“Ah. Well, in any event, there’s apparently a traditional mourning period of three days before the new one is announced, so Governor Tiral will probably wait until then.” They arrived at their quarters. Krevor took up her position outside the door as they entered. Wu continued: “The other thing is something I’ve noticed in compiling reports. After you told me what the governor had said about the increase in production, I decided to take another look at the actual figures—specifically with relation to the empire’s other sources of topaline. I mean, it’s all well and good to improve one’s own work, but we hadn’t really looked at it in the context of the whole, as it were. There are presently three domestic sources for topaline, and two primary sources from which the empire imports it. However, even with the governor’s increase, taD is presently fifth of five on the list of topaline providers.”
“Fifth?”
Wu nodded. “It’s not only behind the other two domestic sources, it’s still bringing in less than either the Yridians or the Capellans.” He showed Worf his padd. “I did a projection on what effect the loss of taD’s topaline production would have on the empire. It is, to say the least, negligible. It might require increasing the amount imported from either the Capellans or the Yridians, but neither would be a major hardship—especially if you factor in the reduction of costs on taD if the empire gives it up.” He replaced the padd inside his vest pocket and
took a deep breath. “If I may be blunt, sir, the empire doesn’t need this world. Is there any way to convince the High Council to let the al’Hmatti have it and be done with it?”
Worf shook his head. “The empire needs the unrest to end, but not at the cost of appearing weak. Martok specifically said that he cannot allow—”
And then it came to him.
“Allow what, sir?” Wu prompted.
Worf sat at the desk. “Martok’s exact words were, ‘Under no circumstances can I allow taD to be ruled by anyone other than Klingons.’”
“I don’t understand.”
“Worf to engineering.”
“Vall.”
“Lieutenant, I need a connection to Chancellor Martok on Qo’noS immediately.”
“Yes, sir. Give me two minutes.”
Wu smiled. “That was a lot easier than the last time.”
“Indeed. I would hate to think I was losing my touch.”
Rubbing his neck, which had a spot of red from where Worf had held the
mek’leth,
Wu said, “No danger of that, sir. Ah, won’t you want to clean yourself up before speaking with the chancellor?”
“Why?” Worf asked, confused.
“Oh, no reason, sir,” Wu said with a sigh.
B’Oraq was setting a
bekk’s
arm when Klag entered the medical ward—the captain recognized the young man as one of the guards. The patient stood at attention when he saw Klag come in.
“It’s all right,
Bekk,”
Klag said. “Doctor, when you’re finished with him, I will speak with you.”
“Of course, Captain.”
Klag went to B’Oraq’s desk and waited while she finished setting the arm. The
bekk
nodded to the captain and left without saying a word.
“So, Captain, what can I do for you? Oh, before I forget,” B’Oraq added, tugging on her braid, “fine work suturing Lieutenant Leskit’s wound. I only had to redo about three-quarters of it. Another five or six years, and you might make a decent doctor.”
Klag frowned. “Your sarcasm is inappropriate, Doctor. I made Leskit a promise in front of the crew—I could not go back on my word.”
“Of course not, Captain. However, I can’t help but remember something the human instructors at Starfleet Medical Academy used to say about ship captains. ‘They don’t expect you to tell them how to run the ship, so don’t let them tell you how to diagnose a patient.’”
“I’ll keep that in mind in the future, Doctor. If you’re quite finished, we have matters to discuss.”
Sitting on the other side of her desk, B’Oraq said, “Of course. We’ve only suffered one casualty since we last left Qo’noS—Lieutenant M’Rep—but his blood type doesn’t match.”
“M’Rep was an engineer. I want a
warrior.”
B’Oraq tugged at her braid again. “You said
you
would be making that determination, Captain. I am simply looking for a biological match. In any case, I checked the medical records on taD. Two of the Klingons who died in the attack on the refinery are compatible—at least from
my
perspective.” She called up something on her computer terminal, then turned the display toward Klag. “Now you must decide if they are from yours.”
The captain stared at the screen. The first record was for one of the supervisors, a man named Kori. Although he came from the most noble of Houses—he was the brother, ironically, of the captain of the
Sompek
—Kori himself was a fat, indolent worm. From all accounts, he served well at his post in the refinery, but he was hardly worthy of having his arm continue to serve in this manner.
The other was for an engineer named Takus. At first, Klag was going to dismiss him out of hand, but then he noticed the man’s record. He had served in the Defense Force for many years, and had even received the General Koord Medal of Honor during a border skirmish with the Romulans fifteen years earlier. And, ironically, his right arm was about all that was left intact of him, as he had been in the center of the refinery explosion, working until the last second to try to defuse the bomb.
But then Klag came to why Takus had left the Defense Force: apparently, there’d been some kind of scandal involving a woman under his command. The details were not in the record, but Klag had seen enough euphemistic records to know the signs. Takus had left the Defense Force in disgrace, though he avoided censure to his House.
According to the records, Takus was of the House of K’Tal—which meant he was a relative of Kargan’s.
Under no circumstances will I place anything related
to that
petaQ
on my person.
“Neither of these are acceptable,” he said aloud, turning the terminal screen back toward B’Oraq.
Tugging on her braid some more, the doctor said, “Captain, I fail to see what difference any of this makes. These are just empty shells. Their hearts have gone on to the
afterlife. What does it matter what they did in life when the spirit that inhabited them is long departed?
Your
spirit will inhabit this limb, regardless of who had it before.”
Klag shook his head. “I do not expect you to understand.”
“Good, because I don’t.”
Searching his mind for an appropriate simile, Klag finally said, “It would be as if you brought me the arm of Duras or General Chang or some other traitor to the empire—or as if you gave me the weapon that Morath used to fight Kahless. I would not want the stigma of their dishonor, even if it is secondhand.”
B’Oraq turned the computer terminal back toward Klag. “Takus is—was an engineer who died trying to save lives. Are you saying that he’s the equivalent of a
Ha’DIbaH
like Duras?”
“Only in terms of worthiness to live on in me.”
Leaning back, B’Oraq tugged at her braid again. “Something else you should be aware of, Captain: you do realize what you’re opening yourself up to here, don’t you? The war changed a lot of attitudes—if it hadn’t, this medical ward would be half the size and a quarter as well equipped as it is now. But still, this step you’re taking is a big one. I personally think it’s the wrong step, but just by replacing a lost limb, you’re flying in the face of tradition. It could have an adverse effect on how people react to you.”
“Doctor, yesterday in the holodeck, I realized that possessing only one arm is having an adverse effect on my ability as a warrior. Ultimately, that is my only concern. How ‘people’ react to me is their problem.”
Klag hoped he sounded more convincing than he actually felt.
“Worf to Klag.”
Klag frowned. “Klag.”
“I need to speak with you immediately in your office.”
“I’ll be there shortly.” He looked at B’Oraq. “Continue the search, Doctor.”
“What should I tell people when they ask why I am looking for these items? I told them on taD that I needed cadavers for medical research, but I doubt that I will be able to use that excuse on a wider search.”
Klag was amazed at the question. “You will tell them the truth, Doctor—that you are operating under orders from your commanding officer. That is all that you will need to say.”
As Klag turned to leave, B’Oraq said, “Captain?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. I know you’re doing this for yourself and not for me—especially since you’re not going about it the way I would recommend—but the fact that you are doing it means a lot to me. Having the Hero of Marcan accept a medical procedure such as this will have a profound impact on the future of Klingon medicine, I think.”
“As you said, Doctor, I am not doing this for you.” He smiled. “But you’re welcome.”
B’Oraq returned the smile, and Klag turned and left.
He headed to his office, trying very hard to convince himself that he had done the right thing. It
felt
right, certainly—and the memory of the constant defeats at the hands of the holographic Jem’Hadar reinforced it. On the other hand, he just won a rather impressive battle against six Kreel ships in which the number of his arms was irrelevant.
One thing was for sure—he would
not
graft one of those machines onto his body. The very idea made him
ill. It would be the arm of a warrior or no arm at all.
B’Oraq was right about one thing, however: there were many who would shun him, and call his behavior dishonorable and not worthy of Kahless.
On the other hand, if they wanted to be so damn wor
thy, they shouldn’t be using disruptors. After all, just a
bat’leth
was good enough for Kahless. . . .
Upon entering his office, he saw Lieutenant Vall kneeling in front of an opened wall panel. “Lieutenant?”
Vall shot to his feet. “My apologies, sir, I did not—That is, I need to work on this panel.”
“Do you have to do this now, Lieutenant?”
“I—I’m afraid so, sir. If I do not, all the power to the bridge and the three decks below will go out.”
“Fine, Lieutenant, keep at it.”
As Klag went to sit at his desk and Vall went back to his repair work, Worf entered, his aide behind him.
“Ambassador,” Klag said.
“Captain,” Worf returned with a nod. “I believe I may have found a solution to the difficulties on taD.”
Klag blinked. “That is good news, Ambassador. I assume you’ll share it with me when Governor Tiral arrives.”
“No. I wished to discuss the plan with you, first.”
This consideration surprised Klag. “I am flattered, Ambassador, but this is
your
mission. I doubt I could provide any useful aid.”
Worf smirked that tiny smirk of his. “Your modesty is ill-timed, Captain, and unconvincing. You have, in fact, questioned my ability from almost the very moment we met.”
“So now you ask for my advice so I can either prove myself right or wrong.”
“Yes.”
Klag threw his head back and laughed. “I admire your audacity, son of Mogh. Very well, tell me your plan.”
“Since we arrived, there has been a disparity between the importance given this mission by Martok when we spoke on the
Sword of Kahless
and the reality of the situation on taD. This is an inhospitable world run by a fool on a satellite, providing a service to the empire that it does not need.”
“Topaline is a necessity, Ambassador,” Klag said.
Worf’s human aide stepped forward and handed Klag a padd. “Not taD’s topaline, sir. If you’ll look at these figures . . .”
Klag glanced at the chart on the padd’s display. Not only was taD the fifth most productive of the empire’s five sources of topaline, it was a distant fifth. “Interesting. However, our esteemed chancellor did point out—”
“I was there, Captain,” Worf said calmly, “I am aware of what he said. His exact words were: ‘Under no circumstances can I allow taD to be ruled by anyone other than Klingons.’”
Klag didn’t remember the words that precisely, but that sounded right. “Which means—”
“Which means,” Worf interrupted, “that the death of the emperor gives us a way to fulfill Martok’s conditions and still satisfy everyone.”
“How?”
“Install a Klingon as the new emperor of taD.”
Klag frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“This world is not worth committing the resources to properly put down the rebels. It has not been worth the High Council’s attention to commit any resources to even address the problem. When they finally did, they used a
technicality to turn the problem over to a Federation ambassador. The entire reason for not simply giving up the planet is to maintain
appearances.
The empire cannot be
perceived
to be giving in to the rebels because of the precedent it sets. Yet the world is not worth keeping.”
“Hence your insurmountable problem.”
“Not at all. Since the problem is cosmetic, so is the solution. Appoint a Klingon as the new emperor. Phase Governor Tiral and his people out so that it will appear that taD is still part of the empire to everyone else.”