
"Camping gear, basically," Kluthli said. "Bedroll, ration packs, portable sanitary unit. You'll need that. You can't go outside."
Tayaira eyed her warily. "When does it start?" she asked.
"When does what start?"
"The interrogation."
"What interrogation? We already know everything, Tayaira."
Tayaira shook her head. "Then... why? And, for that matter, how?"
"How? We had all your biometric data, courtesy of Shalo... and King Estmere has the best flight deck transporter operators in the fleet. Of course, I'll have to keep H'Russ sweet, to stop him talking...." Kluthli smiled. "That will be no problem. Not even a hardship, actually."
"That leaves the difficult question," Tayaira said. "Why?"
"You're family."
Tayaira shook her head firmly. "That means... less than nothing, these days."
"I'm not so sure," Kluthli said. "Shalo and I... tore into each other, about the new loyalties we'd chosen. Perhaps we shouldn't have.... In any case, it seemed to me that it wasn't your fault you chose badly. You didn't know, did you, what Klur's plans were? Who his backers were?"
"No," said Tayaira. "Naturally not. What would you expect, of a conspiracy among Klingons?"
"Yes," said Kluthli, "among Klingons. Now, I can't promise you that no such conspiracy could ever form among the Federation... but, since I joined Starfleet, I've seen them in action, and they do try. We mock their ideals, but they try to live up to them, and sometimes they succeed. And when they do, they make the galaxy a better place to live in. The Federation way is not the Klingon way... but I think, I honestly think, it's a better one. That I made the best choice, out of the three of us."
"And if the House of Sinoom should rise again?" Tayaira asked.
Kluthli shook her head. "I don't know. Perhaps I could take some of the lessons I've learned from the Federation, put them to use in an Orion setting, but... I don't know. In any case, how might that ever happen?"
"I can't answer that one," Tayaira said. "Maybe, if Shalo rises to higher prominence in the Empire... or if you do the same in Starfleet, even." She smiled wryly. "At least I know I will never ascend to any heights."
"You can do whatever you want," Kluthli said. She reached into her jacket, pulled out a PADD. "Here. Shalo gave me this, I'm giving it to you. The remains of Cysitra's computer records. There should be things there you can... work with."
Tayaira made no move to accept the PADD. Kluthli stooped down and put it on the deck. After a moment, Tayaira picked it up.
"And what is the price?" she asked. "For this... for my life, such as it is. A wanted war criminal...."
"Not wanted. You're dead, Tayaira. Vaporized in combat with the King Estmere - no surer way to get dead. As for a price -" She shook her head. "It's one thing I've... learned... from the Federation. A person's life is too big a thing to put a price on. It can only be a gift, from me to you."
"More Federation idealism," said Tayaira.
"You'd be dead without it, so don't mock it," said Kluthli.
Tayaira nodded, slowly. "So what is the next step?" she asked.
"You need to stay here, for a while. I don't know what the Tholians used this room for, but we don't use it for anything. But if you venture outside, you'll be spotted, and that would be... inconvenient. On our current course, we'll be passing by a trade hub at Lutanis Beta within a day or so. H'Russ and I will sneak you off the ship then. After that -" Kluthli shrugged. "It's up to you." She turned to the door, then looked back. "It's a gift, your new life. Given freely. I don't ask any price... but I suggest you live it well. Dead woman."
She opened the door, passed through, let it slide shut and lock behind her. Tayaira sat staring at the closed panel for a long time.
At last, she said, softly, "Maybe I will."
Nouveau riche LTS member
(If nothing else, this story's convinced me I'll be able to "win" NaNoWriMo again this year.)
Regrettably, I won't be participating in NaNo this year (can't think of any original story ideas at the moment, sadly). However, I wish you the best of luck, and am confident that whatever you produce will be awesome, given everything you've written in Ten Forward thus far.
And your audience will be waiting (impatiently in my case).
Good luck, though I don't think you need much of it. Actually I have heard of NaNoWriMo, and its kicked my literary efforts in the aft every time.
Nouveau riche LTS member