Diplomatic Implausibility by Keith R. A. DeCandido Page B
Authors: Keith R. A. DeCandido
Tags: Science-Fiction
you have the heart of a warrior, it does not matter the form that contains that heart.”
Krevor closed her eyes. “I have committed the very offense I sought to spare you. I offer my life in restitution.”
Worf shook his head. “Your life was mine the moment you received this assignment. For me to take it now would be—wasteful. Return to your post.”
If Krevor felt relief at her life being spared, she did not show it. Instead, she simply said, “Yes, sir,” turned around, and exited the room.
As the doors closed, Wu let out a small chuckle. “Klingon sexism—gotta love it.”
Sparing Wu a mild glare, Worf called up Krevor’srecord. She, indeed, had no House, having been raised in a brothel, the daughter of a deceased harlot and one of her customers. When she had reached the Age of Ascension, she joined the Defense Force. Her ignoble birth had left her no chance of being an officer, but she did not let that stop her.
Now there were layers to Drex’s insult. Besides being a female, Krevor was also a reminder that the House of Mogh into which Worf had been born no longer existed, thanks to Worf’s own actions. If not for Martok, Worf would still have no House.
But I will not do him the honor of acknowledging it,
Worf thought as he turned to the computer station on the desk. Besides, Krevor’s record was excellent. She’d served well during the war, and even gained a commendation—no small feat for a House-less provincial. That she had overcome the obstacles of her birth spoke well of her.
Worf doubted Drex would appreciate that.
Klingon ships did not come equipped with windows, so Worf programmed his computer station to provide a view of the
Enterprise
and the
Sword of Kahless
as they went into warp—the former on a heading that would take it to Starbase 10 near the Romulan border, the latter toward Qo’noS. After a moment, the
Gorkon
did likewise, heading for taD.
Worf’s Starfleet career had been like an opera, whose overture had been his acceptance into the Academy. The songs included battles against foes ranging from the omnipotent Q to the relentless Borg to the ruthless Jem’Hadar. He had visited dozens of parallel universes, survived torture at the hands of both Romulans and Breen, and held the legendary Sword of Kahless. He had gained friends, lost comrades, and met the brother henever knew he had. He had witnessed the “rebirth” of Kahless as a clone, and helped install him as emperor. He had twice survived exile from his own people.
He had killed a chancellor in honorable combat and named his successor.
He had seen two mates die. He had raised a son.
Our triumph on Cardassia was truly the final song,
Worf thought.
Everything since—the farewell party on
DS9, seeing my parents and Jeremy on Earth, traveling
on the
Enterprise—
have been the curtain calls.
Now the performance has ended. It is time to begin a
new saga.
He shut off the computer station.
Chapter Three
I F L ESKIT HAD KNOWN that B’Elath would sing all fifteen verses of “The Campaign at Kol’Vat,” he’d have eaten dinner in his quarters.
Shortly after the shakedown cruise had commenced, it became a tradition on the
Gorkon
for someone to sing before the evening meal. Leskit generally didn’t object to this, as long as the song was decent and short.
“The Campaign at Kol’Vat” was neither. It told of a battle at Goqlath Castle in Kol’Vat, in which the hero Krim enabled his forces to storm the castle by slitting the throats of the castle guards during a moonless night. Some said that it was from the stories of Kol’Vat that the saying, “Four thousand throats may be cut in one night by a running man” derived, though many linguists felt that the quote predated both the song and the campaign.
Leskit had never liked the song or the saying—he’d seen the ruins at Kol’Vat, and at most they would havehad two hundred guards, not four thousand, and then only if they stood crammed side by side. The tune
Krevor closed her eyes. “I have committed the very offense I sought to spare you. I offer my life in restitution.”
Worf shook his head. “Your life was mine the moment you received this assignment. For me to take it now would be—wasteful. Return to your post.”
If Krevor felt relief at her life being spared, she did not show it. Instead, she simply said, “Yes, sir,” turned around, and exited the room.
As the doors closed, Wu let out a small chuckle. “Klingon sexism—gotta love it.”
Sparing Wu a mild glare, Worf called up Krevor’srecord. She, indeed, had no House, having been raised in a brothel, the daughter of a deceased harlot and one of her customers. When she had reached the Age of Ascension, she joined the Defense Force. Her ignoble birth had left her no chance of being an officer, but she did not let that stop her.
Now there were layers to Drex’s insult. Besides being a female, Krevor was also a reminder that the House of Mogh into which Worf had been born no longer existed, thanks to Worf’s own actions. If not for Martok, Worf would still have no House.
But I will not do him the honor of acknowledging it,
Worf thought as he turned to the computer station on the desk. Besides, Krevor’s record was excellent. She’d served well during the war, and even gained a commendation—no small feat for a House-less provincial. That she had overcome the obstacles of her birth spoke well of her.
Worf doubted Drex would appreciate that.
Klingon ships did not come equipped with windows, so Worf programmed his computer station to provide a view of the
Enterprise
and the
Sword of Kahless
as they went into warp—the former on a heading that would take it to Starbase 10 near the Romulan border, the latter toward Qo’noS. After a moment, the
Gorkon
did likewise, heading for taD.
Worf’s Starfleet career had been like an opera, whose overture had been his acceptance into the Academy. The songs included battles against foes ranging from the omnipotent Q to the relentless Borg to the ruthless Jem’Hadar. He had visited dozens of parallel universes, survived torture at the hands of both Romulans and Breen, and held the legendary Sword of Kahless. He had gained friends, lost comrades, and met the brother henever knew he had. He had witnessed the “rebirth” of Kahless as a clone, and helped install him as emperor. He had twice survived exile from his own people.
He had killed a chancellor in honorable combat and named his successor.
He had seen two mates die. He had raised a son.
Our triumph on Cardassia was truly the final song,
Worf thought.
Everything since—the farewell party on
DS9, seeing my parents and Jeremy on Earth, traveling
on the
Enterprise—
have been the curtain calls.
Now the performance has ended. It is time to begin a
new saga.
He shut off the computer station.
Chapter Three
I F L ESKIT HAD KNOWN that B’Elath would sing all fifteen verses of “The Campaign at Kol’Vat,” he’d have eaten dinner in his quarters.
Shortly after the shakedown cruise had commenced, it became a tradition on the
Gorkon
for someone to sing before the evening meal. Leskit generally didn’t object to this, as long as the song was decent and short.
“The Campaign at Kol’Vat” was neither. It told of a battle at Goqlath Castle in Kol’Vat, in which the hero Krim enabled his forces to storm the castle by slitting the throats of the castle guards during a moonless night. Some said that it was from the stories of Kol’Vat that the saying, “Four thousand throats may be cut in one night by a running man” derived, though many linguists felt that the quote predated both the song and the campaign.
Leskit had never liked the song or the saying—he’d seen the ruins at Kol’Vat, and at most they would havehad two hundred guards, not four thousand, and then only if they stood crammed side by side. The tune