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“Thank you, but no,” Worf said, “I will not be here long.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. I would speak to you about the Federation alliance.”

Pouring himself an amber liquid that looked like no Klingon beverage—but looked a lot like Saurian brandy, a drink Worf had always found rather bland—Kopek said, “Suit yourself.” He brought the glass—not a traditional Klingon mug, but rather a clear glass, decorated with the empire trefoil—with him to his desk and sat in a chair that was upholstered with Terran leather. “What about the Federation alliance would you like to speak of?”

“The Federation has expressed concern that the High Council will attempt to sway Martok in the direction of breaking the alliance.”

Kopek laughed. “Of course they have. So you come to me because you know that I am an opponent of Martok and all he stands for. And that is as it should be—commoners do not belong in the Great Hall. As a scion of a noble House, you should be aware of that.” With a look of mock-realization, he added, “Oh but wait—your father’s House was dissolved by Gowron, was it not? A pity. Still, the rule of men belongs to those of noble blood; it is not a place for laborers from the lowlands.”

It was all Worf could do to restrain himself from saying, No, that place is your bed. “Regardless of his origins, the chancellor feels that the empire’s alliance—”

“The alliance is a sham, and it does me no good. The Ferengi have a saying—” He chuckled. “In fact, they have an entire book of sayings, but the one I like best is the one about how war is good for business. Peace with the Federation means nothing. War with the Federation means new ship construction, it means a rise in the sale of difficult-to-obtain goods, it means a rise in weapons sales across the galaxy. It means I profit, and, as an added bonus, it strikes another blow into Martok’s lowborn heart.” Kopek downed his brandy in one gulp by way of punctuating his statement.

Worf’s mouth twisted in annoyance. He had expected no less from Kopek, but he had to make the effort. “Very well. Thank you for your time.”

Even as Worf turned to leave, Kopek continued speaking. “I do wish to thank you, Ambassador. You’ve done me a great service.”

Worf stopped, but did not turn around. “How is that?”

“Oh, I know you can’t admit it—and those toys you used to disguise yourself were quite impressive—but we both know who it was who traded a data rod for my access code. By the way, I’ve changed the code, so don’t think that will do you any good in the future. That rod, however, has been a great boon. I had no idea that I.I. knew that much about me. It has enabled me to strengthen my own position, and eliminate several enemies I did not even know I had.”

The nausea in Worf’s stomachs increased. Kopek had mentioned ship construction in his litany of potential benefits from a Federation-Klingon war, but the dossier Worf had been provided on Kopek said nothing about shipbuilding being among his many concerns. No doubt one of those enemies did, Worf thought angrily, and those concerns now belong to the House of Kopek.

Kopek stood and walked back to the drinks table. “Oh, one more thing, Ambassador. A mutual acquaintance of mine is here. He wishes to give you his regards.”

At that, Worf turned around, just in time to see the door to the antechamber open. During the Tezwa crisis, when Worf had broken into these very same chambers and rendered both Kopek and his aide-de-camp unconscious, he had placed both their prone forms in that antechamber.

Now, it was Kl’rt who leapt from the now-open doors, firing a disruptor.

Worf ducked behind one of the pillars. Kl’rt’s shot was wild, as he fired before he could take proper aim, and so the blast only grazed Worf’s shoulder. It didn’t even make it through to the skin, although his cassock was badly singed.

“Now you will die the death you deserve, traitor!” Kl’rt cried.

Reaching into his pocket, Worf pulled out his own phaser and fired back.

Kl’rt fell to the floor, dead, even as his disruptor fired into the ceiling, damaging