“I take it the prefect’s accusations are baseless?” Worf asked.
“Of course they are.” Qaolin was surprised at the question. “We do not need to expend any effort to make Cardassians fail, they do so quite well on their own.”
“What of Monor’s accusations regarding the orbital control centers?”
Qaolin snarled. “More lies. It is true that we have not been cooperative, but it is not for lack of trying. Both sides assign orbital paths to ships that conflict with those assigned by the other side. We have had several near misses because of this. But Cardassian sensors are not sufficiently acute to do the job properly. We have offered to provide a minimal upgrade in exchange for shared duties, only to be rebuffed. They assume that their sensors are adequate to the task and accuse us of trying to sabotage their equipment—and of deliberately causing the difficulties. As if we need to.” His hand going to his d’k tahginvoluntarily, Qaolin stood up and said, “I swear to you, General, I almost wish that something would happen to force a war between our people. Then it would give me the excuse I need to plunge my weapon into Monor’s unworthy heart.”
“Perhaps. But now would not be the right time.”
“There is never a wrong time for war, General.”
Worf gave Qaolin a withering gaze. “It is easy for you to say that, Governor. You are not on the Homeworld. You do not see the posturing of the High Council as half of them insist we no longer need Federation aid, and cry out for closer ties to the Romulans.”
Qaolin spat on the floor. “Romulans? Those honorless petaQare not worthy to blacken our boots! Besides, I thought they closed their borders.”
“Their governmentdid. But the Romulan aristocracy is like a pipius—its tentacles spread everywhere. I do not trust them. And I do not trust ourgovernment to act sensibly as long as Chancellor Ditagh allows this petty squabbling to go on.” The general shook his head. “He does nothing to unite the Council, instead allowing it to grow more fractious, while our shipyards remain barren, our people starve, and once-noble Houses fall into ruin.” The general turned to Qaolin. “We mustwin this planet, Governor. We mustregain Ch’gran. It is all that may save us in the end.”
“Perhaps it is, General, but I do not think I am the one to win it.” Qaolin stared at the general, and finally decided that he had to ask the question. “Is there any way I may be reassigned? I am a ship commander, not a planetary governor. The colony virtually runs itself, and the duties I do have can be performed by someone more—politically adept than myself.”
“I am afraid not. The High Council agrees on little in these dark times, but one thing they are in harmony on is that you are best qualified to run this colony and to win Ch’gran for us.” Worf frowned. “Do you not consider it an honor?”
“I consider winning Ch’gran an honor, General,” Qaolin said with another snarl, “and you have made it clear that it is an urgency as well. But I do not consider running this colony to be an honorable way of winning it. It is better suited to the shadowy machinations of I.I., not the true battlefield of a warrior.”
Worf tilted his head. “Odd that you should say that.”
Qaolin frowned. “Why?”
“It was at the specific recommendation of Imperial Intelligence that you were assigned as governor, and at I.I.’s insistence that you remain.”
The governor stared at the general in open-mouthed stupefaction for several seconds.
Then he threw his head back and laughed.
Even from beyond the grave, you manipulate me, Yovang.Foolishly, Qaolin had believed that he could easily deal with whatever consequences arose from killing the I.I. agent aboard the Wo’bortasfive years ago. Now, he knew what those consequences were: exile to this nightmare of a posting.
“This amuses you, Governor?”
“No. But there are times when laughter is the only rational response.” He sat back down. “Very well, General. I shall continue to see to the Klingon needs of this continent, and I will win Ch’gran for us, and I shall save the Empire, and we will survive and be strong again.”
Laughing bitterly, Worf said, “I will settle for the first two. The others will take care of themselves over time.”
“You think so?” Qaolin asked in surprise. “For one who has spoken so cynically, you seem unusually confident.”
“We are Klingons. Eventually, we willbe victorious.”
Qaolin reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle of bloodwine and two mugs. “In that case, General, drink with me, to our future.” He split the bottle between the two mugs and handed one to Worf. “May it be far more glorious than our present.”
To that, they both drank heartily.
“Orbital Control, this is theGratok. We will be achieving orbit in five minutes. Please verify flight plan.”
Stifling a yawn, Talik, the traffic controller on duty touched a control. “This is Orbital Control, Gratok.Sending flight plan now.” Talik entered the standard flight plan for the zenite-bearing freighters like the Gratok.It would give them one orbit before departing for Cardassia Prime with the precious zenite shipment.
“Flight plan received, Orbital Control. Staying awake up there, Talik?”
At that, Talik smiled. “Barely. I don’t suppose you have any holovids to send over, Kater?”
“Don’t tell me you watched all the ones I sent last month?”
“All right, I won’t tell you.” In fact, Talik had traded them for a bottle of real kanar—not that swill they provided at the commissary, but the good stuff. But since he got the kanarfor when he finally worked up the courage to ask Kater Onell for an evening out, he could hardly tell her about it now. “So when’re you due back?”
“I’m not, I’m afraid. The zenite yields are too small to justify coming so far out. The company’s sending a smaller ship to do the next run.”
Panic gripped Talik. He’d spent monthsworking up his nerve. Kater, after all, was a freighter captain; he was just a lowly traffic controller. Just the fact that she was willing to talk to him beyond the confines of duty was impressive enough, and was, in fact, the only reason why he even considered the possibility of asking her to dinner. “You—you mean you’re never coming back?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to saynever , but probably not for a few months at least.”She laughed. “Don’t worry, Talik, I’m sure you’ll find someone else to send you war vids.”
Talik couldn’t give a good damn about war vids just at the moment. His love life had been in the waste extractor for years now. No woman had even been interested in talking to him, aside from Kater, and the only comfort women he could afford weren’t ones he had any interest in letting near him; he had never been partial to elderly women with strange sores on odd parts of their bodies. “It’s—it’s not th-that.” He tried not to sound like a stammering idiot. “I was kind of hoping—I mean, I was kind of—”
Before he could blunder through the rest of the sentence, he heard an explosion. After a second, he realized that it was coming over the comm line. “What the hell was that?”Kater screamed.
Talik checked his sensor display. “Kater, I’m reading an explosion in your engineering section.”
“I’m glad you’re reading that. Our internal sensors are down.”
“You’re also off course.” Immediately, Talik hit the panic button, which sent out a broad-band message on both subspace and soundwave frequencies, instructing all ships in orbit to get out immediately, either by returning to the planet’s surface or leaving orbit altogether.
The voice of Talik’s supervisor, Hamnod, sounded from behind him. “What’s happening?”