Imperial Intelligence Headquarters
Qo'noS, 2392
"…What do you mean, missing?"
Moragh grew so still when he understood what his friend was saying that he momentarily forgot to breathe or blink.
The two security captains had been huddled together in front of Moragh's computer, putting a plan in place to work on the project Lorgh had given Krang. Due to its political sensitivity, the bulk of the work would be carried out by FedKIN, but there was still much that Moragh could do to help, and since a very disgruntled Krang had barged into Moragh's office, they'd made a good start.
The screech of Krang's combadge was startling to both men, and wincing at the shrill sound that was almost painful to Klingon ears, Moragh had almost jumped out of his seat before realising what it was and relaxing again.
The call was obviously for Krang, and although Moragh deliberately turned away, studying the screen in an effort to give his friend at least the illusion of privacy, he could hardly avoid hearing, and when Krang's horrified question registered, he gave up all pretence of not listening.
Snatching up a stylus, he looked at the chronometer on the wall that showed the time in all the major capitals of the Empire, as well as Frontera and Earth since he had dealings with both; he deducted a few seconds from it to account for elapsed time. Knowing the exact time of the call might be helpful later on.
Although Krang's face was immobile, it was also several shades paler than normal and Moragh was afraid he might lose consciousness. Pushing back his chair he went and retrieved a bottle of bloodwine, opening it in the traditional manner with a quick tap of his d'k tahg against the neck. Sloshing some of the oily-looking liquid into two tankards he took them back to where they'd been sitting and put one into the trembling hand that lay twitching slightly on the dark wood of his desk. It took a moment for it to register, but eventually Krang raised it to his lips and managed to swallow some of it.
This was impossible, Moragh thought, connecting remotely to the FedKIN databases to get more information, but all he could find was the initial call saying that the subject, presumably Chrissie, was unable to be located by a friend on the approved list who had come to collect her for lunch out with several of other friends. The time stamp on this was only fifteen minutes before. Krang was not asking very many questions, going silent several times while the person who had called continued speaking.
The voice was feminine, speaking Federation Standard, and Moragh recognised it as belonging to Jenny, the mate of his friend Gray-ham, and that it was she who had been the first to discover what had happened, although the details of that were not yet clear to the listening Klingon.
"I don't think I am explaining this very well, Krang, I'm sorry. Graham's here now. I'll put him on. He's been talking with the security team, so I'm sure he'll be able to give you better information than I can."
Krang looked up then and held out the empty tankard, which Moragh quickly refilled, shocked by the expression in his friend's eyes. It was complete and utter terror, not one he'd ever seen there before. It was a look that was utterly bewildered and said "Help me! I don't know what to do!", which was more frightening than the idea that gentle Chrissie who had nothing but kindness in her could be in trouble.
Moragh had not understood her when they'd first met, but he'd followed Karela's dictate to invite her to dinner when she found out the human woman had been left alone on the immense Inigan estate while her mate had returned to the war. Chrissie's innate courtesy and soft-spoken manner had seemed to him like weakness until he realised that nothing could be further from the truth – they were, in fact, what made her strong and were her greatest weapons.
To see the confident man who always had an answer to every question, even if it was only how to go about finding it if not immediately apparent, afraid and looking lost, made Moragh realise how little time had really elapsed since his friend had been kidnapped and subjected to torture that no amount of training could have possibly prepared him for.
Moragh tried to still the panic he felt bubbling up inside because he didn't know what to do either, although his well-trained mind automatically began ticking off all the questions Krang should be asking but wasn't. Looking up when he realised that silence had fallen, he saw that Krang was looking straight ahead, staring at something only he could see. He heard his own name coming from Krang's combadge.
"Moragh? Moragh, are you there?" It was Graham, but for once, the Klingon did not respond with a teasing comment. This was business now.
"I'm here. Not much to go on, is there?" he said in a voice he was appalled to hear wavered a little. He cleared his throat and took a long swallow of the wine. "Listen, we can do nothing from here. I think there's one of Starfleet's new slipstream ships in port…" He was already checking the database as he spoke. Yes, there was, the USS Bannister. It was an odd name, he thought, before remembering its significance. Roger Bannister, first human to run a mile in less than four minutes. It had been the winning question in that… what had Graham called it? Ah yes, pub quiz… that he'd taken him to last time he'd been on the starbase. An appropriate name for one of the fastest ships in the Federation fleet. "I'm going to requisition it," he continued, "and we'll be there in two days. I don't care if it comes apart afterwards; we need to get there as soon as possible."
"We'll be glad of your help," Graham admitted, "because I for one have no idea what we're dealing with here. No one went in or out. There is no transporter trace but more importantly, the shield remained in place the entire time. I'm not saying it's impossible, but barring some alien tech we have never seen, it's unlikely that's what happened." There were voices in the background and after a moment listening, Graham spoke again. "I have to go, Moragh. They want us to leave so they can do more detailed sweeps. Um, Krang..."
Looking over, Moragh saw a more familiar look on his old friend's face and knew he'd regained some of his equanimity and was going over all the data he'd received so far. "He's here. Running through it all in his head although there is not a lot to go on, is there? We'll be leaving soon. I'm not letting him go alone. Two days, two and a half if the ship objects to running at maximum the entire time."
Graham made a sound that was perhaps supposed to be a laugh but sounded more like a grunt of displeasure. "I'm sure you'll manage to make sure that doesn't happen. See you soon." He ended the call at the urging of someone in the background.
Krang finally spoke, his voice hoarse and ragged, face a mask, but eyes desperate. Moragh tried to imagine what it would be like to get this news about his Karela and found he couldn't breathe.
"I can't go on your ship; I need to take Night Dagger."
"But Krang," Moragh objected, "it'll take five days and we can be there in less than half that."
"I know, but..." Eyes darting around the room, Krang seemed to be considering what to say next. Reaching into a pocket, he withdrew a small, flat circle of some black material and set it on the desk in front of them, depressing a small indentation on the top.
Moragh knew what it was and tried not to be insulted. As if he'd have encouraged any free discourse between them if he hadn't checked for bugs at the beginning and put his own protective measures in place. One could never know what might evade a sweep and it was wise to be cautious. Night Dagger was no ordinary ship, its secrets known only to a very select few.
"There's no need Krang, I already know what you're going to tell me. You told me years ago what a special ship it is and besides, I was at the trial, so I understand why you need to be on her. But consider the state of mind you'll be in for five whole days before letting your little Dagger out of her sheath. On my ship it'll be half or less and you'll have a less distressing journey."
"You don't need to come with me."
Moragh shook his head but did not look up because he was sending the orders for the Bannister to be made ready at once for an emergency. As an added precaution, he sent a priority message to the chancellor telling him what he needed and why.
"Might be a tight fit, but they can put your ship in the hold. Come on… Up! We need to get going. I'll place all the other calls I need to make on the move."
He opened a door which revealed a large wardrobe and extracted an always ready go-bag. The comm sounded just as he closed the door. The Bannister was cleared for immediate departure. Another message followed, this time from Martok, offering whatever help was needed and telling Moragh he'd take care of clearing his absence with Lorg.
Another door revealed an arsenal and momentarily distracted, Krang stared in amazement. Without any explanation, Moragh handed him a bat'leth from a rack of them on one wall. He took one for himself and one of the ridiculously huge phaser rifles he favoured, slinging it over his shoulder. If they were lucky, he thought optimistically, they'd find the perpetrators and he would be able to turn them into a small, neat pile of ash – after interrogating them, of course. The Federation could object all they wanted to, but there would be no trial with a comfortable rehabilitation centre for the kidnappers at the other end. He had the authority to fight whatever arguments were presented and he would, strenuously. Chrissie was a citizen of the Klingon Empire and a Line Lady. The Federation could talk themselves to a standstill, but Klingons knew what to do when a member of a great House was harmed.
Don't, he thought while his long legs ate up the distance to the transporter room. Don't let her have been harmed