Chapter 2: Fatal Doses of Malcontent


Warning: The end of this chapter contains violence and gore.


"What is with you and strolling the grounds? Or the promenade? Don't you ever sit and talk?" Quark complained as he was more or less dragged along by the much faster Grilka.

"You need the exercise," she replied point blank.

Tumek laughed. He was trailing behind them, and while he kept a steady pace, stiffness and age made it impossible to keep in step with his Lady.

"You know what I think? I think you do it because you get agitated and need some way to vent."

"That is true," she agreed. "But it doesn't hurt getting you into shape."

"Round is a shape," Quark muttered under his breath. "What did you want to talk about, anyway?"

"Sirella is concerned about how the rest of the Council views Martok's decision to bring in an outsider to handle government affairs." She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "She believes you will fail and it will undermine his position as Chancellor."

Quark snorted. "Tell me something I don't know."

"I would never have encouraged you to take the postion," Tumek said sagely, earning a baleful look from Grilka.

"Look, I'm pretty overwhelmed," Quark continued. "But you don't have to worry. I've got some interesting findings on the investigative front-"

"But nothing new."

He made a face but ignored the remark.

"-and I'm about to start saving the Empire a ridiculous amount of money." His eyes lit up and Grilka braced herself for another agonizing conversation about finance. "One of the simplest, most effective things I did for you was to increase the efficiency of live-food storage and transportation logistics for your ships. If you scale those cost-reductions up to the entire Klingon Empire..." he choked up, too emotionally overwhelmed finish the sentence.

"That's all very well," Tumek interrupted, "but matters little if those on the Council don't appreciate it. Or if they challenge you before they can see any results."

"Challenge me over what?" Quark stopped, and Grilka reluctantly waited. "No. They're irritated, but it'll make them look bad if they start harassing a Ferengi. They'll push back on Martok himself, or Alexander."

"Alexander?" Grilka asked, surprised.

"Yeah. You've seen him trying to do this..." he gestured vaguely, searching for the right words.

"Young master Rozhenko is attempting to use this situation to leverage a diplomatic role for himself," offered Tumek.

"Exactly."

Grilka's brows furrowed as she considered this. She had noticed Alex's 'peacekeeper' antics, both in their social circles and at work. Mostly she'd noticed his strange desire to be on Martok's or Sirella's personal guard roster- a job he was ill-suited for, to say the least. His motivation was transparent: it got him into the Great Hall.

It added another layer of complication. She tugged on Quark's arm and resumed walking.

"The kid's heart is in the right place," Quark said, "but I'm not sure he's even that good at Klingon diplomacy. He's got a very Federation-mindset. I'm worried he's going to get himself killed."

And the moment he said it, Grilka found herself having the same concern.

"Alternatively," Tumek added, "his actions may cause unfortunate repercussions for you."

"I'll... speak with Worf. Perhaps I can convince him to find a way to keep Alex out of the thick of things."

"And find out from Sirella who we need to watch out for."

"Of course I will." This time she stopped, smirking as she leaned forward to nuzzle him in Ferengi fashion. His heart skipped a beat, because there was something impossibly adorable about a tough Klingon warrior doing cute Ferengi gestures.

Tumek grunted in disgust at their affectionate display.


As much as he complained about the forced walks, most of their day-to-day conversations happened in the late hours of night, in lieu of sleep. Grilka, too deep in thought to get any rest, was reviewing their potential allies and enemies.

"Our greatest concerns are from the House of Gorgol and the House of Mauhu'r."

Quark made a face. "I can tell you they're both squeaky clean, so it's not like we can find something to extort them with."

"You mean something to get them removed from the Council in a legal and honorable way," she gently corrected.

"Right."

"I'm also concerned about the House of Mulnoz and the House of Noggra. Neither have much pull, but both are strongly conservative Houses that were... displeased when I was given an ancillary seat. Noggra's son Rodek has been quickly climbing the ranks-"

"Oh ho, we don't have to worry about him. He's-" Quark caught himself, and without missing a beat, came up with the most convincing lie he could on the spot. "-an old friend of Worf's. Ah, in fact, House Noggra was very close with House Mogh, so."

Grilka sat up and gave him an intensely scrutinizing look. "What was that, runwI'?" She affectionately called him 'Shortie', but there was a sharp edge to her voice.

He hesitated, debating whether to double-down and stick with the lie, or just ask her not to press the issue. "Please, Grilka, I can't... I shouldn't have said anything. They have ties with Worf and I promise they won't give us any trouble."

"If you say so, then I will consider Noggra an ally to House Grilka." She leaned back down. "My greatest concern is Gorgol, as he is short-tempered and often unreasonable-"

"Rodek is Worf's brother Kurn," he blurted out. "Dax told me about it when she was really drunk, I'm not supposed to know. No one is."

"Kurn is dead. You must have him confused with someone else."

"No, they mind-wiped him, did cosmetic surgery, the whole deal. Noggra took him in and gave him a new identity."

Grilka thought about it for a minute. "You should not have told me this. Never speak of it again."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize." She rolled onto her side, resting her head on his shoulder. "There was a time I would've been outraged that Starfleet robbed Kurn of an honorable death. Now... I wish Martok had been able to put through the reform to keep sentencing contained to individuals, so disgrace did not extend to their family. I suppose, in a way, Starfleet is... admirable, in their determination to save those who are casualties through no fault of their own."

He took her hand in his, running his thumb across her knuckles, an intense look on his face.

"If we can find a way to discredit Gorgol and House Mauhu'r, maybe he'll be able to do something about that reform."

She grinned, any lingering anxiety melting away. Quark's dogged persistence meant that once he'd set his mind to something, he'd find a way to make it happen or die trying. For all his guff about self-serving Ferengi values, he was awfully quick to focus on altruistic goals. She propped herself up on her elbow and leaned in for a kiss, but he beat her to it, grabbing the back of her head burying his fingers in her wild hair.


The last thing Worf was expecting was company. The last person he expected for unannounced company was Grilka.

No... that wasn't true. Grilka's visit was slightly less surprising than if it'd been her gross little husband. The second to last, then. He grunted in acknowledgement at her guards Vimoc and Rezogh, who stood intimidatingly at this doorway, parting to allow their matriarch through.

"Grilka. It is good to see you," Worf said cautiously. "What can I do for you?"

She smiled and held up a small canister. "We mistakenly received these dried Betazoid plums in a shipment of Lokar beans from Ferenginar." She strolled into his suite, shoving the plums into his hands, gesturing for the guards to stay posted outside. "Quark thought you might use them to make some unreplicated prune juice."

"Thank you. That is very thoughtful." He shut the door, and tensed as he waited for the actual reason for the visit.

She looked around in his sparse living room. "Your apartment could use-"

"Why are you here?" he burst out impatiently.

"I wanted to talk to you about your son Alexander." She clasped her hands in front of her, stern look on her face.

"What of him?"

"These are treacherous times in the High Council." Grilka cut straight to the point. "Alexander is positioning himself as a sort of diplomat, but he is ill-prepared, and in over his head. This puts him in great danger. I feel- we feel- that he-"

"You should be more concerned about your husband's safety," Worf interrupted.

"I think our current Council members have a little more self-respect than that. Alex, on the other hand... is a Klingon, one who served in the militia. His incompetence as a fighter means he would lose any real challenge. If you were to arrange for him to serve off-planet for the next few months, it may very well save his life."

To her surprise, Worf deflated. He strolled across the room, tossing the dried plums onto the table before slumping into one of the chairs.

"Alexander is not in any danger." His tone was not one of self-assurance, but resignation.

Grilka was silent, the confused look on her face said everything.

"It... I have seen many things in my years serving Starfleet," he tried to explain. "The future has already been changed: the House of Mogh no longer stands. But I cannot say if it has changed enough... to avert the course..." He drifted off, lost in thought.

"Worf. You are a friend and an ally. If there is anything we can do..."

He sat for a minute, silently reflecting, before he continued. "Years ago, an older Alexander came to the past in an attempt to change the future. He will be successful as a diplomat. It's not his life that is danger, it is mine."

"I understand." She didn't really, she couldn't possibly comprehend the entirety of it, but she understood enough. She took a step towards Worf, then thought better of it. "Know that if there is ever a skirmish, I will certainly have your back. You have many friends on Qo'noS."

"That is comforting to know," he said, still distracted.

Grilka hesitated, unsure if she should leave or continue. "There's something else," she said finally.

"What?"

"I discovered that Rodek is your brother Kurn."

Worf snapped out of his reverie, and angrily slammed his fist on the table. "How!? How did that scheming Ferengi find out-" then he fell silent, eyes widening in realization. "Jadzia."

She nodded uneasily.

"I don't need to tell you the importance of you carrying this secret to your grave."

"Of course not. But I felt that you should know that Quark and I know." She paused. "Besides... I wanted to inquire what happened to Kurn's family."

"Ah. Do not be concerned. I have already... resolved Kurn's affairs. His wife died in battle before the House of Mogh fell. His daughters Serosa and Nolko were already married into different Houses, and his youngest Sayri has joined Starfleet."

She gave him a wistful smile. "Inspired by her uncle, no doubt."

"I am quite proud of her." Worf paused. For a moment he came dangerously close to a smirk. "Grilka, it is obvious that you're looking to bolster your position and crush your enemies."

"Naturally."

"You have more support than you know. I once believed Jadzia would be the trailblazer that you've become. Aside from an implacable few, however, others saw her as the Klingon warrior that she was. You have no such benefit - your choices have been radical and brazen. That... has opened a door for some, and given hope to others. I would like to introduce you to some of your silent advocates, which may prove to be mutually beneficial."

Grilka could tell he was trying to sidestep something- Worf was never any good at being coy- but she was fine with that. After all, he had no choice but to trust her regarding his brother, a secret that Worf himself would have never shared. She knew that forced trust was not the same as earned trust... and even if he felt he could confide in her, he most certainly didn't have faith in Quark.

On the one hand, she wanted to point out that Quark had known about this for years and kept it to himself. On the other hand... he had just told her. Unsolicited. After asking her not to press. It was pretty funny, actually, although Grilka very much doubted Worf would see it that way.

"Go on..."

"Do you remember the young guard, Toq, who serves under this House? He grew up off-world, and lacks social graces?"

She wondered if Worf was aware how much he'd just described himself. "Yes, but I fail to see how one lone, underachieving guard could be beneficial."

"In the Great Hall, perhaps not." He leaned forward, hands pressed together, calculating look on his face. "But you also need steadfast allies in the streets of the First City and in the halls of your own House."

"Tumek has vetted everyone in House Grilka," she scoffed.

"I do not doubt Tumek's judgment. Even so, there are Klingons capable of treachery equal to any Cardassian or Vorta."

It was very curious that he didn't mention Romulans- the obvious analogy- and Grilka felt it must have some meaning.

He wasn't wrong, either. While none of her House affiliates had given her cause for concern... the possibility was there. Her marriage to Quark was divisive. Quark himself was divisive. On top of that- she had been radical and brazen. These things were liable to bring out the worst in people, even honorable Klingons, not to mention the less honorable ones. Grilka didn't want to besmirch the name of any of her household, but the truth was, in any Great House there were those who were loyal... and then those who were 'loyal'.

Grilka bit the inside of her lip and studied Worf for a minute.

"Yes. Fine, I will welcome your friend Toq-"

"And his compatriots."

She arched her brow in surprise, but didn't protest.

"-and his compatriots into our fold."

He may have lacked nuance, but he could be surprisingly deft when it came to strategic alliances. This move not only benefited Toq and, in theory, Grilka... it also further cemented Worf's standing with both. Clever.


Tensions came to a head sooner than any of them expected.

Grilka watched from the parapet as Alexander and Quark stood outside the entrance of the Great Hall, arguing about- of all things- the differences between ancient Russian and modern Ferengi architecture.

It had been a long, tiresome day. Court meetings were adjourned, and the rest of the Council and its ancillary staff where wrapping up and heading home.

She was distracted when Sirella approached. "Lady Grilka. Have you heard of this new tavern with the singing vutwI' quv? It is my understanding that his previous establishment was on your second home, Deep Space Nine..."

Outside, one of the defendants, an older Klingon still awaiting a ruling over his inheritance dispute, made a point to swing past the young Klingon and the Ferengi.

"Go home, verengan Ha'DIbaH!" He hurled the insult and spat on the ground, then kept moving.

"jIHDaq yItlhISQo'," Quark called after him.

Alex sighed in dismay. "yItlhISQo'," he corrected.

"That's what I just said."

"KUH. It needs to come from your chest. K U H."

"kah."

"No... no. Put you back into it. The 'kay' sound it not enough. Say it like- like you're vomiting the sound out. K U H."

"kh." Quark tried again and Alex slapped his palm against his forehead in dismay.

"You are hopeless."

"As entertaining as this is, that man just insulted you and walked away. Aren't you going to answer his challenge?"

Alex startled as he looked up at the two newcomers. It was Othrod of the House of Mauhu'r, and his right-hand-man Ufthak. Perfect, just what they needed. "Cert Poderi," he swore under his breath, unwittingly defaulting to Russian.

Quark was unflappable. "Why? I'll never see that petaQ again, seems like a waste of time to me."

"But he threatened you, aren't you concerned?"

"To be honest..." he started with an earnest tone, but instantly switched gears to rudely sarcastic. "No. No, I'm not."

Ufthak tensed, but Othrod smirked in amusement.

"You would be if you had any sense. Martok is a fool to allow you to sully our Great Council."

"Whoa," Alexander finally spoke up. "Martok- Chancellor Martok is the best chancellor we've had in ages. I mean, remember all the lives Gowran threw away, trying to discredit him during the Dominion war. And how K'mpec was assassinated by cowards after he'd dishonored the Council by protecting their House. And Azetbur had-"

"This human mutt is trying to educate us on Klingon history," Ufthak growled.

"I have only the greatest respect for Martok," Othrod replied, gesturing Ufthak to stand down. "He was a tremendous General, and has always been an honorable, courageous Klingon warrior." He paused. "It is clear he is doing what he believes is right for Qo'noS. The problem is that what he believes is right, is in fact wrong for Qo'noS."

"But you don't know that," Alex replied.

"You are too close to see it objectively." He placed a hand on Alex's shoulder. "Your own father, Worf, has always put Federation interests above those of the Klingon Empire. After K'mpec's death, the Federation intervened, ensuring Gowron as his successor and destroying the House of Duras. He spearheaded the ascent of Emperor Kahless. Once Gowran no longer kowtowed to the Federation, Worf overthrew him and put Martok into power. Martok is there at the mercy of Starfleet, and working to turn Qo'noS into another version of them."

Alex made a face. It was hard to argue when most of the facts where technically correct, even though they were wrong in spirit. "My father was discommendated twice to protect the Empire, over his and the Federation's interests-"

Ufthak stepped between them, shoving Alex.

"You were being coddled on Earth when these things happened, whelp. What would you know!?"

"I was with my mother K'Ehleyr, among my people, when K'mpec chose Captain Picard as Arbiter of Succession- and Duras was the one who poisoned K'mpec! And I was on the Ya'Vang when Gowron fell and Martok was named-"

"Are you accusing me of lying?" Ufthak drew his bat'leth and fell into an offensive stance.

"Ufthak," Othrod warned, "stand down."

Grilka grabbed her mek'leth, poised to race over, but Sirella placed a reassuring hand on her back. "Wait. Alexander has no weapon. He is only posturing." The lady of House Martok was right, but Grilka kept a grip on the blade nonetheless.

"No offense," Alex held his arms open, demonstrating his empty hands. "But I'm not going to fight you, and I'm not going to back down until we can reach a peaceful understanding."

He moved, and Ufthak coiled like a snake about to strike.

Quark went to grab at the hostile Klingon's arm. "Enough. He's unarmed, you moron-" And then Ufthak jerked, swinging his bat'leth to the side. "Hhk."

There was a shock of blindingly intense pain, which gave way to a sort of dull ache. Quark instinctively clapped his hands over wound, and was startled to find that was the only thing keeping his organs in.

"Ah, you do have guts after all!" It had been an intentionally cruel blow. Ufthak would've struck another Klingon in the head or throat, or at least aimed for a vital organ... evisceration was a disrespectful kill.

Chaos unfolded around him but Quark was strangely calm. It was one of the rare blessings of descending from prey animals: how efficiently their nervous system went into shock after a fatal injury. He had a quite moment of solidarity with the many ancestors who'd been torn apart and eaten alive, accepting their hideous fate with a measure of peace at the end.

Ufthak brushed past him, stumbling backwards, a solid five inches of Grilka's mek'leth buried in his skull. Quark stood by, transfixed by how the entrails bubbling out into his hands resembled a plate of writhing, over-sized gahg. Alexander grabbed the Ferengi, sweeping him up off his feet. He felt both a little embarrassed at being carried and relieved it wasn't Grilka who'd picked him up. His last thoughts before blacking out were that his jacket was ruined, and now he was making a complete mess of Alex's uniform...

...but Klingon fashion was terrible anyway, so it wasn't too great of a loss...


A/N: Next up: Angst! Just kidding.

Next up: Tongo!

...or IS IT? (Yes it's Tongo.)