“Yes. I’m on the transport going to HuDyuQ so I can report to the
Rotarran.”
“You didn’t tell me you were leaving.”
Leskit frowned. “Didn’t I? I suppose not. I have to confess, it wasn’t foremost in my thoughts. Does it matter? Even if this assignment wasn’t temporary, I might’ve been transferred anyhow. It happens.”
Kurak let out a long breath through her clenched teeth. It made a slight whistling sound. “Perhaps.”
“No ‘perhaps’ about it.” Leskit grabbed her shoulders. “Kurak, we’re in the Defense Force. We go where we are told. That is the way of things.”
“So your pursuit of me was, what? A desire to get through the shielding of the impenetrable engineer? A wager among the bridge crew, perhaps?”
Leskit looked down at Kurak’s brown eyes, which
blazed with the fire that had attracted her to him in the first place. “No. I simply saw someone I wanted to pursue, and pursued her. No more, no less.”
“And now that you’ve gotten me, you’re casting me aside?”
Rolling his eyes, Leskit let go of her shoulders and stomped across the room. “I don’t believe this! Don’t tell me you’re going to insist that we take the oath or something equally ridiculous. For one thing, I’m mated, remember? The fact that she and I haven’t spoken since the night our son was conceived doesn’t change that.”
Kurak shook her head and gripped her arm at the wrist. “I should have known better. I told myself to simply serve and get out as soon as possible. To form no attachments. Instead, this happens. This is why I didn’t want to join in the first place.”
Walking back to her, Leskit said, “Kurak, it was what it was. We both enjoyed it. Perhaps we’ll have the chance to do it again.” He broke into a grin. “At least I hope so.”
Kurak stared up at him. Her face seemed to be warring with itself, fighting it out between a scowl and a laugh.
After several seconds, to Leskit’s relief, the laugh won. “What shall I do with you, Lieutenant?”
“That depends, Commander. What are you doing for the next few hours?”
“I’m on duty, I’m afraid. My assistant has been promoted to emperor,” she said bitterly, “and while I’m happy to be rid of that
toDSaH,
he’s the second engineer I’ve lost on this mission. I’m shorthanded, so I need to get back to engineering for several hours. When does the transport leave?”
Leskit shook his head. “Less than several hours from now.”
“Pity.” And now she smiled that smile that Leskit was sure he was the only person on the ship to ever have seen. “Perhaps some other time.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or perhaps I will curse your name and never speak to you again.”
Laughing, Leskit said, “I believe that’s what my mate said to me the last time we spoke.”
“A wise woman, I’d say.” She moved back to the door. “Good-bye, Leskit.”
“Good-bye, Kurak.”
She left without a backward glance, no doubt to terrorize the remaining engineers. Leskit wondered if he’d ever see her again, and how she would feel. He suspected that neither of them would know the answer to that until it happened.
Ah, well,
he thought, fingering the Cardassian neckbones he wore.
It was worth it to hear her laugh.
Re’Trenat had to admit to liking the idea of being a minister. In fact, Prime Minister em’Rlakun had insisted that re’Trenat be given a ministry. Governor Tiral objected, of course, but Ambassador Worf pointed out that the Klingons no longer had any say in the matter—although the appointment would have to, technically, come from Emperor Vall.
Everyone insisted that Vall was a Klingon, but re’Trenat almost didn’t believe it. He didn’t look or talk like any Klingon he’d seen, and he’d seen plenty.
The new emperor strode into the council chamber holding several padds and looking lost inside his thermal
suit—it looked like he had taken Tiral’s. In any case, it was several sizes too large. The other ministers were already present, and hadn’t bothered to wait for him before starting business—his was only a ceremonial presence after all.
Em’Rlakun was discussing trade issues when Vall came in. “Ah, Emperor Vall. Thank you for joining us. If you’ll just sit over there,” she said, indicating the chair that had been brought for him and placed in a corner. The rest of them sat on cushions arranged in a large circle. Several padds and some bowls of fish sat in the center. “Your first order of business will be to officially make re’Trenat the new minister of defense. He’ll be supervising the military.”
Vall nodded. “That makes good sense. I will take care of that, but—”
“Thank you, Vall.”
“I believe that should be ‘Your Eminence,’ should it not? That
is
how you address your emperors, correct?”
Unable to contain a laugh, re’Trenat said, “He has a point. Although, by that logic, we should rename him me’Grmat XX, shouldn’t we?”
“That would not send the message that we are still part of the Klingon Empire,” one of the other ministers said. “I’d just as soon not draw attention to ourselves now.”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate to call him ‘Your Eminence,’” em’Rlakun said coldly.
“What about ‘Your Majesty,’ then?” Vall said. “I like the sound of that.”
“We will take it under advisement.” Em’Rlakun was beginning to sound impatient. “Now we have several other issues to get through, so if you don’t mind—”
“I do not mind at all.” Vall flipped through his padds,
looking for one. “In fact, I wanted to mention a couple of other issues, myself.”
Eyes widening, em’Rlakun said,
“You
wanted—?”
“Yes, I did.”
He got up and moved his chair into the circle, discommoding two other ministers, who growled in the backs of their throats.
Now this is interesting,
re’Trenat thought with no small amusement.
So much for our “ceremonial”
emperor.
“I’m glad you are all here, actually,” Vall was saying. “I have been looking over the specs for your on-planet transportation system. It is not bad, but I feel there are many obstacles that need to be overcome. I have some ideas for how to defeat this particular foe. . . .”
Worf packed his belongings into his duffels.
Yet again
I move on,
he thought. This time, he would go to the Federation embassy on Qo’noS, where he would probably, finally, settle down—for the first time, really, since the
Enterprise-
D on which he’d served for over seven years was destroyed. Even his tenure on Deep Space Nine was not constant, as he spent so much time on the
Defiant,
and then constantly moving around during the war.
Wu was presently in engineering, sending Worf’s final report on the taD mission to Minister T’Latrek. He was sure the Vulcan woman would be pleased. Against all odds, he’d managed to find a solution that satisfied both governments, not to mention the al’Hmatti.
It was not a glorious battle. It was not a mission that would ever be enshrined in song. Indeed, the very solution meant that the details would need to remain shrouded in mystery. Even the battles that were fought—by the
Gorkon
and by Worf himself—were hardly the stuff of legends. Captain Klag had fought only Kreel, and Worf merely saw combat with a ragtag group of rebellious
jeghpu’wI’.
In the end, he had won the day with his mind, not with his physical prowess.
Still, the day
was
won. The mission was accomplished. Duty was fulfilled.
Worf picked up his and Jadzia’s wedding picture from its place beside the bed.
Over a decade earlier, Lieutenant Tasha Yar, the
Enterprise’s
security chief, had been killed doing her duty. Yar had been an honored comrade, and Worf had been glad that she died as well as she did. He had no doubt that she went to
Sto-Vo-Kor
and more than held her own amongst the honored dead. Captain Picard made Worf the acting chief of security, and eventually made the position permanent. He had remained in that capacity until the ship’s destruction. He had always viewed what he did as security chief as a way of honoring Yar’s memory.
When she died, K’Ehleyr had been the Federation ambassador to the Klingon Empire. For that matter, Curzon, the host of the Dax symbiont prior to Jadzia, had served as a diplomat on behalf of the Federation, including to the empire.
Once again, Worf was able to honor the memory of someone he cared about by taking over their work. Only this time it meant a great deal more.
As he packed away the picture, the door chime rang. “Enter.”
To Worf’s surprise, it was Klag. “Captain,” Worf said neutrally.
“We will be arriving at Qo’noS shortly, Ambassador,”
Klag said. Worf noticed that he had some kind of device attached to his right shoulder. Noticing Worf’s gaze falling on it, Klag said, “It is a neural stimulator. Dr. B’Oraq said it is to prepare the nerves that have been deadened for use again.” At Worf’s confused look, he added, “I am getting a new arm.”
Worf blinked. “That is a very—surprising decision, Captain.”
“You disapprove?”
“No. I applaud your courage. I’ve spent all my life with Federation medicine, and I have come to appreciate it—and what B’Oraq is doing. I can only hope your getting a prosthetic will not do more harm than good.”
Klag shook his head. “That is all that can ever be hoped. However, I am not getting a prosthetic—I am receiving a transplant.”
Worf frowned. “A transplant?”
“Yes. My father recently died, and I am receiving his good right arm. It is an arm that served in the Defense Force for three decades. Much more worthy of a warrior than a piece of machinery.”
“Perhaps,” Worf said, nodding. It was a peculiar attitude, but Worf found himself understanding it more than he expected to. “What is it that you want?”
Klag hesitated. “I wanted to wish you farewell, Ambassador. And to apologize.”
Worf blinked in surprise. Klingon warriors rarely apologized. “For what?”
“I forgot Kahless’s words: ‘a warrior’s heart is inside.’ It is not how you got your position that matters, it is what you do with it. And despite all the obstacles—including me—you accomplished your mission.”
Worf placed his
mek’leth
in his duffel, then closed it.
“Not without help. Your support in the end was invaluable. And if you had not brought the situation to the High Council’s attention in the first place, things might have deteriorated further on taD.”
Klag nodded. “Perhaps.” He stood up straight.
“Qapla’,
Ambassador. I look forward to serving with you again. Perhaps we shall die together.”
“If so, then we will both die well.
Qapla’.”
With that, Klag turned and left.
Wu arrived a moment later. “We’ve pulled into orbit around Qo’noS, sir. Are you all packed?”
“Yes. We are done here.”
Smiling, Wu said, “Excellent. It’s early evening on the surface, so you’ll be able to meet the staff over dinner at the embassy. They’ve prepared a full meal in your honor. Oh, and you’ll be happy to know that I had a large supply of prune juice ordered and sent to the embassy galley. I’m told it will be available tonight.”
Worf put his hand on Wu’s shoulder. “You have done fine work, Wu.”
“I endeavor to give satisfaction, sir.”
Leading the way out of their quarters, Worf headed toward the transporter room.
They passed Rodek in the corridor. “Ambassador,” the lieutenant said, inclining his head.
A fist of ice clenched Worf’s heart. He had been avoiding Rodek for most of this mission. Since the first battle against the Kreel, when Rodek had proved himself to be so much less Kurn . . .
But is he? Is it truly fair to compare them?
They shared the same body, but Rodek was not Kurn—that was the whole point of the exercise, after all. And Kurn had wanted to die, and so, for all intents and purposes, Worf
did kill him. If anything, he should have rejoiced that Rodek was so much different than his brother.
Rodek had stopped walking and was staring at Worf—and only then did Worf realize that he was staring also. “Ambassador, why do you constantly look at me that way?” The question was one step short of a challenge. If Rodek did not like Worf’s answer, he would probably take that last step.
“My apologies.”
“I do not
want
the mewling apologies of a Federation lackey, Ambassador.” For the first time, there was a trace of Kurn’s old fire. “You of all people should know of my—condition. It has been difficult for me to be part of a society that I only know from educational tapes and half-remembered instincts. Most of my shipmates have learned to accept my—reticence as part of who I am. I would expect you, who were there when I lost my memories, to do the same, and not treat me like some kind of curiosity.”
“I do
not
think of you that way. You—you simply remind me of someone else.”
“Really?” Rodek did not sound convinced. “Who might that be?”
“Someone close to me who—who died. You and he share certain facial expressions. It is sometimes like looking at a warped reflection of him. It was not my intention to give offense.”
“Good. This time, I will not take any. If we ever meet again, Ambassador, do not look upon me as anything but a warrior.”