Onboard the IKS Hegh'Ta
The Klingon ship had been further out than Admiral Portway had realised when she'd given her orders and did not arrive at the starbase until late morning starbase time. Starbase 24, as was the whole of Starfleet, was synced to the Pacific Daylight Time system used in San Francisco, the home of its headquarters. Conveniently, Frontera rotated at the same speed as Earth and was therefore able to use Terran time. Qo'noS, however, had a shorter diurnal period and what was late morning on the starbase, was currently mid afternoon on the Hegh'Ta.
By the time docking manoeuvres were complete, dispatches had been exchanged, and some parts that Hegh'Ta's engineer had asked for had been delivered and installed, and the ship was ready to depart, it was, by Klingon time, well into the evening.
Kissing his wife one last time, Krang stepped up onto the transporter pad and indicated to the operator that he was ready and moments later he materialised in the transporter room of the IKC Hegh'Ta.
The ship's captain was waiting for him in the transporter room. "Security Captain!" Kay'vin said with a wide grin that combined with the lack of grey in his hair and the beardless face – unusual for a Klingon but he claimed his mate liked it that way – made him look a lot younger than his sixty-four years. He approached Krang and clapped him on the shoulder. "It's good to see you again. Welcome onboard."
"I wish you wouldn't call me that," Krang said, frowning. "You know it's supposed to be classified. I'm just a commander now – and a Starfleet one at that." Then, returning Kay'vin's grin, he continued, "But it's good to see you too, you old razorbeast!"
The first friendly insult of the voyage safely delivered, he glanced around the transporter room, taking in his surroundings, and noting that other than the technician, the captain was alone. "Is that beautiful wife of yours not with you? Or is she just too busy in the engine room to come and say hello?"
Kay'vin shook his head. "Our great-granddaughter… or is it our great-great granddaughter? I lose track with the whole seventy-five years in cryo-sleep thing. It's an odd feeling when your grandchildren are older than you are… but anyway, she's just had her first baby, a strong, healthy little boy, so Marla took some leave to help look after her. She'll be back in a couple of months."
Hitting his combadge, Kay'vin snapped an order to the bridge crew, telling them to get the ship under way, before saying to his guest, "Come on, I'll show you to your quarters – you can dump your bags there." And with a sly glance at his old friend, said, "Then, if life in the Federation hasn't turned you soft, I have a barrel of bloodwine waiting in the mess hall."
"If that first officer of yours hasn't drunk it all yet," Krang replied, laughing. "I've never known anyone drink like Kovak; he must have a head made out of solid duranium. Come on then, lead the way."
"Oh, of course. That's something else you wouldn't have heard about," Kay'vin said as they walked down the corridor, "Kovak isn't with us anymore. I have a new first officer."
"Tell me about it," Krang invited. He could think of several reasons that Kovak might not be onboard – promotion, disgrace, or even death, and he had an idea which of those it might be, but he'd learned as a very junior intelligence officer to ask open questions that did not lead in any particular direction, and not to make assumptions.
"He got into a fight on the homeworld," Kay'vin told him. "In a brothel, or so I was told. Plausible enough, I suppose; you know what he was like…"
Krang did know, and that was more or less what he'd expected to hear. Kovak had lived life with passion and was well known among his crewmates for his overindulgence, turning up for duty hungover and in a bad mood, but still well able to do his job. Drink hard, party hard, fight hard, sometimes all three at the same time. It was indeed plausible – and somewhat fitting, if also embarrassing and borderline dishonourable – that he'd meet his end in a place of ill repute.
"So anyway," Kay'vin was continuing, "Imperial Command sent me Ch'vok instead, arrogant targ that he is – some High Family brat who thinks he knows it all. I mean, so was Kovak but at least he was good at his job. I guarantee this one won't be drinking bloodwine – I'm not convinced he even likes gagh!" He snorted his disgust. "If I get lucky, Kargan will try for promotion, and I hope he succeeds!"
It was unusual and more than a little surprising for Kay'vin to take such a strong dislike to someone, and Krang made a mental note to question him further on the subject – but not now. First, he wanted to meet the officer in question and make up his own mind. Besides, such subjects should not be discussed in the corridors where crew could overhear.
Turning into another corridor, the two men came to a halt outside an open door. The guards, one on either side of the door, came stiffly to attention. "At ease!" Kay'vin said, giving them a sharp nod of acknowledgement. He turned his attention back to his companion. "Well, this is it." He stood back to allow Krang to enter his sleeping quarters and then followed him inside.
Krang dumped his kit bag on the floor and surveyed the room. It was bare of furnishings other than a clothes locker, a desk containing a computer console, a chair and a metal slab for sleeping on, a single blanket folded neatly on its hard surface. There was no insult here though; this room was no different to those used by the senior officers of the ship. Only the captain's room would be bigger, and even that would be sparsely furnished.
"Well?" The Klingon captain couldn't resist another dig at his old friend. "Think you can handle it? Or shall I order a feather mattress and some soft cushions?"
"That would be nice," Krang said, carefully keeping a straight face. This sort of banter was normal between the two of them, and he was enjoying the rare opportunity to tease and be teased. Carrying himself with effortless dignity and the innate power of a warrior, he was a serious man, well used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Humourless, some would have said although those who said that did not really know him. In reality, he possessed a dry, subtle sense of humour and a mischievous, rebellious streak that had often got him into trouble in his youth, and which only his mate, children, and the closest and most trusted of his friends (and he most definitely included Kay'vin in that group), ever got to see.
Still, even according to the rules of the game they were playing, there was only so much teasing he would take, even from Kay'vin, and aware that his friend would keep needling until he got the desired response, Krang decided to indulge him and make a pretence of anger. With an ostentatious movement that in itself declared that he was only playing, because if he'd been serious, his enemy would already be seriously injured or dead, Krang pulled his d'k tahg from the ornate, very non-regulation sheath hanging from his utility belt, and inspected it. "But if you insult me again…" He added the expected threat with a low growl, "…I'll kill you where you stand."
"You probably could at that!" Kay'vin said with a burst of laughter, waving back the concerned security guards, who had just come rushing in, believing that the newcomer was threatening their captain. "I don't kid myself I could beat you in a knife fight. I'd enjoy trying though! Now, why don't I leave you to get changed out of those Starfleet pyjamas and…"
"Pyjamas?" Krang bristled with an outrage that was only partially simulated as Kay'vin, ever irrepressible, stepped up his teasing.
"Pyjamas!" the other man said firmly. "Honestly, Krang. You look like an escaped sunbeam! That yellow is so bright I need sunglasses."
Preparing to do verbal battle for the honour of the uniform he wore, Krang gave in and laughed. Kay'vin was not wrong. To Klingon eyes, the mustard gold worn by Starfleet security personnel was painfully bright. He did have some civilian clothing with him, packed thoughtfully by his mate who had insisted he would need more than just a couple of clean uniforms. Chrissie always knew best. Resolutely, he suppressed a pang at the thought of the black leather uniform of Imperial Intelligence that he had once worn so proudly, and that he would never wear again. "The colour is a little bright," he conceded, "but the fabric is comfortable and unlike those horned monstrosities you are wearing, my feet do not hurt."
Snorting his amusement, Kay'vin decided it would be wise to quit while he was ahead, and after instructing one of the guards to escort his guest to the mess hall when he was ready, he made his escape.
When Krang arrived at the mess room, the senior crew were already in there, and from the look of things, the captain's barrel of bloodwine was already half empty. That was no loss; it wasn't Inigan, unlike the half-dozen barrels Krang had sent aboard, as well as several bottles of the really good stuff from his own private stock that he intended to give to Kay'vin. Without conceit, Krang knew that his family vineyards produced some of the best bloodwine in the Empire, and bottled Inigan wine was much more expensive than a ship's captain without family money to rely on could ever hope to afford.
Krang looked around the hall, hoping to see Kay'vin's science officer there. Kehlan had been a friend of his wife for several years, ever since they had met at a scientific conference on Frontera not long before the war had broken out, and he had messages – and a box of Chrissie's home-baked brownies – that he needed to deliver. Both women were keen botanists and despite their differences, had discovered that they had much in common and had bonded over their mutual love of plants. He remembered Chrissie telling him how she'd been a little scared when she'd been caught in the middle of a fight that had broken out between some of the Klingon guests and her new friend had stepped in to ensure her safety. Kehlan had his gratitude for that. Thanks to the war, the two did not often get to meet in person, but had maintained their friendship via letters and, whenever possible, subspace conversations.
Ah, there she was, over by the food table, talking to someone who, by virtue of being the only face he did not recognise, could only be the new first officer, and sure enough as the captain had suggested, he was not drinking the bloodwine – although now that he saw the logo on the barrel, Krang was not completely sure he could blame him for that. Defence Force swill from the Opri Vintners, one of the Inigan Estate's main competitors. Krang almost snorted at that; his own estate would not stoop to producing such rubbish, even for a lucrative Defence Force contract.
From this distance Krang could not hear what they were talking about, but the man – Ch'vok, Kay'vin had said he was called – was standing far too close to her, and her stiff posture and body language indicated that she was far from happy. He said something to her, and as Krang watched, Kehlan stepped back and slammed her mug down on the nearby table, hand dropping down to her side, very close to where her d'k tahg hung, and although she did not actually touch the weapon, the slight twitch of her fingers broadcast a very clear warning.
Deciding that now would be a good moment to go and greet her, Krang moved across the room. She caught sight of him as he approached, and her face lighting up with a smile that he thought contained more than a hint of relief, she came to meet him "Krang! It's good to see you!"
Drawing his wife's friend into what could only be called a bear hug, he lifted her off her feet, turning her in a circle, much as he would one of his daughters, although he rather thought Ch'vok would see it in a different light. Hegh'Ta's first officer was staring at them both in a way that Krang did not like and which he considered borderline offensive. Deliberately, he prolonged the embrace, using it to send the other man a message that Kehlan was under his protection and was not without friends.
"The hug is from Chrissie," he said a little awkwardly, putting her down again. "She sent this as well." He pressed the box of brownies into her hand. "Don't open it now; there aren't enough to go round, and trust me, you won't want to share them."
Kehlan grinned, accepting both the hug and the brownies. "Trust me, I don't intend to; Chrissie's baking is legendary. How is she? I'd have liked to see her and catch up, but…" She shrugged, accepting the necessity of the mission. "Maybe on the return journey."
"I can see that you two at least, know each other."
The man had followed Kehlan across the room. The words were innocent enough but there was a note of sly enjoyment in his voice. Sensing Kehlan's anger, Krang tightened his grip on her shoulder and moved a little closer to her. "Play along," he murmured into her ear. "It'll get him off your back for a while, at least while I'm onboard, and besides, he's not worth soiling your d'k tahg."
Then addressing the first officer, he said coolly in his best 'Line Lord' voice, "You must be Ch'vok. The captain has told me about you."
Sensing the unspoken warning and recognising the blatantly upper-class accent with which Krang spoke, Ch'vok gave an ingratiating smile. "Pleased to meet you, Commander; let me get you some bloodwine."