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“Not bad, as jails go. I mean, they got carpets, y’know?”

As vital as Grant’s obsevations might be, Worf could not force himself to listen. Grant’s voice faded into the back ground as he reflected on what his oath to Starfleet and his own honor had forced him into: He had lost a battle on purpose, which was difficult enough. But to lose it to warriors who had forsaken their code of honor!

But by his action, Worf had gotten this powerful woman’s personal attention. For good or otherwise? Worf refused to judge yet but clung to the statement the woman had made about talking to him later. He knew he had managed to tickle her interest in him, and that she preferred using Klingons as her personal security team. She had shown definite curiosity about him when he’d proven that he was more clever, if not stronger, than any of her current Rogues.

How the other Rogues would feel if he joined them—he would deal with that when the time came.

“Somebody’s coming!” Grant said suddenly.

Worf sat up, listened to the faint thud of several footsteps on the stone outside this dugout holding area, then carefully eased back and tried to look as if he didn’t care about much.

Under the soft lights of the cellblock corridor, Ugulan and two of his guards strode in, with Odette Khanty in their midst. She was a poised woman who struck Worf as efficient but cold, colder in person than her carefully crafted public image. She approached the cell bars as if they weren’t even there.

She looked directly at Worf, ignoring Grant entirely. “It’s even worse than you said. You broke your commanding officer’s jaw and three ribs.”

Worf offered only a limited shrug. “It is not my fault if he had weak bones.”

“Why did you come to Sindikash?”

“I like the architecture.”

Mrs. Khanty’s mouth pursed a bit, rounding her cheeks. “You came because Starfleet has so little authority here at the moment. You came because we’re in a state of flux between Federation membership and autonomy. You weren’t kicked out of Starfleet. You’re absent without leave. There’s a pending assault charge.”

“How interesting.”

“Why didn’t you go back to Q’onos?”

Sudden silence fell between them. They looked at each other, dueling.

“Same problems there, hm?” Mrs. Khanty eventually said.

Worf scowled. “Many Klingons no longer understand the need for authority. They made a treaty with the Federation.”

“I understand that sort of feeling.”

“It is not a feeling. It is fact.”

“Yes, of course.” She watched him for a moment. “You beat my Rogues. How did you do that?”

Worf clenched his fists to keep from spitting on her. Here was a woman who had found a way to make Klingons turn from their honor. They were nothing but lowlife murderers, souring the reputation of Klingons all around. Could he pretend to be a Klingon with no honor?

“Klingons are ethnocentric,” he said. “They have a tendency, more than most, to think they are superior in every way. They do not see the strength in others. That is why we could not, for so long, beat back the Federation. But I have grown beyond such constraints. I see the strength of rigorous rationality in Vulcans. I see the stubbornness of humans. There is strength in patience. There is strength in calmness. I remained calm and stubborn in the face of your Rogues, and I beat them.”

“By understanding those who would be your enemies, yes,” she said. “I see that. Very good. I like that. You beat Klingons by understanding the weakness of Klingons.”

Stung by this woman’s approval, Worf forced a nod of thanks. He saw in her eyes an incredible coldness that seemed to compensate for her inability to wield a weapon. Oh—it burned to be admired by such a person! He was embarrassed for himself because he had to gain her approval at all, but embarrassed also for the Rogues, who were for some reason ruled by this person.

“I have an offer for you. As you noticed, I have a special security team of Klingons. They call themselves the Rogues. That’s their own name for themselves,