“I soon learned that Baroner and his Vulcan ally were none other than Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Commander Spock of the Enterprise.The honor of killing Kirk would have been great, but it was war, and prisoners had their uses. So I put them in a prison—but the other Organians freed them. I killed two hundred of them for this effrontery, yet they seemed utterly unconcerned. I was prepared to kill more, when Kirk and Spock themselves burst into my office.”
Laughing as he poured his chech’tluthtoward his face—some of it, Dax noted, even actually making it into his mouth—Kor then went on. “Truly they were worthy foes.” He cocked his head. “More or less. Humans tend to be sentimental, even in war, and Kirk was no different. But when it came time to fight, he fought—or tried to. That was when the Organians stepped in and forced us to cease hostilities.”
The Klingons present had less love for the Organians than they did the Vulcans, but the captain shushed them. “Believe me, no one hates the Organians more than I. They claim to have evolved beyond us, yet they have no joy, no passion, no lusts!” To accentuate this last point, Kor grabbed an attractive Caitian female—who was about a quarter of old razorbeast’s age, Dax knew—and gave her a friendly snarl. The woman purred back, and everyone around them laughed. “Besides, if not for what the Organians did that day, I doubt we would have been in a position to gain the Federation’s assistance when Praxis was lost to us.”
Several grumbled at that—nobody liked being reminded of Praxis—but then Kor laughed. “Of course, that was not my last chance to face Kirk in battle! No, we fought again later, at the legendary Delta Triangle!” He gulped down the rest of his drink. “But that is a tale for another day.”
Some were disappointed at this postponement, others were relieved, others simply went back to whatever they were doing before the aged captain enthralled them with his words. Most were Klingons, and therefore had no trouble finding someone to wrestle or head-butt or drink copious amounts with. I think that’s what I like best about these people—theyknow how to have a party.
The storyteller himself, though, went straight for the small wooden table where Dax sat, nursing a beer. Dax had no idea how or why a bar located on a base deep in the heart of the Klingon Empire served Earth beer, but he hadn’t had any in years, and he found he missed it.
“Now there is a face I didn’t expect to see here,” the old Klingon said.
“I, on the other hand, fully expected to find your face here as soon as I learned that the Klothoswas in orbit here at B’Alda’ar. Speaking of your face, you’ve got chech’tluthin your beard.”
Kor laughed. “I’m saving it for later.” He fell more than sat into the seat opposite Dax. “So—if you were seeking out the Klothos,it stands to reason that you were seeking out its captain.”
Holding up his beer in tribute, Dax said, “Your powers of observation remain keen as ever, Kor. A colleague and I have been spending the last several weeks doing some—research into the head of the High Council.”
Kor frowned. “Why do you wish to investigate Kravokh? He is a good man, from all accounts, and he has made us strong once again.”
“Perhaps, but he’s also obsessed with Ch’gran. And I’ve learned why. He—”
“He is the descendant of one of the original colonists, of course.”
Dax stared at Kor for several seconds. “My colleague and I—neither of whom are without resources—took weeks to dig that up. The least you could’ve done, old friend, was let me gloat over our work.”
Kor’s laughter echoed off the ceiling. “Ah, Dax, I’ve missed you so. It’s not as if you were ignorant of my knowledge, or you would not have sought me out in this lovely establishment.” He gestured, taking in the entire dark, high-ceilinged bar. “You know that I served with Kravokh’s father, and I suppose now you wish me to provide you with insight into the chancellor’s mind.”
Dax grinned. “And they say you’re getting forgetful with age, Kor.”
“Nonsense! No one says that!” He spoke with mock outrage that only lasted about half a second before he, too, grinned. “They say I’m getting forgetful with drink!” And, as if to prove those words prophetic, he gulped down the rest of his chech’tluth.“Now, then, where was I?”
“Kravokh.”
“No, Kravokh’s father. Yes, J’Doq and I served together years ago. I remember once, after we defeated Tholian raiders, we came to a bar—rather like this one, actually—and spoke of glories past. He went on at some length about the great deeds his family had committed—it was quite tiresome, to be honest.”
Dax pointedly made no comment.
“Then I remember him saying, ‘And of course, there was Ch’gran.’” Kor smiled. “This was something of a surprise, since I had no idea that his House descended from those heroes. I said as much.” Kor frowned. “The next part was peculiar, for J’Doq said, ‘Bah! Klartak may have been my ancestor, but he was no hero. I know the truth.The whole family knows the truth, and if it ever got out it would destroy the Empire.’”
Now Dax leaned forward. This is even more than I’d hoped for.“So what was the truth?”
Kor seemed distracted. “Hm?”
“The truth about Ch’gran, what was it?”
“How should I know?” Kor shrugged, took a dry sip of his drink, realized it was empty, then tossed the wooden mug aside. “Right after J’Doq said that, he passed out. We never spoke of it again.”
Incredulous, Dax asked, “You didn’t question him further?”
“Listen carefully, Dax. I said, wenever spoke of it again. Icertainly did, but the toDSaHwouldn’t say a word after he sobered up— andhe never got drunk in my presence again.” Kor snorted. “He became very dull after that. But enough of this!” He got up, grabbing Dax by the arm as he did so. “Dax and Kor are together again! We must celebrate!”
“Who am I to argue with the hero of Klach D’Kel Bracht?”
Slamming Dax on the back, which caused the Trill to stumble forward toward the bar, Kor laughed and said, “Have I told you the story of how I massacred the Romulans on that day, my old friend?”
“Not for several years, no,” Dax said dryly.
“Then you must hear it again, for I tell it much better now. There I was…”
The beeping seemed to echo in the Trill’s skull.
He tried to remember where he was. Then he tried to remember his name. After several seconds, that came to him: he was Curzon Dax, a Federation ambassador.
And he had the mother of all hangovers.
Then he recalled the first thing: he was on his private transport, a small Trill craft that had an exquisitely comfortable bed—which made the feeling of metal against his cheek rather confusing. He opened his eyes to discover that he had fallen asleep about a meter from that bed on the cold, hard deck.
Ah, well. At least I had the presence of mind to make it back to the ship.“Computer, turn off that damned beeping!”
“Please repeat request.”
Dax sighed. Although he had intended to enunciate those words, looking back, it came out more like, “Kapooer, tnoffat dameepng!” So instead, he gathered every ounce of strength he had and sat up.
This was a mistake. The interior of the ship proceeded to leap about, jump up and down, and generally act quite silly. Dax closed his eyes—which served to give him a burst of color inside his eyelids—then opened them again. The ship had, blessedly, calmed down.
Finally, he focused on the fact that the beeping was the comm system. He managed to crawl over to the workstation and activate the viewer.
Too late, he realized he should have disabled the video feed, but by then the face of Elias Vaughn was already on the screen. “Rough night?”
“Vaughn, the last thing I need right now is a high-handed lecture from you about the perils of drinking.”