Chapter 9

IKS Hegh'Ta

The conclusion of the battle was, Krang realised almost immediately, only the beginning of his problems. None of Kay'vin's bridge officers, competent though they undoubtedly were, were ready for the captaincy. For the moment, despite his lack of official jurisdiction, it appeared that he had little choice but to remain in command of Hegh'Ta until he was able to hand the vessel back to the Defence force and return to his duties as a Starfleet officer.

The first and most important job facing him was to pay his respects to Kay'vin, after which he needed to formally establish his right to give orders and deal with any possible challenges to his authority.

Ordering Kargan to bring Hegh'Ta to a stop, Krang moved around the bridge, coming to a halt at the side of the fallen captain. In death, Kay'vin looked surprisingly peaceful. There was very little blood, and other than the twisted piece of metal embedded in his chest, he might have been simply sleeping.

He had died on his feet and in battle. Krang could not say if it had been glorious, but it had been honourable and he had no doubt whatsoever, that if there was any such thing as an afterlife, then Kay'vin was already being welcomed into Sto-vo-kor.

Dropping to his knees and reaching out to open Kay'vin's eyes, Krang took a deep breath, threw back his head and howled the traditional warning to the dead that a warrior approached. Too late maybe, but much deserved. The eerie sound echoed around the bridge, swelling and magnifying as first one voice, then another and another, joined him. About to step onto the bridge, the ship's engineer stopped and took up the howl, and was heard by another who followed suit. Department by department, the howl spread until it seemed like the ship itself was crying out in tribute to its dead captain. When silence fell again, Krang bowed his head.

"Kay'vin was my friend," he said eventually. "He told me only yesterday how proud he was of you all, and if he were here now, he would be telling you so. You fought well and honourably, according to your abilities and training, and I too am proud of you."

There was one amongst them who had not, but this was not the moment to acknowledge that, and so, he put it aside to be dealt with later when he'd had some time to think about it. They were tired and battered, still reeling after the loss of their captain, and some of them were injured, but he could see them straightening their spines and lifting their heads as they accepted his praise. Maj! That was good and the sight of it gave him hope. tlhIngan maH! We are Klingon! There was just one more ritual to be performed before the cleanup work could begin.

"Krang puqlod Marek Inigan tuq jiH." Standing straight and tall, Krang announced himself in the prescribed manner. They all knew who he was, but this was a necessary part of the ritual." I am Krang son of Marek of the House of Inigan. Do any of you wish to challenge my right to take formal command of this vessel, or will you obey my orders?"

The crew were silent for a moment, then Kargan, the second officer stepped forward. Krang tensed but relaxed again when he heard Kargan's words. "You brought us victorious through that battle. I for one will follow you – to Gre'thor and beyond if that's what it takes."

"So will I!" one of the juniors called out, a young man, tall and thin with a beardless face that was marred by fresh and very painful-looking burns. He was wearing lieutenant's rank pins on a uniform that looked a little too short, as though he were still growing – which, Krang thought, if he was as young as he looked, he probably was. At that moment, Krang could not remember his name, but he did remember the console exploding in the lad's face, and he made a mental note to find out and ensure that he received a commendation.

"Me too!" a third voice, that of the gunner, shouted, echoed quickly by a fourth.

Pleased by their acceptance, Krang held up a hand, quietening them. "Good. Then let the battle record show that I am in command of the Hegh'Ta. Qapla'!"

With the official words spoken, the ceremonies, such as they were, were done. Krang looked around, appraising his officers, before he spoke again, crisply issuing the necessary orders. Kargan and Vareq were easily dealt with, one to coordinate the repair teams and the other to inventory their remaining weapons. Another team was charged with the duty of removing Kay'vin's body from the bridge.

Those orders given, it was time to think about the damaged freighter which was no doubt in need of urgent help. "Kehlan, you have good English, and you are used to the Terran way of doing things. I want you to take a team and go across to the freighter. Assess the situation, find out what help they need and coordinate with the Starfleet teams to get it organised."

"HIja' HoD. Yes, captain." She turned away immediately to begin her preparations.

"Kerrik, you have a lot of work to do here, but I need an engineering team sent over there as well. They will need medical help as well, but I think we can leave Endeavour to supply the doctors."

There was a laugh at that. Hegh'Ta's medical team were not the worst the empire had to offer, but their training could in no way be compared to that of their Federation colleagues.

"Ch'vok…" The first officer looked pale, and lacking anywhere to sit down, was leaning heavily on the nearest console. He needed medical treatment, Krang decided, and sending him down to sickbay would get him out of the way for a while. Swiftly, he gave the order, letting out a low, warning growl when he started to protest. "Koreq…" Koreq… yes, that was it. Hegh'Ta's security officer. He was relieved that now he needed the name it came to him. "You will also go to sickbay and get your burns treated." Another protest and another warning growl, and the two of them were on their way.

USS Endeavour NCC-71805

A few hours later

Freed from the confines of the transporter beam, Mackenzie stepped down off the pad. Blinking as his eyes readjusted to the bright light of his own ship, he mentally patted himself down, as though to ensure that all body parts were intact and in the right place. It wasn't that he disliked or feared the beaming process, but Klingon transporters did not operate on quite the same principles as Federation ones. For one thing, they were silent and did not emit the characteristic whining sound that was so annoying to Klingon ears but was almost unnoticeable to humans, maybe because of long familiarity because now that he thought about it, it was irritating. For another, they always left his bones tingling, an odd and slightly disconcerting sensation that thankfully only lasted for a few uncomfortable seconds. For yet another – and in his mind, this was the most important one of all – Klingons being Klingons, he was fairly sure they didn't have the same level of safety protocols built into them.

His head ached as well, but that was more the fault of the inevitable bloodwine he'd consumed – only one mug because he was on duty, but despite the anti-intoxicant he'd taken, it had been more than enough. It was a hangover, pure and simple, and he couldn't even blame the Klingon captain for that. Knowing how much they liked the stuff, he'd boarded the Klingon ship armed with a bottle as a gift for its captain. It was a good vintage, or so he'd been told by the vendor who had sold it to him for an eye watering price, and apparently, it came from one of the best vineyards in the Klingon Empire. He didn't know if that was true, but the Klingon captain had seemed very pleased with the gift.

Captain's ready room, IKS Hegh'Ta

"A toast to our victory!" Holding up his tankard, the human captain spoke the words in strongly accented but understandable tlhIngan Hol.

"Qapla'!" Krang gave the expected response before allowing his mug to clash against the other one and taking a long swig of its contents. He'd been quite amused, although he'd chosen not to comment, when after their exchange of greetings, the Terran had handed him a bottle of bloodwine, clearly labelled with the ornate logo of the Inigan estate. The 2372 was not a bad year, although not as good as the '71. It was still a little young and would have benefitted from another year or two in storage to be at its best. Still, it was more than drinkable and he was appreciative of the gift, even while he wondered from where Mackenzie had obtained it.

Krang had invited his fellow captain onboard Hegh'Ta primarily for reasons of duty, but also out of curiosity about the man who had come to their aid in battle. Mackenzie's reasons for accepting had been very similar. There was much to discuss if they were to work together effectively to provide the necessary aid to the Orinoco and bring their respective ships back to whatever passed for full strength this far out from a dry dock. Still, despite the brevity of the meeting, and the multiple interruptions, they had somehow found the time to talk about more personal matters as well.

Ushering his Terran guest into the office that had just become his, Krang had opened the bottle in the time-honoured way, with a sharp tap of his d'k tahg blade against the neck before pouring a generous measure into each of two pewter-coloured tankards, one of which he handed to his guest.

The toast made, Mackenzie looked at the bottle, now in two neatly separated pieces. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a Klingon open a bottle in such a fashion, but he'd never quite had the confidence to try it for himself. "I have to ask, "he said suddenly, deciding that he really did want to know… "I imagine your bottles are designed to be opened like that, but how do you not get glass fragments in your wine? Or do you and just don't care?"

"It's not glass," Krang said absently. "Although it looks like it and has similar properties. I see that you have a d'k tahg of your own. Next time I open a bottle, I'll show you the trick of it."

"I don't normally wear it with my Starfleet uniform," Mackenzie admitted, "but it seemed appropriate to do so today, in honour of my visit to your ship, and the one who gave it to me."

Krang nodded. "May I see it?"

Removing the knife from its sheath, Mackenzie handed it hilt first to the Klingon who examined it with interest. The blade was obviously old, but unlike his own, it was not a valuable antique or family heirloom. From the maker's mark stamped on the the primary blade, it was just a standard Defence Force knife, and one that had obviously seen hard use although it appeared to have been well looked after with no signs of rust or damage.

"It belonged to the Klingon soldier who saved my life," Mackenzie said, deciding that he might as well answer the query he could see in the other man's eyes. "Sergeant K'Vin, he said his name was, retired gunnery officer of the IKS Maht-H'a." His expression hardened, at the memory. "I was ten when it happened – the Jem'Hadar invaded. Well, I say invaded, it was more of a 'turn up, slaughter everyone and leave again' type of situation." It was a long story that he had not intended to tell but the Klingon was a surprisingly good listener and seemed genuinely interested. "After he left us in the outhouse, I never saw him again," he concluded. "Rescue came a couple of days later, and I told them everything K'Vin had told me to tell them… not that they took much notice."

"The Jem'Hadar?" Krang frowned, making a quick estimate of the other man's age. "That must have been… what… twenty-five, thirty years ago? They were in the Alpha Quadrant so early?"

"Thirty-two years, and Starfleet say not," Mackenzie said, sudden anger roughening his tone. "Even now, they continue to insist that I am mistaken, that there were no incursions before the discovery of the Bajoran Wormhole. They are wrong, Krang. I know they are wrong. I saw them with my own eyes. I saw what they did to Dorvan III, and I will never forget."

"Before whose discovery of the wormhole?" Krang growled. "It existed for millennia before Starfleet learned of its existence. I have been to Deep Space Nine and have met their security chief. You know he's a Changeling?"

Mackenzie nodded.

"He has been in this quadrant for many years, and he is not the only one. I consider it more than plausible that the Vorta and Jem'Hadar have also been here for longer than we realise."

It did not change the current situation, or the state of the war, Krang knew, but it did make it personal, a matter of honour. And that was something the Klingon understood all too well. "Vengeance is a dish best served cold," he said, quoting a famous Klingon proverb. "And if it were my family, I would not rest until every last Jem'Hadar was dead and the Gamma quadrant drowning in their blood! As it is, they have taken my friend, and I will see him avenged." He leaned forward in his seat, reaching for the bottle of bloodwine. "This war is not over yet. Maybe we will have the opportunity to fight together, side by side, you and I, and take vengeance for those we have lost."

The Terran lifted his own mug in response. "I'll drink to that!"