Inigan House, Frontera City

Two days later than planned, Krang had finally managed to get an afternoon off duty so he could spend some time with his youngest children. The Klingon fleet, having stocked up on supplies and carried out whatever repairs were necessary, had finally left, heading back to the front lines. Their visit had been surprisingly peaceful with only a few drunken scuffles in the bars, and he suspected their fleet commander had warned them to be on their best behaviour – just as he had done with the Federation marines.

Removing his wet uniform and throwing it in the fresher to be cleaned, he'd had a quick sonic shower and changed into civilian clothing –a heavy leather tunic that was blatantly Klingon which he'd matched with a pair of scruffy Terran jeans that had once been black but had long since faded to a charcoal grey and were dangerously close to developing holes in the knees. Sliding his feet into a pair of equally disreputable but very comfortable sneakers, he went downstairs to join his family.

He'd hoped to take the children to the park, but the weather had put paid to that idea. The temperature only a little above freezing, rain was pouring relentlessly from a dark, overcast sky. It was heavy enough that just taking those few steps from the beaming-in point to the front door had been enough to leave him soaking wet, the gold and black fabric of his Starfleet security uniform clinging to his skin, and long hair plastered to his skull and hanging down his back like rats' tails. He grimaced at the sensation of cold water sliding down his neck. No wonder his colleague had been so willing to swap shifts, he thought grumpily; this was not the sunny day that weather control had predicted. It was nothing unusual for the time of year, but it was more than enough to ruin his plans for the afternoon.

Right now, he was sitting on the floor of the children's playroom with his little son on his knee. Meren had just turned three years old, and they'd thrown a little party in honour of the occasion, inviting some of the children from the nursery he attended. At least, unlike today it had stayed dry, and the children had been able to play in the garden, running round like mad things and wearing off at least some of the sugar high that had been the inevitable result of the cakes and other sweet things they had eaten. The Klingon almost shuddered at the memory. He would not admit it, but he'd had a glorious time playing with the little ones.

His son, the youngest of his children, had been named after Krang's brother, the much-loved older brother who had raised him and who had died saving his life. He had not lived long enough to meet the child who was named in his honour, but Krang rather thought that if the residents of Sto-vo-kor were aware of the living, then Meren would approve of his namesake. The child was a healthy, rambunctious little boy who, if the softness of his cranial ridges was discounted, was the image of his father. He was already showing an interest in weapons, much to his tera'ngan mother's dismay, and his favourite toy, a miniature wooden bat'leth that Krang had carved for him, was currently being held tightly in his tiny fist.

On either side of the big Klingon, his two daughters sat cross-legged, listening raptly as their father finished the story he was telling. Only a year apart in age, Kara and Kehlan were alike enough to be twins and just like their little brother, they adored their father.

"Now, Kally," he asked the younger girl, "why did Kahless fight his brother?" The child was actually named Kehlan, for Chrissie's close friend, but it had long since been affectionately shortened and her full name tended to only be used when she was in trouble… which due to her mischievous nature seemed to be a regular occurrence.

The five-year-old concentrated, thinking about the question she had been asked. "Because he told a lie," she said finally.

"Is that a bad thing?"

She nodded solemnly, "That's very bad."

"It's more than bad," Kara, the elder of the two girls, added. "It's dis-hon-able." At his frown, she immediately corrected herself "Dis-honour-able."

Krang tried and failed to hide his smile at her careful pronunciation of the word. "So, what should Morath have done?" He looked up, his faint smile becoming broader as his wife came into the room, interrupting the lesson.

"There's a message for you from Starfleet Command," Chrissie said. "Admiral Portway wants to talk to you. She wouldn't say what it's about, but I think it's important."

"I'll take it in the office," Krang said, handing the little boy to his mother and getting to his feet. Heading towards the small room he used when working from home, he mentally reviewed what he knew of the admiral. Isis Portway was Terran, from a small city with the rather odd name of Bedford, located in England… or the United Kingdom… or Great Britain. He'd been there many times, but only to London, and once to Edinburgh – but that city was not in England. Then there was Belfast. He'd been there once as well, and that wasn't in England or Great Britain either, but it was in the United Kingdom. The multiple names for the same location, all of them official and all having slightly different meanings, were more than a little confusing to the Klingon.

He was digressing, he realised, going off on a tangent, something that happened far too frequently when his wife was around. It was not that Chrissie was scatter-brained, but she was interested in everything and would zigzag from subject to subject and often needed prompting to get back to the point. She was a bad influence on his normally orderly thought processes, but he would not change her for the world. Suppressing a grin at the thought, he swiftly brought his mind back to the subject of the admiral who was waiting, by now probably impatiently, for him to take the call.

Promoted to the Admiralty several years ago, he remembered that there had recently been some trouble. Portway had been accused of having Maquis sympathies but there hadn't been enough hard evidence to convict her. Personally, Krang suspected the rumours were true. Of course, with the outbreak of the Dominion war, that was water under the bridge; Starfleet couldn't afford to lose any more of its officers, especially not one so competent.

Sitting down at his desk, he activated the viewscreen, and touching a few keys, signalled acceptance of the incoming transmission. The Federation logo flickered and was replaced by the image of a human woman wearing the uniform of a Starfleet Admiral. She looked to be in her late forties maybe early fifties with short, sandy-red hair.

"NuqneH?" Krang greeted her. "You must be Admiral Portway."

She inclined her head, "That's right. And you are obviously Commander Krang. You're out of uniform."

"I am off duty at present," Krang informed her, a little stiffly. He worked more than his fair share of hours, and he did not think he deserved the reprimand implied by her tone.

"As am I." The admiral sighed, suddenly looking tired. "At least, I would be if the situation allowed. I'll be honest with you, Commander, things aren't looking good."

"What can I do for you?" the Klingon asked gruffly, allowing himself to relax a little. Her words were an explanation rather than an apology, but he decided to accept them as such.

"We need you here on Earth," Admiral Portway informed him. "I want you to attend a meeting between Starfleet and the Federation Council – try to convince them of the need to implement stricter security protocols."

"What makes you so sure they'll take any notice?" Krang said, frowning. "You're an admiral. If they won't listen to you, then why should they listen to a mere commander?"

"We both know you're not just a commander," the admiral snapped. "That might be the rank the Federation gave you, but however classified your background is, I know, you know, and they know, exactly what a Klingon Captain of Security really is – and its not quite the mid-level rank you allowed us to think it was!" She paused. "If anyone can persuade them, you can. Will you do it?"

She had phrased it as a question, but there was only one acceptable answer. "It would be my honour," the Klingon responded, choosing to ignore her jab about his rank. The term 'security captain' did not translate well into Federation standard. He had not been a captain who worked in a security role, but rather, something equivalent to a general or admiral. It was true that he could have been a little more forthcoming, but he had explained it clearly enough and it was not his fault if their intelligence gathering was subpar and they had misinterpreted what he had told them.

"Good," the admiral said, a look of relief crossing her face. I've already sent Captain Kay'vin of the Hegh'Ta for you. He should reach Starbase 24 some time late tonight or early tomorrow morning. Be ready to leave immediately he arrives."

"Very well," the Klingon acknowledged, pleased by that bit of news. He knew Kay'vin well and considered him to be a good friend even if they did not meet in person as often as he would like. It would be good to see him again and spend some time with him. "Krang out." He reached out and cut the connection. He was still sitting staring at the blank screen, mentally making plans – although other than notifying his commanding officer, packing a few uniforms and maybe a tub of Chrissie's brownies into a kitbag, there was actually very little for him to do – when he was disturbed by a sudden commotion in the hallway as his two older children arrived him from school. The front door opened and then slammed closed again, followed by two voices, bickering as they always did, although with his office door closed. He could not hear the words being spoken but he thought he caught something about homework and the name of a teacher.

Giving up on the idea of getting anything useful done, he got up and went to greet the children. He was not their natural father; Antonio and Josefina were full Terran, the result of Chrissie's first marriage, but he was the only father they knew, and he loved them as his own. "What are you doing home from school this early?" he asked with a sternness that was wholly for show.

"Oh, come on Vavoy," Fina said giggling, diving into his arms for a hug. "It's four o clock, we're always home at this time."

"Except when you have dance class, or sports or bat'leth practice," Krang retorted. "Or any one of a hundred different activities. Which was it this time?" As he spoke, he wrapped his arms around her, and lifting her off her feet, planted a kiss in the middle of her forehead before putting her down again and turning his attention to his son.

"It was football today," Toni informed his father. Seeing the question on his father's face, he answered it before it was asked. "Soccer, I mean, not the American version. But it got cancelled because of the rain." He added cheekily, "so we thought we'd come home and be a nuisance."

"That's nothing new," Krang said, laughing, and reaching out to tousle the boy's dark hair. "Now let's go and find your mother. I need to talk to you all."

"I'm in the kitchen," Chrissie called, and they trooped in to join her. The younger ones were already seated at the large table in the centre of the room, Meren messy as usual, with chocolate round his mouth from the piece of cake he was eating, and the girls giggling together over something on a padd, technically not allowed at the dinner table and they quickly put it away when they saw their father.

He took a seat and Fina quickly grabbed the one next to him. Toni, he was pleased to see, went to help his mother. Those two had a close bond and the boy always seemed to enjoy working with her, whether digging up weeds in the garden or preparing food in the kitchen.

For a little while, Krang sat quietly, enjoying the familial chaos. He spent as much time with his children as possible, scheduling his work as best he could to allow him to be home for a little while at this time of day, although it was not always possible, and he often had to return to work later in the evening. He was going to miss this when he was away, he thought, and then told himself not to be so self indulgent. He would be gone two or three weeks, four at the most.

"So, what did the Admiralty want?" Chrissie asked, placing a tray on the table containing glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice for the children and something a little stronger for her husband, as well as a plate of the fresh-baked chocolate brownies that the whole family loved. "Can you talk about it or is it something classified?"

"Qis'ta-oy," Krang said to his wife, holding out a hand to her, "Come and sit down."

She did so, a flicker of concern crossing her face. She loved the exotic way her husband pronounced her full name, but he almost never used it, and when he did, it usually meant trouble. "You sound serious. What is it? Is something wrong?"

Krang took a deep breath before saying bluntly, "I have been called to Earth." There was a stunned silence as he told his family about his conversation with Admiral Portway.

"Cool!" Typically it was Toni who broke the silence. "Are we coming with you?"

Krang shook his head. "You'd miss too much school."

"Oh, that's not fair," the boy protested, "I'll be thirteen in two weeks; you'll never be back by then."

"Please let us come," Fina chimed in hopefully.

"I'll bring you back something special," the big Klingon promised, "and we can have a celebration when I return."

Chrissie looked at her husband gravely. "Maybe we should come with you," she said, her voice quiet.

"ghobe'!" Krang insisted, shaking his head in emphatic refusal. "No! My decision is final." Seeing the looks on their faces, he softened a little but did not change his mind. "Earth is at risk from the Jem'Hadar. I want you here on Frontera where it's safe."