“I had thought that by telling you of the threat,” the general said, “I could cause you to be more vigilant.”
“Do you believe that I am not now vigilant?” Azetbur bristled. “Do you think that there are not a dozen disruptors aimed at you at this very moment?”
To his credit, the general did not look away, did not seek out the armed guards peering out from the grand structure of the Great Hall surrounding the courtyard. “My apologies, Chancellor,” he said with unconcealed annoyance. “I can see that my assistance is not required.” He turned, apparently to go. He did not ask for her leave.
Azetbur watched Kaarg’s back, her fury compounded by his snub of her authority. She appreciated the practice of loyal opposition, and the need for open debate on policy, but she’d had enough of the ignominious backroom maneuvering against her. In the wake of her father’s assassination, eighteen years ago, she had brought peace to her people, and from there she had fostered the rebuilding and renewal of the Empire. The destruction of Praxis had hobbled the Klingon infrastructure, and it had been her vision and leadership that had made it possible to deal with, and then move past, the catastrophe. How could it be, then, that mere talk—about the shame in accepting Federation aid—now empowered her enemies and cowed her supporters? How dare General Kaarg—
What?Azetbur asked herself. How dare he warn her of a threat against her? He had come here to help her, and she had allowed her anger and frustration with the current political situation—on Qo’noS, but also with Romulus and Earth—to blind her to his support.
“General Kaarg,” she said, and she took several steps after him. She realized that she still wore body armor on one of her legs, but she ignored it. Right now, she needed to know what the general knew—beyond the existence of vague threats—but perhaps more important, she needed an ally on the High Council.
Kaarg stopped and spun to face her. She stopped as well, facing him across a short space. “Yes, Chancellor?” he asked, the annoyance in his voice now seemingly tempered. With a few strides, she closed the distance between them.
“Do you have specific information?” Azetbur asked.
The general appeared immediately uncomfortable. “I have been told certain things,” he said, “but I cannot vouch for the authenticity or seriousness of those things.”
“And yet you come to me with a warning,” she said.
“Obviously, I believe in the veracity of the information,” Kaarg said.
“What information?” Azetbur asked. “Specifically.”
“I do not wish to impugn another member of the High Council,” he said. “I have no evidence, beyond the word of certain of my acquaintances who themselves have heard things.”
“From whom?” Azetbur wanted to know. She stepped forward until she stood so close to Kaarg that she could feel his breath on her skin. “Tell me the source of the threat to me, and I will determine whether or not it is true.”
Kaarg looked at her for only a second before answering. “General Gorak is planning to kill you, Chancellor.”
“Gorak,” Azetbur echoed. She turned and paced slowly away from the general in an attempt to hide her great satisfaction with what he had just told her. There was one plot only, and it had now been confirmed. She turned back around to face Kaarg. “And you know this how?” she asked, seeking additional confirmation.
“A young officer on Gorak’s staff blurted out the information in a transmission to the Romulan starbase Algeron.”
“A transmission to whom?” she asked, suddenly concerned that Kaarg would try to implicate Kage, one of her most trusted confidants.
“To one of the ambassadorial aides,” the general said. “Ditagh is his name.”
Azetbur nodded, again pleased to hear corroboration of something she had already been told, namely that Ditagh operated under the thumb of Gorak. “When will this attempt on my life take place?”
“I know no particulars,” Kaarg said, “but I believe it will be soon. And I do not think that he will challenge you in open Council.”
“No,” Azetbur concurred. “As loudly opposed as some on the High Council are to my handling of relations with the Federation, I doubt many would allow such a challenge.”
“And so Gorak will no doubt try to isolate you,” Kaarg suggested.
“I am seldom in a position of risk,” Azetbur noted.
Kaarg nodded, but the expression on his face displayed uncertainty. “Considering Gorak’s position,” he said, “do you trust the loyalty of allyour guards?” The day-to-day protection of the chancellor fell under the jurisdiction of Klingon Internal Security, a branch of the Defense Force, over which General Gorak held considerable sway.
“You will surround me with your men,” Azetbur told Kaarg.
“I can do that,” he said. “We can safely control the access to you.”
“And in the meantime,” Azetbur said, “you can find Gorak’s weaknesses.”
“I can do that as well,” Kaarg said.
They stood in silence for a short time, until at last, Azetbur said, “Thank you, General.”
Kaarg bowed his head, then started back the way he had come, toward the entrance in the corner of the courtyard. Azetbur watched him go. For the first time in a long time, she felt fortified in her position as chancellor, and thought that maybe she could continue to take the Empire in the right direction as they headed into the future.
Admiral Mentir wanted to swim, wanted to hie down to Space Station KR-3’s natatorium and sprint round and round the long, narrow oval of the watercourse. He felt the need to move, to expend energy in order to divert his thoughts from his responsibilities. But as he glided on his antigrav chair into his office, he knew that he could not do as he wished, precisely becauseof those responsibilities.
In the last day, Mentir’s immediate priorities had been changed significantly. Starfleet Commander in Chief Sinclair-Alexander had contacted him on a secure channel yesterday and directed him to stand in for Admiral Harriman. Mentir’s old friend, it turned out, had begun a mission prior to the injuries he’d sustained as a result of the destruction of Universe.Because Blackjack’s medical condition had not improved since then—had actually begun to deteriorate now—the C in C had needed an officer to complete his assignment.
And then Sinclair-Alexander had detailed that assignment for Mentir. He’d listened in silence, staggered both by the actions that had already been taken and by those that remained to be accomplished. His emotions had lurched from anger to fear to hope, and back again.
Now, hours later, none of those feelings had diminished.
Mentir floated across the anteroom toward a door on one side of the far bulkhead. His office consisted of three sections: this outer chamber, in which he could host airbreathing visitors; an inner, aquatic chamber approximating the environment of Alonis; and a lock between the two, allowing access and egress to the water-filled room. A desk and chairs sat in the outer office, along with several tall, leafy plants of various colors. Shelves decorated the walls, holding a collection of meticulously detailed starship models—Federation and otherwise—which Mentir had crafted himself using his psychokinetic abilities. Among the shelves hung several framed holographic prints of undersea landscapes. But the most dramatic feature of the room was a large transparent section of the far bulkhead, which allowed a view of Mentir’s marine workspace, with its rocky floor, exotic undersea flora, and deep-purple water.
Just as he reached the door of the lock, he heard the warble of a communications channel opening. “Operations to Admiral Mentir,”came the voice of Commander Murray Sperber, the station’s executive officer. The universal translator in Mentir’s environmental suit modified Sperber’s words into the distinctive clicks and cheeps of the Alonis language.