Chapter 39
Raknal V
“Governor, theWo’bortas has arrived to pick us up.”
Qaolin almost choked on his bloodwine at that. Once again, fortune sees fit to spit in my drink.The final indignity in a lifetime of indignities: the very vessel whose command he had to give up to take over this shipwreck of an assignment was the one that would take him away from it.
He looked around at the run-down office that had been his home for eighteen years. The weapons and artwork and furniture had all been packed up and would be transferred to the Wo’bortascargo bay. Knowing the Cardassians, they would probably condemn all the Klingon construction and replace it with their own hideous architecture. Good. The idea of any of those lifeless cowards making use of Klingon buildings is revolting.
Taking another gulp of bloodwine, Qaolin laughed. So this is what it’s come to. I had hoped that the deaths on theChut or the collapse of that building would finally end this battle. Even the Cardassians transplanting those damned fish of theirs might have finally led the Great Curzon to declare a victor in this tiresome little war we have been fighting. Instead, it was a simple change in power. A battle that should have been won is instead ended by politics.He drank more bloodwine, emptying the bottle. How I hate politics.
Qaolin had no idea what he was going to do next. After giving it a great deal of consideration, he was seriously tempted to just go home—or perhaps not even that, but take his share of the holdings of his House and purchase some land on a distant world of the Empire. I can spend my days hunting and my nights drinking. That might not be a bad way to occupy the rest of my life.
Then he opened the drawer of the empty desk and retrieved the one item he had not packed up.
A vintage bottle of bloodwine from the Ozhpri vintner. I’ve been saving this for when I was victorious over Monor and had restored Ch’gran to our people.
Of course, he had lost to Monor, and Ch’gran’s restoration would be at the hands of diplomats and politicians. Damn Monor, he beat me.What was worst was that the Cardassian had not shown any signs of weakening. Qaolin had arrived at Raknal V swearing he would not let Monor take Ch’gran from him. A vibrant young man, he was fresh from his first command, with a good life and career ahead of him. He had proven himself to be quick-witted, strong, and one who could thrive in the volatile atmosphere of the Defense Force. Now, he was leaving Raknal V, Monor having succeeded in taking Ch’gran. A drunken wreck with a broken spirit and few prospects, Qaolin was dull-witted, weak, and wouldn’t last a minute on a Defense Force ship.
But Monor? He arrived at Raknal V an insufferable clod and he was now taking over Raknal V as the same insufferable clod. It was maddening.
Qaolin stared at the bottle of bloodwine.
Then he smiled.
Prefect Monor stared at the view of his planet from his office. The sun was starting to set behind the solid, Cardassian-constructed buildings that would now serve as the focal point of Cardassia’s colony on this world. Monor’s World.
“I like the sound of that,” he said aloud.
“The sound of what, sir?”
Monor turned to see that Ekron had entered. The years had been kind to Monor’s aide. For one thing, age had softened his ridges, so they didn’t quite make his face look so craterlike. For another, after a rocky start, he took quite well to living planetside. Monor suspected that change mostly came about when the prefect finally gave in and let him pursue that imbecilic hevritproject of his—though even Monor had to admit that the transplanting had been a success, for all the difference it made to the price of kanar.Still, it kept Ekron happy, and as long as he was happy, he was efficient, which was what mattered to Monor. He’d have been lost in this post without Ekron’s efficiency.
“I was just admiring the view of my planet,” he said in answer to Ekron’s query. “And it is, you know. Mine. Make a note for me to send a message to Central Command seeing if they can name the planet after me. Least they can do after saddling me with those damned Foreheads for eighteen years. It’ll be good to see the last of them, let me tell you. Don’t know what it took for one of them to see sense, but I’m glad that K’mpec person at least has a brain. He’s probably some kind of mutant—the only Forehead with an actually measurable cranial capacity. Hard to believe, really, that people with such massive heads can have such tiny brains. Make a note of that, Ekron, we should do some kind of study.”
“Yes, sir,” Ekron said. “Ah, you have a package, sir. It was just delivered from the southern continent.”
“What!?” Monor turned around. “Dammit, man, do I have to do allthe thinking around here? That could be—”
“It’s already been thoroughly scanned, sir,” Ekron interrupted.
Of course it has, you old fool, Ekron’s no idiot.“And what is it?”
“It’s a bottle of bloodwine, sir.” Ekron handed a box to Monor.
Gingerly, half expecting it to explode, Ekron’s scan notwithstanding, Monor opened the box.
Inside was a bottle with some kind of Forehead logo on it, along with that scrawl they insisted was a language. Also inside was an optical chip.
He handed the latter to Ekron. “I’m going to regret this, but put it in the viewer.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ekron did so, and the viewer on Monor’s office wall lit up with the hideous face of Qaolin.
“Greetings, my old enemy. Eighteen years ago, we faced each other in combat worthy of song, and one that intertwined our destinies on this forsaken ball of rock. Today, we part, with victory in your grasp. I must admit, this was not the ending I had in mind for our battle when our ships first engaged over this world, but I cannot deny that you have been a worthy foe. Therefore I give you this parting gift—the finest bottle of the finest bloodwine from our finest vintner. I salute you, Prefect Monor—you have been a worthy foe.Qapla’ !”
The message then ended. “At least he wasn’t slurring,” Monor muttered. Then he handed Ekron the bottle. “Destroy it.”
“Sir? It wasa gift.”
Monor’s lips curled in distaste. “Please. It’s a Forehead abomination. I want all traces of those creatures abolished from my world, starting with this blood vinegar of theirs and finishing with that filthy Ch’gran wreck. That’s what started this whole mess, you know. I tell you, Ekron, I wish you’d never found that damned relic. If you hadn’t, we’d have just colonized this place eighteen years ago and I could’ve retired.”
Taking the bottle from Monor, Ekron said, “As you say, sir.”
“I want that bottle vaporized, Ekron. Hell, I want it atomized.I don’t even want there to be microscopic traces of that damned Forehead swill on my world, is that understood?”
“Yes, sir. If you’ll excuse me, sir.”
Ekron took his leave. Monor went back to the window and watched the rest of the sunset on his world.
Chapter 40
Betazed
Elias Vaughn sipped his single-malt Scotch as he stood on the periphery of the crowd. He saw several familiar faces at the reception, but thankfully no one he knew well enough to actually talk to. Some nodded their heads at him, others ignored him. None came to talk to him, which suited him fine. He was just marking time until the transport arrived in any case. The reception was unusually quiet, as most of those present were telepaths, and so defaulted to talking among themselves psionically.