“Oho!” Yet another laugh. It sounded like the braying of a wompat. Several others around him joined in the laugh. Others simply moved away. “Then you haven’t heard the news! The High Council has decided, in its great wisdom, to expel all you toDSaHfrom the Empire.” He looked around at the crowd. “No longer will we have to allow the thieves of Ch’gran to sully our worlds!”
“Ch’gran? What are you talking about?” The Klingon was ranting. Teldin was prepared to dismiss him as a lunatic, albeit a dangerous one.
But then he saw the rest of the group waiting for the transport. Those who hadn’t moved away were nodding their assent. Some were cheering. Others joined the burly red-haired one in his wompat-bray of a laugh. Could he be speaking the truth?
Then a noise filled Teldin’s ears: the transport. It was coming down to land on a pad some distance before them. An attendant came out to take their tickets and allow them ingress to the transport—but when Teldin reached the front of the line, she would not let him through. “You may not pass.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The attendant sneered. “Your kind is not permitted to mix with Klingons, murderer.”
This was getting ridiculous. “I’m not a murderer.”
“Tell that to the souls of the dead on the Chut!”
Teldin was baffled. “I don’t even know what a chut is. Please, I just came here to climb the mountain, and—”
“Go back where you came from!” shouted one person from behind him on the queue.
“Thief!”
“Murderer!”
“First you soil our history, then you soil our world!”
“Cardassian filth!”
“Look,” Teldin said to the attendant over the din, “I just want to get back to the First City so I can go home.”
“Oh, you’ll be going home, all right.” The attendant signaled to someone. Teldin followed her gaze to see two Klingons in full military uniform approaching. “Just not in comfort.”
The two uniformed men violently grabbed his arms. It felt like they were trying to rip them out of their sockets. As they led him off, the cheers of the crowd, particularly the laughing redhead, echoed in Arn Teldin’s ears.
The tik’lethwent flying from Kravokh’s opponent’s hands, clattering to the wooden floor. Kravokh stood with his bat’leth,smiling, ready to strike the killing blow, when Ruuv, his aide, entered the large practice room.
“Oh, good, you’re practicing. You’ll need it. Ditagh is dying.”
Kravokh snorted. “Ditagh’s been dying for years. His inability to actually take the final step has grown tiresome.”
The councillor touched a control on his belt, and his opponent disappeared in a puff of photons. The holographic technology was every bit as good as the human merchant said it would be.
“What was that?” Ruuv asked.
“A holographic opponent. The Federation has perfected the technology to the point where one can create a solid object. Makes a fine sparring partner, if programmed right.” Kravokh walked over to where the tik’lethhad landed and picked it up. “We should be trading for such technology, not holding the Federation at arm’s length.”
“You may have your chance to implement that plan soon.”
Kravokh hung the long sword and the bat’lethin their respective cradles on the eastern wall of the practice room. Said wall also contained a mek’lethand half a dozen other weapons—some of Romulan, Vulcan, Kinshaya, and human design. The opposite wall was a giant window that looked out over the Qora forest. The array of sepia leaves and red bark against the blue-and-white sky provided a fine backdrop for his combat drills.
He regarded his aide. Ruuv was lanky, tall but with skinny shoulders. Still, Kravokh knew he was reliable in battle, and he was also a keen observer—which was why he’d made him his top aide in the first place. “Ditagh is really dying this time?”
“The doctors do not think he will last the night.”
Another snort. “These same doctors said he was due to cross into Sto-Vo-Kor‘any minute’ three months ago.”
Ruuv smiled. “In fact, it is a different doctor, and she is quite sure of her diagnosis. She was convincing enough that Ditagh has named an Arbiter of Succession.”
Kravokh started pacing across the wooden floor toward the window. When a chancellor died in a manner other than in combat, an Arbiter was chosen, who had the task of determining the two most qualified candidates to become the new head of the High Council. Those two then fought each other for the right to rise to the chancellorship. “Who has he named?”
“K’Tal.”
Kravokh whirled away from the spectacular view to give Ruuv a shocked look. “That child?”
“I suspect that is why Ditagh chose him. He is new enough not to have any prejudices.”
Laughing, Kravokh said, “Ditagh mustbe dying—it’s addled his brains. Since when has he preferred those with no prejudices?”
Ruuv joined in the laugh. “It isa wise move. K’Tal may be young, but his House is strong, and he will be the head of that House before long. Making him Arbiter gives him a position of respect, and will indebt the next chancellor to his House even more so.”
Kravokh fixed his aide with a look. “I know why it is good for K’Tal, I am merely surprised that Ditagh chose him. I would have thought he’d choose B’alikk to guarantee that the choices were palatable to Ditagh.”
“I don’t think any choices are palatable to Ditagh.” Ruuv walked over to Kravokh’s side, his boots clacking against the wooden floor. Kravokh, in the privacy of his home, had been wearing mok’barashirt and pants, and had left his feet bare. “I believe that he has left the Empire in a state of disarray and would prefer the choice go to someone else.”
“Of coursehe’s left the Empire in a state of disarray. The amazing thing is that he’srealized what the rest of us have been telling him for the past several years. The only concern now is who K’Tal will pick as the final two candidates.”
“There is little doubt of your being one of them.”
Kravokh shrugged. “Possibly.”
“Definitely. The only successful programs that the High Council has put forth in the last year have come from you.”
Ruuv was not one for unnecessary flattery—in fact, his brutal honesty was one of his best qualities. And in this case, he was right. Kravokh had pushed hard for a variety of programs and reforms, and all the ones he’d been able to slam through the Council—which were irritatingly few of them—had gone quite well.
“I would suggest,” Ruuv said, “that you program that new hologram of yours with everything you can find about Grivak’s fighting style.”
Again, Kravokh laughed. “You’re sure of this information?”
“Quite sure.”
“Good. And you can be sure that my seat on the Council will go to you, Ruuv.”
Ruuv smiled. “That has always been my goal, Kravokh. Out of curiosity, who will get the other one?”
“Assuming the other candidate is Grivak, or someone else on the Council, once I kill them, their seat will go to Captain K’mpec.”
At that, Ruuv’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure that is such a good idea. K’mpec disobeyed your orders at Donatu.”
“And it has all worked out for the best. I have seen the record of battle for the engagement with the Boklar.K’mpec had no choice but to destroy the invaders. Besides,” and here Kravokh smiled viciously, “the promotion of the man responsible for the destruction of the Boklarwill send a message to Cardassia.”
Ruuv didn’t sound convinced. “I would think expelling all Cardassian citizens from the Empire would be message enough.”
Kravokh waved him off. “That is a tiny gesture, and does nothing to get us Ch’gran back. We were a mighty Empire once. Now we are reduced to a third-rate power, letting the Federation broker competitions while Cardassians hold one of our sacred relics hostage. Meanwhile, our so-called ‘leader’ lets our shipyards remain closed because he refuses to bring our ties to the Federation closer! Look at this!” He activated the hologram. “We should be trading Raknal’s zenite for this technology, but instead we let it sit unused. We—”