There are no second chances.
2257
It took Georgiou an embarrassingly long time to realize what happened.
She and Michael rematerialized onto an unfamiliar transporter pad. The computer's voice spoke: black alert. There was the nearly imperceptible vibration of sublight engines kicking in and then accelerating. The whole ship shook as the acceleration increased, sparks flying everywhere; the power cut in and out, and then —
The world turned inside out and shook itself to pieces.
.
Endless minutes later, the shaking tapered off as the ship's motion steadied itself out and then stopped, just as quickly as it had started. The air around them was filled with flickering motes and strands of blue that faded away into nothing.
Georgiou rose from her crouch, still clutching desperately to the phaser she'd picked up from Lorca's forces. Beside her, Michael got to her feet, looking around in evident satisfaction.
The light was different now.
"What have you done to me?" she asked Michael, but she received no answer before a third figure entered the transporter room: a Kelpien.
A Kelpien wearing what could only be a Starfleet uniform.
"Captain!" the Kelpien exclaimed, as if it presumed to know her.
"Emperor," spat Georgiou automatically. With a start, she realized she recognized the voice. This was the captain of Michael's ship, who had bargained with Lorca in that transmission in the Charon's throne room before her flagship was destroyed.
Michael's captain was a Kelpien.
"This Kelpien is my captain," confirmed Michael, as she forced the phaser out of Georgiou's hands. "Sir, I can explain."
Yesterday, Georgiou had shared her ganglia with Michael. Now, she watched incredulously as Michael turned first to the Kelpien, not her. Surely —
"Transport our visitor to guest quarters on deck three and confine her there now," said the Kelpien, and the transporter beam took Georgiou again.
Only after she had rematerialized — in what really did seem to be standard living quarters, and not a brig — did the half-finished thought drive itself to its final, inevitable conclusion. Michael had wanted to return to her universe. Her ship had transported her off the Charon, and she had taken Georgiou with her, and together they had crossed universes
Georgiou was now in the home universe of both Michael Burnham and the Defiant; this ship belonged to the Federation's Starfleet, not the Empire's, and here the livestock wore Starfleet uniforms and foreigners were confined in guest quarters, not the brig. How did this universe function without a healthy level of paranoia?
... Though the Federation's idea of confinement was surprisingly painless, it didn't include access to the ship's databanks. Georgiou would have liked to access those records, which would be more current than the half-remembered Defiant files, but she was limited to configuring the suite's environmental controls within limited parameters. That at least provided her access to the cameras in the hallway outside, which gave her some warning that she had visitors approaching.
The couch in the suite's main room made for a poor throne. Georgiou made the best of it as the doors hissed open. Michael, who had discarded the Terran breastplate, entered first, followed by two figures in black whom Georgiou recognized: Katrina Cornwell, still a Starfleet admiral; and Sarek, who in her universe was the husband of the Governor of Vulcan, but seemed to hold authority in his own right here.
"Emperor," said Michael. "The Federation has questions. I need you to answer them."
Was this the first time that Michael had addressed her as Emperor to her face? Of course Michael only chose to do it here where the title no longer meant anything, when in fact Michael held the upper ground.
Georgiou phrased her response carefully. "What kind of guest would I be if I refused such a simple request?"
She didn't fear the Federation's interrogation methods — by all accounts, they didn't even have agonizers — but to her surprise, Cornwell persisted with the assumption that this was a conversation with a guest, not an interrogation of a prisoner. This restraint was particularly strange coming from Cornwell, who in the Empire was a very talented interrogator; here, though, she seemed more interested in gawking at Georgiou like a zoo animal. The Vulcan's first thought was similarly to compare her to this universe's Georgiou — how illogical to limit his own understanding.
What had Michael been telling them? Cornwell and the Vulcan were as confused about Georgiou's presence here as she was, but it seemed they at least had the good sense to question Michael's nonsensical characterization of her as a refugee seeking political asylum.
If Michael hadn't mentioned the Defiant and its ill-gotten files yet — it might still be in this universe at this point — then Georgiou saw no reason to enlighten them.
"Send me home," she demanded. Michael had promised that to Lorca, after all: the same offer should extend to her.
Cornwell was less gracious a representative of the Federation Starfleet than Michael's description had suggested. Her stated intention to shove Georgiou into a cell until a more convenient time was unusually pragmatic for the Federation. Back home, the "proper course of action" for any unknown personnel arriving aboard a ship would be a thorough interrogation and then a summary execution, but this Cornwell clearly imagined a less final fate for Georgiou.
And then Cornwell let slip the first useful scrap of information that Georgiou had received since her arrival here. We have a war to fight, Cornwell said as she apologized for her lack of resolution, not realizing the significance of her words. If this war preoccupied Starfleet to the point that they could not fulfill their self-decreed humanitarian obligations, then it could not be going well — but war was what a Terran did best. This would be her lever to move the world.
Comfortable though confinement in the Federation was, it was still imprisonment. Georgiou had no intention of remaining in the Federation's custody, whether on Discovery or their Starbase One, any longer than she needed to: she would live or die by her own terms, not theirs.
Before she and the Vulcan left, Cornwell had told Michael to "make her comfortable". Georgiou was able to use that last instruction to convince Michael to grant her guest access to the ship's databases. Of course any sensitive (i.e., useful) material was still restricted, but there was enough for her to get a better sense of the situation. Georgiou was now aboard the USS Discovery, and they'd jumped forward nine months from the day they left the Empire. There, the Discovery was captained by Sylvia Tilly; here, the ship had been captained by the newly-deceased Lorca. Saru, the Kelpien from the transporter room, was now acting captain.
The Federation was at war with the Klingons, and though the parts of the database accessible to Georgiou were light on tactical information, it was not difficult to conclude that the Federation was losing, much as Georgiou had suspected. Small wonder, since the Federation Starfleet's stated mission was exploration, not warfare. If Georgiou had known she would end up here, she would have studied the Defiant's records more. She remembered little of how the war had ended here; it hadn't seemed relevant, since in her universe she had long since broken the Klingon Empire.
Michael Burnham, convicted mutineer, was a restricted topic, but since Georgiou was using Michael's own guest access, she naturally had access to the details of Michael's prior Starfleet career and the court-martial proceedings.
Michael's sudden ruthless streak aboard the Shenzhou was out of character for this universe; in fact, it was much more in line with the Terran Empire's philosophy of striking first. Though it was debatable if she had actually provoked the war — it only took one party to start, and the Klingons wanted war — but she made a useful scapegoat. Did Michael feel more guilty about all the war dead, or the death of her captain? Georgiou could help her with only one of them.
When Michael, Cornwell, and the Vulcan visited her, Michael had looked at that Vulcan as if she knew him beyond a professional acquaintance. The Discovery's records, like the Defiant's, said that Michael had been raised by Vulcans. Georgiou did not relish being functionally equivalent to a Vulcan, but it could be useful later. According to the records, he was the Vulcan representative on the Federation Council, and considering his presence here he certainly seemed to have some influence — as was only appropriate if he really was her analogue as Michael's parent.
Georgiou was halfway through spinning her plans when Michael came to her again. She abandoned the couch for a chair, instead making a pretense of reading: there was no need to show her hand via her research too early.
Michael tried to apologize for the delay by further justifying the Federation's situation: there had been another Klingon attack, further delaying her eventual fate. Georgiou had little time for it. One cell in this universe was as good as another.
"Tell me about the Vulcan," she said, cutting Michael off. She knew what the records said, but she wanted to see how Michael herself phrased it.
Michael said, "He's essentially my father," which was all Georgiou needed to hear.
And then Michael finally got down to business. "… I see now that the time for peace has passed. I need you to tell me, how did you defeat the Klingon Empire? I started this war, and I need to finish it."
What a pleasant surprise. Perhaps Michael's time in the Empire had taught her something — that, or the obvious psychological processes were taking effect re seeing the image of her dead martyred captain haunting her. No, this was too good to be true.
"Why did you bring me here, truly?" Georgiou asked.
"I wanted to show you a place of morality, of hope," said Michael, as disgustingly Federation as ever.
So this sudden killer instinct was entirely incidental. Despite Michael's apparent change of heart, Georgiou knew she didn't have the stomach to go all the way. She still spoke of her objective in the most bloodless terms: I need to finish the war, I want to defeat the Klingons. In the Empire, she hadn't been willing to kill Lorca, who was only one man. She wouldn't be able to stomach the destruction of a species.
Even now Michael refused to frame her request as, I have to avenge my Georgiou. Terrans knew to use their anger as a tool and let it drive them. That would be a lesson too far for this Michael, who was still crippled by self-doubt and regret. She needed to acknowledge the emotion and let it go. Teaching this lesson was all Georgiou could do for this daughter who was not her daughter.
It went against every Terran instinct she had to give away information freely. She'd planned to go directly to those with the actual power to give her what she wanted. In her universe, Michael had been a respected starship captain with the ear of the Emperor. Here, she was nothing but a convicted mutineer. She couldn't guarantee Georgiou's freedom.
But perhaps, at long last, Georgiou had learned how to handle Michaels. Michael would not take it well if she were sent away empty-handed: desperation was a double-edged sword. And the idea of Georgiou's involvement would come across better if first introduced by one of the Federation's own…
"How much do you know about Qo'noS?" Georgiou said.
.
What Georgiou told Michael was a bunch of sanitized nonsense about mapping drones and dormant volcanoes, carefully tailored to the Federation's mores about acceptable military targets and collateral damage. Michael really was a desperate fool if she believed it, but believe it she did. Georgiou sent Michael off with new-found determination, presumably headed to this universe's Cornwell to pass the message along.
Georgiou waited for Michael and Cornwell to deliberate, and then waited a bit longer, and then she messaged Sarek. The Vulcan wouldn't recognize her authority as Emperor, but she had no doubt that curiosity would work to bring him here. She could have approached Cornwell and perhaps used her relationship with Lorca against her, but Sarek had so many more promising emotional buttons to push.
As far as Georgiou could tell with the resources currently available to her, Sarek had never made any substantive public comment on his ward's role in provoking the war. Was he disappointed, or did he agree with her? Did he approve of the motive, but not her mutinous method? Sarek here was Michael's foster father. Michael had betrayed this universe's Georgiou, her beloved mentor, but Sarek was the one left to wonder why.
So Georgiou let Sarek get in a few digs about her daughter — where was his much-vaunted logic now, if he could not even acknowledge his daughter's mistakes when they were now gathered to redress them? It cost her nothing to let the Vulcan build up his own sense of superiority and become more comfortable before he got down to business and asked, "Why have you requested my presence?"
"I want to help you end this war," Georgiou said. The words were strange in her mouth.
"The information you provided Michael has already proved valuable."
"I told her as much as she could handle," Georgiou said.
The Sarek from her universe had been so ruthlessly pragmatic that, for the sake of his species' advancement, he'd sent his own son into the jaws of the Terran Starfleet once nonhumans were allowed in. This was part of what Lorca's faction had objected to.
How ironic that both Michaels had turned against their Georgious over a disagreement in policy regarding aliens. Neither had been able to truly see the bigger picture; they were not so unlike, after all. A mere mapping drone would not suffice for what Michael wanted.
"You assured Michael that your plan would prove effective," said Sarek. He sounded almost betrayed. Georgiou had expected this blind faith from Michael, but it was disappointing coming from Sarek too.
"I could show you how to bring them to their knees once and for all," Georgiou said.
"The Federation does not subscribe to what I imagine are Terran methods of combat," said Sarek punctiliously, but that wasn't a rejection. He was still here. He wanted to be persuaded.
"You face annihilation. Is it not logical to do anything you can to save the lives of your kind? Give me what I want, and I can assure victory for the Federation.
Vulcan logic had begun this war. In this universe, as in the other, the pragmatists as much as they were pacifists. Let Vulcan logic finish this war now.
Sarek asked, "What are your terms?" and Georgiou knew she had him.
Georgiou had put some thought into what she would ask for. Back in her universe, aboard the Charon, she had demanded the spore drive schematics in exchange for Michael's freedom. As a matter of scientific curiosity, she was still curious about the how the spore drive worked, but she no longer had control of an Empire that could make use of the schematics. It was clear from Michael's files that the Discovery was the only Federation ship with a working spore drive, and that Stamets was somehow the only one who could operate it. Even if Georgiou could somehow gain control of the entire ship, she had very little desire to be dependent on this Stamets after the one from her universe had betrayed her.
Georgiou now had firsthand proof that the spore drive could indeed cross universes. She could demand to be returned to her own universe, but Michael would inevitably object vociferously (political asylum, really?) and it was unlikely that the Federation would let her see the spore drive schematics in that case, for fear of getting conquered by the Empire. If Georgiou returned to the Empire without the trump card of the spore drive, it would be a long and grueling climb to secure her throne. She had done it once, and had little desire to do it again.
Perhaps it was for the best that Georgiou was stuck in this universe. There was no point in being stuck in the past and trying to relive past glories. She could only move forward — and she had no intention of doing that in Federation custody.
One woman's freedom, in exchange for the Federation's continued survival. It wasn't a bad exchange, really.
Sarek evidently agreed.
So did Cornwell when Georgiou presented her plan to her; and so did the Admiralty* when Georgiou spoke to their holographic forms. Persuading them was easy. Georgiou had corralled the Empire and all its bloodthirsty factions for eighteen years. The Federation leadership were child's play by comparison. Georgiou offered them a solution; she offered them safety and security and a way out, and they wanted to be led.
As the Emperor, she had been Mother of the Fatherland, nurturer and protector to every Imperial subject. No one would ever offer to make her Mother of the Federation, but that's what she felt like here. The Admiralty here were like children frightened of the monsters in the dark. She promised to make the monsters go away, once and for all, and they believed her.
Georgiou would be happy to oblige.
The plan she proposed was the same plan she'd once used against the Klingons in her own universe. Since it had worked there, she had no doubts it would work in this universe as well. There were so many similarities in stellar geography and people's life histories that the composition of Qo'noS had to be the same as well.
Perhaps she was acting as the agent of destiny here to align the two universes better. Qo'noS was dead and gone back home, and this universe's Qo'noS would share its fate. There was a certain tidiness to it: as below, so above. Georgiou did not appreciate getting used as a pawn but this would bring her … not joy, perhaps, but some satisfaction. Her universe had been so shaped by incursions from this one that turnabout was only fair play.
... And just like that, it was done. Georgiou — Captain Georgiou — was granted ostensible command of this mission under Cornwell's supervision. A hydrobomb was requisitioned from the Discovery's stores. Georgiou was left with the last few hours of gamma shift to make her preparations; Cornwell would make her announcement with alpha shift.
There had been no mention of Georgiou's return from the dead or survival in a Klingon prison camp in the Defiant records. Of course, those records only provided a broad, non-classified historical summary of the Klingon War, but Georgiou was glad to be spared any existential speculation about living in a potential time loop.
Presumably this fake story about Georgiou's return from the Klingon prison camp was easier to arrange a classified/cover-up for compared to the true story of "her döppelganger from an alternate universe". Still, Georgiou would be curious to know how this was actually getting handled. It was different living through events than reading about them in the historical record.
Georgiou would never be able to pass a native of this universe long-term without much more involved study, but fortunately her impersonation only had to reach the level of plausible deniability. She'd made the obvious changes first — uniform, hair — and then watched a few recordings of her alternate to mimic some other physical elements: her walk, her smile.
It was possible that this business of pretending to be her own döppelganger was intended more about suppressing the body language and vocal tics of the Terran Emperor. There was a lot that could be passed off as the result of Georgiou's alleged time in the Klingon prison camps, but that didn't extend to the use of the royal we.
Her efforts paid off.
When "Captain Georgiou" entered the bridge of the Discovery, she could see that crew believed it, for a moment. Perhaps this was less a testament to her own skills at impersonation, and more a testament to their grief. They wanted to believe that their Captain was back, that theirs was a universe gentle enough that such a thing could happen.
Georgiou would mock them, but she had believed it when this universe's Michael appeared in the Empire, after all… Hope was truly the deadliest weapon.
"Specialist Burnham," she said ironically. "I trust that this will be an auspicious reunion, despite our history."
Both universes' Michaels had betrayed their Georgious, but unlike her alternate, this Georgiou had survived that betrayal. She would have a much less forgiving attitude to any further disobedience.
Michael's unenthusiastic response of "Yes… Captain" still had an edge of insolence, but it was good enough to begin with.
.
It had been a long time since Georgiou had sat in the Captain's chair on a Starfleet ship.
But here she was, nineteen years and a universe away from that fateful mission that had made her name and changed the course of her life forever, once again on a stealth mission to destroy Qo'noS, leading a crew of officers who didn't trust her. One would think she had never left the Empire, really.
It was strange being surrounded by so many familiar faces. The ISS Discovery was Tilly's ship, though this universe's Tilly was nowhere to be seen. In the Empire, Owosekun had been the captain of Georgiou's Honor Guard, loyal to the last, but the same could not be said of those who had been Michael's crew aboard the ISS Shenzhou. Detmer in particular had been Michael's first officer; surely she knew what her captain was plotting with Lorca.
… no, Georgiou was supposed to be letting bygones be bygones. The residents of this universe didn't bear the crimes of their Imperial counterparts, and she had to move forward. But Michael hadn't realized that lesson yet, considering the way she kept testing Georgiou. She and the Kelpien were huddled to the side, and Georgiou (and the rest of the bridge crew) could hear their quiet, incredulous conversation: "We're supposed to follow her orders?!"
This insubordination might yet end in mutiny again if not checked promptly. "Burnham, I did not give you permission to leave your station," she snapped, and Michael retreated silently.
Georgiou couldn't resist needling the Kelpien a little more. "Where I'm from, there's a saying," she said. "Scared Kelpien makes for tough Kelpien. Have you gotten tough since we served together on the Shenzhou?"
To his credit, the Kelpien gave as good as he got. "Affirmative, captain. Very tough. So much so that many find me simply unpalatable."
And wasn't that a pity. Georgiou missed the palace chefs already.
"Where are you from?" Michael blurted out. "That saying about Kelpiens is so apt, I wonder where it originated?"
Georgiou suppressed the urge to roll her eyes as she fended off Michael's transparent attempts to reveal her identity. In a way, this dynamic was familiar. Her daughter had fought her too, always pushing for more.
And she knew how that had ended. "Let's take a walk," she said, cutting off Michael's comments about Malaysia.
The two of them walked the Discovery's halls. "Try to expose me again, and I'll lock you in the brig," said Georgiou. (Had her alternate had confined Michael after the mutiny?)
"If Starfleet recruited a Terran to lead the mission, they must be desperate," said Michael, ignoring the threat.
"The Federation had a problem. I offered them a solution in exchange for my freedom," Georgiou said coolly. Did Michael really think Georgiou had provided that information out of the goodness of her heart?
"And what's so bad about desperation?" Georgiou continued. That must be Michael's Vulcan repression again. In the Empire, desperation was a motivator, a tool like any other. "You were desperate when you begged me to reveal how my empire beat the Klingons. You instigate valiantly, then second-guess."
Michael had come to her first, after all. How had she expected this would end? Michael really was her own worst enemy with her self-sabotaging habit. Her problem was her lack of follow-through. If she'd killed Georgiou's counterpart in her ready room and killed the Klingons at the Binary Stars, she would have been a hero, not a mutineer.
"Tell me the real plan," said Michael, grabbing Georgiou's arm.
"Never do that again." Georgiou waited until Michael realized her presumption and loosened her grip. "Your Federation is losing. Are you with me or against me?"
The unholy alliance of Federation and Terran together had been brought together by Michael; it would not be put asunder so easily, no matter her second thoughts.
There was no response as Georgiou turned and left.
.
When she proposed her plan to the Federation authorities, Georgiou had emphasized the fact that she had done it before. She well remembered the details of the raid on Qo'noS. All she needed was confirmation that the geography of Qo'noS here was the same as in the Empire. Considering the astonishing similarities between universes, Georgiou was quite certain that her ill-gotten knowledge would hold true here as well — but wasn't it convenient that the Discovery had a Klingon prisoner in her brig?
In the Empire, where interrogation was an art form, it was well-known that one prisoner was not sufficient for properly verifiable intelligence. Fortunately for the Federation, Georgiou knew what she needed, and had only to come up with a plausible cover story for how she knew. Corroborating information was much easier than piecing it together one interrogation at a time.
As Cornwell's briefing had predicted, the Klingon recognized her. "You?" she shouted incredulously. "How?! Our lord pierced your heart! House T'Kuvma feasted on your flesh!"
That detail had certainly not been in the Defiant's records about her alternate's fate. Georgiou had resigned herself to being compared (reduced) to her alternate, but she would not take that treatment from a Klingon. "You have the wrong Philippa Georgiou."
"Either way, I can tell you require seasoning," said the Klingon.
Georgiou didn't let herself look at Michael. (Would Klingons like Kelpien?)
Instead, she turned on the holoprojector. A ghostly image of Qo'noS appeared. "There are seven chimneys on Qo'noS which lead into a dormant volcano system. Of these, which is the best for a landing party to reach on foot?"
Georgiou watched the Klingon's body language carefully: she was surprised to see her planet projected before her, but that vulnerability was short-lived. "I will tell you nothing," she spat. "This war ends when we crush you, united under T'Kuvma's call!"
Michael responded to the provocation predictably and immediately. No doubt they would continue to argue indefinitely if no one intervened.
"You both talk too much," Georgiou snapped as she activated the Klingon's restraints and entered the cell. "Computer, reactivate containment field and control to my voice."
Sometimes a more personal touch was needed. Interrogation was an art, and Georgiou was nothing less than an artist. "Tell me where my party should land."
The Klingon was stubborn, Georgiou would give her that. She threw a few, harder kicks, but she could tell the Klingon would not break so easily. Brute force was ineffective against Klingons if not supplemented with chemical or psychological tricks. The Federation didn't have that much time.
"You have already lost," the Klingon said smugly, spitting blood, when the blows stopped.
Georgiou kicked her in the ribs again. Federation lackey or not, her alternate self deserved to be avenged properly, and Georgiou would see it through.
Not if Michael had her way, though: she was already objecting. "There's another way," she said urgently.
Georgiou suppressed a sigh. What would it take for her to have some fun in this universe?
.
Cornwell had included the Klingon half-breed deep-cover agent in her briefing, but Georgiou had decided to interrogate the female Klingon instead since any Klingon intelligence this one had would be compromised by the human personality overlaid. Unfortunately, since Michael was watching, Georgiou would have to abide by the Federation's irritating ideas about appropriate prisoner treatment.
"He has access to the Klingon's memories," Michael said.
The hybrid immediately put the lie to this fact by rambling on about his implanted human memories instead. Georgiou gritted her teeth. What could Michael possibly see in him?
… well, at least he wasn't Lorca. She would give this Michael that much.
Georgiou perked up when he said, "I'm willing to share his knowledge," but that turned out to be a transparent attempt to worm himself back into Michael's affections. "I'm doing this for Starfleet" indeed — how did the Federation get anything done when they were constantly crippled by sentiment? Revenge was a far more reliable motivator than love.
But even sentiment could be put to use, as Michael was doing now. Georgiou let Michael recite the cover story that Cornwell had developed, an expanded version of what she had told Michael. This was the first test of its credibility, and so far the hybrid seemed to be buying it.
"Discovery will hide in isn't connected to the dormant volcanoes. In order for the mapping drone to work, it has to be introduced into one of these. As you're aware, information regarding Qo'noS is virtually non-existent. We're depending on black-market surveys acquired by the Vulcans over a century ago."
They were really depending on Georgiou's memory. No Terran interrogator worth their salt would authorize this kind of action based on unverified intelligence, though the hybrid — cooperative at last — was certainly trying his hardest.
" This is your best bet, the safest access point for the drone. Centuries ago when the caldera was active, these vents were shrines. Live sacrifices were thrown in to honor Molor. When Kahless defeated Molor, those temples were abandoned, built over. The ones that remained were shielded to make them impossible to find with sensors. You'll have to transport down and do the legwork yourself."
That was consistent with what Georgiou had put together, nineteen years and a universe ago, though she hadn't bothered with the religious backstory then.
"What's there now?" Michael helpfully prompted.
" The land was given to the Orions, who built an embassy outpost over the ruins."
The Orions had been there in her universe too: delinquent pirates and slave traders who had been happy to sell out the Klingons upon whose planet they resided. The last few pieces of Georgiou's plan fell into place.
"He will accompany us and help us sniff out what we're after," she told Michael. "Will that be a problem?"
Both Michael and her one-time paramour denied that it would, rather unconvincingly, which was all the better: the more they were distracted by each other, the less they would be concerned with Georgiou's true motives.
The last member of their away party was similarly intended as a distractor. Cornwell had insisted on a standard four-member landing party — an obvious attempt to rein in Georgiou — but Georgiou had gotten her pick of who to send. It went against all conventional wisdom to send a mere cadet on this important a mission, but Cornwell had accepted the argument that Tilly's engineering knowledge could assist in case any issues arose with the "mapping drone". If her incompetence distracted Michael in a crisis, that would just be too bad.
In the Empire, Captain Sylvia Tilly had been one of Georgiou's trusted subordinates. They'd had such fun with the Betazoids and on Mintaka III… At first glance, the Federation's Cadet Tilly (not even an ensign!) seemed her total opposite. She was too oblivious to realize Georgiou's true origins until Michael spelled them out for her. While Georgiou appreciated the validation of her acting skills, this lack of situational awareness, not to mention her truly hideous hair, did not bode well for Tilly's general competence.
On the other hand, Tilly's first instinct upon finding out the truth was to pay the proper respect to the Terran throne. Georgiou revised her general opinion of Tilly up a few notches. She had been so efficient in the Empire that there had to be some spine in this Tilly somewhere. If this mission helped her develop it, then all the better, but Georgiou did not intend to stick around to see if it had taken effect.
"Go to your quarters and dress as lowlives," she ordered. "We need items to trade, so as to seem legitimate. Gabriel must have found something interesting lying around in this universe."
Georgiou felt much better after she'd had free run of the Discovery's pattern replicators and changed into something more familiar. She couldn't say the same for the rest of the landing party, who were visibly uncomfortable in their guises as mercenaries and weapons dealers.
Behind her, the Klingon hybrid tried to speak to Michael, but judging from the silence that followed, his attempt was rebuffed. There was trouble in the Federation's paradise.
They waited in the ship's transporter bay as the Kelpien who would be captain signaled the black alert. Jumping with the spore drive was less disorienting this time, presumably because they were staying within the same universe.
Georgiou could get used to jumping like this. If the ISS Shenzhou had had a spore drive, as well as a Stamets to operate it, infiltrating Qo'noS would have been so much easier. The Discovery's transporter even delivered them directly to the surface.
Qo'noS, or at least its Orion quarter, was a filthy, wretched place. Georgiou was in her element, happy to be off-ship. There was nothing like standing on a planet breathing unrecycled air and feeling proper gravity under her feet, even for a little while. Too bad the whole planet would be destroyed soon.
Georgiou had always gotten along with Orions, who were refreshingly and openly mercenary. Unlike humans, the Orions had remained constant across universes. The Syndicate just wanted to make money however they could, and Georgiou intended to make full use of that fact.
Her original plan had been to establish their landing party's cover as weapons traders — it had worked the first time — but her landing party were not particularly convincing in that role. Tilly could sound surprisingly intimidating when put on the spot, but then she and Michael saw fit to wander off for a snack halfway through the first transaction. Well, this was what Georgiou got for deliberately picking a dysfunctional landing party.
When Michael and Tilly returned, they looked rather worse for wear — Qo'noS and its offerings apparently disagreed with them.
"Enough distractions," Georgiou said, before an Orion cabaret caught her eye. Information was just as much of a commodity as sex or the weapons they ostensibly carried, but one of these was more entertaining than the others. Klingon bread might not be to the Federation's taste, but Klingon circuses were more to Georgiou's liking.
The inside of the cabaret was even seedier and sleazier than its surroundings. "I knew your whole universe couldn't be boring," she said brightly. She dug out some currency to send Michael and the Klingon hybrid off with: they wouldn't be very much use here.
And then there were two. Tilly was clearly uncomfortable here, unlike her counterpart. This might prove to be an educational experience for her. Georgiou trusted she was at least competent enough to keep possession of the hydrobomb in its case.
If only because it was chained to her wrist.
Sex was a much more pleasant way of establishing her credibility with the Orions, Georgiou thought. This was certainly an indulgence — she suppressed a laugh at how Cornwell and Sarek would react if they knew what she was doing — but over the last few days, she'd come face to face with the image of her dead daughter, then been deposed and then dragged through to a different universe. Anyone would need some relaxation after that much stress.
The Orions were always up for a good time. Georgiou had had her share of fun as a junior Starfleet officer, like every other officer in the Empire, but it was below a Captain's dignity to consort with aliens, never mind the Emperor's. Conveniently, Georgiou was no longer Emperor. There were other ways she could have gotten her information, some of which might be been more palatable to Federation standards, but they weren't in the Federation now. Georgiou was free to do her best work now that Michael wasn't there to moralize.
After a little persuasion — gentle by her standards, if not theirs — the Orion prostitutes proved as informative as they had been enjoyable. She finished with them and got dressed again just in time to hear Tilly having some very inconvenient revelations about the volcanic system on Qo'noS. Her voice certainly was distinctive: even at a distance, Georgiou could clearly hear her discussing with Michael how she'd opened the locked case (despite explicit instruction not to!) and found the hydrobomb inside.
Pandora never had this much trouble, thought Georgiou, irritated. She knocked Tilly out with an efficient punch and then took the bomb. The clock was now ticking: she'd hoped to keep Michael unaware about the active volcano and its implications for longer. The Orions' testimony had confirmed what she remembered; her destination here was the same one in Imperial Qo'noS.
On the other hand, perhaps Michael knowing the truth would actually buy her more time. She would inevitably call her superiors up to argue with them — it would certainly be ironic if it went as far as mutiny again — and while that sorted itself out, Georgiou could plant the bomb.
Qo'noS was a harsh planet; no wonder its inhabitants had turned out as they had, so brutish and warlike. Georgiou had once told a younger Michael that every human life lost to the Klingons was unacceptable. She cared less when those humans were Federation citizens, not Imperial subjects, but the principle was the same. The Klingons had risen above their station and would be put down accordingly.
The access point to the underground shrine was easy enough to find if you knew where you were going. As before, the entrance to the long staircase was guarded by a single Klingon who Georgiou killed with her phaser, and then she began the descent.
Georgiou needed to reach the lowest levels of the shrine which had direct access into the network of volcanic vents. For better or worse, the complex was shielded. The Discovery could probably still track her with the equipment she carried, but they wouldn't be able to transport her out until she left the shielded area.
This was a solitary, almost meditative catabasis. Her reality narrowed down to the dimly-lit, rocky tunnels as they blended together, one after another. The only indication of the passage of time was the rhythm of her footsteps echoing her pulse and, eventually, an almost imperceptible warming of the air as she approached the planet's active volcanic flows. Someone more superstitious might have thought this hell; this never-ending descent was certainly Sisyphean enough for the underworld. I did this once before, Georgiou reminded herself, but even so she began to wonder if she had ever left. Perhaps she had been trapped underground for her whole life and Empire and Federation alike were only a dream, like ashes in the air.
At last, she emerged from the passageway into a small cavern. There was an outcropping with an opening — the oldest and most primitive shrine. Scans showed that, as in her universe, this opening connected to the planet's active volcanic system. Georgiou dropped the payload in with the satisfaction of a job well-done.
The hydrobomb had a rudimentary self-propulsion unit already programmed to seek out volcanic flows. Once the bomb payload was in place, Georgiou would climb back up to the surface and rendezvous with the rest of her landing party before returning to the Discovery. The bomb would only be triggered once they were safely off-planet and well out of the blast radius.
.
The sound of footsteps down the staircase announced someone's approach.
Georgiou didn't bother looking up from the detonator's screen: there was only one person it could be at this point, the inevitable Orpheus to Georgiou's Eurydice.
But Georgiou was less Eurydice than the snake who bit her.
"Change of plans," said Michael.
At last, Georgiou turned and looked up from the detonator's screen. The hydrobomb had settled itself in a pocket of lava, exactly as planned. Any attempts to transport it out now would only trigger its detonation. Michael was too late. "Really?" she said. "Says who?"
"Deactivate the detonator, Philippa. Your freedom is granted. Here's the proof."
Michael tossed a holodisc onto the ground between them as if it were a gauntlet. It was an obvious move to assert her dominance, but Georgiou picked it up anyway, being careful to keep Michael in her line of sight. The identification projected from the disc certainly seemed valid: Philippa Georgiou, Federation citizen.
"You talked them out of it, didn't you," said Georgiou. She didn't bother to phrase it as a question.
Michael glared. "A planetary slaughter? Yes."
"Don't be so dramatic," said Georgiou chidingly. " When I did this in my universe, it didn't wipe out the Klingons. A decent number should be able to save themselves. Plus they'll have an advantage: no Terran ships firing on them as they try to escape."
"Turn it off," said Michael, undeterred.
"Has it ever occurred to you that I was doing this for you?" Georgiou said, softening her tone and trying to replicate the Federation's syrupy sentiment. How did mothers here sound when speaking to their children? "By ending the war, I set you free from the guilt and pain you carry because of it."
"Not buying it."
Georgiou scoffed. It had been worth a try.
"You really are nothing like my Georgiou, are you?" said Michael. Somehow she still sounded surprised.
"No, and I never have been. She's dead, Michael." Not even this universe was so kind. Michael's Captain Georgiou was dead, as dead as Georgiou's own Captain Burnham.
Sentiment hadn't worked, but perhaps an appeal to Michael's pride would. Georgiou cleared her throat. "I do like you. Why not join me? The bomb is in position, and we have the detonator. Starfleet and Klingon alike will be at our mercy."
This Michael was more honorable and less treacherous than her alternate. It would be much easier for Georgiou to build up a power base with someone to watch her back. Michael would be an excellent ally if only she could ease up on some of her precious principles.
"I had much the same thought," said Michael, but then she lunged forward to grab at the detonator. "Give it to me!"
At the same time, Georgiou raised her phaser.
"Take your freedom in exchange for the detonator," Michael bit out. "Or try to escape my ship and its crew, and be hunted by the Federation for the rest of your days.
Georgiou laughed. "Do you think your Federation scares me?"
"Not particularly," Michael admitted. She stepped forward and pressed the phaser's muzzle against her chest. "But the only way you're going to get past me is to kill me. So you'll have to watch me die. Again."
This was a more effective gambit than Michael knew.
The Terran Emperor would have taken the shot, with minimal second-guessing. She would have had no other choice if she wanted to keep her throne and her life, and so her daughter had died over Priors World. Georgiou had already killed a Michael Burnham.
Georgiou had given the order, but it had been safely at a distance. She hadn't personally pulled the trigger, nor did she actually see her daughter die. Those comforting distancing techniques were not available here. If she killed Michael now, it would be at point-blank range and by her own hand. There would be no ambiguity about it.
("I would never give anyone else the mercy of a quick death," the Emperor had said once.)
Georgiou was confident she could build up her power base here, even if the Federation were trying to stop her. But there would be no point in deliberately making things more difficult for herself — and what would be the point to do it alone over Michael's dead body? That would be a bad portent. Start as you mean to go on, as the saying went. This had begun with betrayals in both universes.
That last day aboard the ISS Discovery, before the Charon and Priors World, Georgiou had wanted to talk honestly with her daughter, putting plots and power aside. Michael had been too caught up in Lorca's schemes to see the hand that her mother offered her. Now Georgiou was speaking to this Michael as she couldn't with her daughter — and then what? Were they doomed to repeat the past, or could they move forward?
Georgiou had accepted the loss of her throne. She no longer had a throne to maintain, or anything else to prove. This was a kinder universe than her own.
She had a choice.
.
... It wasn't worth it, really. Georgiou groaned. Perhaps she should have expected this. There hadn't been anything in the Defiant records about Qo'noS being destroyed at the end of the war, after all.
The phaser whined as it powered down. "The detonator is coded to my bioprint," Georgiou said sarcastically. "Would you like it recoded to yours?
"Not to mine, no," said Michael, suddenly all back to business. She took out a communicator. "All clear."
The female Klingon prisoner — in full armor now — and the Klingon hybrid came down the steps.
"What is this?" said the Klingon. For once, Georgiou could relate.
"This is the place the Federation crushed the Klingons" was a good speech to start a regime change with, but the rest of Michael's conciliatory, inspirational nonsense was intolerable. How typically Federation to impose their own ways upon the Klingons — and they had been defeated, make no mistake about it — while still trying to maintain the moral high ground. She watched with considerable irritation as Michael handed over the detonator that Georgiou had gone to such lengths to activate.
The Federation were fools. Georgiou had handed them the power to permanently tilt the galactic balance of power and to avenge everyone dead in the war, from her own alternate to Michael's birth parents, and they'd thrown that away. The deaths of everyone the Klingons killed in the future would be on their heads. Was that really worth their precious morals? This was to be expected from Michael, but Georgiou had expected that someone in the Federation leadership would be more sensible.
No doubt Michael had had another crisis of conscience once she realized the full scope of Georgiou's plan. She must have mutinied again, or at least threatened to — that did seem to be her specialty — and then persuaded her superiors to back her this time.
Georgiou doubted that Michael realized her own hypocrisy. Her plan relied on the hydrobomb just as much as Georgiou's did. It meant nothing that Michael didn't intend to detonate the bomb: the Federation's peace had been brought about by a Terran's dirty work. But there Michael was, sanctimoniously taking the credit anyway.
At this point, Georgiou was ready to wash her hands of this whole affair. "I'll leave you to it," she said at the earliest possible interval.
Michael met her eyes. "Be good, Philippa."
"Or you'll come for me?"
"Make sure I don't have to."
Michael had already dragged her out of her own universe, what else could she possibly do? But she would let Michael have the last word.
How fitting that she found herself on Qo'noS again, the planet where she had once made her name. In this universe, Georgiou was neither mother nor Emperor: she had discharged all obligations to Michael and the Federation. In this universe, she was free.
Georgiou turned to begin the long climb back up to the surface.
She didn't look back.