Now the Council had fallen into squabbling and arguing within minutes of the commencement of discussion of a critical political decision, and Ditagh showed no sign of even an interest in calming it down. Have we fallen so far?Worf wondered, and was distressed to see that the answer was yes.

“Chancellor!” Worf shouted, trying to make Ditagh hear him over the din. When that failed, he shouted again, even louder.

“Enough!” Ditagh finally cried in a booming voice, which silenced the chamber. “You wish to speak, General?”

“I do.” Now Worf was in his element. He had remained silent out of respect for the Council and the tenuousness of his own position in the Empire. But this Council was worthy of no one’s respect, and that made his own position his to determine. Whatever he had done wrong in his life, he was always skilled in the verbal combat of the courtroom, and now he found himself again entering that oratorical arena.

“You asked me my thoughts earlier, and now I believe them to be more relevant than I imagined.” He started to pace across the dark room. “For many turns, the Federation has aided us. Despite a history of mistrust and warfare, despite over a century and a half of conflict, they came to our assistance when we were in need, and have asked nothing in return. They have shown us only honor and respect.

“And what have we given them? We have gone back on our word. We swore to send only one ship to the Betreka Nebula, yet we sent an entire fleet. And when they learned of our deception, did they challenge us, as was their right? No. They offered us more aid—a solution that would permit us to at last bring Ch’gran home in a way that allows us our honor.”

He looked upon each member of the Council, even the ones he could not see clearly, in succession as he continued. “There should be no debate, and that there is one shows everyone in this room—including myself—to be a coward. We have been given only one choice, and we must take it, or risk losing even more of our honor than we already have by betraying our allies.”

Now he fixed his gaze upon Ditagh. “If Ch’gran is to be returned to us, then we must earnit. Ambassador Dax—” Worf refused to refer to him as “the Great Curzon,” even if the chancellor did “—has given us a battlefield on which we can win, if we are worthy. If we are, then Ch’gran will be restored to us. If we are not, then we do not deserve it.”

A silence fell over the Council Chambers. All eyes turned either to Worf or to Ditagh—for the general’s part, he locked gazes with the chancellor. The large Klingon was the first to break the gaze, which disappointed Worf. Ditagh was simply a shadow of Kaarg, himself a shadow of the days of yore before Praxis. The Empire needed new blood, not this clinging to the old ways.

“The general is correct,” Kravokh said. “We musthave Ch’gran back, and we will.For we are Klingons!Let us take the southern continent of this Raknal V!”

Several voices cried their assent in the dark. Worf did not bother to look to see who they were; instead he kept his gaze upon Ditagh.

“Very well,” Ditagh finally said. “We will agree to the terms of the Great Curzon’s proposal.”

“Chancellor,” Worf said, “I request the honor of appointment as planetary governor of Raknal V.”

“No.”

In truth, Worf was not entirely disappointed. He had no interest in such duties, but being in a position to be the one who restored Ch’gran to the Empire was an opportunity he could not pass up.

“Imperial Intelligence has specifically requested that Captain Qaolin be given the position and the responsibility. He was the one who led the mission that learned of Ch’gran’s discovery, so the honor should be his.”

“Of course,” Worf said, understanding, though he could not imagine that a ship captain would find such administrative duties to be fulfilling. But then, perhaps Qaolin was ambitious.

My ambitions are solely to restore myself to a semblance of normalcy. To make our House strong again for Mogh and Kaasin and their children.

“You may return to the Betreka Sector aboard the Wo’bortas,General,” Ditagh said, “and we shall commence the process of returning Ch’gran to its rightful place. Qapla’!”

“Qapla’!”

Worf turned and departed the Council Chambers.

Chapter 14

Romulus

Praetor Dralath had never liked the look of his chief aide, Timol. Of course, as the leader of the Romulan Senate, it was well within his purview to have the woman killed, but she had proven quite useful to him over the years. She was very young, and very attractive, but not aggressively so. Her features were arranged in a particularly aesthetic manner, her form lithe and athletic, but no one would ever list her as one of the Empire’s great beauties—a distinction that would not go to a politician in any event. Still, her innate good looks made it easy to be distracted by her. She knew this, of course; in fact, she cultivated it. It was one of the primary reasons why she had been so useful—men told her things they would never tell someone less attractive, and she was sufficiently charming and self-effacing about her looks that women trusted her.

The very qualities that made her invaluable made her dangerous. Dralath both admired and feared that.

Now Timol came to him for their morning meeting to go over the dispatches and see to the day’s itinerary. Running the Romulan Star Empire was a difficult task, and one that required more meetings than Dralath was entirely comfortable with. Power was all well and good, but he had to spend so much time dealing with people.

All things considered, he preferred to avoid it as much as possible—hence the meeting with Timol. She was his buffer to the outside world. The Empire already was closed off from the rest of the galaxy—ever since Tomed, Romulus kept its distance from the politics of the quadrant. Dralath had no patience for it—they had enough to deal with at home.

Timol began with reports from the mines on Remus, which was the usual collection of efficiency reports leavened with the occasional bit of Reman rebellions easily put down by the overseers. The Remans will never be anything but our slaves,Dralath thought with a smile.

The domestic reports were the usual drivel—acts of sedition put down here, an economic plan involving changes in the tax laws proposed by the Senate there, and other such minutiae that Dralath did not feel the need to concern himself with.

Next were the intelligence reports. “I believe this will be of some interest to you, My Lord Praetor,” Timol said in the lilting tones of voice that, Dralath knew, she had perfected over the years. “The Cardassians have discovered an old Klingon wreck on Raknal V near the Betreka Nebula. The Klingons tried to stake a claim on the world as well, and the Federation has brokered an agreement between them.”

Dralath frowned. “An agreement? The Klingonshave allowed an agreementto be brokered?” He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Are these the foes we once feared, the allies we once coveted?”

“The Cardassian Union and the Klingon Empire do not share any borders, My Lord Praetor, and the Klingons are still weakened. A war now would not be prudent.”