Azetbur landed and overbalanced, losing her grip on the staff as she tumbled to the ground. The aromatic scent of freshly cut grass filled her nostrils as she rolled atop it. She quickly jumped back to her feet and retrieved her weapon, grasping it in both hands and preparing immediately to wield it.

“Well done, Chancellor,” her adversary said, breathing heavily. Azetbur waited as he lifted himself up onto his hands and then rose to his feet. She still held the staff up, ready to swing it, her muscles tensed, her blood coursing hotly through her veins, the taste of combat raw in her mouth as she gasped for air. Only when it became clear that her adversary would not continue the exercise did she relax her arms and let the far end of the staff drop to the ground.

“Thank you, Revik,” Azetbur said. Her daily training session had already lasted nearly two hours, almost twice as long as usual. Though a diplomat, as her father had been, she never forgot her heritage; a proud Klingon, she fought most often with weapons such as words and tact, but she also kept herself proficient in the use of her fists and the traditional weapons of individual combat. Further, she regularly practiced her skills with energy weapons.

Revik, a large but agile man, walked over to Azetbur. His white, lightweight body armor, shining brightly in the morning sun, contrasted vividly with his dark coloring. He slipped off his protective gloves as he made his way over to her, then removed his headgear, revealing a mass of long black hair pulled back into a knot. “Excellent anticipation and adaptation,” he commended. “I thought I’d waited until you’d fully committed, but obviously not.”

“I’ve told you before,” Azetbur said, “it’s my job to figure out what people are going to do next, and plan for it.” She dropped the staff onto the grass, then pulled off her own gloves and helmet, tucking the former inside the latter. She smoothed the tangles of her hair, soaked through with sweat.

“So have we finished for today?” Revik asked.

Azetbur considered continuing—the workout had been a good one, and though tired, she still felt strong—but then she spied movement past Revik, at the far corner of the courtyard. “Yes, we’re done,” she said.

“What shall we work on tomorrow?” Revik asked.

“Hand-to-hand combat,” she said without hesitation. “No weapons.”

Revik nodded, apparently not surprised. Azetbur had most often been practicing weaponless combat in their recent sessions. She supposed the reason might be her need to somehow deal with her political dissatisfactions. The resistance to her decision to sustain acceptance of Federation aid, even during the current diplomatic circumstances, frustrated her a great deal. Of late, she had come to suspect that private interests drove her opposition—both among the citizenry and on the High Council—far more than the now-common plaint of the wounding of Klingon pride.

“With your permission, Chancellor,” Revik said, motioning behind her, toward where the preparation room opened from the Great Hall into the courtyard. Azetbur nodded, and Revik bowed his head, then walked past her.

Across the way, where she had seen him enter just a few moments ago, a man stood unmoving. Even if he had not asked for this meeting, she would have recognized him. He wore the heavy, metallic uniform of the Klingon Defense Force, and his large, fleshy shape was unmistakable. She lifted her hand and pointed to a stone bench along one wall of the courtyard, gesturing for General Kaarg to meet her there. He began marching in that direction.

Azetbur tossed her gloves and helmet onto the ground beside the staff, then strode toward the bench. Already she felt the muscles of her legs beginning to tighten; her workout today had been particularly strenuous. As she walked, she began unfastening the black armor surrounding her upper body. By the time she had reached the bench, she carried four separate pieces: the front of the torso, the back, and both arms.

“General Kaarg,” she said when he reached her. She held the pieces of body armor out to her side and let them fall to the ground. “I was surprised to hear from you this morning. I would have expected you to be aboard a starship patrolling the boundaries of the Empire.” In response to the Romulan claims of a Starfleet first-strike weapon, and to the Federation’s subsequent denial, Azetbur had ordered the Klingon Defense Force to deploy significant resources along the Empire’s borders with both powers. She knew that both the Romulans and the Federation had done the same. Such a military buildup risked the peace, but in light of Azetbur’s decision to side against whichever government committed the next act of aggression, the Klingon military needed to be ready for battle.

“I have great confidence in my wing,” Kaarg said, “and I am in frequent contact with my officers. But considering the current political situation, I concluded that my presence here, on the Council, would be most important.” He paused, and then added, “At least prior to the start of any hostilities. But I’ll be returning to our borders with the Romulans and the Federation before long.”

“Of course,” Azetbur said. “The Empire appreciates your loyalties.” Since the general had stood up to defend her against Brigadier Kuron in the meeting following the Romulan envoy’s visit, Azetbur had noticed other, subtler indications that Kaarg’s allegiance was to her. And after learning from Ambassador Kage about the perfidious General Gorak and his young lapdog, Ditagh, she valued, now more than ever, whatever solid support she could find.

“My duty is to Qo’noS,” Kaarg agreed. “And because of that, there is an urgent matter I must discuss with you.”

“An urgent matter?” Azetbur asked, wondering what information the general would want to bring directly to her, and not to all of the High Council. “Please,” she said, motioning toward the bench, “sit.”

Kaarg did so, settling his considerable bulk onto the stone surface. “Chancellor, I have learned that you may soon be challenged,” he said soberly.

“I’m continually being challenged,” Azetbur said lightly, intentionally suggesting that she had not taken his meaning, and thereby hoping to force him to disclose in detail whatever information he had—an old diplomatic technique. She did not look at him. Instead, she casually propped her foot up on the edge of the bench and began loosening the straps that bound the armor about her leg.

“Chancellor, I did not make myself clear,” Kaarg said. “I meant to say that an attempt is going to be made to remove you from power.”

“To remove me from power,” Azetbur repeated. She pulled the armor from her leg and lobbed it atop the other pieces on the ground. It landed on the breastplate with a crack,then slid off onto the grass. “And what about removing me from life?”she asked, still not looking at the general. She set her leg down and lifted the other one, reaching for the straps securing the armor around it.

“Yes,” Kaarg said.

Finally, she looked up at him. To her surprise, Azetbur felt anger rush through her. Although she had long dealt with opposition to her leadership, and even though Kage had recently confirmed the disloyal intentions of General Gorak, actually hearing that an attempt would be made to assassinate her enraged her. “And what is your point in telling me this, General?” she demanded.

“My point,” Kaarg said, his expression hardening, “is to protect the chancellor of the Klingon Empire.” He stood up, though he made no move toward her, and no move to leave. “To protect you,”he finished.

“How does my knowing what you’ve just told me offer me protection?” she asked, suddenly realizing that the plot of which Kaarg spoke might be separate from that of Gorak’s. “Am I never to leave my residence?” she asked. “Or my office? Am I to stay away from gatherings of the High Council? Such actions would see me removed from power just as quickly as a mek’lethin the back.” She took her leg down from the bench and leaned in close to Kaarg. “Klingons,” she said, “do not cower.”