“I understand.”And he clearly did, because he closed the channel, blanking the screen. Ditagh touched a control and deactivated the comm system on his end, then turned and walked to the front of his quarters. He reached up and operated a panel set into the bulkhead, and the door slid open. As he’d expected, Kage stood in the corridor.
“Ditagh,” the old man said, “I would speak with you.” He employed the same voice as he did in the negotiating sessions, the calm, even tones of diplomacy—the tones of weakness. It embarrassed and angered Ditagh that such a man represented the Empire.
Turning his back to Kage, Ditagh strode into the center of the room. “What do you want?” he said, showing no respect at all to the ambassador. Although he allowed Kage to maintain his appearance of authority in front of the Romulan and Federation representatives, it pleased him that the charade had ended outside of those meetings. In private, Ditagh no longer hid his disdain for the peace-loving old man. Now he rounded to face him.
“I want to know your mind,” Kage said, stepping inside. The door eased shut after him. “I want to know what you think of the data presented by the Starfleet captain.”
Ditagh stared at the ambassador for a second, just long enough to ascertain the seriousness of the request. When he saw that Kage actually expected an answer, he laughed, a deep, hearty guffaw filled with derision. “You want myopinion?” he said. “Are you now mediating harmony within the Empire?”
“Why not?” Kage asked. “We are both Klingons. Should we not battle together against our enemies, rather than fighting each other?”
Ditagh peered at the ambassador, but now found it impossible to determine the sincerity with which he had asked his questions. “The problem,” he told Kage, “is that you do not know who the enemies of the Empire are, and you do not do battle against them.”
“I know who youthink our enemies are,” Kage said. “I know who your sponsor thinks our enemies are.” Ditagh listened to the obvious attempt to insult him and did not react; Kage’s words meant nothing to him. “But is there no room in your worldview for new facts?”
“And what ‘facts’ are those?” Ditagh asked. He moved to the food synthesizer, intending to order a flagon of bloodwine, but then he decided against it. The Romulan approximation of the Klingon drink provided yet another impetus to flee Algeron. “Facts such as manufactured data files? Doctored sensor readings? Useless blueprints? Are those your ‘new facts’?”
“Have you actually looked at the data?” Kage asked, stepping farther into the room. “Are those your genuine conclusions, or are they merely assumptions?”
Ditagh studied the ambassador, attempting to take the measure of his questioning. Did he really want to know Ditagh’s view, or did he seek something else, perhaps some item of information that he thought might help Azetbur’s cause? Kage had previously acted on both motivations, although it seemed unlikely that he would wish to seriously discuss matters with Ditagh after their confrontation.
“I’ve examined the Federation data,” Ditagh disclosed. He walked over to a chair and dropped heavily into it, his large frame filling the piece of furniture. Kage followed him over, though he did not sit down.
“You’ve examined the data, and concluded the readings to be counterfeit?” he asked. “What about the designs for the new drive?”
“I’m not an engineer or a scientist,” Ditagh said, beginning to tire of this interrogation.
“What does that mean?” Kage asked.
“It means that I’m not qualified to make a determination about the authenticity of the Federation data,” Ditagh said.
Kage leaned forward, resting his hands on the back of a chair. “But you just characterized the data as manufactured, the drive plans as useless.”
“The veracity of the data is irrelevant,” Ditagh said, dismissing the integrity of sensor logs and engine designs with a wave of his hand. “What matters is the intention of the Federation. They are our enemy, and so it is clear that they strive to defeat us. If the readings are genuine, then the Federation must be distracting us from some other important truth. If the drive plans are accurate, then they most certainly will fail in operation, or lead the Empire to develop starship engines inferior to whatever Starfleet is now devising.”
“But your interpretations are self-fulfilling,” Kage said. He circled the chair he had been leaning on and took a seat directly across from Ditagh. “You do not trust the Federation, and so you ascribe dishonorable motives to them. You then use those perceived motives as fortification for your belief that the Federation is our enemy. But since the destruction of Praxis almost twenty years ago, they have demonstrably been our allies.”
“And why is it that you think they’ve been our allies?” Ditagh asked. “Because they’ve provided us food and energy?”
“Yes, of course,” Kage said. “They’ve helped to prevent the disintegration of the Empire.”
“Have they saved us, or have they found a means of controlling us?” Ditagh leaned forward, warming to the subject despite his contempt for the ambassador. “The Federation has done only so much for Qo’noS. They’ve stopped short of giving us what we’ve needed to grow as strong as we’d been before the disaster on Praxis. They’ve kept us from becoming a threat to them, restraining our progress by enthralling some of our people—as they’ve done with Azetbur. And with you.”
Kage gazed at him, his eyes narrowing. “Do you not even grant the possibility that the Federation is our ally?”
“Do you not even grant the possibility that it is our enemy?” Ditagh returned. “You accuse me of finding ends based upon my assumptions, but do you not support your vision of the Federation as a Klingon ally with favorable interpretations of their actions?”
Kage lifted his chin, then glanced away for a moment. At last, to Ditagh’s surprise, he said, “Perhaps.” But then he asked, “Have you ever been to a Federation world?” When Ditagh did not bother to answer, he said, “I thought not.”
“If you’re here to try to convince me of the truth of your position, there is no point,” Ditagh said. He sat back in his chair. “I would die protecting Klingons from the imperialism of the duplicitous Federation.”
“Yes,” Kage said slowly. “I’m sure that you would.” A glimmer in the ambassador’s eyes hinted that he either hoped or believed that such a fate would befall Ditagh. “It astonishes me how different our views can be, based upon the same information.” He paused, and then added, “But then, I have actually been to the Federation, and worked with its people.”
“Then why don’t you go back to some Federation world, old man?” Ditagh stood up. “Maybe you can spend the last days of your life being administered powders and liquids for the sick. You can prolong your fearful little life in safety, absent the fires and glories of battle. Like a human, or a Deltan.”
Kage peered up at him and nodded. He stood up and faced Ditagh for a few seconds—a pitiable attempt to show strength, Ditagh figured—and then headed for the door. As it opened before him, he looked back into the room. “You call me an old man,” he said, “and I am. But you are out of date, and so are all of those like you. And because you are all out of power—real power—the Empire has survived, and will continue to survive.” Then he continued out into the corridor.
Ditagh watched him go. “How wrong you are, old man,” he said to himself. Before long, he knew, Kage and Azetbur and their ilk would be forcibly rendered obsolete. The Empire had survived under their reign, but only once they had been removed would it flourish.
He crossed the room, making his way back over to the food synthesizer. He operated the control panel, steering through its menus and submenus until he reached the selection for Klingon bloodwine,and then found the specification Warm.Ditagh would toast to the future of the Klingon Empire, which would not include Kage or Azetbur or any of their minions.