A Time for War, a Time for Peace - Keith R. A. DeCandido [37]
“We do not expect any of these actions to be taken. The council would never admit that they have become the Federation’s lapdogs, funneling instructions through their king-maker Worf, who is now our hostage. They will not admit that thousands died at Tezwa in order to preserve Federation lies. And they certainly would not admit to the Federation replacing our beloved emperor with a photonic fake.”
Alexander shuddered. The Ya’Vang had been assigned to the task force sent to avenge the six thousand who died at Tezwa, and Alexander had feared he would die that day. But from what he’d heard on the Ya’Vang, there was no complicity between the Federation and the empire over Tezwa—quite the opposite, in fact. The two nations almost went to war over what happened on that planet. Obviously, Rov’s relationship with reality is pretty strained.
“I expect a response within three hours. If I do not receive one, I will destroy this entire structure. The members of Klahb are willing to die to save the empire, but I doubt the Federation will be amused by the wholesale slaughter of its embassy personnel again.”
This time, Alexander simply shook his head. The embassy had been badly damaged and many of its personnel killed when Morjod attempted to overthrow Martok right after the war. Now that I think about it, a lot of what Morjod was saying was the same thing Rov’s saying now. And it was nuts four years ago, too.
Rov touched the control again, and the telltale went dark. He then put his hand to his ear. “Has the ambassador or the guard been found?” A second later, his face contorted into a mask of rage. “Why not? Find them, or your journey to the afterlife will be a swift one indeed!”
Alexander felt something push into his hip. He turned to see Wu staring at him intently; it had been the aide’s knee that he felt. Alexander stared back questioningly, not sure what it was Wu wanted him to do.
Then Wu mouthed the words talk to him. He mouthed them in English, so it was unlikely that Rov or any of the other Klingons would be able to discern the meaning.
At once, Alexander realized what Wu wanted. He needed to keep Rov talking, possibly continue to drive a wedge—or, rather, drive the existing wedge further—between Rov and Vark. As both a valuable hostage and the only Defense Force personnel among the hostages, Alexander was probably the one who stood the best chance of being able to speak without suffering the same fate as Gorjanc.
“What’s happening next?” Alexander asked.
Shaking his head, Rov said, “You are as big a fool as your father. We wait.”
“That isn’t what I meant. I mean after the High Council tells you to—” He hesitated. There was no real Klingon equivalent for the human phrase “go to hell.” After taking a breath, he amended his statement. “After they refuse your request, you’re going to blow up the embassy, right?”
“That is what I said.”
“So you’ll die with everyone else?”
“Not quite. When we of Klahb die, we will be welcomed in Sto-Vo-Kor. The rest of you will wallow on the Barge of the Dead in Gre’thor.”
Alexander had always been dubious about the whole Klingon afterlife notion, though he had always found it touching that Father dedicated a battle to his wife Jadzia after she died in the war to commend her soul to Sto-Vo-Kor. On those days when he actually believed, he wondered if Jadzia had found Mother in the Black Fleet, and if so, wondered how well they got along. He suspected they’d like each other.
However, that was not his concern at the moment. “Either way, you and your followers’ll be dead.”
“My ‘followers,’ as you call them, have pledged their lives. Unlike these human weaklings,” he spread his arms to take in the entire room, “they have no fear of death.”
“Okay,” Alexander said after pretending to consider the notion for a moment. “So then what?”
“What do you mean?” Rov sounded genuinely confused.
“I mean, then what? You’ll be dead, your followers will be dead, all of us