“Oh, no you don’t.”Monor’s face was contorted into a rage that was almost Klingon. Qaolin found himself fighting an urge to admire it. “Don’t try to make this into something that’s our fault.”
Qaolin couldn’t help but laugh in Monor’s face. “Whose fault is it, then? It was not ourship that malfunctioned and went catastrophically of course. On the contrary, the Chutwas following a standard orbital path—which got it destroyed and a hundred innocents killed.”
“Innocent—pfah! I know you Foreheads—you’re responsible for this! You’re trying to get in good with that damned Trill of yours, and trying to make us look bad by sabotaging our zenite shipment.”
Restraining himself from reacting directly to the slur, Qaolin instead forced a grin to his face. “We need commit no sabotage to make you look bad, Monor. You are accomplishing that task quite adequately on your own.”
“I will not be insulted by the likes of you! I know you sabotaged theGratok, and I’ll prove it!”
The grin became a snarl. “Are you so deluded as to think that we would murder a hundred of our citizens just to stop your rocks from getting to Cardassia?”
“Don’t try to play the innocent with me, Qaolin.”Monor leaned forward into his viewer. “You Foreheads are all alike—fanatics to a man. A hundred dead? That’s nothing, as long as you can get your precious Ch’gran relic back. I know your type, and I know that you’d all jump into a black hole if it meant you could get that stupid wreck back in your hands. You’re all such fools—glorifying the past so much you forget about the future. Well, let me tell you something, ‘Governor’—the future is the Cardassian Union ruling the galaxy, and you barbarians working as slave labor and wondering where you went wrong. I’ll tell you where—thinking that being some kind of honorable warrior means something, when all it’s going to do is get you defeated.”Monor leaned back. “Enjoy your victory, Qaolin. It won’t last.”
Monor’s image faded from the viewscreen on the wall of Qaolin’s office, but the governor spoke to it anyhow. “This is victory?”
He went to take a gulp of his bloodwine, only to find the mug empty. Furious, he threw the mug across the room.
Stabbing the intercom with a finger, he summoned his aide, who entered at a dead run. “Yes, my lord!”
“My lord.” That is the true joke,Qaolin thought. “Find out if General Worf has left yet. If he has, call his ship back here. If he hasn’t, I need to see him immediately.”
“Uh…” The aide shuffled from foot to foot.
“What is it?” Qaolin prompted.
“Sir, we just received the passenger list for the Chut.”
Qaolin closed his eyes.
Then he picked up his chair and threw it against the wall containing the viewscreen. The chair broke in several places, and the screen shattered with an ear-splitting crack.
The aide stood in the doorway, unmoving.
“General Worf was on the Chut?”Qaolin asked.
“Yes, sir, he was.”
“That would mean that General Worf is dead.”
“Yes, sir.”
Qaolin smashed his fist into his desk. “Establish the insta-link to the Homeworld. Now!”
“Yes, sir.” The aide scurried out of the room.
“And fetch me another bottle of bloodwine!” Qaolin had no idea if I.I. agents went to Gre’thoror Sto-Vo-Kor,but whichever it was, the governor was quite sure that Yovang was laughing at him from there right now.
The insta-link was a tight-beam subspace system that enabled live communication between Raknal V and Qo’noS. It used an appalling amount of energy, and was only to be engaged in emergencies. As far as Qaolin was concerned, this qualified.
Ten minutes and three mugs of bloodwine later, Qaolin faced the image of Chancellor Ditagh on the small viewer on his desk’s workstation. Five minutes after that, he had finished briefing the chancellor on what had happened.
“What action do you wish me to take, sir?”
Ditagh blinked. “There is no action to be taken. If the families of those dead wish to claim vengeance, do not stop them. Otherwise, we have won a great victory. The Cardassians’ incompetence has led to the destruction of one of their zenite shipments and the unnecessary deaths of our people. The loss of life is regrettable—particularly that of the general—but we can use that to our advantage as well. Ch’granwill be ours—the Cardassians have already given it to us.”
Qaolin frowned at his chancellor. “Of course, sir,” he said out of respect for the office, but he did not see that it was nearly as simple as the head of the High Council was making it out to be.
Even as he closed the insta-link connection, he could hear Yovang’s laughter.
Chapter 16
I.K.S. Pu’Bekh
“Sir, something’s wrong.”
Captain K’mpec of the I.K.S. Pu’Bekhlooked up at that report from the operations station behind him, then gave a nod to Commander Mogh, who walked over to that station. “Explain,” the first officer said.
“We just sent out routine communications traffic, sir,” the operations officer said. “However, when I checked to see if it had been picked up by this system’s communications relay, I got no readings.”
“None?” Mogh sounded surprised. “Do a full scan of the relay.”
“I have already attempted to do so, sir. Sensors aren’t picking up any emissions from the relay at all. In order to do a more complete scan, we’ll need to get closer.”
K’mpec scowled. They had come to the Donatu system on a routine patrol. Incidents with Cardassian ships along the border had increased over the past several months—ever since the destruction of the Chutat Raknal V—and Command had sent the Pu’Bekhto make sure that all was well in this particular system. It had been the flashpoint of a Federation–Klingon conflict almost a century ago, and Command thought that the Cardassians might try one of their sneak attacks here. They had already made similar assaults on bases and ships in the Archanis and Cursa systems, though the Cardassian government had, of course, denied it—or, at the very least, disavowed the attacks.
Of course,K’mpec thought with bitter amusement, the High Council has similarly disavowed attacks in the Cuellar and Trelka systems in Cardassian space. Not to mention that skirmish between theKorvale and that Cardassian fighter last month.
“With your permission, Captain?” Mogh said.
K’mpec nodded.
Mogh turned to the helm control station to the captain’s left. “Pilot, set course for the communications relay, full impulse. Operations, when we are within range, do an intensive scan. I expect a full report within the hour.”
“Sir!” both officers said.
Then K’mpec rose from his chair. “I would speak with you, Commander,” he said, his deep voice rumbling throughout the bridge.
“Of course.”
The two of them exited the bridge. Entering his office, the captain gathered his floor-length coat of office and sat his slim, athletic form down into the metal chair behind his workstation. There were no guest chairs—K’mpec had never seen any good reason to make other people more comfortable than he—and so Mogh stood.