Assuming we survive this negotiation,he added dolefully, a state of affairs which hadn’t been in doubt until Entek overheard the meeting in Haden’s ready room.
Entek removed the device from the handheld computer and placed it back in his ear. Then he called up his ongoing report for the Order. He had a great deal to add to it now.
“Enter!” General Worf spoke the single word in the Klingon language when the doorchime to his quarters sounded. As expected, Lorgh walked in.
“You sent for me?” his aide who was not his aide asked.
Seated at the too-comfortable chair Starfleet had provided, Worf reached onto the table that held his workstation and grabbed a mug. He handed it to Lorgh. “Drink with me, Lorgh.”
Taking the mug, Lorgh asked, “For what reason, General?”
“I have just been informed that my son has taken a mate.”
Lorgh smiled. “For that, I will even drink Starfleet’s warnog.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but so great a sacrifice will not be required.” The general indicated the bottle of bloodwine on the table. “I have been saving this for a special occasion.”
Peering at the table, Lorgh saw that the bloodwine was from the Ozhpri vintner—one of the finest in the Empire. “A worthy vintage.” He held up the mug. “To your son.”
“To Mogh, son of Worf, and soon to be mate of Kaasin, daughter of Prella.”
They both drank. Worf reveled in the oily slickness of the bloodwine that seemed to coat his throat as it went down.
“May they both bring you many strong children to perpetuate your House.”
Worf laughed. “Well said, though I will settle for at least one heir.” He took another gulp of wine, then regarded his aide. “At the reception, you said that the Council preferred to fight this battle across a negotiating table. I am beginning to think that such is a battle we cannot win. The Cardassians refuse to even acknowledge the importance of Ch’gran. They denigrate it, call it a mere pile of wreckage. It has been exceedingly difficult to keep from killing Legate Zarin. I believe that we will never reach an understanding. We may need to call in the fleet.”
Lorgh shook his head and walked over to the cabin’s window, which had a spectacular view of the Betreka Nebula. “That may satisfy our honor in the short term, General, but it will not gain us Ch’gran—or much else. The Cardassians are strong, and getting stronger.”
“As are we,” Worf said.
“Yes, but they grow stronger from a position of strength—they are expanding, improving their resources, and their economy can support a military buildup. Cardassia has gone from an unknown and irrelevant nation to an important participant in quadrant politics in a very short time, General. They build on a solid foundation.”
The general snarled. “Whereas we rebuild from weakness.”
“Sad, but true, sir. The Defense Force’s shipyards have lain dormant for several turns. Vessels that should have been decommissioned years ago still fly the stars, some being held together with little more than targguts and wishful thinking. A war with Cardassia is not one we can win.”
Worf shook his head. “I fear you are correct.” He drank down the rest of his wine and poured more. “We have become too reliant on others—the Federation, the Romulans…”
“What have the Romulans to do with this?”
The general gulped his bloodwine. His thoughts took a dark turn, and he wondered how much of Ozhpri’s finest he would need to imbibe before he was sufficiently drunk to deal with those thoughts. “Many of our finest Houses have fallen into debt since the destruction of Praxis. Are you familiar with the House of Duras?”
“Yes. As I recall, they brokered many technological exchanges with the Romulans when we were their allies.”
Worf nodded. “Our Houses have long been in conflict. Their House head is an old man now. His son, Ja’rod, has rekindled those old ties with the Romulans now in the hopes of alleviating debts they have accrued. Further—they have introduced other families to Romulan sources that can aid them.”
“I was not aware of this,” Lorgh said, and Worf wondered if he was honest.
“Your superiors should be. If not, they are fools, and we are in worse trouble than I thought.” He leaned forward. “Do you not see, Lorgh? Our people are becoming weak, desperate. Honor must be served, but honor does not put food on the table. It is no easy thing for a noble-born Klingon to starve like some laborer in the lowlands. Finding Ch’gran is the thing that can save us, remind us of who we are.” He leaned back in the irritatingly pleasant chair and gulped down the rest of his bloodwine. Then he threw the mug across the room; it clattered against the wall, but the noise was muted by the room’s carpeting. Damn Federation even spoils a perfectly good gesture of anger.“If we lose that, too, after losing so much, I fear for the future of the Empire.”
“Our future is strength,” Lorgh said with the confidence of youth. “It is our present that is of concern. We will be great once again.”
“But at what cost? Will we be ruled from Qo’noS, Romulus, or Earth?”
Lorgh had nothing to say to that.
The doorchime then rang again.
Worf hadn’t been expecting anyone else, but he said, “Enter,” this time in the human language.
This proved wise, as the door opened to Wai-Lin Li, the chief of security for the Carthage.A short woman with a compact form, she moved with a lithe grace that bespoke fine martial skills. Worf would have expected no less from someone in charge of security. While most humans were soft, Starfleet rarely put people in positions for which they were unsuited, and the job of security chief necessitated a certain physical prowess. “General Worf, I need you to come with me, sir. Ambassador Dax has called an emergency negotiating session.”
“What for?”
“I don’t have that information, sir. I was simply ordered to escort you to the briefing room.”
“Very well.” Worf rose and exited his quarters, Lorgh falling into step behind him.
When they arrived at the briefing room, Worf noticed a much larger security contingent present. Usually two guards were posted inside the room during conferences, which Worf had thought a reasonable precaution. Now, however, four guards stood inside the room, with two more posted outside.
I do not like this,he thought, and shot Lorgh a look. Something has changed.Worf knew that the Carthagehad sent a shuttle into the nebula, which had then been damaged and had returned to the ship only two hours ago. Initially, the general had believed the captain’s claim that they were engaged in scientific research—the Federation never passed up an opportunity to stare at natural phenomena for long periods of time—but now he wondered if something else was going on.
He also wondered if the shuttle had detected the fleet that lay in waiting. No, the Federation has no way to penetrate our cloaking shields.
Worf noted that Li took up position in the room as well. Dax was in his usual seat at the center of the table. “What is the meaning of this?” the general asked the ambassador.
“We’ll discuss it when Legate Zarin arrives.” Dax’s tone was much harder than usual.
Escorted by another member of the Carthage’s security force—who also took up position, bringing the number of guards in the room up to six—Zarin and his female aide came in. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, a parroting of Worf’s own words that made the general a bit uncomfortable. But then, it was a reasonable question for either of them to ask. “I was in the midst of very important work—”
“This is the only work that should concern you right now, Legate,” Dax said, “and it’s taken on a new wrinkle.”
“A ‘wrinkle’?” Zarin asked.
“Obviously something important has changed, Ambassador,” Worf said. “Kindly tell us what it is.”
Then Dax smiled that insincere smile that Federation diplomats were particularly adept at. “I’ll be happy to, General, Legate. These negotiations are over. The Federation has unilaterally decided to take over Raknal V. We refuse to accept any claim made on the world by either Cardassia or Qo’noS, and any attempt to refute our claim will be met with force.”