Chapter Fifteen
"You look like Hell," said Commander McDonald.
"Thanks. Hell must be pretty good looking, then." Alix chuckled a little at her own joke, but her heart wasn't in it. "I had a crappy night, sir."
"Doesn't look like you got much sleep."
"Bugger all. Hey, what are you doing here, Commander? Shouldn't you be on the Kal…whatever it is? That Klingon ship."
"I've left it in the hands of Mr. Claise. The admiral wanted me aboard to discuss our tactics for dealing with the High Council. You didn't get the memo?"
"Might have. I don't remember. Got any coffee on you?"
"Sorry."
"Okay. I'm going to swing by the mess and grab a pot or three. Want anything while I'm down there?"
"No, I'm fine."
Alix waved awkwardly and climbed into a turbolift; McDonald carried on her way to the conference room, wondering just what it was that had kept the helmsman awake all night. Maybe she'd been more freaked by Sarn's attack than she had been letting on; McDonald knew that she would have trouble sleeping if a Vulcan went for her throat. A Vulcan showing anger and violence, or any emotion at all for that matter…weird. Her neat little stereotype of the race was in danger of coming apart, and she liked that stereotype.
"How's our science officer?" She asked, upon entering the briefing room. Drake was the only other person present and he replied with a shrug. "No change. She tried to bite Nurse Galloway's hand off this morning, so she's back under sedation. Have you seen Alix? She usually beats me to these things."
"I ran into her in the corridor, sir. She said she'd had trouble sleeping and she was going to get some coffee."
"She's obviously not thinking straight this morning; I always have a pot set aside for her."
McDonald settled down in her chair and observed, "I don't think she slept much at all last night, Admiral. She looked haunted."
"That frightens me, Vicki. It takes a lot to spook Alix." He didn't want to dump a lot of worries onto the commander, and so he changed the topic. "How's your ship?"
"Falling apart at the seams, sir. We're holding her together with tape and tubs of glue at the moment. I just hope she makes it to Qo'noS."
"So do I. We could give you a tow, Commander. A tractor beam spread around the ship might hold her together."
McDonald shuddered. "It might. It also might pull her apart. For the moment, we're not that desperate, sir."
The rest of the senior staff arrived in dribs and drabs, Alix far later than everyone else and cradling a steaming cup in her hand. She stumbled into the room, took a look at the shining silver pot on the table and muttered, "Oh yeah. Should've thought of that."
Drake decided to begin just as soon as everyone was in the room. "Take your places, please. As you're all aware, we're now less than nineteen hours from Qo'noS, and we don't have much real idea what's waiting for us there. We've confirmed the identity of our enemy, General Han'tH, but apart from a few snippets of his military and political record, Starfleet doesn't know much about him. We're unsure of his current political strength or allies, and so far we've not been able to determine any real motivation for his attacks."
"Old grudges?" Suggested Brok. "A lot of Klingons still blame us for standing in the way of their expansion."
"Han'tH's territory is located mainly along the Klingon-Romulan boarder," said McDonald – she had spent last evening studying everything Starfleet had on the general. "We never got in the way of anything there."
"Could it be simple racism?" Threw out Fran. "They were born and bred to hate us."
"That's a possibility we can't discount," Drake said. "We've come a long way on that front, but changing people's opinions about other people takes a lot of time and effort."
"Does it matter?" Yawned Alix.
"Does what matter?"
"This," she said, waving a hand around. "All of this. Does it matter? Yes? No?"
"Alix, you aren't making a lot of sense. Let me take over."
"I don't know…"
"They need a Nain, and right now I'm the only one who can think straight."
"Promise to behave?"
"If I must."
"What I meant to say is does it really matter why this lunatic is attacking us? He is, that's the important fact. If we must have a reason: because he can. It's as good as any."
"You're more awake now?"
"The caffeine's having its effect, Will."
"Glad to hear it. I'd like to know why General Han'tH has declared this personal war on the Federation, but Alix is right in saying that we could spend all day discussing it and still not know."
"I didn't say that. Although it's accurate."
Drake ignored that. "Right now, our biggest concern has to be how to proceed once we reach Qo'noS."
"I'm all for shelling the planet back to the Stone Age, but I suppose that's not on the cards. Pity. It would be worth our while to learn the exact political situation on Qo'noS as quickly as possible: find out who still supports the alliance, and who supports Han'tH's war."
"And once we know our enemies?" McDonald asked.
"Kill them."
A few people shivered, and McDonald said, "I don't think that's the right approach, Wolf."
"It would work," said Kana Nain, who had been about to suggest it herself. "Not only would our foes be gone, but we would be able to manipulate who steps in to take their place. Klingons often advance in rank by killing the people further up the hierarchy. I'm sure the lesser minions would be grateful to us for elevating them into power. They'd certainly remember what happened to their forbearers."
"This meeting's getting a little darker than I'd intended," laughed Drake. But it was a forced laugh. "We're talking diplomacy here, people, not a coupe."
"Pity; they're so much more fun. Diplomacy is a very exact science; but to crush a government all you need is a big, desperate mob."
"Twinkle, twinkle, little…"
"Go to sleep, Alix."
"Speaking from experience?" There was something of a challenge in Drake's voice. He hadn't intended for it, but he recognized this darker Nain personality, he didn't like her, and he was not able to very well contain his feelings about her.
She smiled toothily. "Perhaps."
"Well, if I ever feel like deposing a leader I'll know who to go to. Getting back on track, I've never been a negotiator, and this mission has me worried. One slip, one bad word, and we risk plunging the quadrant into war. Big responsibility."
That caused a rumble of agreement from around the table. People started talking, but no one had anything to say. There was very little real intelligence available, and without that any strategy was just based upon guesswork.
"Enough!" Hissed Kana, her patience with this pointless session at an end. "When we reach Qo'noS we'll get the lay of the land and plan our move. Until we know more we can't do anything."
Wolf nodded. She understood virtually nothing of what her shipmates had been saying, and she wasn't convinced that they did, either. Nain's suggestion that they all shut up and wait to find out what was happening on Qo'noS struck her as a good one.
McDonald said, "While I wouldn't have phrased it quite like that, Admiral, I agree with what Lieutenant Nain has to say. Until we really know what's going on with the Klingons we can't make a realistic plan."
"If that's the consensus then meeting adjourned. Are you all right, Alix? Vicki said that you'd had difficulty sleeping."
"A nightmare," Kana replied with a shrug.
"Must have been pretty nasty to keep you awake."
"It was unpleasant: a bad memory."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Nah."
"If it's keeping you from sleeping…"
"I said no, Will! Is that so difficult to understand?" He reacted as though he had been slapped; so extreme and unexpected was Nain's outburst; so intense was the fury in her. Kana immediately realized that she'd erred, and she did her best imitation of one of her host's grins. "Sorry. I guess I'm a little snappish."
"You really didn't sleep much, did you?"
"About an hour."
Drake patted her on the shoulder; a gesture of support that he hoped she would appreciate. "Well, make sure you get some rest tonight, okay, Alix? Have Ilerson prescribe you something if you have to. I'm going to need you sharp tomorrow when we go down to the planet."
"Right, Will." She walked away, grinning from ear to ear. And Alix says I can't act like her. She would have enjoyed sharing the observation with her host, but the human's mind was fast sleep at that moment, resting and undisturbed by dreams.
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Qo'noS was not the planet that the Nains remembered it being; even from orbit the changes were apparent. When last they had been there it had been a very old, very cold world, the wind seeming to bite at one's flesh, as though it were as hungry for blood as the planet's inhabitants; it had snowed frequently, and every exposed inch of flesh had turned red and numb within moments of stepping outside. Nights had been colder still, the cloudless blue skies never managing to trap much heat.
That planet was not this one. Qo'noS now, since the decimation of Praxis, was a hot, perpetually overcast world. On final approach, the brilliant sapphire that Alix had expected to see was conspicuous by its absence; instead a dull, ash-coloured world rushed forward to meet them.
"That's Qo'noS?"
Wolf heard the disbelief in the helmsman's voice, and she ran a check on their position. "Yes."
"Time has not been good to it."
"Standard orbit," Drake requested, his own eyes fixed on the dirty, polluted, dying world on the main screen. He had never visited the planet himself, but he had heard of what it had been before the Praxis Incident: a far gentler world than anything one might have expected to give rise to a race like the Klingons.
Up close, the planet only looked worse: heavy grey storms churned throughout the atmosphere, and in the few places where the air was still it only made the thick layer of dust and debris from Praxis' explosion more visible. The surface was almost completely shrouded, but here and there patches of parched, desolate land could be seen through the cloud.
"It's turned into Hell," muttered Alix mentally.
Kana, who had been playing with her yo-yo in an attempt to relieve her mounting boredom, at last glanced up at the screen. She took in the desolate world at a glance, shrugged, and said: "I've seen better." She returned to trying to perfect the 'walking the dog' trick, which she just could not seem to master.
"How can anyone survive down there?" Breathed Brok, appalled by what he saw.
"They're Klingons, Blue. They're tough."
"Tougher than me. I couldn't live on a planet like that."
"It's their home, Lieutenant," observed Drake from his command chair. "You'd be surprised what people are prepared to suffer to hold onto their homes." He thought briefly of the extents he'd gone to to hold onto Endeavour – the closest thing to a home he could ever recall having.
A pair of birds of prey rose up from the surface and greeted the starship. Wolf tracked their leisurely ascent, and after a few minutes she was able to confirm that they were not flying on an attack vector. A little while later she was able to make out the house markings on their wings, and Admiral Drake greeted the two craft warmly.
"It is a pleasure to see you again," said the Klingon. "Congratulations on your recent promotion, Admiral. It was well deserved."
"Thank you," said Drake modestly.
"The High Council has been expecting you, Admiral," Commander Grownel informed them, looking more comfortable sprawled in his command chair than he ever had on the Endeavour. "A landing platform stands ready to receive your shuttlecraft."
"Shuttle?"
"Due to the ionisation of our upper atmosphere, direct beam transport would be…unwise."
"Acknowledged, Commander, and thank you for your consideration. I can have a shuttle ready to launch in…"
"Ten minutes," supplied Wolf.
Grownel accepted this time with a nod. "I shall signal the Council and advise them when to expect you. I will need to know the composition of your landing party. For security reasons."
"Of course. Landing party will consist of myself, Commander McDonald, Lieutenant Nain and Lieutenant Wolf."
"Not Wolf," said Alix quickly; in an Andorian dialect that Drake didn't understand at first. He frowned at her, wondering why she should sound so insistent that he leave his head of security on the ship, but he trusted his friend's judgement and amended, "My apologies, Commander Grownel, I meant to say Lieutenant Brok."
Grownel's eyes darted to Nain, wondering what it was that she had said to her admiral, but he had no time to think about such things. "Understood. Grownel out."
"Ready room, Alix. Okay, why did you tell me to leave Wolf behind?"
"I told you before: powder keg…spark…remember? We're likely to meet some unpleasantness down there, and you know what Wolf's like when someone insults her."
"Acts first, thinks later."
"Thinks not at all. We really don't need that, Will. Besides, with Brok and I you've got all the security you could possibly need; he's actually not a bad shot. Under no circumstances are you to tell him I said that."
"My lips are sealed," he grinned.
The predator was unperturbed at being removed from the landing party, and when the captain emerged from his ready room she informed him that a shuttle was waiting in the main bay: Friedman had always been conservative with his estimates. McDonald had already beamed across and was making her way to the shuttle; Lieutenant Brok was waiting patiently next to one of the turbolifts, and as soon as Drake and Alix joined him they were on their way, heading down into the bowels of the ship.
Starfleet shuttlecraft were, and had always been, rather unsightly vehicles: a wedge with a pair of engine pods tucked along the side, and some stubby wings as a token gesture towards aerodynamics. Alix had never liked the shape or handling characteristics of the shuttles, and this was an opinion that she shared with her counterparts throughout the fleet. The new models the Endeavour carried were a little nicer than most – more streamline, and with higher performance engines – but she knew from an earlier test flight that they weren't a huge improvement.
"Strap yourselves in; it'll be a bumpy ride down. Sensors are showing a storm sweeping across the capital: high winds, rain, lightning, the whole lot. Why do you never take me anywhere nice, Skipper?"
"I take you to an exotic alien world and this is the thanks I get? Begin launch."
The shuttle fell away from Endeavour and began the long, slow plunge into Qo'noS' atmosphere. As it streaked down, leaving a ribbon of smoke and fire to mark its passage, McDonald had to look away from the windows, her skin paling visibly. She had always hated re-entry, always hated the flames that accompanied it. No matter how many times her rational mind reminded her that the shuttle was protected by a force field, that even if that failed the hull was lined with a thermal coating that could withstand thousands of degrees centigrade, she remained convinced that the entire craft would be roasted to a crisp in the next heartbeat.
When the fiery nimbus finally disappeared from around the shuttle, their suicidal headlong rush towards the ground slowed, it was Alix who became fearful. The shuttle plunged into the storm over the capital city, and she felt her blood turn to ice. She had helmed Endeavour through the ion storm without fear, had been through plasma storms and subspace ruptures, but she could not bare a terrestrial storm. Hearing the wind screech by outside the hull…it terrified her. She had been born and had spent most of her life in space, where there were no sounds except the life support and the engines. Wind, rain, the roar of thunder…these were some of the most unnatural things that Alix could imagine.
In fact, there was very little about planets that she found in any way comfortable, natural, or appealing. She hated open sky; she was used to bulkheads, and the sight of uninterrupted blue stretching from horizon to horizon always made some part of her think that there had been a catastrophic hull breach, that at any moment she would be sucked out into the vacuum. Ground that undulated under foot…it wasn't natural; ground should be flat and hard, made of metal; green stuff should not be growing in it, and nor should great gushing corridors of water be found. Temperatures that fluctuated with the time of day…they should be constant, regulated by a computer.
She was a spacer, born and bred, and she could never be anything else. She had been to hundreds of different worlds during her life, had stood beneath stars unseen by any other human, on worlds of unimaginable beauty and ones indescribably vile, and while she could appreciate them, enjoy them, she would never be entirely comfortable on any of them. She preferred to be surrounded by metal than out in the wide-open spaces of nature.
The shuttle touched down with a thump, and while her crewmates were still releasing themselves from their straps, Alix was already sticking her head out through the shuttle's airlock. She detested planets but she was damned if she would let anyone know how she felt; even Kana didn't know the full extent of her host's dislike of soil and sky. She refused to let anyone see what she saw as her weakness, and took aggressive steps to conceal it: she would always be first out of the shuttle, first up onto the transporter.
"What's it like out there?"
"It's hard to say what's worse, Will: breathe through your nose and you gag on the smell; breathe through your mouth and you choke on the soot; take your pick."
"There are breather masks in the supply locker," said McDonald, already on her way to fetch them.
Alix popped her head back inside the shuttle, and she was wearing one of her ever-ready smiles. "Nah, they're not necessary. You get used to the smell and the taste. Besides, don't want to look weak in front of the Klingons."
The wind was howling around the landing platform, taking with it great clouds of dirt and dust that stung the eyes. Drake and McDonald found their eyes watering fiercely, and they could barely see. Brok and Nain were slightly better off, the Bolian because his species originated on an arctic world and his eyes were designed to tolerate assault by flying debris, and Alix because she had planned ahead and brought goggles.
"Good thinking, Lieutenant," said McDonald, squinting.
"I'm more than a pretty face, sir."
The commander intentionally made no reply to this comment. Rumours of Alix's activities on New Manchester had spread around the ship. McDonald wasn't usually one who put great stock in a starship's rumour mill, but in this case she was prepared to believe. Little things like the way Alix looked at people, the way she stood and the way she acted when around certain people – all of them female – seemed to support the rumours.
Four large Klingon men met them outside the Great Hall; all of them wearing the same highly decorated grey and red body armour, the same metal sashes with the same insignia on them. Guardians of the High Council, Brok explained in a whispered undertone, elite Klingon warriors who had sworn on their honour to defend the Chancellor and her Council to their last breath. There were no finer, stronger, more thoroughly trained warriors in the Empire.
"Quite a reception," muttered Drake, comparing his own party to the Klingons. He knew that he could fight, and Alix was complimentary of Brok's skills – a rare honour indeed. Nevertheless, and even with Alix backing them up, he did not feel comfortable. These Klingons were apparently here to escort and to protect him, but given everything that had happened lately he was still nervous.
"Jacket, Lieutenant," whispered McDonald as they approached a large set of double doors. The helmsman's breast flap had been hanging loose, but now she fastened it up so that she looked as neat and presentable as Alix Nain could.
The doors swung open majestically, and on the other side…was exactly what Drake had been told to expect. He was disappointed; Alix's description of the council chambers had been far, far too accurate. There was an immense hall, the stone walls shooting up for dozens of feet before disappearing into the darkness overhead; a few glowing panels provided a little light, but the majority came from candles and open fires; at the far end there was a throne, apparently carved out of a single slab of dark stone.
"Nice décor."
Chancellor Azetbur was sat in the position of power, and around her dozens of very large Klingons in very bulky armour, most of them male, stood arguing with one another. What little light there was gleamed strikingly off the blades these Klingon councillors openly wore.
Interestingly enough, Drake observed, the Chancellor herself appeared to be unarmed. He wondered what that said about her. Did she consider herself so safe, her position so secure that she didn't feel the need for a weapon? Had she so quickly forgotten her father's assassination? More likely she'd forgotten her knife, Drake decided, or else she kept hers better hidden than most.
Thoughts of hidden weapons brought his eyes to Alix. As a gesture of good faith, all of their phaser pistols had been left behind in the shuttle. He of course remembered Alix's advice that the party go armed to show that they weren't defenceless, but he had decided that the gesture of trust was worth making – that it might help make them appear more like friends. Drake himself was completely unarmed, and he could be sure that his first officer and tactical officer were carrying only the weapons that they had been born with, but Alix? She looked defenceless, but as with so many things about the girl, what she led people to believe and the actual truth could be two different things.
The wrangling between Klingon politicians continued for several long minutes, Drake and his team standing off to the side and waiting patiently to be acknowledged. Alix took the opportunity to send a cheeky grin his way. He remembered what else she'd told him about Qo'noS, about Klingon politicians arguing for days without getting anywhere. He could see that she hadn't been exaggerating.
Eventually Azetbur signalled for silence, and she got it immediately. She was a small woman, barely reaching the shoulders of the Klingon senators and far less muscular; physically she was so much weaker than they were; but she had another power, one that transcended the physical; an aura of immense strength and authority surrounded her, and it affected everyone in the room.
With perhaps just one exception. Alix smirked, glanced at her awe-struck shipmates, and chuckled. They thought that was impressive?
Azetbur turned her dark eyes towards the Starfleet officers, immensely stern, and greeted: "Rear-Admiral Drake."
He bowed. "Chancellor. Thank you for agreeing to see us as such short notice."
"I understand the importance of the situation, Admiral. The Federation Council has explained it to me in great detail."
"The Federation Council," said another Klingon coldly, cynically, "has invented a great fiction that we are expected to believe!"
"To what are you referring, sir?"
"The alleged attack on the Herminie colony planet! Your council has laid the blame on us!"
"The planet was attacked by Klingons."
"Lies," hissed the councillor. "We are allies. Why would we attack our friends?"
"The evidence is conclusive."
"Klingons do not kill helpless colonists! It is without honour!"
"The same cannot be said for you," said another Klingon, a tall male, broad-shouldered, his dark hair done up into a neat plaits. "I know something of your record, Admiral. Your recent promotion was reward for your capture of a Klingon battleship! Is this the action of an ally?"
Drake defended: "That ship was operating illegally in Federation space. It had also engaged in battle with a Starfleet squadron. It was a legal capture. Your own government recognized it as such."
"That vote was not unanimous. And now we can all see that those who voted against it were right to do so! You come to us today dragging behind you the battered hulk of another of our ships!"
"A ship that intercepted and attacked me en route to Qo'noS." Stated Drake firmly.
"Convenient, Admiral."
"Councillor Han'tH," Azetbur said, her voice cool, level, and quiet, "you will be silent."
The large man looked at his leader, anger visibly smouldering inside of him; but he knew better than to act on his irritation, and he clamped his lips shut. Drake watched all of this carefully, committing every detail of the Klingon to memory, from the scar across his right cheek to the stiffness in his right leg. He now had a face; Han'tH was no longer just a name; now there was a man to pin the evil onto.
He wasn't aware of it, but he wasn't the only one scrutinizing Han'tH. Stood invisibly at his side, Kana Nain's illuminated eyes performed the same inspection as Drake's, and although she was looking in the same spectrum as the admiral, using none of her advanced senses, she saw more than he did. A shiver of pain that passed through Han'tH, unnoticed by Drake, caught Kana's attention, as did the slight mottling of his skin – although carefully disguised – and the looseness of his flesh. He looked old; Kana would bet that he wasn't.
Azetbur held the general in her gaze for a moment longed, until she was convinced that he would not interrupt her. "Admiral Drake, I will hear your explanation for how one of our ships came to be in your possession."
"We were six days from Qo'noS, when we were approached by the strike cruiser Kra't'nal. A signal from the Kra't'nal told us that the ship was an escort, dispatched by the High Council, however certain oddities in its approach vector, together with inconsistencies in our scans, led me to believe that she was lying. When I requested the private signal, the Kra't'nal failed to respond. Because of our prior encounter with a rogue Klingon battleship, I had Endeavour's shields raised and weapons armed. I called for the Kra't'nal's surrender; she attacked."
"Kra't'nal is a state of the art cruiser! She could not be defeated by your antique starship!"
"Han'tH. You will be silent. Continue, Admiral."
"Our attack neutralized the cruiser's weapons and engines. We boarded and captured her, taking several prisoners."
"Lies. Klingons fight to the death!"
"I ordered basic repairs to be carried out on the cruiser, so that she could be brought to Qo'noS and returned to her builders. Her crew are held in her cargo bays, her officers are on my ship. You may be interested in what her captain has to say. We also have one of the Klingons who assaulted Herminie on our vessel."
"Bring them before us, Admiral."
"As you wish, Madam Chancellor."
Shuttling the prisoners to the surface took some time, far longer than beaming them would have. Drake was not prepared to risk scrambling the molecules of his only witnesses by transporting them through Qo'noS' polluted atmosphere, and the High Council was obliged to wait. General Han'tH became more and more vocally aggressive as the time went on, crying that Drake had no evidence, no people to present, that he was stalling, wasting the Council's time. Towards the end, Azetbur was obliged to raise her voice to silence him: a frightening occurrence.
"Nice voice," Alix whispered, a note of pleasure in hers.
"Behave yourself." The last thing he needed was his friend making a move on the Klingon chancellor.
Alix made a pfft sound with her lips and stuck her hands into her pockets, looking petulant. Drake was made to think of a child told 'no' by a parent, and he felt like laughing.
After some time the chamber's doors flew open and Drake's two prisoners were marched in – Captain Narrgoth, and the Klingon soldier Alix had captured on Herminie. They entered proudly, their heads held high, although their arms and legs were chained, and they wore those expressions of defiant silence that Drake had become all too familiar with.
Alix just had to look at the soldier for him to crack. "Keep her away! Keep her away from me! I told you what you wanted to know! I told you everything I know!" Frantically, his bulging eyes zipped around the collection of unfamiliar Klingon faces, until they came to rest on one that he did know. He ran across as fast as his bound legs would carry him and threw himself at Han'tH's feet, clawing at the man's robes. "Please, sir! Protect me from her! I did what you asked."
"Release me!" Barked Han'tH, kicking the soldier away.
General Kravft grabbed the soldier by his shoulders and hurled him up. "Stand, you snivelling pahtk! I recognize this worthless creature," he announced to the council. "He is the Klingon we captured on Herminie."
"And we are to accept your say-so on that?"
Kravft threw the soldier aside and advanced on Han'tH. "You would dare to speak to me in that manner! After what you have done? I stood on Herminie; I saw the destruction you orchestrated. I should cut you open now and save us all the time!" His hand went for his knife.
"He won't be able to. Pity. Would be an interesting spectacle."
"General!" Barked Azetbur, before he could draw. "There will be no death today."
"As you wish, Madam Chancellor." He did not sound pleased.
"Why interesting, Kana? You've seen stabbings before."
"Yes, but…"
"But?"
"Nothing."
There was something that the Destroyer wasn't telling her, and Alix eyed her insubstantial friend with intense suspicion. What did Kana know that she didn't? That was a well without a bottom, she realized, and perhaps it was the wrong question to be asking: what had Kana seen that she hadn't? Something about Han'tH; something that had explained a lot of things for her. What was it?
The Klingon soldier was sobbing openly in the middle of the council chambers, watched by all. The Klingons were staring at him with disgust (for who had ever heard of a Klingon weeping?) but also with curiosity and confusion – for what could have been done to him to turn him into this emotional wreck? If he had been capable of shedding tears his face would have been soaked by now.
Han'tH advanced on him. "Pathetic worm! You are a disgrace." His boot lashed out, but the kick never landed. The Klingon soldier suddenly received a surge of strength, and of confidence. He caught the flying foot, pulled himself to his full height, and challenged: "You do it! You look into her eyes; see the things she shows you. Terrible things! Worse than Gre-Thor! Worse!"
"May I?"
"Enjoy yourself."
The Change, and Kana's low, purring laughter drifting into the air like smoke. It got attention, and Klingon heads turned on her sharply. Kana didn't see any of this, as her eyes were downcast, but she sensed it, and her purr became louder, more pleased. This was going to be delicious.
"You?" Han'tH strode towards her. "You did this?"
"Oh yes." Laughter.
"Who are you?"
"She is Lieutenant Nain."
Han'tH was at point blank range; Kana's head snapped up, her eyes locking onto his and burning with the fires of Hell – of Gre-Thor. "I'm the Destroyer."
The general leapt back, his heart thundering in his ears and his entire body shaking. Another pain spasm gripped him, more clearly visible this time as he was in no fit state to suppress it. Kana's expression, never pleasant, turned positively demonic. Her voice was a low whisper, barely audible to her intended audience, and completely inaudible to everyone else. "I'd be careful, General. A man in your condition…you could fall down dead without any warning at all."
Mocking laughter roared into the air, General Kravft's head tipped back and glowing with glee; he was soon joined in his cheer by his supporters and allies, and Han'tH found himself an object of ridicule. He cast one last hate filled, suspicious, glance at the Destroyer, who simply smiled back; he spun away from her and stormed off.
"What was that about a man in his condition?"
"Figure it out, Alix. I'm not here to give you the answers."
Feeling a little spiteful, Alix snatched back control of her body. It was a well-timed manoeuvre, as Azetbur was examining her, and an instant later the Chancellor spoke: "You are the infamous Destroyer?"
Alix bowed. "I am, Ma'am."
Azetbur considered her for a moment longer; Alix could feel the gaze moving across her; those were really some eyes! "I had expected someone larger."
"It's not the size, Madam Chancellor, it's the way you use it."
For the first time, emotion appeared on the Chancellor's haughty face, her lips tucking up slightly at the corners. It was as much of a smile as she would permit herself to display, but she wanted to show a lot more. She liked this confident, dangerous young human; she had a powerful spirit, and Azetbur could respect that. She could also respect – no, admire – what the Destroyer had done to that snivelling soldier.
Drake talked at some length about the prisoners; where they had been found, what they had told him. Han'tH objected vocally to his name being mentioned – unfounded accusations – an attack on his honour – but Azetbur silenced him. She listened very carefully to everything that the admiral had to say, comparing it to what the Federation Council had already told her in their private communications. The stories were basically the same – some slight difference in the details. Azetbur decided to attach more weight to what Drake said to her. He was a warrior who had accomplished great deeds in the battlefield of the stars, as she knew well. He was also, she could tell, quite a simple individual, one with strong beliefs and strong values. It was not in his power to invent elegant fiction or shadowy strategies; in fact, she imagined that such things would entirely baffle him. He was forthright, honest to his core.
"Remove those two from the chambers," Azetbur said, indicating the prisoners. "They shall be questioned."
"If they prove uncooperative…" Offered Alix.
"You Federation people squirm at torture," hissed Han'tH. It was a badly judged insult. Alix merely smiled and said: "Torture is for amateurs. Why harm the body when you can get directly at the soul?"
"No one can injure a soul."
"Oh, I can."
The threat hung in the air, terrifying to every Klingon present. They were a spiritual people, although many might believe otherwise; they believed in the soul, in honour in this life determining where you spent the next, and Alix's suggestion that she could somehow attack their souls, damage that part of them that was immortal, struck fear into every Klingon present.
She is powerful, Azetbur reflected. Dangerous, too. Drake is fortunate to have her allegiance.
The Chancellor rose. "This meeting is adjourned. We will learn what we can from the prisoners, Admiral, and reconvene when our questions have been answered."
As the Starfleet officers filed out, General Kravft watched them go. He had sworn vengeance against the Destroyer not so long ago, and here she was now, wandering about the home world: vulnerable.
The Fates could be too kind on occasion.
