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Star Trek: Bounty - 10 - "Take Arms Against a Sea of Tribbles"

Part Two (Cont'd)

“So…what now?”

It was a legitimate question that Sunek was posing.

The Bounty had dropped out of warp and come to a dead stop on the fringes of the Brexis system. They were still some distance from their intended destination in the inner part of the system, but it seemed like it wasn’t a good idea to make the rest of the journey just at the moment, given the circumstances.

Jirel sat in the centre chair of the cockpit and looked grimly out of the window. At the forms of the two Birds of Prey that had decloaked and intercepted them as soon as they had approached the boundaries of the system.

Behind and to his right, at her newly functional console, Natasha again felt very keenly aware of the relatively flimsy vessel she was currently sitting in.

Neither of them had much of an answer to the Vulcan’s question, not being especially well versed in dealing with the Klingon Defence Force.

With no response forthcoming, and despite the twin sets of disruptor cannons that were still being pointed at them with menace from the ends of the wings of the two dark green vessels, Sunek couldn’t help but swivel around and gesture at Denella.

“Come on then, time to break out all that conversational Klingon of yours again. You…know how to say ‘hello’, right?”

The Orion engineer offered the grinning Vulcan a withering glare, a mouthful of phlegm and a sharp dose of Klingonese.

“TarghlIj yIngagh, yIruch!”

“Takes one to know one,” Sunek shrugged back.

Before the bickering could continue, the four individuals in the cockpit heard three sets of heavy footsteps marching up the steps at the rear of the room.

Klath walked in and stared out at the view ahead with an unerring feeling of kinship. It had been nearly a decade since he had seen a Klingon Defence Force ship in the flesh, and he was immediately drawn to the familiar lines of the two small but potent escort ships. Both of them were of the smaller B'rel-class. Just like his own former command.

Behind him, Karn and K’Veth stared out with more of a look of awe. Outside of simulators and holosuites, neither had ever seen a Bird of Prey before.

Breaking up the collective moment of reflection, Jirel swivelled around in his seat and gestured to Klath.

“So, small issue, the locals don’t seem to want to let us past. We’ve sent over our delivery papers, we’ve tried hailing them, and they shadow us whenever we even try to back off.”

“Also,” Sunek piped up, “They’ve got lots and lots of guns.”

“Also, that.”

Klath dropped into his usual weapons station and quickly tapped at his controls. After a moment, he nodded in satisfaction.

“They do not yet have weapons charged,” he reported, “That is a good sign.”

“Not exactly filling me with confidence,” Jirel replied with a slightly nervous edge.

Klath remained calm as he looked over at the Trill, significantly more accepting of the situation than anyone else in the cockpit.

“They will be ships from Toran’s honour guard.”

“They’re not being very talkative,” Natasha pointed out with a slight shiver.

“They are not supposed to be talkative,” Klath countered, “They are here to protect him from any potential incoming threats. Right now, they will be assessing our papers and our transmissions and deciding which action to take.”

“And then they let us past?” Jirel asked.

“Hopefully.”

The Trill gave his Klingon colleague an especially unhappy look, as Sunek piped up from the pilot’s seat again, a little less amused than usual.

“Ugh. This is such a dumb way to run an empire, you know? Literally every ship in the universe has a comms link. If you guys just talked a bit more, you’d save yourselves a hell of a lot of trouble.”

Klath ignored the Vulcan’s latest slight against his people, and also chose not to ask himself how much of his comment was a reference to the events in the Tygon Nebula. After all, on that occasion as well, Klath had chosen to act first, rather than to talk.

Sunek, for his part, just spun back around to his controls, and suppressed the latest nervous gulp that threatened to jump out of his mouth as he again saw the menacing ships off their bow.

Eventually, the two hawk-like vessels both eased back on thruster control, their twin wings lifting up to a more even keel as they prepared for cruise mode, and then turned to face back into the inner Brexis system.

“They have reached a decision,” Klath pointed out, “They will escort us to Brexis II.”

“Neat,” Sunek muttered sarcastically, just as his navigational computer piped out an alert, “Receiving coordinates and course information from them. Finally. They say we’re to proceed to our destination at warp two.”

“Whatever you do,” Jirel said, still warily eyeing up their escorts, “Don’t improvise.”

Sunek tutted as he tapped his controls with precision, mildly affronted at the very idea that he wouldn’t do what he was told. Then, in unison, the three ships jumped into low warp, as they sped towards their destination.

Still watching the sleek Birds of Prey as they shadowed the Bounty in tight formation, Karn’s eyes glinted with awe.

“Such magnificent vessels,” he muttered.

“Psh,” Denella couldn’t stop herself from firing back, “The Bounty’s twice the ship either of those things are--”

She was immediately interrupted by another unwelcome alert from her console, and responded with a choice, untranslatable expletive in her native Orion tongue.

“What?” Jirel asked, swivelling around to the frustrated engineer.

“Ugh, nothing. Just…a malfunction in the secondary deflector array. I’ll take a look as soon as we’ve landed.”

Karn couldn’t help but offer a superior sneer at this latest issue, as he turned and exited the cockpit with K’Veth in tow. Once they were gone, Denella calmed herself down and patted her console as patiently as she could manage.

“Hey, listen,” she cooed at the ship, “You know I think you’re the best no matter what, but could you just try to work with me on this one? Please?”

Jirel mustered a grin, as he turned back to watch the stars warping by.

And he tried not to feel too unnerved by the sight of their ever-present escorts.
 
Part Two (Cont'd)

A short while later, the Bounty sat on the landing area in the grounds of Toran’s vast homestead on the surface of Brexis II.

The residence was the sort of place that, even for those not especially well-versed in Klingon politics, immediately told you someone important lived here.

The central building was a lavishly tall structure, some four stories high. It was rendered in a deep red stone that had evidently been mined from the similarly coloured rocks of the hills and mountains in the distance. The grounds of the compound were filled with several smaller buildings and vast open plan spaces, and there was even a fenced-off enclosure to the south side of the estate which housed the foraging forms of Toran’s collection of pure-bred pet targs.

As the Bounty’s crew and their two Klingon guests descended the ship’s rear ramp. They were met by an imposing sight in keeping with the rest of the residence. From the front gate of the estate, two lines of Toran’s honour guard were lined up along each side of the entrance. They stood with ceremonial swords raised, awaiting their master.

Jirel took in the scene with an impressed nod. It was likely the most effort anyone had ever made to welcome a slightly battered decades-old Ju’Day-type raider landing on their planet.

He looked over at Klath, who was quietly grinding his teeth as they waited.

“Hey, don’t do that. You’re gonna ruin that beautiful smile of yours.”

Klath shot an unamused glance back at the Trill.

“Please, Jirel,” he muttered, “I have told you how important this is to me.”

“Yep, ok, I get it,” Jirel replied with sincerity, holding his hands up by way of apology, “I mean, I don’t think I ‘get it’ get it, but I get it. Get it?”

Klath didn’t really get it at all, but he nodded back. It would have to do.

“Huh,” Denella mused as she glanced at the padd she was holding, “Klath, did you know you’re the named sponsor for this delivery? Isn’t this all from Mortath?”

Klath paused before he responded, a little confused by that turn of events himself. That gave Karn the chance to jump in with the answer.

“I would assume that was done on purpose by Mortath,” he explained, “If the bloodwine has come from Klath himself, that might curry more favour with Toran.”

“That would make sense,” K’Veth nodded, “Perhaps our father did it as a…note of thanks. For agreeing to bring myself and Karn along with you.”

Denella considered those answers for a moment, not entirely satisfied with them. But before she was able to ask any follow-up questions, there was movement at the front gate.

Toran, son of Kradon, came striding out in full battle armour, flanked by two more sword-carrying members of his guard.

Again, even a casual observer couldn’t have mistaken him for anyone other than a very important individual. He carried himself with an air of supreme confidence that suggested he didn’t mind people making that assumption whatsoever.

His long, lustrous black hair cascaded behind him like a lion’s name. His armour was made of thick, studded red and black leather-type material, topped off with a heavy silvery metal jacket and shoulder pads. And it clearly housed an imposing physical form.

The overall look was capped off by the shining blade of the bat’leth that was slung proudly behind his back.

Toran paced up to the Bounty’s significantly less imposing crew in his heavy black boots, and regarded them in turn with a slight look of superiority, and a healthy dose of distrust.

“So,” he bellowed at them, “I am told you bring me bloodwine.”

Denella overcame the slightly overwhelmed feeling she got from being in the tall Klingon’s presence, and silently proffered him the padd in her hand. One of the guards swiftly accepted the device, gave it a distrusting once over, then passed it on to his master. The Orion couldn’t help but wonder whether that particular bit of ceremony had been necessary. How dangerous could a padd be?

Toran gave the details on the screen a cursory glance, then nodded in apparent appreciation.

“Sixteen crates of the 2349. An impressive haul indeed. And who is it that brings me such a bounty?”

Entirely oblivious to the pun he had just made, Toran addressed his question directly to the three Klingons in the motley group. As if it was impossible for anyone else to be in charge. Jirel couldn’t help but feel a little affronted at being so casually snubbed, but also rather glad that he didn’t have to talk directly to this particular Klingon, who he noticed had a few inches in height over even Klath.

Klath, feeling the beating of his warrior’s heart as he stared back at a genuine member of the High Council, took a firm step forwards, towards Toran.

“I do,” he called back proudly, “Klath, son of Morad.”

Toran’s eyes narrowed a fraction, the only outward sign that he recognised something about the name. He gestured to the other two Klingons in the group with a jerk of his head.

“You. Speak.”

Karn and K’Veth glanced at each other, a little more wary than Klath had been about announcing themselves. But, in the end, they stepped forward and spoke in turn.

“Karn, son of Mortath.”

“K’Veth, daughter of B’Eleya.”

“Sunek, son of--Ow!”

The Vulcan’s unwanted cameo was halted by a swift and sharp kick to his shin by Denella, and any pithy follow-up he might have been planning was stopped by her accompanying angry glare.

Toran ignored the idiocy going on elsewhere in the group, and kept his attention on the trio of Klingons in front of him.

“Hmm, Mortath. A name I recognise.”

He stared directly at Klath with a fierce glare.

“I recognise yours also. And I have no wish to take any bloodwine from you.”

He threw the padd to the dusty ground at Klath’s feet with anger and spat out an all too familiar invective directly at his face.

“biHnuch!”

In a single swift motion, Toran clasped his hands tightly in front of his chest and whirled his entire body around, turning his back on the dishonoured trio. His two guards copied his actions one after the other.

It was the timeless gesture of disgrace towards a dishonoured warrior, and one that caused Klath to feel a fresh pang of shame as he recalled the similar gestures he had received during his final moments inside of the halls of the High Council on Qo’noS.

Behind him, Denella and Jirel shared a worried glance. Neither of them were entirely well versed in the intricacies of this part of Klingon culture, but it seemed clear that this wasn’t a positive step for their friend. Elsewhere in the group, Natasha felt herself tensing up. Even Sunek was silenced, watching the scene in front of them in rapt attention for once.

But Klath, much as he felt ashamed, had also been expecting such a response. His proud stance didn’t weaken a single iota as he spoke directly to Toran’s back.

“We bring this wine to you, Toran, son of Kradon. And request that you grant us an audience, to present our cases.”

His words were met with a moment of silence. A curious stand-off set in between Klath and the three other Klingons looking off in the opposite direction to him. Eventually, Toran broke the silence, though he kept his back turned.

“Huh,” he grunted, “You seek restoration?”

“We merely seek the right to tell our stories,” Klath clarified, with due deference to the warrior in front of him, “Whatever you wish to do is for you and your wisdom to decide. We do not have the honour to seek anything more.”

Toran considered this statement for a moment.

“My reputation is becoming a nuisance,” he grunted unhappily, “It is true that I have reassessed the crimes of several others, and that I feel the Council has been too inconsistent with its punishments in past times. But that does not mean that I am prepared to listen while every miserable exile in the quadrant pleads for the restoration of their name. Besides, I have honoured guests arriving soon, and I must prepare for them.”

Klath remained stony-faced, refusing to show any sign of weakness, even to the backs of the three Klingons in front of him.

“Very well,” he nodded with a bow of his head, “Then, if you will permit it, we will leave the bloodwine as a mark of respect, and we will never return.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he shot a fierce glare at Karn and K’Veth, silencing any words either of them had been ready to speak.

There was a long pause. Klath felt the hope inside start to dissipate, as he began to wonder if he had gone too far.

Finally, Toran replied.

“Having travelled all this way, and risked so much to get here, a lesser exile would have got down on their knees and begged me to hear them out.”

“Yes,” Klath replied simply, “They would.”

“And, for that sort of cowardly display, I would have cut them down where they stood.”

“Yes. You should.”

To the surprise of everyone, not least Klath, Toran turned back around at this and glowered at him for a moment, before his face creased into a toothy smile, and he nodded.

“Very good, Klath, son of Morad. I will accept your bloodwine. And I will take the time to look at your cases. But know this: I promise nothing more.”

Klath kept his response to little more than a curt nod of acknowledgement, despite the sudden burst of fresh hope that exploded inside of him. Toran turned away again, and gestured to his guards with a bark of Klingonese.

“Ha’!”

The guards walked in lockstep with Toran back to the front gate of the estate. Klath began to follow, a respectful distance behind, and gestured for Karn and K’Veth to come along.

The remaining quartet of Bounty crew members exhaled as one. None of them had the slightest urge to follow them.

“So, I’m confused,” Jirel managed, “Did that go well, or not?”

Denella puffed out her cheeks and mustered a shrug.

“As anyone who’s heard my Klingonese will tell you, I’m not exactly an expert, but I’d say that went just about as well as it could have done. For now.”

“Huh,” the Trill replied.

He realised immediately that his somewhat equivocal response had elicited some curious looks from the others, and he quickly moved to disguise his deeper feelings on the matter.

“I mean, um, that’s great news.”

Denella gave him a look that suggested his disguise wasn’t entirely successful, then nodded back in the direction of the Bounty’s interior.

“Well, for being such a good friend, you wanna help me fix the poor girl’s latest bunch of system failures?”

Jirel sighed and nodded, as Sunek yawned loudly.

“Guess I’ll head for a quick nap while you’re--”

“Nuh huh,” Natasha interjected, jabbing her finger at the Vulcan, “We’ve got some bloodwine to unload, mister.”

“Ugh,” Sunek griped as the four figures started back up the ramp, “They’d better be paying us well for all this…”
 
Probably ought to have a close look at that bloodwine too...

Really well written scene. Great sense of character for Toran and a rich sense of Klingon culture. Thanks!! rbs
 
Part Two (Cont'd)

The Bounty’s engine room, such that it was, was a small area located directly behind the main cockpit, accessible via a short walkway to the side of the steps that ran down to the main deck of the ship.

There was no need for the room to be permanently manned, as Denella could manage all of the ship’s systems from her console in the cockpit, so it was usually empty, save for the squat, gently pulsing warp core assembly that powered the vessel’s recessed warp engines.

Which meant that, against the backdrop of the gentle hum of the core, it was often the perfect place onboard to have an argument.

“Who said I wasn’t pleased for the guy?” Jirel sighed.

“You did,” Denella retorted, “Maybe not in your words, but you don’t need to be a body language expert to pick up on what’s wrong with you.”

They were working their way along a succession of access hatches in the ceiling of the engineering bay, Jirel patiently opening each hatch in turn before Denella scanned the components inside with a bulky engineering tricorder to try and pin down the source of one of the Bounty’s latest maladies.

She knew there was a power drain in the Bounty’s secondary EPS transfer system. But finding the exact source was proving more of a challenge than she’d hoped. Especially as she was being distracted by their ongoing argument.

“You know I’m right,” she added, as she peered at the readings from behind the latest hatch, before shaking her head and gesturing for Jirel to close it back up.

“You’re not--!” Jirel went to fire back, before he stopped himself and sighed, “Ok, fine. I guess I’m a teeny tiny bit unhappy with all this. I guess I just didn’t realise how much all this stuff still meant to him.”

He finished tightening the catch on the panel with his hand, and they walked on to the next one, as Denella shook her head in disbelief.

“Come on. You’ve known him for way longer than I have. And you didn’t get the sense that he wanted his honour back?”

“I dunno. I just assumed that was why we’re all here. You, me, Sunek, everyone. We’re here cos we’ve left our pasts well behind us. We’re all running away from something, right?”

Denella’s jaw clenched slightly, recalling her own miserable past with the Syndicate, as Jirel started to unlatch the next panel and gently lower it down.

“That might be the case for some of us,” she admitted, “But I don’t think that’s true for Klath. And besides, just because the rest of us don’t wanna go back to where we came from, that doesn’t mean we’ll always be here, Jirel. And you have to be ok with that. You’ve had a pretty healthy turnover of crew down the years, right? You know none of this is forever.”

Jirel considered this in silence as Denella scanned inside the latest panel, then scrunched her face up in frustration.

“Ugh,” she tutted, “What the hell is causing this? We’ve been over just about every circuit and junction box in the whole unit.”

Jirel shrugged as he dutifully fixed the latest panel back into place, pausing in the middle of tightening the catch to look back at the Orion.

“So, what’s in your future? What are you gonna leave me for?”

She looked up from her tricorder and shrugged, the atmosphere between them settling down again after their slightly heated discussion.

“Field promotion to chief engineer on one of those fancy new Starfleet ships that split into three bits.”

“Huh. Is that right?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, after spending this long on the Bounty, imagine working with a ship that’s actually designed to fall to pieces all the time.”

They shared a laugh as they walked on to the next panel, the tension of their argument now dissipating, as Jirel gestured around at the ship.

“You sure that your, um, close personal friend isn’t gonna take offence to that comment?”

“Nah,” Denella replied, reaching over and patting the hull plating, “She knows I’m only joking. And she also knows the truth. I’m here until one of us dies.”

Jirel smiled again, then paused underneath the latest panel, his expression turning a tad more serious once more.

“Still, you’re probably even closer to him than I am. You’re really telling me that you’ll be happy to see him go?”

She sighed, as he started unhooking the panel.

“When that big Klingon lummox finally walks off this ship for good, I’m gonna bawl my eyes out for days. But you know what? If he does that here and now, after being accepted back into the Empire? I’m also gonna be happier than I’ve ever been for anyone. And that’s what you need to do as well. Instead of being selfish.”

“I’m not being--!” he began to retort before he stopped himself again, reluctantly acknowledging the truth of her statement, “You’re right. I can do that.”

“And that’s all we really can do. Just support him, and make sure we don’t do anything that might affect his chances--”

Before she could finish speaking, she jumped back in shock.

As soon as Jirel finished unhooking the latest panel, he realised it felt different to the others they had worked on so far. It was like there was an additional force above it.

The reasons for that additional force became clear a split second later, as the panel was sent crashing down to the deck at his feet.

It was followed by an avalanche of tribbles.

Jirel didn’t even have time to move before he was sent crashing to the deck as he was swamped by the small, furry and chittering creatures, a seemingly never-ending supply tumbling out of the conduit behind the panel and down onto the Trill.

Denella realised that she had found the source of her EPS power drain.

The tribbles were in the Bounty’s machinery.

And more than that, as Jirel’s head disappeared under the tribble mountain, she realised what else this all meant.

They had brought an infestation of tribbles to Brexis II. Right to the home of a member of the Klingon High Council. The only man in the galaxy who might be able to restore Klath’s honour.

From the centre of the pile of fluff and fur, Jirel managed to push his head back above the surface, as even now, the odd chirping tribble fell from the conduit and onto his head.

“So,” he managed, spitting a strand of tribble hair from his mouth, “Scale of one to ten, how do you think this is gonna affect his chances?”

The two friends surveyed the scale of the problem, as the tribbles continued to chirp away.

End of Part Two
 
Oh yeah... They're in tribble now... Knee deep... Neck deep in tribble...

And what do you want to bet those furballs got into the bloodwine as well...

That plot twist was pretty much baked in from the word go - but no less fun when it dropped. Thanks!! rbs
 
Part Three

Some distance away from the unfolding tribble-based calamity on the Bounty, Klath was digging a hole through the floor of Toran’s main residence.

The Klingon paced back and forth across the rough, hardened floor of the anteroom that he, Karn and K’Veth had been taken to by Toran’s honour guard. Where they had been told to wait.

And they had waited. For hour after hour. Mostly in silence. Without any further contact from any of Toran’s people. They hadn’t even been offered any sort of refreshment.

While Klath paced, the other two Klingons were sitting on a couple of firm, unyielding high-backed chairs next to a small table in the corner of the anteroom. Another chair, presumably meant for Klath, remained empty. He hadn’t used it at all. Instead, he had been feverishly threatening to wear a groove into the solid ground throughout their entire time here.

K’Veth could see that the incessant pacing was beginning to irritate Karn, but there was no sign that Klath intended to stop any time soon. In fact, he seemed to be determined to set a new walking distance record for Brexis II without leaving the confines of the room.

“Perhaps you should rest?” she offered eventually, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Klath didn’t respond, and simply turned around to commence his latest return leg back across to the other side of the room.

“You should listen to her,” Karn offered, failing to hide his irritation, “You have no idea how long they plan to keep us here.”

Klath looked back at where they were sitting, the hope inside him now very much at the forefront of his thoughts.

“Toran has agreed to look at our cases. This is a very encouraging step. And yet you both sit there so calmly. Do you not feel the hunger inside you, to be back within the Empire?”

“Nothing has changed,” Karn retorted with a scoff, “We are still exiles, without honour. And for all we know, Toran simply felt it would be more entertaining to have us wait here all day, enduring yet more humiliation, before he kills us.”

Klath ignored the younger Klingon’s cynicism, even if the same thought had occasionally popped up in his own head when the hope had allowed it to.

“You should both stand while we wait,” he offered instead, gesturing to where they were sitting.

Karn’s face creased into a slight sneer as he recognised a chance to annoy the other Klingon right back, leaning back in his chair and lazily crossing one leg over the other.

“Why? What good would that do?”

Klath bristled with frustration at the level of disdain the younger man was showing. The passion he felt inside at being back within the Empire almost made him respond to his dismissive comment by drawing his faithful bat’leth from where it was slung behind his back and wiping the sneer off Karn’s face that way.

But instead, he managed to control himself, and hit back verbally instead.

“Your father has given you both a chance to restore your honour. Toran has shown us all respect we do not deserve by accepting us into his residence. And you have shown nothing but insolence since we began this journey. Do you really think this is how you win back your standing in the Empire?”

Before Karn could fire off another retort, Klath aimed a fierce kick at the leg of his chair, with almost enough force to topple it over.

“Now. Stand up!”

Karn flashed his teeth at his fellow Klingon in a further act of defiance. Then, the deadlock was broken from elsewhere, as K’Veth stood from her own seat and stepped over to Klath’s side, staring down at her brother.

“He is right, Karn,” she hissed, “As Klingons, we should show the proper respect.”

Klath resisted the temptation to look over at her, and kept his attention solely on Karn, who looked from him to her and back again with a mocking sneer.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Kahless and Lukara. If I had known I would be in the presence of such greatness, I would have--”

He was silenced by another kick to his chair from Klath’s foot.

“Are you going to stand, or do I have to drag you to your feet and impale you to the wall with my blade?”

Just for a second, it looked as though Karn was going to continue to resist. But in the end, he opted for a more passive piece of defiance, rising out of his seat as slowly as he possibly could and ending his piece of theatre by gesturing at his stance once he was done.

“Now what?” he growled at Klath.

“Now, we wait.”

“For how long, exactly?”

“For as long as it takes.”

With that statement, and without waiting for any further questions, Klath turned away and resumed his impatient pacing up and down the room.

Once his back was turned, Karn shot K’Veth a sharp glare, but she kept her own focus on the pacing form of the other Klingon, growing more intrigued with every action he took.

“Earlier, on the landing pad, how did you know?” she asked, “How did you know that Toran would not just send us away when you gave him that option?”

Klath was a little irritated that his vitally important pacing was again being interrupted, but for some reason, he felt compelled to answer her.

“I did not,” he admitted, “But I had to let him know that I was aware of that option, and that the decision was entirely his to make. He was then able to appear benevolent and merciful in front of his guards, rather than weak, or easily swayed.”

“And that is important to Toran,” K’Veth nodded in apparent understanding.

“It is important to any Klingon. But especially to a member of the High Council. You cannot rise to such a position without taking care to maintain your public image in such a way. A weak Council member will not last very long.”

K’Veth considered this latest lesson in Klingon culture, even as Karn folded his arms in front of him with an unimpressed glare.

“Perhaps,” she mused, “Our father has not been as thorough in his teaching as he claimed.”

“Perhaps,” her brother muttered, “None of that will matter if we are successful here.”

As he spoke, he fixed K’Veth with a particularly knowing look. One strong enough to cause her to feel compelled to nod back in understanding.

Klath, for his part, failed to pick up on anything particularly suspicious in Karn’s comment. Instead, he continued to plough his furrow in the floor of the room. Had he been more attentive, he might have spotted something. But he was now entirely at the mercy of his ever-growing feeling of hope. A feeling that had been well and truly cultivated ever since they had arrived, and he had taken in the sights, sounds and smells of the Empire once again. His warrior’s passion inside was growing stronger with every passing minute.

So he continued to pace the room. As he had done for several hours already.

Waiting for his redemption.

****************************

“One thousand, three hundred and sixteen.”

Natasha reported the total from the screen of her tricorder, after she and Sunek had joined Denella, Jirel and the ever-growing pile of tribbles in the Bounty’s engineering bay.

After a second, the tricorder quietly beeped an alert.

“Correction. One thousand, three hundred and seventeen.”

Next to her, Jirel shook his head and sighed. With some help from Denella, he had managed to extricate himself from the pile of tribbles that had buried him so entirely. None of the creatures seemed to care as he had clambered out over them. They had just kept chirping. And multiplying.

Natasha continued to wave her tricorder across the pile of fur.

“And the good news is, they’re all healthy.”

“That’s not good news,” Jirel countered, “That’s very, very bad news.”

“It’s good news for the tribbles.”

“How the hell did this happen?” Denella asked in tired exasperation, “We went through a complete decontamination back at Mentok colony. They wouldn’t even let us return to orbit until they’d checked and irradiated every square inch of the ship.”

To the frustrated Orion’s side, Sunek was struggling to prevent another thoroughly amused grin from fully cultivating across his face as he gestured to the mass of tribbles.

“Looks like they missed a spot.”

She shot him an irritated glare as she waved her own tricorder in the direction of the conduits above their heads.

“And who knows what else they’ve got up to inside there. No wonder we’ve been having system failures. Damn things have probably eaten their way through half our vital systems by now!”

“Hang on,” Sunek chimed in again, “I thought these things only went into turbo replication mode when they were well fed.”

“That’s the general idea,” Natasha shrugged, “Food goes in, tribbles come out.”

Her tricorder beeped again.

“Specifically: One thousand, three hundred and eighteen tribbles.”

“Then, apart from a bunch of our power relays, what the hell have they been eating? What, they brought a packed lunch with them?”

Natasha paused. For once in his contradictory life, the Vulcan had actually asked a perfectly reasonable question about the situation they had found themselves in. And it was a question that she didn’t have an immediate answer to.

“Ok, what they’re eating isn’t the big issue here,” Jirel interjected, “The issue is what we’re going to do about them.”

“Why do we always have to do something about them?” Natasha sighed, thinking back to the slaughter on Mentok colony.

“Because they’re eating my goddamn ship!” Denella spat back, entirely reasonably.

“Also,” Jirel added, stifling a grimace, “If any of those Klingons out there get wind of this, Klath’s not gonna be regaining any sort of honour here.”

He glanced at Denella, who nodded back sadly. While Jirel still didn’t exactly want Klath to leave, he also really didn’t want this to be the reason he stayed.

“So,” he continued, “What do we do?”

“I’m gonna have to strip everything down,” Denella sighed, “I’ve heard reports of what these things do when they get into your machinery. We’ll have to organise a full physical diagnostic of every component.”

“Can’t exactly do that right now,” Jirel countered, “Unless you wanna explain to the High Council member why we’re casually fumigating our ship for tribbles in his favourite parking spot?”

“Ugh. Right. So, what else can we do with this pile of--”

Another beep.

“One thousand, three hundred and nineteen tribbles.”

The Orion engineer shot a withering look at the human doctor with the tricorder.

“That’s really not helping, you know.”

“Transporter?” Jirel offered, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

“With our old transporter?” Denella tutted, gesturing to the growing mountain in front of them, “By the time we’ve filled each pad and beamed them off, we’ll have a dozen more of the things to deal with. Besides, where are we even beaming them to in this little scenario?”

Jirel considered this and offered a deep sigh in response, in lieu of an actual answer. In the brief silence that followed, Natasha’s tricorder beeped again, but she elected against offering a fresh update on the running total.

“We’ve got a bigger problem than the ones onboard,” she reluctantly pointed out instead, “We just potentially carried a few special guests into Toran’s compound in those sixteen crates of vintage bloodwine.”

Jirel and Denella shared a worried look, then spun around to the other two.

“Didn’t you check?” the Trill asked accusingly.

“Were we supposed to?” Sunek offered back.

“Yes!” Jirel snapped, pointing to the pile of tribbles, “Clearly, you were supposed to!”

“Ok,” the Vulcan griped, “Here’s a quick list of things I don’t usually think to check our cargo for when I’m offloading it. One: Horta eggs. Two: Crystalline Entities. Three: Quantum singularities--”

“I think he gets it,” Natasha cut in, as her tricorder beeped again.

“Great,” Jirel sighed again, stomping in an annoyed arc around the tribbles, “So we’re totally and completely screwed, are we?”

There was a long pause. Eventually, and slightly reluctantly, Sunek stepped forward.

“Alright, fine, idiots,” he tutted, “You lot take some tricorders, get out there and go check the cargo, and I’ll deal with all of…this.”

He gestured dismissively at the pile of tribbles. The others looked back at him, waiting for some more information that didn’t seem to be coming.

“You wanna give us a bit more on that?” Denella asked.

“Probably best you don’t know the details. But I’ll need someone’s help to verify a quick trip back to orbit with the guards down here. Also, for insurance purposes, you should probably make sure everything in your cabins is fully stowed.”

He turned and started back towards the Bounty’s cockpit, before pausing and turning back with an enigmatic grin on his face.

“And by ‘stowed’, I mean, like, really nailed down.”

The three faces looking back at him dropped to the floor in unison.

“Um,” Jirel managed, “Please don’t say you’re planning on flying back into orbit, blowing all the outer hatches and dumping one thousand, three hundred and tw--”

“Thirty one.”

“--Thirty one tribbles out into space?”

Sunek considered the phrasing of the question, then shrugged again.

“Ok. I won’t say that.”

With that, he turned back and exited the engine room. The others looked at each other for a moment with slight uncertainty.

“He’s not really gonna…?” Natasha asked eventually.

“What? No. Nah. No way,” Jirel replied with a firm shake of his head.

“He’s just messing with us, like always,” Denella nodded in affirmation.

Everyone in the engine room looked at each other again, then at the chirping mass of tribbles next to them. Then, Jirel turned on his heels and hurried towards the exit.

“I…might just go seal off my cabin.”

The other two quickly followed.
 
So Jirel's idea isn't horrible... Unless tribbles are somehow capable of surviving reentry. Kind of like water bears... It also seems that the Mentok siblings are on a suicide mission.

Really liking the ongoing delving into Klingon culture. Great detail work.

Thanks!! rbs
 
Part Three (Cont'd)

The great hall of Toran’s residence was just as imposing as the rest of his estate.

It was positioned at the very centre of his main residence, and took up a sizeable chunk of the floor plan. The ceiling of the room itself seemed to reach up at least two or three stories into the building, and great stone columns supported the structure at strategic points.

Klath, Karn and K’Veth were led into the hall as one, flanked by the two guards who had come to fetch them from the anteroom.

When the guards had arrived, all three of them had still been standing, as per Klath’s command. None of them knew exactly how long they had been left waiting in the end, but it had been several hours. Still, Klath had barely stopped pacing throughout.

And even now, he strode into the room with an air of pride and confidence.

Inside, he felt his warrior’s passion continuing to grow. He felt stronger with every minute he was spending back inside Klingon territory, as if he was absorbing some sort of invisible energy directly from his surroundings. And, although he was still trying to ward off such thoughts, the sense of hope inside him was growing as well.

Because of that, even though he had been on his feet for almost the whole day now, he felt refreshed and invigorated, his body’s needs being fed by the fire of his ever-growing fervour.

The guards led the trio to the head of the main hall, where an imposing throne-like chair was positioned on a high podium.

It was fairly obvious to all concerned which one was Toran’s seat.

Klath stood formally in front of the empty chair, clasping his hands behind his rigid back, while Karn and K’Veth took up positions next to him. The guards stepped to the side of the room, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Just when it appeared as though they had been led into this room simply in order to be ignored in a slightly different environment, a heavy door to one side of the hall opened, and Toran strode in, still decked out in his full regalia. While Karn and K’Veth both watched him approach the throne, Klath continued to stare straight ahead, his head held high, as the Council member’s heavy bootsteps paced across the hard floor of the room.

Once Toran was seated, he took a further moment to look over the three Klingons in front of him, mulling over his words.

Klath’s heart was beating faster inside his chest. The hope was now unashamedly allowing himself to believe.

Eventually, Toran spoke, his booming voice echoing around the vast and somewhat sparse expanse of the hall.

“Klath, son of Morad. Karn, son of Mortath. K’Veth, daughter of B’Eleya.”

A pause. Klath drew himself up even taller.

“I have reviewed each of your cases, and the reasons for each of your discommendations, based on all of the information in the High Council records. Just as I gave my word that I would do. And you have all dutifully waited for my decision. That has been noted.”

Something inside Klath made him begin to question the situation. There was something in the tone of Toran’s words that gave him cause to suddenly doubt himself.

“Having so reviewed them,” Toran continued, “And having considered each of them wisely, I have concluded that there are no cases to be answered here.”

Klath felt himself falling.

He was tumbling down an open ravine, into a dark, endless chasm.

Alongside him, although he couldn’t see their reactions, K’veth glanced down at the ground, while Karn simply offered a slight sneer and a shake of his head, as if he hadn’t been expecting any other possible answer.

Ignoring all of their reactions from up on the podium, Toran remained seated, and simply waved a dismissive hand at the three of them.

“Now, as you knew before you arrived here, I am a tolerant man. So I do not intend to have my guards deal with three dishonoured Klingons in my presence as they might wish to. You are free to return to your ship, and leave.”

He paused, and leaned forwards in his chair, eyeballing each one of them in turn.

“But do not return to this place. Or to any Klingon territory. Take the stench of your dishonour far away from us.”

Klath was still falling.

He was desperately trying to find something to grasp, to arrest his plunge. But there was nothing to cling onto. He was falling away from his pride, and his hope. And towards something else.

A consuming pit of anger.

Before he could stop himself, he found himself stepping forwards, towards Toran.

“That is all you have to say?” he growled.

If Toran was surprised by his outburst, he didn’t allow it to show. His two guards stepped towards the snarling adversary, but he waved them off with a flick of his hand, keeping his attention on Klath at all times.

“What more would you have me say, son of Morad?” he asked, “Or do you now plan to beg, just as I warned you not to do before?”

Klath’s eyes narrowed. He felt the blood lust beginning to curdle in his veins.

“I will not beg,” he snarled, “I travelled here to offer myself in service to the Empire once again, and to prove that my dishonour was not--”

“The Empire has no need for you,” Toran grunted back, “A wasted journey.”

The Council member leaned back in his throne once again, happy that the matter was settled. Klath remained where he was. He felt a hand on his arm, trying to pull him away. His instincts told him it belonged to K’Veth, but he ignored it and snarled at Toran again.

He fell further down, consumed by the darkness of the chasm, of the humiliations he had endured and of the pain he had suffered.

And he reached for his bat’leth, drawing it from behind his back with a carefully practised motion.

“Defend yourself!”

The guards stepped forwards again, but Toran dismissed them just as casually as he had done the first time.

The imposing Klingon stood from his throne in his full battle dress and stared back at Klath where he stood with his blade poised. Klath maintained his aggressive posture, preparing for the battle he had just instigated. He took deep breaths as his heart pumped with adrenaline.

But Toran made no attempt to draw his own weapon from its sheath on his back. He simply continued to stare.

“No.”

The single word cut through Klath’s soul like a dagger.

Toran slowly stepped down from the podium and boldly stood within striking distance of Klath’s weapon, entirely at ease with the situation he was in.

“A challenge from a dishonoured Klingon…is no challenge at all.”

Klath felt his body burning with anger and humiliation. All hope had been extinguished.

He also knew, as Toran clearly did, that there was nothing he could do about it. Even if he did lash out with his bat’leth and take down the defenceless man in front of him, that would merely seal his own fate. The guards would retaliate in seconds, and killing an unarmed Klingon would merely serve to cement his eternal dishonour.

If Toran had drawn his weapon and fought, at least he might have died in battle. There would have been some honour in that. But instead, Toran offered nothing. Having refused his case for restoration, he now refused him the satisfaction of the fight.

Behind him, Karn and K’Veth both watched on with rapt attention at the fresh dose of Klingon drama that was playing out in front of them.

“What’s the matter, son of Morad?” Toran leered at him with a knowing look, “I thought you preferred your enemies to be defenceless?”

Klath’s mind was filled again with an image of the bridge of the IKS Grontar. And his final act as captain in the Defence Force. One that Toran was clearly well versed in.

The fresh shame caused him to falter. He lowered his weapon.

Toran shook his head with disgust and turned his back on him, a fresh act of disrespect towards the still-armed Klingon. Without another word, he strode back out of the great hall.

Klath could offer nothing more. The shame overwhelmed him. The hope had gone. His plunge down the ravine continued.

If he was dishonoured before, now his humiliation was complete.
 
Well... Toran will receive an interesting parting gift. I'm surprised they haven't been discovered yet. I suppose letting them leave is the height of dishonor instead of bothering to kill them. I quite enjoyed the set dec.

Looking forward to the next segment. Thanks!! rbs
 
Part Three (Cont'd)

Jirel, Denella and Natasha cautiously approached the front gate of Toran’s residence.

Each of them were armed with nothing more than a tricorder and their best disarming smile as they slowly approached the two imposing members of Toran’s honour guard that stood on watchful sentry duty.

Moments earlier, after a not inconsiderable amount of hassle from the Brexis II transit authorities, and an even less inconsiderable amount of righteous indignation from Natasha about the morality of what he was proposing, Sunek had taken off in the Bounty, bound for orbit.

Her complaints had only been quelled when Sunek had promised to flood the ship with anesthizine gas before he dutifully blew the hatches and solved their tribble infestation.

Which had left the others with the job of checking the cargo, to make sure they hadn’t just introduced tribbles to Brexis II itself. And the first part of that job involved getting back past the guards with some manner of plausible excuse.

“What are we telling them, exactly?” Denella muttered to Jirel as they neared the gate.

The guards had already taken note of them as they approached, regarding them with curious expressions, but keeping their sharpened mek’leth weapons sheathed at their waists for the time being.

“Just relax,” Jirel replied confidently, “I’m gonna turn on my natural charm.”

Natasha couldn’t help but lean across to Denella from her other side and mutter into her ear.

“We’re going to die.”

They reached the guards before Jirel could offer a retort. So instead, he fired up his promised charm.

“Hi there,” he smiled at the distrusting faces of the guards, “We’re just, um, doing a quick check on the cargo we delivered before. Standard procedure.”

The taller of the two guards looked the Trill up and down before responding.

“What sort of standard procedure?”

Jirel kept his natural charm pointed squarely at the guard, grinning winningly.

“Nothing to worry about. We just need to double check, make sure it’s all accounted for. You know?”

The guards glanced at each other, visibly unconvinced by both the charm and the excuse.

“There were sixteen crates in the delivery,” the shorter guard replied, “And you carried sixteen crates into the stores.”

“Do you have trouble counting that high?” the taller one added with an amused grunt.

Jirel smiled warmly, using his reserves of charm to calmly absorb the mocking edge to the comment.

“Heh. Good one. But, um, the thing is that this is a random…spot check. Gotta do it for, y’know, audit reasons.”

The guards glanced at each other again. To the still-smiling Jirel’s side, Natasha worked hard to suppress a weary sigh.

“Audit reasons?” the taller guard echoed.

Jirel gently opened the taps of his natural charm a little further, a little surprised at quite how much of it he was needing to use.

“Hey, you know how it is, right? If I had a slip of latinum for every auditor that’s gotten on my case for missing a random spot check this year, I’d have five slips of latinum, y’know?”

He chanced a particularly fine winning smile at the pair of heavily armed Klingons, ratcheting up his charm to maximum levels.

The guards shared another, longer glance. While they were certainly not being charmed, they were reaching the point where they were simply keen to do anything to stop talking to the perma-smiling Trill in front of them as soon as possible.

Eventually, the taller guard grunted and stuck a thumb out in the direction of the stores.

“Do your checks,” he muttered, opting to get rid of the Trill by the most expedient means available, “But do them quickly. Toran wishes to prepare that bloodwine for his gathering with the other council members tomorrow.”

“See, that’s why I like Klingons,” Jirel replied, his charm continuing to ooze out, “Very understanding people. I’ve always said so--”

“Quickly,” the shorter guard hissed, underlining his colleague’s point.

With that cue, Jirel dialled back the charm a tad, and just nodded back, as Denella and Natasha gently pushed him through the gate in the direction of the stores. As soon as they were out of earshot, the Trill glanced over at the two women.

“See? All it took was a little charm.”

Denella shook her head patiently and forced a smile as they walked on, while Natasha just muttered to herself.

“We are definitely going to die…”

****************************

“It was terrible. To witness something like that.”

“That may be your opinion. I found it quite entertaining.”

The two Klingon siblings continued to bicker as they sat in the same anteroom as before, where they had all been led back to after their fractious audience with Toran. They were supposed to have returned to the Bounty to leave immediately, but the guards had informed them that the ship had temporarily returned to orbit, and had instead led them back here to wait for it to return.

Unlike before, Klath had not stood around in the room for long. He had almost immediately slipped out into the small outside space next to the anteroom without saying a word. Leaving Karn and K’Veth to debate what had just happened.

“Karn,” K’Veth said admonishingly, “You cannot mean that. You have to see that we have all lost here. Not just Klath.”

Karn’s sneer returned to his face as he leaned back in the high-backed chair.

“There was never any real hope for our restoration here, K’Veth. You know that. Even Mortath knew that. We have carried our family’s shame on our shoulders since the day we were born. And we will carry it until we die.”

“But Klath--”

“If he had deluded himself into believing that the Empire was actually about to welcome us back with open arms, then so much the better. For my entertainment, anyway.”

She went to retort again, but he stopped her with a pointed scowl.

“You know what our mission is, sister.”

K’Veth mustered a stiff nod. She knew that well enough, and she had been prepared to carry it out when it had first been explained to her. But since then, she had met Klath. And something had changed.

She looked towards the door of the anteroom that Klath had disappeared through some minutes before with a sad gaze.

“He has suffered far more than we have.”

“I do not care,” her brother grunted dismissively, “It is only a pity he didn’t slay Toran when he was given the chance. That would have made things even more simple.”

She flashed her brother an angry snarl, then stepped towards the door. Karn watched her walking with a distrusting air.

“Do not allow yourself to get distracted, K’Veth,” he called after her, “I will not allow your weakness to let our family down.”

She didn’t acknowledge his comment, and kept on walking.
 
Jirel's charm does the trick for a change. Love the "we're going to die" line. Still ratcheting up the suspense about K'Veth and Karn's mission (although it almost certainly involves lovable furry cockroaches...)

Thanks!! rbs
 
Part Three (Cont'd)

Klath heard the door opening behind him, but he didn’t turn around.

He stood with one leg raised up on the low stone wall that delineated the small outside area from the rest of the grounds of Toran’s homestead, propping up his bat’leth on the limb as he sharpened the blade with a small rock.

The blade didn’t actually need sharpening. He had taken particular care to ensure it was in top condition on their journey to Brexis II. An action he now realised had been a complete waste of his time. Much as all of his actions had been throughout this whole process.

From accepting Mortath’s open invitation to join the tribble hunt back on Mentok colony, to taking on the delivery of vintage bloodwine, to venturing all the way into Klingon space, and finally to his appeal to Toran. Every single one a complete waste of time.

He could see now that he had allowed himself to be consumed by a fantasy entirely of his own construction. The folly that he might actually get his honour restored. The idea that the Empire was ready to forgive his crimes in the Tygon Nebula.

His imagination had run away with itself, and he had been duly humbled. And now, he had nothing more to do but to sharpen his bat’leth. To distract from his humiliation, and from his grim reality. And also because he needed to be alone.

Except now, someone was infiltrating that solitude.

“Has the ship returned?” he asked, still with his back to the door.

“No,” K’Veth replied, as she approached him.

“Then leave me.”

He dragged the rock across the blade for emphasis, sending a shower of sparks into the air. She paused mid-step, but didn’t retreat. Instead, she altered her course to walk over to the edge of the stone wall a little further along, giving Klath a wide berth.

“It was a bold thing you did back there,” she motioned as she gazed out at the expanse of Toran’s estate.

Klath paused in the middle of another motion down the blade and snorted without amusement, gritting his teeth as he did so.

“It was a foolish thing,” he retorted bitterly, “A desperate act from a disgraced warrior. Toran’s response was exactly what it deserved.”

“What else could you have done?”

“Nothing. The decision had clearly been made. Reacting as I did merely brought further shame to me and my house.”

He returned to his work, even as K’Veth’s curiosity was piqued. She saw the slightest of openings for her to probe a little more into the background of the Klingon who was starting to fascinate her.

“Your house,” she replied, “How many more are there in the House of Morad?”

Klath paused in his work and looked up and off into the distance. Although part of him felt as though the conversation was drifting worryingly close to small talk territory, and personal small talk at that, he found himself feeling oddly compelled to answer her in a way he didn't with other people.

“None. I am the last of my house. When I die, my house dies with me. And it is now clear that it will die a coward’s death, in exile.”

He spoke entirely matter of factly. But inside, he felt a rush of anger. K’Veth nodded in understanding.

“Karn and I will have a similar fate,” she noted, “And…perhaps this was all our fault.”

Klath paused midway through another run of the rock down the blade and looked over at her for the first time since she had arrived. Despite his swirling emotions inside, his own curiosity had been piqued by that comment.

“I do not understand.”

She looked down at the ground, not sure how to continue without jeopardising her and Karn’s task. But also feeling the need to offer him an explanation. To try and ease the humiliation he had just suffered in some small way. Eventually, she looked back up at him.

“Earlier, you told me that it is not proper to discuss a Klingon’s discommendation.”

“It is not. As your father should have taught you.”

K’Veth stifled a slightly bitter smile.

“Perhaps there are many things Mortath has not taught us correctly. Because I was not entirely truthful earlier. Like us, Mortath has also never seen the sun rise on Qo’noS.”

“K’Veth,” Klath cautioned, “You do not need to explain--”

“It was our grandfather,” she continued, ignoring his suggestion, “Mortath’s father. He was the one who brought shame and dishonour to our family. Nearly a century ago.”

Klath wanted to stop her from going any further. That was the right thing to do as a Klingon, after all, rather than hear the tale of her discommendation. But just as he had felt compelled to answer her question earlier, now he felt compelled to listen to her story.

“His name was K’Rath, son of Targan. And he was part of the Khitomer conspiracy. Not at the highest levels, but an investigation found that he had assisted their efforts. He provided classified information to the conspirators about Chancellor Azetbur’s security arrangements, and as part of the High Council’s tribunals after the conspiracy failed, he was exiled before Mortath was even born.”

She looked over at Klath with a defiant expression. Not quite self-belief, but perhaps an approximation of it by someone who had never truly felt it.

“Perhaps such a crime is too much for our family’s name to ever be redeemed. And perhaps our family’s shame also brought your case down with us, by association.”

Klath pondered this new information as he set the rock down and returned his bat’leth to its sheath behind his back with a practised, fluid motion.

Part of him resented her for revealing so much about her discommendation, even after he had told her that this was not the way Klingons did things. Although, he had to concede to himself that he hadn’t even attempted to stop her. But part of him also felt sympathy for her. After all, if what she was saying was true, then the root of her family’s shame truly was too great for her to ever hope for redemption. And he was surprised at how unhappy that fact made him feel.

But either way, he knew that even if her own family’s wrongdoings dwarfed his own, that wasn’t the reason that he was where he was.

“You are mistaken,” he pointed out eventually, “Toran will have judged our cases individually. Your situation will not have impacted his decision on me.”

He glanced back out at the grounds beyond the stone wall, grimly taking in the facts of his own dishonour once again, back on the Grontar’s bridge. But his senses weren’t so distracted to ignore the fact that K’Veth used his momentary distraction to take a step towards him.

“Do not come closer,” he cautioned with a snarl.

She stopped on the spot, but didn’t back away. Klath worked to ignore the passions that were being stirred up inside of him once again.

“I thought that after all we had endured today, you would not deny yourself some…company.”

Klath grimaced again, as a heady new mixture of feelings blended together inside him to accompany the shame, the anger and the humiliation.

But regardless of the desires he might have towards her, he knew that there was now no way he could ever act on them. Not after the humbling he had endured. How could he act on such feelings when he no longer had any respect for himself.

So, not for the first time since he had met K’Veth, he reacted to her advances entirely dismissively.

“You thought wrong,” he grunted.

This time, she didn’t back down. She remained where she was and snarled at him.

“Liar,” she spat out.

He jerked his head over to her, feeling his body fill with a fresh burst of anger at this latest, somewhat unexpected, assault on his character. But she stood firm and stared back at him.

Such was the depth of his internal strife at this point, he even found himself considering reaching for his freshly-sharpened bat’leth, despite her unarmed status. But he resisted the temptation for such a direct approach to this particular frustration.

“If that is all you have to say to me,” he growled, keeping the violence implied, “Then leave me.”

With that, he turned his back on her, ignoring the irony of him performing the same action that Toran had done to him back in the great hall.

K’Veth stared at the stubborn Klingon’s back and snarled again. Her conflicting passions inside were burning just as intensely as those inside Klath. And much as he had considered a violent solution, she gave half a mind to charging at him and knocking him to the ground.

But she quickly regained control. And instead opted to walk back over to the door, acquiescing to his wishes.

“This may not mean anything from a Klingon like me,” she muttered back to him as she reached the door, “But with everything I have seen of your actions here, I think you may be the most honourable Klingon that I have ever met.”

Klath didn’t react.

He simply stared out at the grounds of Toran’s residence, and pictured the bridge of the IKS Grontar, until he heard the door close behind him.

Then, he sighed deeply, pulled his weapon from behind his back and reached down for a rock.

And began to sharpen his bat’leth once again.

****************************

“This one’s clean as well.”

Jirel called out from the far side of the haphazard pile of crates in the corner of a somewhat dank storeroom on Toran’s estate. Around the rest of the pile, Denella and Natasha ran their own tricorders around and studied the readings that the devices returned.

“No tribbles here either,” Natasha reported.

“Hey,” the Orion woman tutted, “Ixnay on the T-word. We don’t know who might be listening.”

Natasha stole a glance around the rest of the storeroom. They certainly seemed to be alone enough, but it was such a huge space that it was hard to be completely sure.

All around the room, which seemed to have been carved out of the bedrock of Brexis II itself, were stacks of supplies for the entire estate. Not just food and drink, though both of those appeared to be plentiful enough, but piles of building materials and electronic components as well.

Still, seeing no sign of any Klingons listening in, she clambered over to the final set of crates and continued her scans. As they worked on in silence, she reluctantly decided to address a nagging question that she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to know the answer to.

“What exactly are we planning on doing if we find any…additional cargo in our audit?”

“We deal with them,” Denella replied with a shrug as she stepped across to another crate.

“Kill them, you mean?”

The Orion looked over at her and rolled her eyes at this latest attempt at a guilt trip.

“No, I mean we take them in, and spend the rest of our lives travelling the galaxy, finding the right billion or so people who want to adopt one of them.”

Natasha’s face shifted into an unhappy glare in response to Denella’s sarcasm, as her tricorder chimed out another negative result.

“What if we just explained what happened? I’m sure they’d understand.”

“Really?” Jirel smirked, “You have any idea what sort of punishment we’d be in line for if they found out we smuggled a bunch of these things into the house of a High Council member?”

“Not really.”

Jirel paused, suddenly looking slightly less sure of himself.

“Well…neither do I, off the top of my head. But we’re dealing with Klingons, so I’m assuming it’s gonna be something very painful.”

“Besides,” Denella added, still entirely oblivious to how badly their colleague’s efforts at redemption were going, “We’d be completely ruining Klath’s chances if we--”

She paused as her own tricorder chirped out another result.

“Huh. This one’s clean as well.”

The trio of Bounty crew members looked around at the pile of crates. The ones that they had now completely finished scanning their way through, without turning up a single living specimen of polygeminus grex.

“Ok, am I crazy,” Jirel asked, “Or did we just totally get away with one here.”

Natasha glanced around again, double checking that they hadn’t missed anything in their haste to get their job done.

“All sixteen crates are here. These are definitely the ones that me and Sunek unloaded off the ship, and not a trace of a…T-word.”

An unmistakable sense of relief descended over proceedings, as Denella clipped her tricorder back onto the belt of her oversized overalls.

“Well, if that’s everything, and we’re not gonna need to make plans to go into the animal rehoming business, then I say we go see if Sunek’s back with the Bounty yet. Cos I’ve got a hell of a lot of repairs to do on that poor ship.”

“So what else is--”

Jirel didn’t get any further with his quip. Because he was distracted by something he spotted on the ground of the store room, next to one of the crates.

“Huh.”

He picked the object up and studied it. He didn’t need a tricorder to identify what he was pretty sure the shiny silver wrapper was.

“Does, um, this look like an energy bar wrapper to anyone?”

“I guess so,” Natasha replied with a shrug, as she cast an eye over the item in his hand, “I guess even Klingons can’t eat raw meat for every meal.”

Jirel ignored her comment, because there was something still nagging at the back of his mind. He stepped around to the rear of the crate next to where he had found the wrapper.

“What is it?” Denella asked, a little confused.

“Just…something Sunek said earlier. When he asked about what those things back on the Bounty had been eating all this time…”

His voice tailed off as he saw something else. He crouched down next to one of the crates and gestured to the others.

“Um, guys…?”

Denella and Natasha stepped over to get a look at what he was seeing.

There was a gap in the side of the crate. Not a clean hole, or some sort of ventilation spacer that was designed to be there. Instead, it was a rough and uneven hole, as if something had chewed its way out from the inside.

The three of them turned in unison to look at the stacks of food on the other side of the storage room, and the earlier sense of relief was replaced entirely by one of dread.

They slowly stepped over to a large stack of dark green containers that towered up to twice their height, and peered around the corner of the stack. The rear of one of the food containers was now open, and whatever had been inside had been mostly consumed.

And it had been consumed by the large chirping pile of very contented tribbles, which had clearly decided to go forth from the crate of bloodwine and multiply.

The trio of Bounty crewmates stared at the sight in silent shock for a second.

“Alright,” Jirel managed eventually, “Nobody panic, ok?”

Seconds later, the sound of panic suddenly filled the storeroom.

Except it wasn’t coming from them, but from the pile of tribbles, who had switched from chirping happily to growling and writhing with sudden trepidation.

“That’s weird,” Natasha noted, “They usually only react like that when they’re near a--”

“Treachery!”

The three of them whirled around again, to be confronted by the two guards that had let them through to the stores a little earlier.

From their perspective, they had walked in to see what was taking so long with this supposed random spot check of the bloodwine. Only to find the Trill, the human and the Orion in their master’s stores, seemingly initiating a tribble-based invasion of the premises.

And so, without missing a beat, both of them drew their mek’leths from their belts and aimed the deadly blades at the newcomers.

“Ok,” Jirel conceded, “This is probably a good time to panic.”

End of Part Three
 
Part Four

“I really can’t trust you guys to do anything, can I?”

Sunek’s comment went unanswered, as he stood next to the wall of Toran’s great hall, alongside Jirel, Denella and Natasha.

The Vulcan had landed back on Brexis II mere minutes ago, expecting to meet back up with the others, find out what happened with Klath and his efforts to reclaim his honour, and then leave the planet entirely. Ideally after a bloodwine-heavy party.

Instead, as soon as he had innocently stepped down the Bounty’s ramp, he had found himself surrounded by armed guards and summarily marched straight into Toran’s main residence to join the three individuals who were now being referred to as his co-conspirators. Which was very much not how he had wanted to spend his evening.

“Seriously,” he continued to gripe at his colleagues, “How hard is it to not get arrested? That was basically all you had to do.”

The others continued to ignore his complaints. Because their focus was on Toran himself, who strode into the great hall through one of the side entrances, still clad in full battle armour and wearing a face like thunder.

“So,” he spat at them, “That was what all of this was. A plot against me.”

“Ok, no,” Jirel began, “That’s not--”

“Be quiet!” Toran growled at the Trill, “The evidence is clear for all to see. You have come here, even as several members of the High Council are mere hours away from arriving themselves, and you have deliberately unleashed a plague upon my house!”

The enormous Klingon marched straight up to the fearful foursome with his fists clenched tightly by his side, his rage evident in his glare.

“That is the truth, isn’t it? This is all a grand conspiracy to discredit me.”

A pause. Jirel awkwardly licked his lips.

“Um, do I answer that? Cos you just told me to be quiet--Oof!”

The Trill was silenced this time by Toran’s fist slamming into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him completely and leaving him entirely clear as to how much disarming banter the Klingon was willing to tolerate right now. Toran whirled away, his armour clinking in step with his feet as he paced back down the short line of Bounty crew members.

“So, my allies on the Council arrive soon, discover that I am infested with these…things throughout my residence, and my reputation is ruined. And perhaps it will work as you intended. Perhaps there is no time to resolve this crisis.”

He stopped next to Sunek and suddenly wrenched his bat’leth from behind his back, causing the Vulcan to jump back in genuine fright.

“But perhaps,” Toran continued darkly, “ I may have my revenge on you before then…”

He slowly whirled the weapon around, causing Sunek’s fearful expression to increase in intensity.

“Woah,” the Vulcan babbled, “C--Careful with that thing. You’ll have someone’s eye out--!”

“Toran!”

The sudden bellowed cry made the imposing Klingon Councillor pause and lower his weapon, as everyone in the room turned to see Klath bursting through another set of doors. His crewmates looked at him with varying shades of relief, but Klath’s own focus was entirely on his fellow Klingon.

“Leave,” Toran growled back dismissively, “There is nothing here for a dishonoured taHqeq.”

Klath felt the sting of the latest insult fired in his direction, but he didn’t allow it to affect him, nor did he acknowledge the pair of guards that approached his position.

“I will not leave,” he retorted, “I have just been informed you have taken my crew. Why?”

Toran’s face darkened at this.

“You insult me further by claiming to know nothing of their actions? What they have brought to my house? A plague worthy of calling for General K’Vusk himself!”

Klath stopped on the spot, in shock. His mind began to race as several disparate pieces of a jigsaw he wasn’t even aware existed started to resolve in his head.

“Here? On Brexis II?”

“Yes. And do not try to deny your part in it, son of Morad. You likely orchestrated this whole thing, or was your name not there on the delivery papers?”

Another few pieces were added to the pile in Klath’s head, even as Toran gestured to the two guards who had intercepted him.

“Take him!”

Before Klath could think any further, his arms were grabbed by the guards.

On the other side of the room, a spark went off in Denella’s head as she dredged up a memory of a detail of Klingon culture that she and Klath had once talked about during their time on the Bounty. She glanced over at Jirel and muttered out of the side of her mouth.

“Hey, I think we’ve got one chance of getting out of all of this. So just…follow my lead.”

Jirel managed a slight nod of affirmation back at his engineer, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to play along with.

It didn’t take long for him to realise.

“Hey! Toran, son of Kradon!” Denella suddenly called out at the hulking Klingon warrior.

Toran, still with his bat’leth in his hands, slowly turned around to the Orion woman. He looked almost a little amused at the sudden display of forcefulness.

“Oh good,” Jirel muttered unhappily, “One of those plans.”

Denella ignored him, and summoned up all of the courage she could in order to defiantly maintain eye contact with the angry face of Toran.

“Klath’s an idiot,” she continued, “He had nothing to do with it. This was all us. And we got paid pretty handsomely for bringing those tribbles here, as well!”

Despite the gravity of their situation, she couldn’t help but find a trace of amusement at the way the proud and mighty Klingon warrior in full battle dress seemed to instinctively flinch slightly as soon as she said the word ‘tribble’.

“Is that so?” Toran grunted back at her.

“Oh yeah,” she persisted, silently praying that her sometimes dubious recollection of Klingon language and traditions wasn’t mistaken on this occasion, “You think a stupid Klingon could pull off something like this? We brought a plague right to the doorstep of a High Council member. That takes brains, not Klingons.”

She stole a subtle but deliberate glance at Jirel, letting him know in no uncertain terms that it was time to follow her lead. The Trill looked back at Toran’s imposing form, not entirely wanting to follow the sort of lead that seemed to involve picking a fight with him. But, not for the first time in his life, he decided to put his life entirely in the hands of his engineer’s eye for a plan.

“Um, yeah,” he managed, as confidently as he could under the circumstances, “That’s right. The four of us did all this. Klath was just a, y’know, useful idiot.”

Toran glared at him, then shifted his attention back to Denella, his eyes narrowing slightly. To Jirel’s side, Natasha leaned over.

“What the hell are you--?”

“Don’t worry about it. Me and Denella are doing the talking.”

“Yes! That’s the bit I’m worrying about!”

Before Toran could act, and just as Denella was starting to fear she’d very much missed the target on this one, Klath called out again.

“Toran!” he bellowed, “You hear their confession. They are the ones that have betrayed you, just as they have betrayed me. And so, I claim the right of QaS DevwI'.”

Toran spun back around, as Denella let out a relieved sigh at that piece of Klingonese.

“You are dishonoured!” he retorted.

“I still have the right.”

Klath stood his ground, and Toran paused for a moment, considering what he had heard. Eventually, and reluctantly, he nodded and gestured Klath forward towards the others.

“Um,” Jirel muttered to Denella, as their crewmate approached them, “What’s the right of…kassy devil?”

“I’ll explain later. But…it is gonna hurt a bit.”

Jirel’s eyes widened as Klath reached them.

“You didn’t say anything about--!”

“Silence!” Klath spat at them, his words laced with entirely believable anger.

He stared into Denella’s eyes with a fierce, fictional rage. She could tell that, behind the act that he was carefully putting on, his glare was also sending her a different message. A message that said: I apologise for this.

She braced herself.

Klath moved with such speed that she didn’t even see the punch coming. But it connected with more than enough force to send her flying backwards onto the stone ground behind her with a painful thump.

Jirel watched on in shock, before Klath turned to him as well.

“Oh. Right. Great. So it’s also one of those plans--!”

With a second fierce swing of his fist, Klath sent Jirel flying back to join Denella. Natasha’s eyes boggled as Klath stepped over to her, as the Klingon prepared to continue his one man melee.

“Hey!” Sunek called out from her side, “This side of the line didn’t say anything, ok? S--So how about you leave our faces alone? You know that’s my best feature!”

“Enough!” Toran called out from behind them, sparing Klath the need to continue with his demonstration, much to Natasha and Sunek’s relief.

Inside, Klath was equally thankful, albeit a little unhappy that he hadn’t got the chance to legitimately punch his Vulcan colleague in the face. He kept up his theatrically angry scowl as he turned back to Toran.

“You may be without honour, son of Morad, but I am not. I can see your anger at your traitorous crew, and I grant you the right of QaS DevwI'. In the meantime, I will have my men secure them in the detention chamber.”

Klath nodded back, as Toran signalled to his guards to take the rest of the Bounty’s crew. He didn’t bother to look back at them or betray any concern, not wanting to break the front he was putting on as part of Denella’s plan.

Instead, he strode out of the great hall with renewed purpose. The plan had bought him some time to find who was really responsible for bringing the tribbles to Brexis II.

In truth, he already had an idea who was responsible.

But now, he needed proof.

****************************

“See, this should be, like, a life rule for us.”

Sunek paced up and down inside the small secure room they had been unceremoniously thrown into by Toran’s guards. It was bereft of furnishings, and was merely a rectangular area in the basement separated from the rest of the residence by a substantial forcefield.

“Rule number one,” the Vulcan continued, “Don’t do business with anyone whose houses have their own detention chambers. No normal, regular person you should be doing business with lives in a house with its own detention chamber!”

As he paced back and forth, Natasha examined Denella, who seemed more than a little groggy from her run-in with Klath’s fist.

“You’ve got a concussion,” she reported, checking her dilated pupils as best she could now her tricorder had been confiscated by the guards, “We’re gonna need to treat that asap.”

“Yep,” Denella winced, “We should get right on that after we’re done being executed.”

Natasha gave her a mildly withering look, as Jirel raised his hand from where he was slumped against the cold wall next to them.

“Um, hi? I’m also in tremendous pain?”

Natasha got Denella as comfortable as she could in the solid stone confines of their temporary accommodation, before moving on to check the Trill.

“Plus,” Sunek continued to gripe, “I already went through a very traumatic experience today. Do you have any idea the kind of noise one thousand, four hundred and ninety two tribbles make when they’re blown out into space? That’s gonna stay with me for a while.”

Natasha instantly whirled around, shooting an angry look at the Vulcan.

“You said you were going to use anesthizine gas on them!”

Sunek paused in the midst of his pacing and raised an amused eyebrow.

“The cutest part about that is that you actually believed that was a thing I’d be able to do on our ship.”

The doctor’s unhappy look darkened even further, just as Jirel tried to steer the conversation onto more pressing matters.

“So, Denella, wanna explain why I just got punched in the face? Not that it doesn’t happen a lot, but I usually like to know the reason.”

“It was all I could think to do,” the Orion replied, “The right of QaS DevwI' is a Klingon Defence Force tradition I remember reading about. Aboard a Klingon ship, any section leader has the right to punish those under their direct command themselves, rather than deferring to a superior. Given what Toran was about to do to us, I was hoping he’d go for that instead.”

“Even though we’re not Klingons? And Klath isn’t our ‘section leader’?”

Denella offered a weak shrug back.

“Toran’s been treating him like he’s in charge of us since we landed. And I’ve found that Klingons tend to be willing to overlook a lot if it means they can follow one of their traditions. They can be relentlessly efficient when they want to be, but you’re never far away from some sort of right or ceremony to use as a caveat if you want to stall them.”

“Such a dumb empire,” Sunek muttered to himself as he resumed his pacing.

“Huh,” Jirel offered, ignoring the Vulcan, “And this right of kissy whatever is good for us because…?”

“Because if it wasn’t for that, Toran would have killed us right there. Whereas now, we’ve been detained for an hour.”

“And then?”

“And then…Klath has to kill us.”

Denella looked around the detention chamber to see the other three glaring at her. None of them seemed enthused with the details of her plan.

“Ok,” she sighed, “The point is: We’re still alive. And Klath’s still out there, not in here.”

“Hang on,” Sunek jumped in, “So you’re saying that we’re locked in here, about to be executed for crimes against the Klingon Empire. And the only thing that can save us is Klath coming up with a clever plan?”

Denella nodded back.

“Welp,” the Vulcan sighed, “It was nice knowing all of you.”
 
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Part Four (Cont'd)

“Hurry up!”

Karn walked quickly across the landing pad, as K’Veth hurried to keep pace next to him.

The siblings had left Toran’s residence, and were now hurrying back to where the Bounty was parked. The guards had seen no reason to stop them from returning to their ship. After all, the sooner the stench of their dishonour left Brexis II, the better.

“Karn,” K’Veth hissed as they walked, “We cannot leave them behind--”

“That is exactly what we should do. You heard what the guards told Klath about his colleagues. Our mission here is complete. Now, we must leave and return to Mortath.”

“And what of Klath?”

“What of him?” her older brother snorted back dismissively as they approached the rear ramp of the Ju’Day-type ship, “With any luck, Toran will see fit to deal with him as well and tie up another loose end for us.”

As he started up the ramp, she reached out and grabbed his arm, causing him to stop and jerk his head back towards her with an angered glare.

“Leaving them here was not part of the plan,” she implored, ignoring his glare, “It is not the honourable thing to do--”

“Honour?” Karn spat, as he wrenched his arm out of her grasp, “Has nothing that has happened here shown you how hollow that concept is? We have done nothing wrong, nor has our father, and yet still the Empire wishes to leave us to rot. For something we had no control over.”

“But--”

“There is nothing more for us to do here, but escape. And return to Mentok colony.”

With that, he stormed back up the Bounty’s ramp with renewed pace, not giving her the chance to respond.

K’Veth looked back at Toran’s residence, considering the people that were still in there. Then she reluctantly followed her brother up the ramp. She didn’t necessarily want to do that. She didn’t want to leave Klath and the others behind. But she also knew that if she wasn’t on the Bounty when it left Brexis II, then she would be stranded here, and would likely end up dead.

So she followed him. All the way back to the Bounty’s deserted cockpit.

As she bounded up the steps and into the ship's nerve centre, her eyes were drawn to the empty tactical station and she felt a fresh pang of guilt inside as she thought about the man they were leaving behind. The man they had allowed to believe that there was still honour here to be reclaimed.

In contrast to her, Karn was having no such issues. He had already slotted himself into the pilot’s seat and was starting to go through the motions of powering up the ship.

“With any luck,” he grunted, “We’ll have clearance all the way back to Mentok colony.”

She silently nodded and stepped over to stand next to the pilot’s console as he continued preparing the ship for departure.

It was then that they heard a voice behind them.

“Klingons do not believe in luck.”

They both turned in unison to see Klath standing in the doorway of the cockpit, blocking the only exit available to them. He held a blunt disruptor in his hand.

“What the hell are you doing with that thing?” Karn snapped.

Klath didn’t bother to respond, and kept the disruptor pointed at the scheming siblings. It was true that he usually preferred a bladed weapon to an energy weapon. But he also recognised that there was a time and a place for everything. And this situation required practicality.

It hadn’t taken a genius to realise that Karn and K’Veth had something to do with the infestation of Brexis II. And that if he was going to save his crewmates, he was going to need to bring them in.

But it also hadn’t taken a genius to realise that he couldn’t exactly try to pull a weapon on them while they were still in the middle of Toran’s estate, given the number of equally-armed guards posted around the place.

So, he had gone against his natural confrontational instinct, and had opted for a more circumspect approach. And assuming that they would attempt to make their escape while the rest of the Bounty’s crew were incarcerated, he had stealthily slipped into the ship's engine room, where he had been lying in wait, poised and ready to strike when his prey arrived.

It hadn’t taken much waiting.

“Power down the ship,” he grunted at Karn, “We are not going anywhere for now.”

K’Veth immediately stepped away from the console, but Karn remained seated. Still, his focus was on the disruptor, and his usual leer seemed slightly more tempered than usual.

Klath glanced at K’Veth and shook his head.

“Earlier, you asked me if there was a chance that we could reclaim our honour. But you knew that there never was. Whatever claims you, or Mortath, made about our mission here were all lies. Lies to get us here in order to deliver the…cargo.”

K’Veth reached for a response, but couldn’t find one, realising that any words would be a disappointment. Instead, Karn stood from the pilot’s seat.

“We came here to reclaim our--”

“No more lies!” Klath spat, stopping his efforts to argue further.

“So, what?” Karn offered instead, gesturing at the disruptor, “You would shoot an unarmed Klingon? Where is the honour in that?”

“There is none,” Klath acknowledged, keeping the disruptor poised, “But then…I am already disgraced, am I not? And if there is nothing more to be done for my honour, then I suppose that does not matter.”

With this, Karn’s sneer disappeared entirely, as he saw the quandary he was in. Having secured the upper hand, Klath waved the pair towards the exit, gesturing for them to come with him.

“Wh--Where are we going?” Karn managed.

Klath maintained a determined glare.

“To reclaim the honour of my shipmates.”
 
Part Four (Cont'd)

Still groggy from the punch she had received from Klath, Denella winced at the bright lights of the great hall, as the motley quartet of supposed conspirators were led back into the room.

Their hour was up.

The guards lined them up in front of the podium at the head of the vast chamber, where Toran was already waiting, sitting on his throne-like chair with an array of bladed Klingon swords and weaponry laid out on a table to one side. Denella’s knowledge of many aspects of Klingon culture was still patchy, but she idly wondered if they were going to be given the right to choose the weapon for their own execution.

“Your time is up, crew of the Bounty,” Toran announced solemnly from his throne, “And your QaS DevwI' is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps you made a mistake in placing your trust in one without honour.”

The four of them glanced around the hall, but there was indeed no sign of Klath.

Toran slowly stood from his throne and extended himself to his full height, managing to look imposing even in the expanse of the three-storey height of the great hall.

“So,” he continued, “In his absence, I have the right to defend my honour, and punish those that have committed treason against the Empire.”

He looked at the line of faces, then down at the weapons available to him. Denella couldn’t be certain, but she was sure that she detected a slight grimace in the Klingon’s face as he sized up the blades. Almost as if he wasn’t looking forward to the bloodshed. Which was a very curious reaction for a Klingon warrior.

He snapped a look back at them, leaving the weapons where they were.

“Do you have anything more to say before I carry out the sentence?”

One of the Bounty’s crew members was suddenly in his element.

“Oh yeah,” Sunek nodded, “I’ve got a hell of a lot to say. You wanna know why we did it? Well, I’ll tell you. In long, excruciating detail. See, we’re radical animal rights activists from the Badlands. And we have long campaigned against the Klingon Empire’s mistreatment of tribbles. Even though some might say that’s a really, really dumb thing to get so upset about, right, doc?”

He glanced at Natasha, who tacitly refused to acknowledge the point. He shrugged and continued.

“And you’d better believe that executing us will be a huge mistake. Cos if you do, we’ll be martyrs to the cause of the Tribble Liberation Front. And once the rest of the gang gets wind of what happened here, they will start a pressure campaign so intense that you’ll regret ever declaring war on those little fuzzballs!”

Despite the gravity of their situation, Denella couldn’t help but muster a trace of a smile as the Vulcan continued to ramble on. Only Sunek would think of trying to filibuster his own execution.

Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t a tactic that Toran had much time for.

“Enough!” the Klingon bellowed, with enough force to silence Sunek right in the middle of explaining how the Tribble Liberation Front’s aggressive leafleting campaign would be stepped up across the whole Beta Quadrant.

The Klingon warrior stepped up to them with a menacing leer.

“You have each committed a grave act against the Empire,” he continued, “And in the continued absence of your QaS DevwI', I shall dispense justice.”

As he scowled at Denella, she couldn’t shake the idea that the High Council member might be doing a spot of filibustering of his own.

“Ok,” Sunek tried again, “New idea: You want names? Cos I can give you every last name working in the Tribble Liberation Front right now. I know I just sounded like I was standing with them, but what the hell, you make a persuasive--”

The Vulcan was finally silenced by Toran doling out a solid punch to his stomach. Sunek let out a pained yelp and doubled over in pain.

“Very well,” Toran grunted, walking back over to the tranche of weaponry, “Now I shall--”

The huge main doors to the great hall burst open, and a trio of familiar Klingons entered, Karn and K’Veth led in by a disruptor-wielding Klath. It was enough of a sight for two of Toran’s honour guards to move over and intercept them.

“Great,” Sunek coughed sarcastically as he struggled to get his breath back, “He brought a gun.”

Klath grabbed Karn and K’Veth to stop them on the spot as the guards approached, before lowering his disruptor to the ground and setting it down, a clear and obvious gesture of concession to both Toran and the guards.

“What is the meaning of this?” Toran snapped.

“This petaQ has lost his mind,” Karn growled back.

Klath ignored the latest slight on his character and kept his focus on Toran.

“These are the ones that are responsible for bringing the plague to Brexis II, Toran. My colleagues are innocent.”

“Lies,” Karn spat out by way of a defence, “He has no proof!”

Toran regarded the newcomers with a curious air, giving his guards a dismissive gesture to order them to step back for the time being.

“He says you have no proof, son of Morad,” he reiterated, “Explain yourself.”

Klath stole a glance at K’Veth, who immediately turned away from him. He ignored whatever residual feelings he may still have had towards her, and focused on the more pressing issue.

“I know that my colleagues are not behind it,” he explained, “They were here on this mission to support me in my attempts to seek restoration. And they fully supported me in that. Even if they did not…get it.”

He looked over at Jirel, who offered a half-smile and a nod of acknowledgement. Klath nodded back, before continuing.

“And it is also clear that this plague could not have been an accident. Our vessel went through a full decontamination sweep before we departed Mentok colony. The entire ship was thoroughly irradiated, following the precise procedures detailed by the Empire. And each of us had to submit to a full body sensor scan before we were allowed to board. Their presence onboard could not have been overlooked. It had to be deliberate.”

He gestured to Natasha where she stood in line as he continued.

“Furthermore, as our doctor will confirm, I understand that these…things require sustenance in order to multiply so rapidly. Something that they were unlikely to find in our cargo bay without assistance from outside.”

“Energy bars!” Natasha called out, as the pieces clicked together in her head, “We found an energy bar wrapper in with the crates of bloodwine. Sunek asked earlier if they’d brought a packed lunch with them. I guess they kinda did.”

Toran stared blankly at the human doctor for a moment, then turned back to Klath, gesturing to Karn and K’Veth.

“This is all very interesting, son of Morad. But why would these exiles come all this way to meet with me and present their cases, while at the same time try to destroy me? Why not just give you and your crew the bloodwine to deliver.”

“Because they were not the masterminds of the scheme. They were merely here to ensure that everything went as planned.”

“This is all fakery--!” Karn began.

“Silence,” Toran boomed, keeping his eyes on Klath, “Then who are you suggesting was responsible for this?”

“I recall something you said when we first arrived. When we all introduced ourselves, you said that you recognised the name Mortath. I find it unlikely that a High Council member would take the trouble to memorise the name of every dishonourable exile in the galaxy. Especially when there are so many of us.”

Toran’s eyes widened slightly, and he nodded.

“He already came to you, seeking restoration, did he not?” Klath continued, “Mortath, son of K’Rath. The Khitomer conspirator.”

At this, Karn flashed an angry look at K’Veth, realising that there was only one way that Klath could have been furnished with that particular detail.

“He did,” Toran nodded with a disgusted leer.

“And you dismissed his case.”

“I did. There is no room in the Empire for the son of one so traitorous. The houses of the Khitomer conspirators will remain poison for as long as the sun of Qo’noS remains burning. So I dismissed his case, and then did the same to his children.”

Klath nodded, even as Karn and K’Veth looked down at the ground in shame.

“That was what this mission was about,” he concluded, “You and your reputation had been his one hope of redemption. But instead, you humiliated Mortath, denied him his chance of restoration. He knew that you would do the same to his children. So he decided to take revenge against you, and your house.”

Klath stepped away from the guilty pair, and bowed his own head with a slight look of shame.

“And he saw his opportunity to do so when I answered his call to deal with the infestation on Mentok colony.”

“Explain,” Toran grunted.

“He used my name on the delivery request, instead of his own. To ensure that there would be no suspicion surrounding our cargo as we made our way here. He used his own men to load the bloodwine onboard our ship, back at Mentok colony. And those same men were then used to complete the decontamination screening of the ship, to ensure that the additional cargo made it through unscathed. He even sent his own children here to see the plan through.”

Klath paused for a moment, and sighed deeply.

“And Mortath also ensured that I did not sense any of this danger earlier. Because he made certain that I would be blinded to it, by offering me the one thing that I would overlook just about anything else for.”

“A chance to reclaim your honour,” Toran nodded in understanding, “No matter how futile such a quest.”

Klath tried to not feel any fresh shame from the frankness of this comment. But he was only partly successful in that pursuit.

“Exactly,” he nodded back, “And that was what Mortath needed to pursue his vengeance. He wanted to discredit you, to ruin your name and your house in return for you condemning him and his family to continued exile. And so, eighty years after Khitomer, Mortath organised his own conspiracy.”

Toran glowered at Karn and K’Veth, who both remained silent.

“This is true?” he growled.

“Lies,” Karn continued to insist, “You surely cannot believe--”

“It is the truth.”

K’Veth’s voice was quieter than Karn’s, but still tinged with steel. She looked up from the ground, ignoring the fierce look from her brother, and stared at Klath with a sad smile. Klath, for his part, redoubled his efforts to ignore the feeling of strength he felt inside from the power of her look.

“You are defying your own father, K’Veth!” Karn snapped.

“Yes, I am,” she nodded, “Because this is not the Klingon way. I can see that now. A greater Klingon than our father has shown me.”

Klath shifted uncomfortably on his feet at this, as K’Veth returned her attention to Toran.

“Mortath gave us our orders,” she continued, “He told us to make sure the delivery got here, in time for your meeting with your allies from the High Council. When the infestation was discovered, it would be enough to bring shame on your house. The same shame that Mortath has endured his entire life, and the one you refused to rescue him from. That was my father’s plan.”

Toran snarled slightly at her confession, as she maintained as proud a stance as she could under the circumstances. Inside, she prepared for the punishment that he would surely dole out now the truth was known.

But Toran had no time to react further.

Because then, the attack came.
 
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