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“Her duty is to find a mate and provide him with sons.”

Toq rolled his eyes. Vralk was the third pilot they’d had on the Gorkon since Lieutenant Leskit was rotated back to the Rotarran, and each one made Toq miss the old toDSaH even more. Leskit had been a fine dinner companion and a good comrade. Vralk was the latest in a series of idiots Command had sent to poorly fill his boots.

“Feel free,” Toq said, “to challenge her authority, Vralk. I am sure she could use the d’k tahg practice on your hearts.”

Rodek joined Toq in a laugh. Rodek, Toq noticed, had lightened up considerably these past few months. When Toq first signed on, he would happily have taken the humorless gunner’s life as he had Kegren’s, but Rodek had shown signs of acquiring both a sense of humor and a zest for life. He still performed his duties as gunner with all the passion of dead racht, but he did his job well.

Vralk, on the other hand, looked like someone had poisoned his bok-rat liver. “Laugh all you wish, but we could not possibly have a less worthy first officer than a woman.”

“Spoken like someone who never served under Drex,” Rodek said, wiping grapok sauce off his face with his sleeve.

At that name, Vralk’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. “The son of Martok? You served with him?”

“He preceded Tereth as first officer,” Toq said as he chewed on his pipius claw. “The captain had him transferred off the ship as fast as he could.”

“Then the captain is a fool,” Vralk said unhesitatingly.

Vralk had spoken just as Rodek was sipping his bloodwine, and the gunner gave out a bark of laughter that caused the wine to spill all over the table. Rodek set the mug down and said, “Perhaps you should challenge the captain, then, since you think him to be so—unworthy.”

At that, Vralk squirmed. “Well, no, but—Drex is the son of the chancellor! He deserves respect!”

“Respect must be earned, boy,” Rodek said.

“And your commanding officers deserve respect, as well,” Toq added. “Klag and Tereth have led us well, and you will find no one on this ship to support your cause.”

“Really?” Now Vralk sounded more sure of himself. “You mean to tell me that all twenty-seven hundred warriors on this ship support a captain who mutilates his body and a female first officer?”

Toq looked at Rodek. “He sounds like a Ferengi, doesn’t he?”

“Laugh if you want,” Vralk said. “But if I did challenge the authority of those in charge, do not be so sure that I would be acting alone.”

With that, Vralk swallowed the last of his liver and got up and left.

Rodek laughed as heartily as he ever did. “Yet another fool pilots the ship. I never thought I would wish for Leskit’s return.”

Toq, however, did not return the laugh. “Is he truly a fool, Rodek?”

“Of course he is. Only a fool would challenge Klag—they’d be dead before they could get near him.”

“On the bridge, perhaps. But what of the troops? The engineers? We do not know their thoughts.”

Polishing off his bloodwine, Rodek said, “Troops are loyal to their commanders unless given good reason not to be. Has Klag given such a reason?”

“His arm.”

Rodek snorted. “He has made himself a better warrior. Don’t tell me you believe that stupidity about ‘hiding the scars of battle.’”

“No,” Toq said quickly, and he meant it. On Carraya, he had grown up with Romulan medicine. Indeed, the one aspect of life in the Empire that Toq did not appreciate was the appalling state of Klingon medicine. One of the many reasons for his contentment on the Gorkon was the fact that their physician studied in the Federation. “But if a young fool like Vralk believes it…”

Rodek looked sour—or, rather, more sour than usual. “I will speak with Lokor.”

Lokor was the head of on-ship security, and generally knew everything that occurred on the Gorkon. Rumor had it that he was also with Imperial Intelligence, but Toq had always discounted those rumors. Surely there was an II operative or two on the ship, but Toq doubted that II would place someone in so obvious a position as security. Indeed, Toq suspected that Lokor himself spread those rumors for