A Time for War, a Time for Peace - Keith R. A. DeCandido [36]
“I said you’re not gonna get away with this.”
“Perhaps. But you will not live to know.”
With that, he fired upon Gorjanc with his disruptor, killing him instantly.
Alexander’s most vivid memory of childhood was the day Mother died. Father held her in his arms, and screamed his grief to the heavens in what Alexander would later learn was the Klingon death ritual. Then Father asked Alexander if he had ever seen death, to which he replied in the negative. “Then look now,” Father had said then, “and always remember.”
He did. Twelve years later, the image of Mother dead on the floor of the VIP quarters on the EnterpriseD was still with him.
Now, Alexander knew that it was that memory more than anything that had held him back from being a warrior. Because he knew in his heart that, if he became a warrior, he would inflict deaths like the one that had been visited upon Mother. Worse, he would lead a life that would probably end with a death just like Mother’s.
Once, when on the Enterprise holodeck with his father and the House of Mogh’s ghIntaq, a man named K’mtar, Alexander was given a chance to kill a foe who was already down and defeated. He could not. Even now, as a soldier of the empire, though he was willing to kill in self-defense, and had done so both during the war and after it, he would not take a helpless life.
And those who did, the way Rov just had done, sickened him to his very core.
As Damir Gorjanc fell dead to the floor of the meeting room, Alexander swore a vow. I’ll make sure that you pay for what you’ve done, Rov, son of Pekdal.
“Would anyone else like to speak?” Rov asked.
Silence greeted his request. Alexander noted that the humans who had been agitated were now sitting quietly, looking frightened out of their wits. They lived and worked on Qo’noS, but they were still not used to dealing with this side of Klingon life. The Klingons they did encounter were politicians and functionaries, not warriors, and so they were not accustomed to such naked brutality.
Alexander knew Rov’s query was rhetorical, but he answered it anyhow. “I would.”
One of the Starfleet guards shot Alexander a look that seemed to say, Are you insane? And perhaps he was, but Alexander knew that, as the son of the ambassador, he was too valuable to kill just yet. Besides which, the uniform he wore would accord him more respect than that which would be granted to a human or even to a Klingon civilian.
Rov walked over to him, aiming the disruptor between Alexander’s eyes.
Alexander swallowed. At least I hope I’m too valuable to kill.
“And what do you wish to say?”
“I want to know what your demands are.”
Lowering the disruptor, Rov said, “Then listen carefully, Alexander, son of Worf, and you will learn.” Then Rov walked over to the unit that B’Urgan had brought in and touched a control. One of the telltales lit up. Satisfied that the machine was working, Rov nodded to B’Urgan and the man with her. They both nodded back and departed the conference room.
“My name is Rov, son of Pekdal, and I represent Klahb. I am sending you this message from the Federation Embassy on Qo’noS, which Klahb has taken possession of. Some of those within the embassy are dead; the rest are Klahb’s hostages. Whether or not those hostages join the ranks of the dead depends upon the actions of the Klingon High Council.
“We demand that the following actions be taken: That the lowlander Martok be removed from the chancellorship that he was falsely given by a conniving, honorless coward. That the alliance with the Federation be treated like the sham it is and abrogated. That the hologram impersonating Emperor Kahless be deactivated. And that we declare war on the Federation, and do not cease until the Federation is destroyed and the true Kahless returned to us from whatever Federation prison he’s being held in.”
It was all Alexander could do to keep from laughing out loud. Hologram impersonating Kahless? He had almost