“Kravokh.”
The councillor blinked.
“I am not the one you need to convince,” Ruuv said with a smile. “Save this oratory for after you defeat Grivak.”
This time, Kravokh’s laugh was a full-throated one that echoed off the high ceiling of the practice room. “Indeed! And when it is over, you and I— CouncillorRuuv—will share a drink to celebrate!”
“I look forward to it.”
Ditagh died the next morning.
The Sonchiceremony was held that afternoon in Council Chambers. The corpse of Ditagh sat on the large chair that was the chamber’s centerpiece. Five had petitioned to be considered for the chancellorship, and all five, as well as K’Tal—whose job was to reduce that list to two—stood around the chair, along with aides and other companions, as well as the remainder of the High Council. Ruuv stood by Kravokh’s side, holding his painstik.
First K’Tal walked up to the chair holding his painstik, and issued the traditional challenge. “Face me if you dare!” Then he jabbed the corpse with the painstik, its red glow spreading across the chancellor’s chest.
Ditagh did not move.
The purpose of the ceremony was to verify for all to see that the old leader was truly dead. Like many old traditions, it served little purpose beyond the symbolic in this day and age. Indeed, many of the old rites had fallen away over time like the leaves off a dying tree, but this one remained.
Next was Grivak. Like Ditagh, he was a large, muscular warrior, with enough canniness to make up for an appalling lack of intelligence. His record in battle was excellent; his record in politics unspectacular. In fact, his career was similar to that of Ditagh’s when he ascended, which no doubt accounted for the strength of his petition to succeed him.
“Face me if you dare,” Grivak said, sounding bored. He barely touched Ditagh with the painstik.
A woman named Altrom then approached. She had no aide, and carried her own painstik. Kravokh knew her as an agitator who mainly wished to reverse Kaarg’s decree that women could not serve on the Council.
“Face me,” she cried, “if you dare!”She practically shoved the painstik through Ditagh’s belly.
The other two petitioners took their turn, then, finally, it was down to Kravokh. Ruuv handed him the painstik, and he approached the corpse, now smoking with the remnants of five painstik bursts.
The erstwhile chancellor looked much older in death than he had in life. Yet part of him seemed almost—relieved? As if the burden of the chancellorship was too much for him,Kravokh thought. Certainly I would not argue that point.Ditagh had succeeded Kaarg, a reactionary chancellor whose entire platform consisted of not being Azetbur, but with no plan beyond that. The Ditagh regime was more of the same. Kravokh vowed that he would be remembered as more than the idiotic footnote that was, he hoped, the only fate that awaited Kaarg and Ditagh in the future.
“Face me if you dare,” Kravokh said, and applied the painstik. And of course, Ditagh did not face him, nor anyone else. The Sonchiwas especially fitting for a chancellor whose regime would be known as an era of doing nothing.
K’Tal then once again approached the chair, this time without the painstik, and spoke the phrase for which the ceremony was named. “He is dead.”
Then the young man turned to face the five petitioners. “I will now choose the final candidates to succeed Ditagh, as laid down in the traditions of our people.” K’Tal paused, letting the moment stretch. If someone with more of a sense of humor than he credited K’Tal with having were Arbiter, Kravokh would have half expected him to choose Altrom as one of the candidates. But K’Tal was in no position to make so radical a choice without dire consequences to his burgeoning career.
Several seconds passed. The politician in Kravokh admired the delaying tactic, though the warrior in him cried out for blood. Kravokh had worked his whole life for this moment, and he did not want it delayed because some boy wanted the spotlight on him for a few extra seconds.
“Kravokh, Grivak, come forward!”
It took all of Kravokh’s willpower to keep from smiling.
The fight did not last very long. Kravokh had been up all the night, spending half of it researching Grivak’s fighting style and programming it into his holographic sparring partner and the other half engaging the hologram in combat. Grivak’s thrusts and parries were all from above—if Kravokh emphasized strokes that came from below, Grivak would have a harder time defending or moving to the offensive. Although the real Grivak proved more adaptable than the hologram—the latter was limited by the short timeframe and its programming—Kravokh still made relatively short work of his competitor.
His bat’lethfirmly lodged in Grivak’s chest, Kravokh now stood over his fallen foe. I’ve done it,he thought. I lead the Empire.
It almost didn’t seem real. He still remembered the day he set himself on this course: it was when Kaarg announced that no women would serve on the Council shortly after he ascended. It was then that the simple thought entered his head: I can run the Empire better than this fool.He spent the next two decades consolidating his support, making a name for himself, gaining a seat on the High Council. Then, when the Ch’gran colony was at last found, he stepped up his efforts. The remains of Ch’gran hadto be retrieved at all costs, and he knew that Ditagh would not—indeed could not—be the one to do it.
Now he had succeeded. The battle was won. He was chancellor.
Before him, the entire High Council, the other petitioners and their aides, all stood. Several of them cheered his name, as they had been doing since the tide of victory started to stem his way during the fight with Grivak.
The first order of business was to honor his fallen foe. Though Grivak was an unworthy fool, he died a good death, and deserved all considerations due him for that. Kravokh knelt down, pried open the warrior’s eyes, and then screamed to the heavens. Around him, the other Klingons did likewise, warning the Black Fleet that another Klingon warrior was crossing the River of Blood to Sto-Vo-Kor.Their screams echoed throughout the high-ceilinged chamber for several seconds after the screams themselves ceased.
Then Kravokh rose and walked over to the chair on which Ditagh’s corpse still sat. As he did so, the assembled Klingons rumbled in anticipation of Kravokh’s first words as the new Klingon supreme commander.
“Centuries ago, Ch’gran ventured forth into the black sky to bring greatness to our people after the Hur’q left us ravaged. The destruction of Praxis left us ravaged again, and we have let the Empire flounder and grow weak. We have even let the remains of Ch’gran—found after all these turns—lie fallow in the hands of outsiders.”
He walked back to Grivak’s corpse and yanked his bat’lethfrom his fallen foe’s chest. Holding it aloft, the blade dripping Grivak’s blood onto the chamber floor, he continued. “Today dawns a new day for the Empire. No longer will we sit while the Federation and the Cardassians grow stronger! No longer shall we allow outsiders to sully our sacred relics! Cardassians will remain pariahs on our worlds! Any Cardassian ship that violates our borders will meet the same fate as the Boklar!And Raknal V willbe ours! The Klingon Empire will once again be a force to be reckoned with! We will be strong! We are Klingons, and we will achieve our destiny!”
All of those present cheered his words, even those who, Kravokh knew, were his enemies, for none could deny the heart of what he said. Even Ditagh’s most fervent supporters knew that it was time for a change.