Dax said nothing, but slammed his mug into K’mpec’s, some of the wine splashing over the side. Unheedful of it, he drank the remainder, as did K’mpec, who smiled. The wine was weak, but at least Dax knew how to drink like a Klingon.
“I knew her, you know. Garrett. Fine woman. She deserved better.”
K’mpec frowned. “She died well.”
“I have seen more kinds of death than you would believe possible, K’mpec,” Dax said, his voice slurring enough to make one wonder how much bloodwine he had imbibed before K’mpec’s arrival. “I have yet to see one that could be classified as dying ‘well.’”
Perhaps you do not understand us as well as you think,K’mpec thought, but knew better than to say out loud. Death was life’s sole inevitability—how one faced it was the most important thing anyone could do. How can he understand so much about us and not that?
Dax gulped some more bloodwine, then continued. “You are the sixth councillor to visit me since yesterday, K’mpec. Are you also here to tell me that you should cede Raknal V to the Cardassians, and would have done if not for Kravokh’s insistence?”
Interesting,K’mpec thought. In fact, he had intended to say no such thing. But the fact that five councillors did spoke volumes. Kravokh’s support had dwindled even further than K’mpec imagined. Until yesterday, his policies had been good for the Empire, if a bit single-minded. Now, with the embarrassment of the attack on Narendra, Kravokh’s Raknal V obsession had cost Klingon—and Federation—lives, and possibly gained them a dangerous enemy. Not that relations between the two Empires were ever all that friendly—the Romulans were tentative allies even at the best of times—but the new Warbird ships that the Romulans had unveiled in the attack on Narendra were as fearsome as anything the Klingon shipyards had produced of late.
And K’mpec could not get the image of Kravokh’s fear-laden eyes from his mind.
“No,” K’mpec said in answer to Dax’s query. “I wish to discuss what may be done to strengthen our ties to the Federation. You were correct in what you said yesterday. Our alliance is weakened to the breaking point.”
“Not on our end,” Dax said. “I think Captain Garrett showed that quite admirably.”
K’mpec rumbled his agreement. “In that spirit, Ambassador, I assure you that the High Council will not forget Captain Garrett’s sacrifice. And if they are in danger of doing so—I will remind them.”
The ambassador and the councillor spent the next hour discussing possible ways to improve ties between the governments, from trade agreements to increased intelligence sharing between the Defense Force and Starfleet. At the moment, it was simply words, but words led to actions, and the Empire needed to take action.
Especially with regard to the Federation. If we are not careful, we will make enemies of the entire quadrant. We are far past the point where we can rely solely on our own strength.
When he returned to his office in the Great Hall near the Council Chambers, K’mpec was met by one of his aides. “There is news, sir,” the young woman said. “Praetor Dralath has been overthrown. He has been replaced by an aristocrat named Narviat.”
K’mpec smiled. It seems you overplayed your hand, Praetor.Then again, the defiant resistance of the Klingons combined with the Enterprise’s sacrifice made their invasion something less than successful.
The aide added, “And you have received a private message.” She handed him a padd.
Dismissing the aide with a wave of his hand, K’mpec sat and thumbed the padd. It scanned his DNA, then decoded the message—which turned out to have the Imperial Intelligence seal.
Lorgh’s face then appeared on the padd’s display. “I see you finally wish to hear my words, K’mpec. A pity it comes too late for the inhabitants of Narendra III. I will contact you soon.”
An alarm sounded on K’mpec’s workstation: Council was returning to session. K’mpec almost didn’t get up. What is the point?He knew that the pro-Romulan faction of the Council would see the overthrow of Dralath as a reason not to go to war with them.
But no—he had promised Dax that he would remind the Council of Garrett’s sacrifice, and he suspected that such a reminder would be needed now.
A week after his arrival on Qo’noS, Curzon Dax put through a communication to Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan. It was coded with several encryptions that Sarek and his son, Ambassador Spock—who had a facility with computers unmatched in the Federation—had developed. Dax derived a certain amusement from the contortions the Imperial Intelligence eavesdroppers would go through attempting to decode the communiqué, but Dax had every faith in Sarek and his son’s abilities to keep the conversation private.
When Sarek’s face appeared on the tiny viewscreen, Dax’s first words after the pleasantries were of the Vulcan’s son. “How was the wedding?”
“It was a most satisfactory affair.”
Dax grinned. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I’ve always wanted to meet Spock. But leaving Qo’noS now would be unwise.”
“Of course. What way twists the High Council?”
“Every which way, apparently. This situation has gotten intolerable.” He leaned back in the uncomfortable Klingon chair. “And it’s all my fault. My actions at the Betreka Nebula have led to this disaster.”
Sarek raised an eyebrow. “You can hardly blame yourself. Your solution sixteen years ago was both sound and logical. That events have transpired the way they have is not due to any fault in that logic.”
Smiling grimly, Dax said, “Loath as I am to disagree with you, old friend, I’m afraid I must. Who else am I toblame? The mistake was mine because the solution wasn’tsound and logical. It was emotional and stupid, and if I’d been thinking, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“As you yourself observed at the time, the Klingon mindset is ideally suited for a competition such as what you proposed.”
“The Klingonmindset, yes.” Dax leaned forward. “But not the Cardassian mindset. They resented this whole thing from the beginning. I suspect that their disdain for this enterprise is what has led to their continued open hostilities with both the Federation andthe Empire. How many have died from this conflict? What about the hundred people on the Chut,and all the blood feuds that the Klingons started as a result of that? What about Ian Troi?” He leaned back again, suddenly feeling exhausted. “And what about Narendra III?”
“You can hardly be held responsible for the ambitions of a Romulan praetor.”
“No, but I can hold myself responsible for giving Chancellor Kravokh something to focus on that distracts him from the possible Romulan threat. I’ve seen a great deal of death in my time, Sarek. I’ve lived over half a dozen lifetimes, outlived everyone I’ve ever cared about, with only recent exceptions—and I fully expect to outlive them, as well, even if I die myself. The joys of joining.” Dax pursed his lips. He hoped Sarek’s encryptions were as good as they were supposed to be; Sarek was one of the few non-Trill who knew that he was both an old man named Curzon and a centuries-old symbiont named Dax, and he didn’t fancy the idea of I.I. finding out—especially this way. But he needed to say this. “So many joined Trill let themselves become inured to it—they allow each lifetime to harden them, make them accustomed to death. But do you know what I’ve learned from Lela and Torias and Tobin and all the others?”
Sarek came as close to a smile as he was ever likely to. “I presume that you learned to treasure life precisely because you have seen how fleeting it is.”
Dax shook his head. “As usual, you know me as well as I know myself.”
“Not a difficult task. You vastly overrate your own self-awareness.”