Just as she brought it over, the diamond door slid hesitantly open once again, and Elias Vaughn entered. Lorgh noted that the human was walking gingerly, which made sense, given the gravity of his injuries on Raknal V months ago. What impressed Lorgh was that he was walking at all. If a Klingon suffered a like injury, the legs would not have been salvageable, and would have been amputated. A Klingon warrior—or I.I. agent—would probably insist on Mauk-to’Vorat that point, since one cannot go into battle without legs, and a warrior would rather die than be forbidden combat.
Vaughn had proven to be a valuable resource. They had first met aboard the Carthageduring the Betreka Nebula incident, and they had remained in contact on and off in the decade and a half since—each had found the other a useful font of information at times, and the constant exchange had served to allow both of them to do their jobs more efficiently. Neither of them had informed their superiors or colleagues that he used the other as a source. I.I. knew only that Lorgh was visiting one of his confidential informants; he assumed that Vaughn’s own people knew exactly as much.
Lorgh wondered if symbolism as much as practicality entered into Vaughn’s reasons for choosing this as a meeting place. Deep Space Station K-7 was the nearest Federation outpost to Sherman’s Planet, one of several border worlds in dispute during the hostilities that led to the Organian Peace Treaty. Under the terms of that treaty, the Klingons and Federation had to show who could develop Sherman’s Planet most efficiently; the Federation won that battle a year later. The Great Curzon had used Sherman’s Planet as one of the precedents for his Raknal V solution at the Betreka Nebula. Now Vaughn, coming off an injury sustained at Raknal V, was meeting here with Lorgh, a contact he first made near that world.
Then again, this human has never struck me as one to appreciate that type of symbolism.
It didn’t take Vaughn long to spot Lorgh, even in the corner—he was one of only half a dozen customers in the place, and the only Klingon—and so he immediately walked over and took the seat opposite Lorgh.
“You seem to be recovering nicely.”
“I suppose,” Vaughn said. “It’s good to see you again.”
Sipping his Altair water and trying not to gag, Lorgh said, “I feel the same. Especially now that you have finally grown a beard. It is unfit for a warrior to be without one.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The server came over; Vaughn ordered something that sounded like t’qIla’,which turned out to be a clear liquid that came in a very small glass.
“I believe you requested this meeting,” Lorgh said by way of getting the conversational ball rolling.
Vaughn sipped his drink. “Yes, I did. The incident on Raknal V was the result of sabotage by Romulans.”
At that, Lorgh’s eyes narrowed. He’d been investigating the Romulans for months, and learning some disheartening things about the direction their government was taking, but this was a new wrinkle.
Lorgh chose his next words carefully. “I take it by the fact that the official report listed the building’s collapse as an accident means that either you wish to keep the Romulan involvement a secret, or that you have no proof.”
“The latter, believe me.” Vaughn sounded especially angry. Lorgh remembered that the Starfleet officer who died in the building was a comrade of Vaughn’s. “If we could expose their involvement, we would. Unfortunately, they had an agent on-site who dropped a building on Commander Troi and myself and made off with our evidence. Bringing accusations of Romulan sabotage into Raknal without anything to back it up will only make a disastrous situation worse.”
Lorgh tapped the glass that held his Altair water, which he had no intention of finishing. “You brought me this information for a reason, I assume.”
“You know as well as I do that Qaolin is furious that we didn’t blame the Cardassians for sabotaging that building, even though everyone assumes they did.” He snorted. “From what I was hearing on Raknal before the Carthageleft, half the Cardassians on the planet thought Monor orchestrated it, and they’re on hisside. Meanwhile, the Cardassians know they didn’t do it, and are blaming us for spreading the rumors.”
Grinning, Lorgh said, “Sounds like a difficult situation.”
“What I need to know from you is what the High Council’s position is.”
Lorgh’s grin fell. “Divided. Some wish to strengthen our ties with the Federation, some wish to strengthen our ties with the Romulans, some think we need to find our own path.”
“What about the Cardassians?”
The grin came back. “They die well.” Skirmishes with the Cardassians had increased in the months since the latest Raknal V disaster, with the Klingons being on the winning side more often than not. Kravokh’s recruitment drives for enlisting in the Defense Force and his initiatives to construct newer ships had borne fruit. The Klingon military was stronger than it had been in fifty years. As long as no more moons explode, we should thrive,he thought wryly.
None of that, however, was the human’s concern—nor would Lorgh’s glib response truly satisfy the human’s need for information. The question was, how much was Vaughn’s intelligence about Romulan involvement in the Betreka Sector worth?
More to the point, how much was it worth to Lorgh’s own investigations for the Federation to be more aware of the situation?
“The fervor which gripped our people sixteen years ago over the recovery of Ch’gran has abated with time, as all things do. True, we would prefer to have it in our possession than it be in the hands of murdering outsiders, but the number of dead without any true gains made by their sacrifices makes us weary.”
Vaughn frowned. “So what’s the problem?”
“Kravokh. He is obsessed with Ch’gran. Everything he does seems geared toward our wresting Ch’gran from Cardassian control. The benefits to the Empire are merely a fortuitous side effect—but one that masks his true intentions, and also prevents those who oppose his obsession from doing anything about it. I fear that his insistence on keeping our eyes on Cardassia will blind him to the dagger that the Romulans will insert in our backs.” Lorgh thought a moment, then decided to open up further. “And that dagger will come soon. I have information that Praetor Dralath suffers from an incurable blood disease called T’Shevat’s Syndrome. That, combined with his declining popularity and the age of their emperor, points to a man who is desperate enough to attempt something foolish.”
“Like start a war?”
Lorgh nodded.
Vaughn sipped the rest of his drink in silence. Then he rose. “Thanks for seeing me. You’ve been a tremendous help. The next one’s on me.”
Again, Lorgh nodded. Obviously, Vaughn felt he had gotten the better end of this particular information exchange. Which means that next time, he will be even more forthcoming. Good.
I just hope that revealing so much to the Federation benefits us as I pray it will.I.I.’s attempts to convince the High Council that the Romulans were a threat had fallen on deaf ears, mostly because of K’mpec’s efforts in blocking I.I.’s every move. Part of Lorgh thought it would be best to simply remove K’mpec, but—his animus for I.I. aside—he was an effective councillor. He was a consensus builder, and a charismatic leader who had avoided the factionalization of the Council. That made him an ideal candidate to succeed Kravokh, and perhaps truly unite the Council for the first time since Azetbur’s time.
If only he will come to my way of seeing things…
Throwing common sense to the wind, Lorgh finished his Altair water, and also departed the bar. His work on Deep Space Station K-7 was done.
The much more difficult work lay ahead.