USS Endeavour NCC-71805
Late evening, Friday 14th February 2375
Deciding that he had earned a break from the massive piles of 'paperwork' that were an inevitable but much hated part of running a ship, Mackenzie put down the padd he'd been reading and leaned back in his chair. Arms behind his head and legs extended in front of him, he stretched his muscles, groaning as they twinged in complaint at his prolonged inactivity. He'd been sitting here too long and was in need of some exercise, or even better, some caffeine. Getting to his feet, he went to get a cup of coffee from the replicator – hot, black, and very strong, with a generous dash of honey to sweeten it.
About to return to his desk, he stopped and ordered a piece of cake as well. Battenberg… he'd always liked the yellow and pink squares, surrounded by thick, almond marzipan. Not at all good for him, especially after the large meal he'd eaten earlier, having finally found the opportunity to make good on his dinner invitation to the Klingon captain. Luckily, T'Lia was not here to see and lecture him, although she had no reason to do so since he was anything but overweight. Tall and slender, he was almost the opposite, in fact – and his blood sugar was just fine, thank you very much. What his CMO didn't know about wouldn't hurt her – or him. He chuckled at that thought and took a bite of the cake.
As well as Krang, Mackenzie had invited his own senior bridge officers – Kehlan, T'Lia, Argyle and Speares. He'd made use of one of the holodecks on deck ten for dinner, the chosen program recreating a restaurant back on Earth that was famous for its claim to have been founded by a stranded alien in that planet's twentieth century. However unlikely the claim, 'The Neutral Zone' as the restaurant was called, was an interesting place. He'd been to the real one a couple of times – as had Krang during his time on Earth, he was amused to discover – and they were both in agreement that this was a very good reproduction.
Located in a rundown area of central London, it was an old Victorian building, its narrow frontage sandwiched between a Chinese takeaway and a kebab shop. Like many buildings of that era, it was bigger inside than it seemed, with a well stocked bar on the left-hand side and a dance floor in the middle, separating the eating area into two halves. The right-hand wall had been painted with a space scene, complete with planets and colourful nebulae, and at some point, someone had added Federation starships and a couple of Klingon birds-of-prey to the image.
The food they'd eaten had been provided by Bart. Endeavour's bartender was able to access any room which had holographic emitters, and Mackenzie had had them installed around the ship to give him almost as much freedom of movement as an organic crewmember. While the food was Terran, the hologram had taken Kehlan's advice and chosen a good range of meat and vegetable dishes, some of which, like the shrimp creole and chilli chicken enchiladas, were highly spiced while others, like the vegetable tikka masala, were milder but still rich in flavour.
The evening had proved interesting and entertaining, even if it had left him with more questions than had been answered. On the surface, Krang appeared to be a serious, almost humourless man, although that had turned out to be deceptive. Admittedly, Mackenzie not met Krang under the most ideal of circumstances. Hegh'Ta's previous captain had, he learned, been one of Krang's closest friends, and anyone who thought Klingons did not grieve their losses, really did not know Klingons at all.
As he'd got to know Krang a little better, it had become quickly apparent that hidden underneath the grim expression was a dry sense of humour which at times turned into outright mischief. He was quieter and more thoughtful than the average Klingon, possibly a result of his long exposure to Terran culture, but there was a sense of… something… being restrained behind a thin veneer of civilisation. Krang was not a human for all he'd learned to act like one.
Mackenzie found himself wondering about the other captain's past. From his age and bearing, Krang was obviously an experienced officer, used to being in command. He held the rank of commander in Starfleet, but his attitude, even allowing for the typical Klingon arrogance, was one of seniority.
Taking another bite of the Battenberg, he took a moment to savour the rich almond flavour before leaning forward and keying in a request for Krang's Starfleet personnel record.
The file was, he discovered with some surprise, very brief, and covered only his time in Starfleet. Seven years ago Krang epetai Inigan had been assigned to the USS Ulysses as assistant security chief with the rank of lieutenant. At about the same time, he had been hailed a 'Hero of the Klingon Empire' by Chancellor Gowron, an accolade that was not given out lightly. Yet there were no reasons given for the award, just that one frustrating word – classified. That, in Mackenzie's view, was very odd. Two years later, Krang had been promoted and reassigned as security chief on Frontera, which was listed as his current assignment. Just seven years.
Getting more interested, Captain Mackenzie began to investigate further, but there was nothing in either the Federation or Klingon databases, no career information and no records from his earlier life, not even a date of birth. It was as though seven years ago the Klingon had not existed.
It was frustrating to say the least. Other than his time with Starfleet, almost the only thing he knew about Krang was that he owned a vineyard. Now that discovery had been embarrassing. Talk about a major faux pas, although considering Krang had not told him his full name, he was not sure how he could possibly have known. His new first officer, Kehlan had burst into horrified laughter when she'd found out about his gift to the Klingon.
The Holodeck, a few hours earlier
"You gave him bloodwine?"
Mackenzie nodded, not quite sure why Kehlan seemed to find that so amusing. "A bottle of the 2372 Inigan vintage. It's supposed to be good quality." It should be, considering the price he'd paid for it, and certainly it had tasted better than anything he'd had before. He would admit, although most definitely not in present company, that he was not a huge fan of the Klingon beverage. In common with Argyle, he would much rather drink Scotch whisky, preferably a good quality single malt such as Talisker or Jura.
"It's one of the top vineyards in the Empire," Kehlan confirmed with a grin. "I prefer Opri myself but…" She glanced at Krang wickedly. "You didn't hear that."
Krang shot a mock glare at the young woman. "Only because you've never had decent bloodwine. Opri are one of my biggest rivals," he added for the benefit of the non-Klingons at the table. "Fek'lhr knows why, because their quality is awful. The stuff they sell to the Defence Force is no better than targ swill."
Mackenzie made a mental note of her preference, and another one to never offer Krang anything from that vineyard, or for that matter, drink it himself if he could avoid it.
He was about to speak when Speares butted in. The big marine knew nothing at all about Klingon bloodwine but was nevertheless enjoying seeing his captain being teased. "So, if Inigan is such good wine, what's the problem?"
"Thank you," Mackenzie said with a laugh. "That's exactly my question."
"It's nae single malt whisky," Argyle interjected with a hearty laugh. "That's what's wrong wi' it."
"You really don't know, do you?" She looked from him to Krang and back again with amused astonishment. "Did he not tell you his House name?"
"Know what?" Mackenzie was starting to get annoyed now. "What do you mean?" He directed his attention to the Klingon. "You said your name was Krang. I don't remember you giving me any other name.""
The Klingon kept his expression serious but there was a glint in his eyes that indicated his enjoyment of the situation. "This is your story, Kehlan. I will let you tell him."
"Krang Marek puqlod Inigan tuq," she quoted, and then waited for Mackenzie to make the connection.
The word 'puqlod' meant son of, he knew that, and 'tuq' referred to the House or family line. "So… the son of Marek, from the House of…" He stopped. "Inigan. As in Inigan wine?"
Kehlan was no longer able to hide her amusement. "He owns the vineyard. You only gave him a bottle of his own wine!"
Captain's office, IKS Hegh'Ta
February fourteenth. Krang swore under his breath as the significance of the date caught up with him. Why had he not remembered earlier? Valentine's Day! More to the point, late evening on Valentine's day and he hadn't arranged a gift for his wife!
The celebration was purely a Terran one, and was not a part of his culture, and his mind had been on preparations for his son's upcoming thirteenth birthday. In both his world and Chrissie's, that was an important year for a boy, far more important than some ridiculous, over-commercialised celebration of romantic love.
He'd looked up its meaning once, and then wished he hadn't, finding that he was even more confused by the whole thing. The name itself was a good one, coming from the Latin word 'valentinus' meaning worthy, strong or powerful. It was a name worthy of a Klingon, Krang thought, if only it hadn't got mixed up with hearts, flowers and winged babies. But how and why a Christian bishop beheaded over two thousand years ago had become the patron saint of lovers… and oddly, beekeepers and epilepsy as well, he had no idea. Whatever reasons existed had been lost in antiquity.
Still, he'd always participated in it because his wife was Terran and if the whole 'card, flowers, and chocolates' thing made her happy, then he'd do it. Except… he hadn't!
He sighed. It was too late now for him to do anything about it. He glanced at the time. No, actually, it was not quite as late as he'd thought. Calculating the time difference was not always simple, because thanks to the shorter diurnal period on Qo'noS, it changed a little each day. For the moment, that meant that Starfleet was several hours behind Klingon time. It would be a good idea, he decided, to put a second clock on his desk so he could more easily keep track of the time zones.
"Computer, what time is it on Starbase 24?"
"The time on Starbase 24 is currently 20:10," the computer responded obligingly, if not quite as politely as a Federation computer would have done, and Krang could almost imagine it telling him to look it up himself.
Ten past eight in the evening. It could be worse. Thanks to all the comings and goings of the various ships, most of the shops on the Alpha and Beta promenades tended to stay open much longer than their planetside equivalents, and quite a lot of them even opened twenty-four Terran hours a day. Whether there were any decent flowers left by this time was another matter, but he had nothing to lose by trying.
"Computer, place a call to Starbase 24, main security office."
"Working." There was a long pause and then the computer spoke again. "Call connected."
The Vulcan features of his deputy, Lieutenant Star, appeared on the viewscreen. He raised an elegantly pointed eyebrow in polite query as he saw his boss, no doubt taking in the Klingon clothing he was wearing and wondering about it but too well-mannered to comment until he knew what his boss wanted.
As Vulcans went, Star was easy to work with. The lieutenant was steady, calm, and reliable, which was a good thing considering the constant teasing he got about his name. As far as Krang knew, in Vulcan it held no astronomical significance although he was unsure what, if anything it did mean in that language. One thing he was certain of, however, was that if anyone had tried to treat him in such a disrespectful manner, he'd have killed them by now, although since the Federation frowned on things like that, Star's strategy of simply ignoring the problem was probably the better one.
His deputy was a good officer – stellar, Krang might have said if it had been anyone else, and always willing to go the extra mile, although as a fellow non-Terran, whether he would comprehend Krang's request was anyone's guess. Still, he was married – bonded as the Vulcans called it – and no doubt understood the importance of pleasing one's mate.
"NuqneH, sir?" The Vulcan had been making an effort to learn Klingon and was doing quite well, although he struggled a little with the pronunciation of some words and had more than once been heard complaining that tlhIngan Hol was not a logical language. "I was not expecting to hear from you until your return."
The Klingon held up one hand in an attempt at the Vulcan salute, grimacing when his fingers would not part properly into the required 'V' shape. "I need your help with something."
"Is there a problem, sir?"
"No, there's no problem," Krang said quickly. "At least, not work-related. I'm calling to ask a favour."