News Studio, London

Wednesday 19th January 1994

Absolute, white-hot anger coursing through him, Krang stormed across the television studio, shoving aside the human technicians who tried to stop him. "Cut that broadcast! NOW!"

Not waiting to see if they complied, he approached Karg and before the younger man could react, had shoved him hard against the wall. "You have exceeded your authority," Krang growled, "Why was I not informed of this attack? How DARE you act without my express permission?"

"I was doing my duty," Karg snarled, "while you were wasting time playing nursemaid to Terragnan brats."

"You would have left them in a cell," Krang accused, his fury building, "We DO NOT harm children and even a Klingon child would be traumatised by a prison environment!" That was something Krang knew from personal experience, although he'd been much older than these children at the time. Where is your honour?"

Karg was attempting to side-track him, he realised, to change the subject and deflect the blame away from himself. He could not afford to let that tactic succeed. "Are you so blinded by your anger and ambition that you will throw away everything we have worked for over the last two years?" Krang demanded. "Now I must repair the damage you have done. Your actions just may cost us this planet!"

Releasing his grip on the other Klingon, Krang turned his back on him in calculated insult, and stepped away. He had gone no more than about three steps when he sensed Karg's movement and heard the faint whisper of steel. Of its own accord, his hand moved to his side, only to find that there was nothing there. Oh! Of course. He was still wearing his mok'bara outfit – a loosely fitting black tunic and trousers, with a cloth belt. His d'k'tahg was still in his sleeping quarters, laid out alongside his uniform, ready for use. He'd had no time to even think about getting changed. Very well, unarmed combat it was then. Pausing, he waited, allowing his senses to take over and inform him of what Karg was doing. The slight sound of a footstep and a sharp breath. Another second or two then… moving with lightning speed, he turned back towards Karg, grasping the outstretched arm by the wrist and twisting, causing the other man to lose his balance.

No sooner had Karg recovered himself, then his knife was in Krang's hands. "You would attack an unarmed man from behind? Krang snarled, "Have you no honour at all?"

That was the second time in as many minutes he'd queried Karg's honour, Krang realised. He would not ask that question a third time. Karg would die by his own blade. About to strike, the noise of someone else entering the studio caught Krang's attention. A Klingon from the heavy sound of the footsteps. "My lord… No!" that was Kay'vin's voice. "Wait!"

Never taking his eyes off the disgraced colonel, Krang stopped. "I warn you, Kay'vin, do not interfere."

Kay'vin swore under his breath, not quite believing he was putting his own life on the line to save Karg. But it had to be done. "My lord, you can't do this… not now!" He spoke in rapid Thlingan Hol, to prevent the humans from understanding the conversation. "… not in front of the Terran cameras. They must see us as united. A divided house is weak… can be defeated…"

Krang let out a low, frustrated growl as he acknowledged, however reluctantly, that Kay'vin was right. He would never be able to trust Karg again; the colonel had to die but his death was a pleasure that would have to wait. Revenge, he reminded himself, was best served cold... and so was justice! Slowly, he lowered his hand, and then, in an act of complete contempt, he flung Karg's d'k tahg to the ground. The force of the impact shattered the triple blade, sending pieces of metal clattering across the floor. "Colonel Karg, you are relieved of your duty. If I even see you again today, have no doubt that I will kill you. NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

Klingon Headquarters, London

Wednesday 19th January 1994

By the time Chrissie reached her destination, it was almost midday. It was an odd journey. Very few people were out and about – and on a freezing cold day like this, who could blame them for staying home? But it was something more than that; the very atmosphere felt tense and oppressive, reminding her strongly of the very early days of the occupation. The few humans she did see, seemed both angry and afraid. She passed several Klingon patrols, all of them heavily armed and with grim, purposeful expressions on their faces and not wanting trouble, Chrissie was careful to keep out of their way.

On the previous occasions she had visited their headquarters, she had barely noticed the pair of guards, one on each side of the main door. Today though, the guard was doubled and as she approached, one of them stepped forward and barred her way.

Clearly something had changed, Chrissie realised, coming to a halt and she had a bad feeling it was something to do with last night's prison raid. That was inevitable, she supposed. It would be naïve to think that the Klingons would not retaliate. Chrissie had not bothered to watch the news broadcasts that morning, either the legal or the more informative illegal ones - she had in fact avoided them as much as possible since the day she had been informed of Miguel's execution, but she could guess as to their content. She had not picked a good day to be out and about.

Strength, Chrissie reminded herself. Show no fear. Uncomfortably aware of the phaser in the bottom of her bag and what would happen if they found it, she took a slightly shaky breath. "I need to see the captain… security captain…" she corrected herself. "I was told he would be here today."

The soldier who was blocking her, glanced at his colleagues and said something that Chrissie could not understand and one of them replied in the same language before changing to strongly accented English and saying, "Now is not a good time. Go home."

"Then when is a good time?" Chrissie demanded, starting to get angry. "You've been fobbing me off for two days now. My children are missing! They're just babies! You keep saying you don't hurt children so why won't you help me find them?"

The Klingon had children of his own back on the homeworld and he would die to protect them. This woman might just be an inferior Terragnan, but he understood her distress. His expression softened very slightly. "You cannot disturb the security captain now. Go home, woman, and come back late afternoon."

Stubbornly, Chrissie shook her head. "You'll just tell me the same thing this afternoon – 'go away… he's too busy… come back tomorrow'. And meanwhile, my children could be hurt or in danger…" Her voice rose as she continued, "and you AREN'T DOING ANYTHING!"

The Klingon let out a low growl that was easily translated as 'danger… watch your tone' before saying, "I will be on duty until tonight. If the security captain leaves before you return, I will speak with him and request that he wait." And with the boss in his current foul mood, that was risky enough, but it was the honourable thing to do.

Defeated, Chrissie turned away.

Krang's office, London Headquarters,

Wednesday 19th January 1994

Krang let out a heavy sigh. He was tired and stressed and he'd had enough. The entire day had been spent in damage control. What in Gre'thor had got into Karg, he wondered? How much damage had that ill-conceived broadcast done? He had come very close to killing his deputy today but Kay'vin had been right; to do so in front of the Terrans would have been a mistake. They needed to preserve at least an illusion of unity if they were to keep control here.

After leaving the television studio, he'd returned to the old farmhouse to change into his uniform and it was there, in his own home, that he'd begun to see evidence of the damage Karg had done. Entering the old farmhouse through the kitchen door, he'd seen Marie-Claire and the children, covered in flour as they mixed an odd-looking concoction in a baking bowl. The housekeeper had looked up as he came in, tensing at the sight of him, her eyes wary and distrustful.

Krang shook his head at the futility of it all. Marie-Claire been nervous of him when they had first met, but in the nearly two years she'd worked for him, she had got to know him and had learned to relax in his presence, even to the point of occasionally teasing him. All that was gone now, undone by one ill-conceived broadcast. Not bothering to say anything, he strode through the kitchen and into the hallway, where he headed up the stairs and into his sleeping quarters. Fifteen minutes later, he was back in uniform and calling for transport to the London detention facility.

What he learned there was disturbing. Several of his soldiers were dead and the investigation had shown that they had been killed by phaser fire. This was the late twentieth century on Earth and phasers didn't exist. That meant that someone else from the future… specifically, from the Federation… had got involved. That was not particularly surprising or unexpected and part of Krang wondered what had taken them so long, but it was worrying.

He was also concerned by the way the prison guards seemed to have been so easily taken by surprise. Having spoken with Sergeant Klor and heard his report, he found he could not argue with Karg's decision to execute the prison governor. On this one occasion, the governor had been off duty and hence his drinking was not technically a problem, but on investigating, he learned that the man had made a habit of turning up for work while under the influence of alcohol. And as Karg had noted, the man's negligence had cost the lives of several good soldiers.

Klor himself seemed to be very competent and Krang decided to confirm his appointment as prison governor. He took the time however, to ensure that Klor understood what was required of him with regards to the treatment of prisoners.

Finally finding the time to sit down for a few minutes, the Klingon security captain settled himself at his desk, a large mug of steaming hot raktajino in his hand, opening up the first of many waiting messages. This one was from his senior deputy in Asia. Not unnaturally, Colonel Koreth was demanding to know why he had not been notified of such a drastic change in policy with regards to the Terrans, especially when the previous policy had been working so well. The message stopped just short of direct insubordination but nevertheless Koreth's unhappiness was clear. That Khan and his troops were causing trouble was nothing new, but since the broadcast an increase in support for the rebels was already being noticed and that was cause for concern. For now, Koreth stated, he was in control of the situation but if things continued to deteriorate, then military assistance might be needed.

There were several similar messages from other parts of the world, all of them querying the sudden change, the most urgent of which was New York where rioting had broken out. That one needed dealing with now, Krang decided. He understood their anger but what did they think rioting would achieve? They were destroying their own property, looting their own shops and businesses. Swiftly he sent orders through, authorising the senior Qas DevwI to take a squadron and pacify the region. Where possible, minimal force was to be used – a massacre would send the entire region if not the whole planet up in flames - but no attacks on Klingon personnel were to be tolerated.

With that done, he recorded a Priority One message to all his deputies, informing them that there was no change in policy and that all previous orders stood. Any queries were to come direct to him and if he was unavailable, to his aide Kay'vin. Adding a warning to be vigilant for signs of Federation activity, he pressed 'transmit'.

There was nothing more he could do today and shutting down his computer, Krang got to his feet. He was going home for a while. Check on the children, have something to eat, deal with some of the g'dayt never-ending paperwork and spend a couple of hours watching his favourite episodes of 'Battlecruiser Vengeance' before catching up on some much-needed sleep. It was not a bad plan for the evening, almost enough to make him smile. Lifting his heavy, fur lined winter cloak and throwing it round his shoulders, he headed out through the reception area and into the street, instinctively hunching against the icy cold air.

"My lord…."

Halfway to the waiting shuttlecraft, the voice of one of the duty guards called him back. Growling, he turned. "NuqneH?"

Somewhat warily the guard approached him, "My lord, the Terragnan woman was here this morning. We were still in lockdown at that time. I instructed her to return late afternoon."

It was almost 17:00 hours by local time. If she did return, it could be any time in the next couple of hours. He really did need to see her and attempting to contact her had been futile. Krang nodded. "Very well. I will wait a while longer." Stepping back inside and out of the cold, he turned back to address the guard one more time. "You've done well…" What was the bekk's name? Ah yes… Grenn, that was it… "… Bekk Grenn. When she arrives, escort her to my office."

Again, thank you to RBS for the review and the comments. Yes, Krang got a shock in the last chapter... so, I suspect did the residents of Earth... and I wonder what Kirk is thinking about the aftermath of the raid? Krang is NOT defence force, he is Imperial Intelligence and that makes a big difference to the way he has been trained to think. He - and the majority of his deputies - have discovered that Terrans respond best to a light hand, that brutality breeds resistance and their policies have reflected that. just a shame Karg does not understand that.

If anyone else is reading, and the stats indicate about ten people are, PLEASE... leave a little review to say hello and let me know you exist... oh and go take a look at Robertbrucescott's USS Hunter series, you will enjoy it...

Take care and stay safe.