Klingons Once and Future, a StarTrek: Deep Space Nine + StarTrek: The Original Series Crossover fanfic

Klingons Once & Future

F. E Tabor

There is history shared…and true history. Sometimes they match.

Time: Year 2383, 150 years after the birth of James Tiberius Kirk, Galactic Hero

Place: Federation Academy, Earth Campus, main entrance desk

Lt. Nog, first-and shortest-Ferengi in Star Fleet stood before the secretary, an archaic real live person. Since the secretary sat, Nog could look down on him. "Inform High Security I wish to see them."

"High Security, if such a thing exists, does not take orders from lieutenants. It gives them."

Nog stood straighter, "Tell them it is Lt. Nog."

The secretary stood, all two meters of him. "Lieutenant, even admirals do not expect special treatment."

Nog, although he had to tilt his back to look the secretary in the eye, managed to convey the impression he was looking down on the tall man. "Tell them I am not coming as a lieutenant. I am coming as an emissary for my father, the Great Negus, Head of all Ferengi."

Nog knew that fact would gain him an audience with the "none existent" High Security. He also knew he was about to 'pull the rug out from under them' regards their understanding of history. He knew a person's fear of paradigm change was in direct proportion to the power that person held. If you had the illusion of maximum power, you did not welcome learning your power was a sandcastle built by others.

Nog's father had given him a dangerous task. Nog the soldier faced danger daily. Nog the son must honor his father. Nog the Ferengi must help his people gain greater properity.

Nog the person wondered how The Deception had succeeded for so long. He remembered his father sharing, "When given a choice between a myth desired, and a truth feared, almost all will choose the myth."

In his mind, Nog rehearsed the True History available until now only to the Grand Negus, and a now dead Romulan.

Place: Marinas Trench, Earth, approaching a high-security "bubble office"

Earth Year: 2275

The torpedo shaped mini-sub glided smoothly beneath the deep ocean headquarters of the Federation High Security Office and emerged into the docking area. The auto pilot locked onto one of the many docking-slips and opened.

Captain James T. Kirk jumped out onto the dock. "What a trip! If I weren't a starship captain, deep sea admiral wouldn't be a bad second choice!"

Spock, his normally half-closed eyes wide open, grabbed the edge of the hatch, swayed and started to step onto the dock. Instead, he fell backwards. Only his tight grip on the door's edge kept him from crashing onto the floor. Spock's eyes widened into full circles.

Kirk laughed. "Nothing in space makes you raise an eyebrow, but a sweet little trip under water-"

Spock pulled himself upright; he wobbled onto the deck. "It is unnatural for a planet to have this much water. It is illogical for intelligent, land-based species to want to be under so much of it."

Kirk feigned horror. "Spock, you look tragically, horribly miserable and even a little scared. So much emotion!"

Spock forced himself to stand straighter. "I will not be insulted."

Spock looked around the giant dome that housed the most secret office on the planet. Buried beneath over seven miles of water, it could not be approached by man or electronics without the knowledge and consent of its inhabitants. "It is not logical that we could not meet in the Vulcan-secured offices on the Federation Campus."

A figure emerged from the shadows. "This is the only place on all of earth I am certain our conversations cannot be overheard."

Spock, startled, exclaimed, "Father!"

Sarek stiffened. "Living among humans has weakened you."

Spock stood straighter; his face became as impassive as his father's. "I have embarrassed you, Father. I seek your forgiveness."

Sarek nodded. "I forgive you. Follow me."

Sarek led the two men to a large conference room. Three other Vulcans, a half dozen humans and-Kirk blinked, shocked-an elderly Klingon man and a younger Klingon woman were already in the room.

In his long career, Kirk had seen few Klingon women. With the right make-up, she could pass for human, he thought.

Sarek, gesturing towards a round conference table, said, "Let's sit."

Kirk glared at the older Klingon. "Mind if I sit next to you?"

The Klingon half smiled. "So you can keep an eye on me?"

Without responding, Kirk sat next to him. The Klingon woman sat next to her companion. Following his captain's lead, Spock sat next to her.

A tall, thin man flanked by two Vulcans sat directly across from Kirk. He looks like he hasn't changed his clothes for days, thought Kirk.

Sarek began, "We are here to discuss the most dangerous weapon in the galaxy-"

Kirk interrupted, "What have the Klingons done, learned how to blow up a star?"

Sarek's eyes narrowed; one eyebrow raised. He resumed talking as though Kirk's outburst had not occurred. "We first noticed the effect of this weapon about two years ago when the Klingons no longer preyed on merchant starships. Then we noticed that Romulans were encroaching on Klingon space and the Klingons did not protest."

Kirk thought, Aren't those good things? He looked around the room. Except for Spock, all were nodding as though agreeing with everything Sarek said. The corners of Spock's eyes tightened, a sure sign of confusion.

Speaking with careful formality Spock said, "Sarek, you are describing the effects of Federation peace negotiations with the Klingons. How is that anything but good news?"

Sarek answered, "We deluded ourselves that we were negotiating peace. We should have known better, been suspicious that the Klingons were too willing. We now know the real reason they have become so cooperative."

The lanky man across from Kirk spoke. "I'm Dr. Lasiel, a geneticist. I work with these two," He pointed at the Vulcans next to him. "I was called in when Waziak son of Anjon and his granddaughter were brought here by a Federation scout ship. They were begging for help."

Dr. Lasiel took a deep breath. "When I learned what the problem was, I felt pity for the old Klingon and his granddaughter. When I learned the cause, I felt terror."

The Vulcan scientist next to him said, "As I do even now."

If that's the look of a frightened Vulcan, I wonder what they look like when bored. Aloud Kirk asked, "What was the emergency?"

Sarek said, "Waziak, would you please tell them?"

Waziak placed his hands flat on the table in front of him. He studied the backs of his hands as though they held some deep secret. His granddaughter whispered, "Tell all."

Waziak stood, arms folded in front, head held high. "I am Klingon, born to the highest house, a warrior trained, an engineer by trade, a family head with children, a few grandchildren but no great-grandchildren-"

His granddaughter interrupted, "You have one great-grandchild!"

"That animal is not a child!"

"How can you be sure? My son is only days old!"

He yelled, "I'm sure!" Suddenly he looked much older. "I am sure."

Waziak regained his composure. "At first it was just a few, then more, now almost all Klingon young are…are not Klingon. It showed up first on our frontier worlds, then among the inner planets, rumors about the emperor's family. Because it seemed to spread like a disease, many of us started to isolate ourselves."

Kirk interrupted, "What are you talking about? What does this have to do with a weapon?"

Waziak said. "A house without future children is no longer a house. A warrior without a house is no longer a warrior. I am no longer a lord. I am just an old man whose family can have no future." His shoulders slumped forward.

His granddaughter looked up at him. "We are Klingon. We fight."

Waziak spread his arms wide. "Fight what?" He nodded to Dr. Lasiel. "You explain." Waziak crumpled down into his chair. His granddaughter reached out for his hand. Their hands touched.

Dr. Lasiel said, "When the scout ship picked them up, they were fleeing a Klingon blockade. Waziak hoped he could take his very pregnant granddaughter away from the infection, save her unborn child. The Klingon government told us the blockade was to keep intruders away from the star system Because of Waziak we learned its real purpose, to prevent the infection from infiltrating more of the Klingon Empire. It won't work."

Spock said, "You are avoiding telling us exactly what this infection is. Logic dictates that it must be associated with the weapon you alluded to earlier."

Sarek, with an almost invisible nod towards Spock, said, "You are right. An unusual gene-altering virus has infected Klingons. It appears to have been around for some time. For the past twenty years every female Klingon infected with the virus has given birth to a throw-back child."

Spock's eyebrows went up. "That is why the Klingons have been negotiating. Every year they have fewer normal Klingon children. It is only a matter of time before Klingons become extinct."

Kirk asked, "What is a throw-back child?"

Spock said, "The child is like an earlier, pre-intelligent version of the Klingons. Such children might battle with sticks and stones, but never a starship." He turned to his father. "I take it his granddaughter has given birth to a throw back child?"

The Klingon woman spoke up, "My son was born only days ago. He looks different. He is only an infant, he might-"

Waziak interrupted her. "He has the ridges, the matted hair. In the last few years, on other worlds, I have seen hundreds like him born. At first all were allowed to live. Our Emperor's new decree, all such die at birth, is a kindness." Waziak inhaled deeply. "Show the hologram."

The center of the table seemed to transform into large boulders with scrub vegetation growing between them. A small, furry rat-like animal suddenly ran between the boulders, its eyes wide. A half-grown hominid creature rushed after it.

The hominid's thick, dirt- matted hair, leathery skin and long claws on both fingers and toes combined to give the impression of a primitive carnivore.

It jumped from one boulder to another, chasing the small animal. It finally caught it. One hand held the struggling creature. One quick slice with his index finger, the hominid disemboweled its prey and ate the rat-like creature raw.

The conference table returned.

Waziak spoke. "That is my grandson. He can't talk, can't be reasoned with or even trained. When he was only three, I ordered my daughter to release her son to my estate's wild lands. I expected the child to die. Instead, at only three he became the most successful predator on my land."

Kirk asked, "That was a three year old?"

Waziak answered, "No, that is my most recent recording. He has been in the wilds about seven years now and survived with no help from anyone, only pure, raw animal cunning." He turned to his granddaughter. "Animal cunning, not Klingon reasoning."

His granddaughter protested, "Animal cunning is still intelligence!"

Waziak shook his head. "Your desires are clouding your vision."

Dr. Lasiel continued. "It is rare for viruses to alter genetic materiel, but not unheard of. My colleagues and I thought we could reverse the effects, save the Klingons and make them forever indebted to us. It didn't work as planned."

Kirk said, "A Klingon show gratitude? Not surprised you failed."

Dr. Lasiel said, "You misunderstand. We discovered the virus is artificial. We cannot stop it. It was tailor made to send the Klingons back to their caves."

Sarek spoke, a hint of concern in his face, "Someone found a way to conquer the Klingon Empire without firing a shot. We suspected the Romulans, but their science cannot duplicate this. Neither can ours. We do know whoever did this to the Klingons, can do it to any of us. For all we know, we might already be infected."

Kirk glanced at the elderly Klingon. "Like Waziak, I am more warrior than scientist. My weapons are blasters and light torpedoes. How can that help against a virus?"

Sarek said, "They can't, directly. We know the Romulans didn't do this, but are convinced the Romulan High Command knows who did. The Romulans took advantage of the weakened Klingon Empire before anyone else had a hint of trouble. We want you to penetrate Romulan space, stir up a hornet's nest, and see what comes out."

Spock said, "It is not logical to directly attack so formidable an enemy."

Sarek said, "You will be chasing Klingon pirates."

Waziak said, "I, my brothers and two sons will be your pirates. You or the Romulans will surely kill us. If you are able to discover who found such a cowardly way to kill my people, if you can do that, it will be a good day to die." Waziak stood, crossed both arms across his chest, his fists clenched. "On my honor as a Klingon warrior, I swear to you, Kirk of the Humans, as an oath-brother, I will help you even to death."

Kirk put his hand to his chest Klingon style. "It will be a better day if we both live in victory." He looked back at Sarek. "How soon can we get started?"

Sarek said, "We have already renovated a captured Klingon warship. Waziak will leave to join his family on it as soon as this meeting is over. It will take him about a month to reach it at sub-light speeds."

Spock asked, "Why sub-light?"

Sarek said, "To minimize anyone noticing his departure. The Enterprise is being prepared as we speak. Tomorrow you will depart on a search-and-seize pirate mission, with lots of public fanfare. No one else on your ship, absolutely no one, is to know anything about the real purpose of your mission. Sometime in the next three months you will pick up the trail of a vicious Klingon pirate, our friend Waziak, and follow it in hot pursuit into Romulan territory. From there, you will improvise. Good hunting."

Four months later, on board the Enterprise, in Captain Kirk's private quarters.

Scotty stood, confusion written large across his face, "Captain, I've no right to question your judgment, but Captain your orders be making no sense."

Kirk, lying on his bed, his arms behind his head, looked up innocently. "No sense?"

"Aye, captain. You say we are on a space pirate hunt, but every time we come near pirates you say 'not now.' Be you waiting for a special pirate?"

"And if I were?"

"Then captain, tell us what we be looking for and then maybe we could give a least a wee bit of help."

Kirk frowned. "Hmmm, perhaps…"

"Perhaps what, Captain?"

Kirk said, "I've heard rumors that the pirate leader has a secret base deep in Romulan territory. They get fifty percent of his loot. He gets safe haven. I'm told to watch for him and him alone, but we don't want to tip him off he's being gunned for."

"Aye, captain, ye can count on me!"

Scotty started to leave, then turned around. "Captain, if he's to return to Romulan space, instead of chasing him all around the quadrant like some drunken goose, why not go to Romulan space ourselves and wait for him."

Kirk sat up. "Good idea." He announced, "Computer, relay to bridge, set route to Romulan space, warp two."

Two days later the Enterprise glided silently into Romulan space.

The Enterprise sent out a single ping.

Spock sought a return ping.

Warp one, they went deeper into Romulan territory.

Again, they pinged.

Again, nothing.

Now sub-light, they crept deeper…

Place: The Klingon Home World, a minor Klingon noble's birthing room.

Time: About fifteen years earlier.

Gamorf son of Dorg stands near the door. His best friend, the family doctor, is by his side. They are careful to stay out of the way. What is happening is women's domain, controlled by many generations of tradition.

Three Klingon women, all dressed in traditional plain white midwife gowns, stand around the massive birthing bed. A large bucket of dark water sits at the foot of the bed. If any of the three women happened to glance in its direction, she averts her eyes. None mention it. Each knows why the bucket is there, gaping open like a primitive monster.

The women chat. The father is noble. The mother-to-be is strong, from a good house. She is fortunate to have so fine a birthing bed. Klingon women need to roll back and forth, kick violently, arch their backs and scream during the birthing process.

The mother-to-be screamed, and screamed again. In an agony of flailing arms, racking shudders and, at last, hunched over in the final birthing pose, her body releases the infant imprisoned within her.

The mother-now-is, sweat rolling down her face, asks, "Is it-"

Her newborn screeches. A loud splash. Silence!

The mother-now-is screams, "No! This one, no matter how deformed, this one I keep!" Forcing herself up, she kicks the water tub over and grabs the tiny, mewing infant. "This one is mine!"

The father, Gamorf, storms out of the room; the doctor follows.

The three women attending the birth gather around her.

One says, "I don't think those ridges look so bad."

Another whispers, "But the stories! I've heard these strange, throw-back children never learn to talk, never become fully Klingon."

The mother and her three attendants become silent as the small infant cuddles up against his mother's breast and suckles. She croons to it. The baby relaxes his body against hers.

The third attendant says, "He knows who his mother is, just as any Klingon newborn should."

Place: Three years later, just outside the same home.

A large cage is on the front lawn, what seems to be a wild animal is curled up, sleeping in a corner.

A ten year old Klingon child (original type) approaches, carrying a large platter of raw meat.

Gamorf and the doctor are about to enter the home, but stop to watch.

When the child is a few feet from the cage, the penned animal awakens, jumps against the fence, snarls. It's now obvious that the animal looks a lot like the Klingon child, except for the facial ridges, longer, thicker foot and finger nails and denser hair. As it howls, his pointed teeth make him look still more feral.

The Klingon boy uses a stick to lift open a small door. Using the same stick, he shoves the meat into the cage. The animal grabs the meat, shredding it with his teeth. His face, hands and torso are soon covered with blood.

The father explains to the doctor, "He won't eat cooked meat, and prefers live worms. He does talk, but his speech is-"

"I know, his speech is harsh, limited to food and fighting."

"Worse, my wife will not admit it was wrong to force him to live. Now our last child, a throw-back girl, already seems as violent as her brother."

The boy finishes feeding the caged feral monster, his brother. The doctor nods towards the lad. "At least you have one normal child. It seems every Klingon house, from the lowliest beggars to the most high noble, has been cursed with these throw-backs."

The father nods. He looks again at his caged second son. The creature stares back. "He does have an animal cunning." He frowns. "Is it true, our gods have cursed us because we grew too soft, forgot our roots?"

The doctor shakes his head. "I don't know. But I do know that if we could somehow mate their cunning, their fearlessness, with the knowledge of our warriors, we Klingons would be invincible."

They go into the house.

The animal-child, still holding the last hunk of meat, watches.

Place: Fifteen years later, in the Command Tower of the Klingon Military Cadet Training Center, in the Office of the Chief of Training.

The Chief is standing at a window, staring down at a nearly empty field. He squints against the bright sun. Directly beneath his window, about two dozen Klingon teenage boys stand in formation. An older Klingon man, in full formal uniform, stands in front of them. At this distance, the chief can't hear what is being said, but he knows the traditional "welcome to training" speech by heart.

The field is so large, that if the Chief didn't know those few young men were down there, he might not have noticed them.

At the sound of a tone he says, "Enter."

Gamorf and someone else enter. "Greetings, Old Friend."

Without turning, The Chief says, "And to you, Gamorf. Look out this window."

Gamorf approaches, looks out the window. His shorter companion stays by the door.

The Chief continues, "Remember when we joined the emperor's forces? How that field wasn't large enough to hold all who wanted to join? Our fears we would be rejected?"

His hand slaps the window, the sudden sound makes Gamorf blink. The Chief yells, "Now look! Only one of those recruits would have been chosen in our youth, now each will be."

An uncharacteristic choke, the beginning of a Klingon sorrow-cry, cuts off The Chief's voice. "There are so few Klingons born, so few to choose from. The plague of throw-backs has devastated every house. Not one child in a thousand in born normal. Klingon parents no longer take pride in raising warriors. The few normals are coddled, pampered, spoiled. They could pass for human children they are so weak." He sighed. "The Klingon Empire will not die in battle. It is only a matter of time all our enemies learn it is already dead. Our future is as stillborn as our children."

He turns, "Gamorf, have you-"

The chief's voice instantly switches to anger, "How dare you!" He lunges for his desk, his hand reaching for a button.

Gamorf grabs his hand, pushes him back against the window. "Blood brother, oath brother, listen!"

The chief replies, "I'll listen as soon as you put him" pointing to the Klingon throw-back youth standing by the door, "in proper restraints."

Gamorf, keeping the chief pressed against the glass, said, "This is my son, whom you last saw five years ago. He is the promising recruit I told you about."

The Chief stops struggling and stares at the youth standing before him.

The young Klingon stares back, not with feral animal cunning, but with something else, something more controlled-and therefore more dangerous. His thick black hair is pulled back and braided, making his brow ridges more prominent. He wears medieval-looking chainmail and leather. A broad leather strap crosses his chest. An antique weapon, whose blade can be seen above his right shoulder and down pass his left hip, rests against his back. A modern disrupter is in his belt.

The throw-back Klingon youth steps forward. The bright sunlight streaming in the window reflects off the blade.

The sun's reflection in the blade makes The Chief blink. "How did you get him in here, armed like that?"

Gamorf answers, "I told security he is an alien from a warrior race who is considering allying themselves with the mighty Klingon Empire."

The Chief nods. "Since few have seen a mature throw-back, they didn't recognize him for what he is." He looks at the youth; speaks slowly, with extreme accuracy, "Can…you…talk?"

The throw-back slaps his fist to his chest and answers, "I can talk and I can sing."

"Sing?"

The youth breaks into a classic opera song about a noble warrior whose house had died; a warrior treated like a beggar instead of the respect he deserved.

At the end of the song the hero faces a dilemma. Should he accept his fate, forever serve another man's house, forever fight for another man's glory, or should he attempt the impossible?

Should he fight to regain his own family's glory? To renew his own family's honor?

The warrior had no kin, not even a sister, not even a grandmother. He had no wealth, he ate only wild game.

The path to honor led only to death.

The operatic hero stood, fist to sky, "If honor can come only with death, then today is a good day to die!"

Unlike any performance the Chief had ever seen, the last line was sung three times, each time more powerful than the last.

Never had he heard such passion.

Never had he heard so many rich overtones sung.

Never had music made him so proud to be Klingon.

Deep in his gut something stirred, something akin to battle frenzy the way an eagle is akin to a duck.

The lad stands silent, again that unflinching stare, the stare of a Klingon warrior.

The chief says, "You are accepted. I think you already know what we teach first year recruits. What do you wish to study?"

"Engineering."

The Chief starts to protest, saw the look in Gamorf's eyes, instead asks, "Why?"

"If I'm to ride a spaceship into battle, I should know all there is to know about it."

The Chief looks back at Gamorf. "That involves advanced math."

Gamorf smiles. "I brought him here because his math skills already exceed my own. He needs teachers who can challenge him."

The chief looks back at the youth. "Forgive my doubting you. You're the first throw-back I've met who could sing or talk. Your name?"

"My name is Gork, son of Gamorf. My father believes all throwbacks can sing, and by singing awaken their Klingon soul."

Gork pauses. He adds, "I believe my father is right. I believe the Creator returned our old bodies to us because the modern ones, the soft ones like yours, are too small to contain a mighty Klingon soul." He stands straighter. "In opera we awaken."

"You believe that because we have no ridges on our foreheads we are less Klingon than you?"

"No, you are less Klingon because your singing is hollow."

Gamorf puts his hand on the Chief's shoulder. "With music, every throw-back out there will become our future. They will forget, become ashamed, we were once not that different than humans."

Place: small Klingon warship, heading for interstellar battle

Gamorf sat in the pilot's chair of the small warship. The emperor had insisted at least one 'normal' Klingon be on board. Gamorf did not blame his fellow 'normals' for being leery-He dare not even think the word fearful; Klingon and fearful will never go together!-of being on a confined spaceship with a crew of recently civilized throwbacks.

Why did it take so long for the emperor to approve teaching opera to the other throwback children? Gamorf had expected his old friend The Chief to run excitedly to the admiral telling him to teach opera to every child. Instead, The Chief had acted as though it were all a trick. The Chief believed his fifteen years of despair more than the proof before his own eyes.

If it had been up to the powers that be, the transformation of throw-back child into super-Klingon warrior might not have happened. But it wasn't up to them. It was up to the women, the midwives and the mothers. Gork was right. Opera awakened the Klingon soul.

His son came onto the bridge. "Father, why so thoughtful?"

Gamorf smiled. "Humans have an old expression 'Music soothes the savage beast.' " He checked the ship's heading. Still perfect. "For Klingons, new Klingons, music empowers the savage beast."

Gork smiled back. "Empowerment is much more useful than soothing."

Gamorf started humming. The ship's sound system carried the hum through out the ship. Gork started singing, "If honor can come only with death…." He held the last note for a dozen beats.

While Gork sang the long, drawn out 'death', the fifteen other throw-back children and young adults throughout the ship sang, "If honor can come only with death…" As they sang, each walked towards the command bridge.

Gork sang the same line two more times, each time the crew responded as he held the final note. By the time they had finished singing the phrase for the third time, all fifteen crew stood together.

In unison, all sang the final line together.

"Then today is a good day to die!"

An encroaching Romulan ship appeared on their view screen.

It never knew what hit it.

The Klingon ship headed home at maximum warp, celebrating its victory-the first Klingon victory in years-all the way home.

On the other side of the Klingon Empire, Waziak's lone ship escaped his world's self-imposed blockade. It would be months before his isolated star system learned about the great victory by the first Bird of Prey manned by throw-backs.

Place: Romulan space, the Starship Enterprise, still searching for Waziak's ship

Spock peered into the special visor-cup. "Captain, I see something!"

At the same time, Uhura said, "I have the ping!"

Kirk ordered, "Screen on."

A single life-pod floated ahead of them.

Kirk asked, "Life signs?"

Spock answered, "None."

Kirk, "Pull it into Cargo Bay Three."

The life pod contained only a written letter:

Captain, I lacked faith in my Klingon heritage. This lack of faith caused me to commit an act of double dishonor. I have betrayed my people to whom I owe all, and I have betrayed you to whom I made a warrior's oath.

I cannot live with the dishonor this brings me. I will be attacking the first Romulan warship I find.

Please pray that death in honorable combat will redeem my soul.

Waziak

Kirk's brow knotted as he read the short letter. Uhura's voice came over his communicator. "Captain, Romulan vessels on edge of visual contact."

Kirk said, "Send them a message we are chasing a Klingon pirate, describe Waziak's ship; ask if they have seen it."

"Message sent." After a brief pause, "They said that ship attacked them, so of course it no longer exists."

"Tell them we appreciate the help, and will be returning home. Chekov, full warp home!"

The communication screen powered on. A battle-uniformed Romulan admiral appeared on it.

"Captain, why are you powering your warp drives? I would assume that if you wanted the Klingon pirates so much you were willing to enter Romulan space to capture them, you would want more information. Allow my ships to join you and I will share what we learned from their vessel."

Kirk signaled to Chekov to hold the warp preparations, but not power down. Kirk smiled as though totally carefree. "Such bother for a common pirate? More ruthless than most, but not worth taking an admiral from a busy schedule." Kirk gave a Romulan ceremonial bow of thanks. "I do thank you for eliminating those criminals from the universe. You have done the Federation a great favor."

The Romulan said, "My superiors would not forgive me if I did not properly recognize your bravery. We will give you an honor escort to federation space. Wait for us."

The Romulan looked as though he were about to sign off. As if it were a casual after thought he added, "Kirk, I would have you and your science officer join me for dinner. Be ready in forty-five earth minutes."

The screen blanked.

Chekov said, "Captain, they are still far enough away we can escape."

Kirk looked thoughtful. "Forty-five minutes to get ready for dinner. Does he expect us to get dressed in as fancy a uniform as he wears?"

Chekov looked up from his console. "Captain, don't go. I think that Romulan would as soon as feed you to deep space as feed you dinner."

Kirk looked at Spock. "Do you think this qualifies as a stirred up nest of hornets?"

Spock answered, "I do."

Kirk laughed. "Then we are going to dinner!"

Chekov rolled his eyes and powered down. He said to no one in particular, "Has the captain never heard the great Russian advice, he who runs away can live to fight another day?"

Still in his private quarters, Kirk admired himself in a full length mirror. Not bad. Amazing what can be whipped up with a synthesizer. He had searched the archives for "brilliant, colorful military uniforms" and found a 20th century dress Marine uniform he liked. That peacock Romulan won't be the only male there strutting his style!

When he entered the bridge, everyone but Spock whistled.

Spock stared. "I do not recall seeing that uniform in any of the fleets manuals or protocol guides."

Kirk looked up and down Spock's standard issue uniform. "Surely you are not going to wear that old thing?"

Spock replied, "This outfit was synthesized less than twenty-four earth hours ago."

Kirk said, "We are going to a formal dinner hosted by an adversary. We should dress for full intimidation."

Spock said, "I doubt our clothing will intimidate anyone, unless you wish me to dress as a Mandorvian Beastman."

The crew laughed.

Kirk said, "Spock, I didn't know you had a sense of humor!"

Spock said, "Only an illogical human could find elementary logic humorous."

Uhura said, "I just received a signal, prepare to be beam-"

Before she could finish saying 'beamed', the Romulans had beamed Kirk and Spock aboard their ship.

Even Spock blinked at the suddenness of their transportation direct from the bridge with no need of a transporter platform.

The formal table setting, the lights and the panoramic view of space dazzled Kirk. The Romulan admiral entered. I thought he looked impressive before! Kirk stepped forward, "I am Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise."

"I am Admiral Saysech. Welcome to my ship. " Saysech eyed Spock's plain uniform. He asked Spock, "What is your role?"

Spock answered, "I am First Science Officer."

Saysech asked Kirk, "His rank?"

Kirk answered, "His rank is nearly equal mine."

Saysech said, "Spock, forgive me, but your lack of dress uniform had me confused."

Spock said, "I am a Vulcan traveling on a ship of humans. Is there a need for me to bring my superiority to anyone's attention?"

Saysech laughed. "Vulcans!" He sat. "Join me. We will talk as each course is served." He sat at the center of the three formal place settings.

As they sat, Saysech said, "All the food and wine is both earth-human and Vulcan compatible and the water is pure. My chief has been studying your worlds' preferences for the past three days. It is my sincere hope he has succeeded in creating a meal that will be as nutritious for your bodily systems as I know it will please your sense of visual and olfactory esthetics."

At that three exceptionally beautiful Romulan women entered carrying bowls of aromatic soup. A bowl was placed before each person. Saysech lifted his broad soup bowl and daintily sipped from it. Kirk and Spock followed suit.

As Saysech lowered his emptied bowl he asked, "Did my cooks season each of yours according to your taste?"

Before Kirk could answer Spock said, "I detected a spice found only on the Vulcan home world. The authentic spice, not a replication. How did you happen to have it on board?"

Saysech smiled. "What I have heard about Vulcan abilities is accurate. And you Kirk?"

Kirk said, "Excellent. You said your chief has been preparing for this meal for three days? How did you know before we did that we would be here? Are the rumors of Romulan fortune tellers true?"

Saysech laughed. "Who needs fortune tellers when logic is predictor enough?" He leaned over to Spock, lifted his eyebrows in a way that suggested what a wink would to a human, "Right , Spock?"

Spock, his face as impassive as ever, said, "My ancestors once believed that, but then the ancient discovery of quantum mechanics proved to us that some things are beyond all logic and it is illogical to have too much faith in logic." He looked directly into Saysech's eyes. "Your logic for not answering my question about the spice?"

The women returned, followed by three other women. The first removed the soup bowls, while the three new ones put the next course before them.

Kirk stared in amazement. He had never seen a single ear of corn served as a primary item in a multicourse meal before, but now wondered why. The bright yellow, the melting butter, the aroma that screamed 'Just-picked-Iowa!' He picked it up, bit into the juicy wonder of it… This was NOT synthesized. The juices ran down the sides of his mouth.

As if from nowhere a moist napkin blotted the corn juice and butter from his chin. Somehow, unnoticed by Kirk, a lovely Romulan lady had appeared behind each of the three diners. No one has wiped my face for me since I was in diapers.

Saysech said, "Kirk, you appear uncomfortable. Is the corn not to your liking?"

"The corn is perfect, Iowa's best. I was not expecting such personable service."

Saysech said, "If she is not to your liking I will have another replace her."

"She's good, very good, just unexpected." Kirk glanced at Spock. "Like Spock noticed the soup contained a spice available only on his home world, this corn is also the real thing, from my home state Iowa. Romulans may have a taste for Vulcan food, but I doubt any of you crave Iowa corn. How do you happen to have this?"

Saysech held out both of his hands to either side. The same girl who had blotted his chin now wiped butter and corn juice from his hands. Spock and Kirk mimicked their host's actions. Both felt uncomfortable having someone else perform so personal a function for them.

As dishes were removed and the next course placed before them, Saysech answered, "When the 'pirate' Klingon entered our space, we sent camouflaged drones to follow it. Klingons have resumed being aggressive. We do not know why and are seeking any information we can. Then, the Enterprise, manned by the most famous starship captain in the federation, showed up. Our first thought was that you, too, had noticed the strange retrograde Klingon behavior and were seeking information. My superiors were expecting you to contact the Romulan home world, and immediately began preparing a diplomatic feast, hence the food you will be enjoying with me. I was sent with the double duty of learning more about why you are following a pirate into Romulan space and to learn if we can form a limited information gathering alliance."

Kirk said, "Like Spock said, even logic is not infallible. I am only a starship captain. I follow orders. I am not an ambassador."

Saysech's face hardened. "Do not play games with me, Kirk! You must be aware of what is happening! Do you think it was an accident that we did not destroy that pod? Do you think we did not inspect everything that was in it? Every word of that note? Or notice it had a device added to it, a device that had been part of the ship, that sent an almost invisible single note signal into space?"

Saysech stood, his voice louder, his right hand slamming the table top for emphasis, "Do you think we would destroy an invading ship in such a way we could not study every clue about its recent history, and so deduce its most probable actions?"

He breathed deeply. He sat down and forced a smile. "But of course you know all this. You would not think so little of Romulans to think otherwise."

Kirk casually took a sip of wine. "Why else do you think I accepted your dinner invitation when I still had the opportunity to escape to Federation space?"

Saysech said, "Then you admit the Federation repaired the pirate's ship to provide an excuse to invade our territory?"

Saysech waited for Kirk to answer his question. Instead it was Spock who answered. "We, too, have noticed irrational changes in Klingon behavior. We released the pirate with the promise that in exchange for improving his ship, he was to inform us what he learned in this sector."

Saysech questioned, "What did you expect him to learn?"

Kirk said, "We did not know. Our best logic said Romula is responsible for what is happening, but our best logic also said it is impossible for Romula to be responsible."

Saysech said, "And our best logic said 'Random event', but we do not trust that answer."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "What fact leads you to distrust the simplest answer?"

Saysech said, "The next course arrives. Let us do these lovely ladies and the dedicated cooks the honor of enjoying their culinary art."

For the rest of the meal, Saysech permitted only casual conversation.

The final course finished, Saysech stood. Kirk and Spock did likewise.

Kirk said, "Thank-" Abruptly onboard the enterprise, he finished, "you." He looked around. "It appears our host does not like long good buys."

Spock said, "In deed."

Kirk asked, "Spock, aren't Romulans as emotionally self-controlled as you Vulcans? Especially someone as highly positioned as an admiral."

Spock said, "Of course."

Kirk said, "What powerful knowledge, or fear, led to Saysech's loss of control, his emotional outburst at dinner?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "What loss of control?"

Kirk said, "You mean he was telling us-"

Spock said, "It would not have been diplomatic for him to say how much he knew, but he needed a way to find out if we knew what he knows and that we know-"

Kirk interrupted, "Stop. I believe we can conclude that although the Romulans were aware of the Klingon change before anyone else, and perhaps were causative, they are as confused as anyone about something that is happening now. The one major confusion is Waziak's final note. I think he was trying to tell us something, but what?"

Spock said, "Not just us, but his family as well."

Kirk looked out the view port, stared towards the star-dense heart of the Milky Way. "War with the Klingons we knew was bad. Waziak showed me Klingons can be more than just warriors. I should feel encouraged. Instead I feel like a pawn in a very large, very dangerous game."

His gaze shifted back to Spock. "Will we ever learn the real game master's identity?"

Time: Year 2383, 150 years after the birth of James Tiberius Kirk, Galactic Hero

Place: Federation Academy, Earth Campus, main entrance desk

"High Security, if such a thing exists, does not take orders from lieutenants. It gives them."

Nog stood straighter, "Tell them it is Lt. Nog."

The secretary stood, all two meters of him. "Lieutenant, even admirals do not expect special treatment."

An hour later Nog was in High Security's inner sanctorum. He had no idea how he got there, or if he was even on the same planet.

Five different individuals, Human, Vulcan, Klingon, Bajoran, and a Klingon/Human mixed, greeted him.

The human said, "I am the current Security Chairman. What message do you bring?"

Nog answered, "Some history. About something that happened the same year Captain Kirk was born. We Ferengi believe all history is as valuable as latinum. This particular bit of history is part of the most private Grand Negus Archives, to be passed down from one Grand Negus to another. My father, the current Grand Negus, says this history will be yours to do with as you like. He would also like to know when a Ferengi can be on the Security Counsel."

The Chairman answered, "I know that polite chit-chat is regarded as insulting to your race because it wastes valuable time. This counsel is composed only of military powers. As your Negus is aware, although Ferengi economic power is one of the greatest in the galaxy, your species is not known for military power. No disrespect. What is this one hundred fifty year old history lesson you have for us?"

Nog held out a small cube. "This is a special recording of something that happened on Romulus. There are subtitles whenever what happens is not obvious. You can be sure it is accurate."

Nog added, "Remember, at this time the Klingons were aware of the Romulans but have had only skirmishes with them. Neither Klingons nor Humans have yet met us Ferengi. Earth fears all out war with the Klingons. Earthmen modeled their new Space Academy after Vulcan ideals, but know those same peace-loving Vulcans have powerful weapons. Humans are just beginning to fully understand how dangerous space is and hope a Federation of Planets will help them survive."

The Chairman said, "We do not need a history lesson."

Nog said, "Of course not, but you may not be aware what it takes to be a wise merchant race. Generations before humans knew we existed, Ferengi leaders were very knowledgeable about the new Federation as well as the Vulcan, Romulan, and Klingon empires. Watch, and learn the power available to a Grand Negus."

Nog threw the cube hard against the floor. It puffed into a multicolored mist. The mist settled.

That apparent transformation of Federation meeting room into Romulan headquarter was as complete as if generated by a Holo-deck.

Subtitles:

Place: Office of the Romulan Chief of Security

Time: 2233, same year Capt. Kirk is born.

A lone Ferengi enters the Romulan counsel room. He stands in the middle of a U-shaped table. Except for several satchels hanging from neck straps, he is dressed like a typical Ferengi master scientist.

The head Romulan sits in front of him. About a dozen other Romulans sit about the table. All glare at the scientist.

The Ferengi bows his head slightly. He grins, "Thank you for allowing me to help you avoid the greatest danger facing the quadrant."

The Romulan leader asks, "And what might that be?"

"Why full-scale, multi-generational war between the federation and the Klingon Empire."

"Don't you Ferengi like war? Arms dealing can be most profitable."

"Even I, a Ferengi scientist, know that peace is always more profitable than war."

"Oh?"

"Dead men don't spend money. Refugees almost never have money, but the desire for people to have more than their neighbors, the desire to experience more luxury, that never ends."

"Why did the Grand Negus send you, and not himself?"

"Since what he wants done violates every rule of acquisition, it could cost him an early 'retirement.' Worse, it would make the Vulcans our enemies. More importantly, since I made what we desire possible, he felt I'm the only one who can persuade you to help."

The short Ferengi holds his head higher, folds his arms over his chest. "It is possible to destroy the Klingons-and in a way the Klingons will never guess either you or I have anything to do with their destruction."

"Klingons don't even know you Ferengi exist, how can they be a threat to you?"

"Need I repeat myself? Peace is more profitable than war. As Klingons now exist, they will never allow peace. They plan to spread their bloody empire across the galaxy. Humans will never again have enough to be profitable. Even your cousins the Vulcans will become poor refugees."

The Romulan's eyes narrow. "And you believe genocide is the answer?"

The Ferengi's eyes widen in horror. "No! Just a slight modification. Like this." He hands the chief Romulan a tablet.

As the Romulan reads, the other counsel members disappear. The Ferengi asks, "Doesn't a war treaty need full counsel approval?"

The Romulan glances up, "Approval is easier if no one is given the chance to disagree. We've been alone, no eavesdroppers, since you've arrived. I studied the sealed records of my predecessors when we first heard from you."

Looking even more severe, he adds, "A Grand Negus makes an offer only about every thirty years. All but one was accepted, at the immense benefit to the Romulan Empire. Each time, we risked much; the price was high. The one time we said "No", we still debate if our decision was right or wrong."

"You were wrong."

The Romulan leans forward slightly, stares into the Ferengi's eyes a full minute.

The Ferengi scientist doesn't flinch.

The Romulan blinks. He continues, "It seemed wise to be careful. Judging from this," He taps the tablet, "I was wise to be cautious."

The Romulan leans back, "Now tell me, Ferengi, in your own words, why you believe we can reverse-engineer the DNA of every Klingon and not get caught."

The Ferengi hisses. "First, because Klingons are tied to their primitive genetic roots more than any other space-faring race. If not for an accidental encounter only one generation ago, they would still be attacking each other's keeps, not each other's space colonies. There would be no Klingon Empire. Honest merchant ships would safely travel the most direct star routes."

The Ferengi speaks faster, his eyes brighten. "I've developed a virus, easily spread by one Klingon breathing near another. It lies dormant for twenty to thirty years. Then it awakens! It attacks only male sperm, devouring recent additions. I started testing it sixty years ago. May I beam in a child fathered by an infected host?"

At the Romulan's nod, a cage materializes between the two sentients. Within the cage a naked animal rages. The Romulan's auto-translator interprets the creature's vocalizations as animal snarls.

The Ferengi tosses it a piece of bread from one of his satchels. The wild creature flips it aside, snarling. Then the scientist pulls out a small rodent and tosses it into the cage.

The caged creature pounces on the fleeing animal. He runs one of his claw-like finger nails along the rodent's abdomen. He eats the bloody, still kicking animal.

It sat back, knees bent, ready to leap upwards.

The Ferengi said, "Every population has thousands of harmless viruses floating about. No data base has every existing virus. My new virus will have been around so long, so wide-spread, that no one will notice it, or make the connection with the deformed off-spring. In twenty years, a few normal children will continue to be born, but most will be primitive animals.

"In time the Klingons could emerge again, only this time under our guidance as safe and profitable neighbors."

"Why do you need us?"

"We don't currently have any dealings with Klingons, no way to spy on them to determine the results of 'improving' them. You do."

"What if the Klingons, in spite of your reassurances, connect us with the genetic regression?"

"Don't worry. None of your scientists are currently doing this type of research. Just make sure they always have other projects to keep them busy. As for us," The Ferengi shrugged. "Who would believe a Ferengi capable of such brilliance?"

Pink dust motes sparkled. The illusion ceased.

Nog said, "Now each of you know a fact known by only three others in the entire universe. We Ferengi are responsible for the Great Klingon Regression Event."

The Klingon stood up, "Ferengi! We knew your money-grubbing hearts had no honor!"

The Vulcan said, "In the past I have always criticized your excessive emotionalism, even if only in my hidden thoughts."

The Klingon sneered, "Not so hidden."

The Vulcan continued as though oblivious to the Klingon's insult. "But racial genocide is the one thing that justifies violent anger. Ferengi, your evil plot almost succeeded."

Nog said, "But our plot did succeed, exactly as planned. Only two, the current Great Negus and myself, know the true reason behind the Klingon Regression. Watch and learn."

Nog threw another cube down. Again the sparkling dust motes. Again the apparent transformation.

Subtitles:

Seventy years later, in one of the Grand Negus's offices.

A Romulan is granted a private audience. Only the Negus's personal servant and son are present.

As soon as the Romulan is convinced there are no recording or listening devices, he shouts at the Negus, "How can a Ferengi scientist become Grand Negus, especially one who failed?"

The Negus answers, "Failed? At what?"

"You know what! There may not be any record, but you planned to send the Klingons back to living in caves. Instead they became stronger, trickier. Now they have allied themselves with the federation! Humans and Vulcans were no problem. But humans and Klingons?"

The Grand Negus says, "What would your staff say if they saw you ranting like a human? They'd think you mad, replace you."

"I am mad. No else may know about your plot, but I do. I can't stop thinking about the evil we unleashed. If not for us, Klingons would be just another hominid race little noticed in The Federation."

The Grand Negus looks bewildered. "I've no idea what you're talking about. Before I became interested in profits, I was a simple geneticist studying more profitable farm animals and how to raise grak. I had nothing to do with Klingons." The Grand Negus leaned forward. He whispers, "Besides, nothing is risk free."

"Deny all you want, but you and I both know that you are a failure!"

The Romulan calms himself. He speaks in the controlled fashion his people affect. "The degree of the calamity our meddling created has caused me to make an eyes-only entry to be seen by successors. There will be no more genetic manipulations with other races. The outcomes are too unpredictable."

The Negus whispers to the Romulan, "Who knew to test our experimental subjects with music?"

"Precisely. There is no way to predict what environmental influence would change the outcome in future attempts. If we Romulans get even a hint of genetic tampering with any intelligent race, no matter who it looks like is doing it, it will be war."

He left the room.

After he left, the Negus's son asks, "If your plan was such a failure, why were you acclaimed Grand Negus because of it?"

"Because it did succeed. It wasn't designed to make the Klingons weaker, it was designed to make them stronger. Tell me, would the Federation be stronger or weaker if Klingons were still the people they were when I was your age?"

"Since the Klingons would be weaker, then they would give less to the Federation, so it would be weaker."

"Right. Now the Romulans by themselves could easily conquer any one Federation member-and can almost defeat the Federation as a whole. If the Federation were only a little weaker than it is, what would stop the Romulans from spreading their Spartan, penny-pinching ways across the galaxy?"

"Nothing."

"True. And that would be very bad for profits. Peace is better than war, but only if people are free to spend money and create wealth in that peace."

"Then creating a better Klingon warrior was-"

"The greatest thing I ever did!"

The two Ferengi laugh.

The scene faded into pink dust motes. The world returned.

The counsel members looked at one another.

The Klingon spoke first. "Ferengi, I owe you and all your kind an apology. It is unfortunate I can never share the great honor you did my people. Too many would not understand."

Nog nodded. "I will convey your appreciation to the Grand Negus."

The Chairman said, "Not so fast. I know for a fact what you just showed us is a pack of lies!"

Nog, with a faint smile, said, "Your penchant for mathematical analysis made you an unusual history student, unusual enough to be recruited by Star Fleet Intelligence. Anyone Star Fleet Intelligence recruits comes to Ferengi attention as well."

The Chairman said, "If you know I'm still an historian, then what gave you the idea you could get away with this charade?"

Nog replied, "Do you remember when you first studied the reports concerning Picard's time-traveling away team?"

"Yes. My superior assigned me the job of analyzing all the verbal transcripts. The personal sent back did not at first recognize the Klingons. When they asked the Klingon sent back with them why they looked so different, he replied it was not something Klingons like to talk about. He must have been very forceful, because not one person asked again or even tried to research it. Curious, I tried to research it."

Nog said, "And you found?"

"Since I knew of no natural genetic shift of that magnitude, I suspected an artificial change. I asked colleagues if a species-wide genetic manipulation were possible. I was told in theory only, but none knew of an example. Few knew about the Klingon change. Only three races, humans, Vulcans and Romulans, had interacted with the original Klingons. Not surprising since in their original form they were only mildly territorially aggressive, unlike modern Klingons."

Nog asked, "Isn't that personality change consistent with what you just saw?"

The Chairman answered, "That's the only thing that is."

Nog said, "You also asked colleagues why someone would want to make the Klingons more primitive. Everyone agreed it must be a military move to make them harmless. Your predecessors stopped there. You asked, 'Could the motive be religious or for economic gain?' If you kept down that line of thought, it would lead to us. To deflect it, we planted an archival record, made it available to you, and helped you get your next promotion immediately."

"You couldn't fake a record!"

Nog said, "Call up the record."

"Computer, record, first Enterprise, Captain Archer's account, Klingon change."

A hologramic projection of the first enterprise appeared along with a voice over from the long deceased Capt. Archer.

Nog, pointing, said, "Do you see that line there? Enlarge it."

The Chairman, as he enlarged it, said, "That wasn't there before! Even as a student I would have known it indicated a fictional account, done for recreational purposes by the captain. You somehow got into our data base, faked that marking."

Nog said, "On every record associated within the federation, the same program that allowed us to insert the fictional account as true, was programmed to, within the first two years the file had not been accessed, show it as recreational fiction."

The Chairman said, "What about Vulcan or Klingon records?"

The Vulcan spoke. "My grandmother was on earth a very long time. She was also on the first Enterprise. When humans first met Klingons, the human race and the Klingon race were not that different. Then what we call the Klingon Interregnum occurred. After that, the aggressive Klingons burst onto the scene."

Nog said, "What is easier, to change a few earth records, make what was fiction appear true, or to tamper with long-lived Vulcan memories?"

The Chairman said, "I saw the old films."

Nog said, "Earth civilization has been able to do computer generations for centuries. We have been able to do so ten times longer."

The Chairman looked down on the short Ferengi. "If I was getting into information you wanted kept buried, and you Ferengi are as clever as you now claim, why didn't I simply have 'an accident? Prevent my obtaining the power to see old, unaltered records?"

The Vulcan answered for the Ferengi. "You were given your promotion to keep you so busy with current events you would no longer have time to go digging through old records." His eyebrows moved slightly as he, too, stared at Nog. "We, too, wanted certain records to remain buried. Nog tells the truth. Earth's earlier records showing primitive-looking Klingons have all been altered. Nog's explanation is more…logical than the one I was taught."

The Chairman looked at the other counsel members. Each nodded slightly. He said, "I stand corrected. My esteemed fellow security members agree your account is true, and what I thought was true was a clever Ferengi fabrication. I had no idea Ferengi planned so far ahead."

Nog said, "A Grand Negus typically plans ten to twenty steps ahead of everyone."

The Klingon said, "The general who sees best, fights best. The long-range sight of the Ferengi would be valuable."

Each member nodded in agreement and gave a particular hand signal.

The Chief said, "We just reconsidered our previous position. Let your Grand Negus know we would be delighted to have a Ferengi on board. Have him select someone."

Nog bowed politely. "The Grand Negus felt confident you would agree. My Uncle Quark will arrive at Earth headquarters within the hour."

The Chief nodded. "Why didn't you ask for membership sooner?"

Nog smiled. "We didn't need it sooner. Real danger is coming."

FF_12283688_