“And you believe him?” Vark sounded dubious.

  Rov grinned. “No. But stranger things have been known to happen. As for Kl’rt, Gitak, and Akor, if they died, they did so in a noble cause. We will reclaim the empire, Vark—or is that no longer your goal?”

  “Of course it’s my goal! If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t give a targ’s ass for how you were running this operation.”

  “Good.” Rov then put his hand to his ear. “QI’yaH,” he muttered. “All right, begin a coordinated search, top to bottom. Do not be fooled by the child’s uniform the guard wears, nor by Worf’s dishonorable actions—underestimating them will result only in defeat. Treat them like you would any other warrior you would stalk.”

  Alexander frowned. Dishonorable actions? Father? What’s he talking about? Then again, these were obviously terrorists, possibly fanatics. They did not behave rationally. At that thought, Alexander almost smiled. Mother would say there’s no such thing as a rational Klingon.

  But Rov mentioned a noble cause. That meant he had taken the embassy with a specific purpose in mind. Alexander was determined to find out what it was.

  “Worf may also have information,” Vark said. “Kl’rt’s body was not on the second floor.”

  Rov waved an arm. “He could’ve been vaporized.”

  “Gitak and Akor were killed without being vaporized,” Vark said. “He probably took Kl’rt prisoner and has his communications unit.”

  “It does not matter,” Rov snapped. “Kl’rt would die before giving up anything, least of all to that honorless petaQ. And we have switched frequencies.”

  Again, Alexander suppressed a smile. He knew things that Rov and Vark obviously did not about Father: He killed only when he had to, and he had ways of finding things out if he needed to. If this Kl’rt’s body was missing, it meant Father did have him as a prisoner.

  “What if he discovers the new frequency? He is trained by Starfleet, and they are quite good at tinkering.”

  Rov scowled at Vark. Alexander could see the tension brimming in the younger man, and he wondered if a duel would break out right here. He sort of hoped one would, as it might provide a good distraction.

  Unfortunately, Rov got himself under control and put his hand to his ear. “B’Urgan, run a systems check. Find Kl’rt’s communications device.” A pause. “You’re sure it’s nowhere in the embassy?” He looked at Vark. “Satisfied? Kl’rt probably destroyed the device. He’s a good soldier.”

  “You’d better hope so,” Vark muttered.

  Again, Rov scowled. He moved closer to Vark. “Or what?”

  “Or we will all die for nothing! I told you to wait until Worf was gone from the embassy, but you did not listen!”

  “And I told you that we need him as a hostage!” Rov held up a hand before Vark could respond to that. “Enough! It is done. Speak of it again, and I will kill you, old man.”

  Vark said nothing.

  Alexander tried to think of ways to exploit this rift between the two men who had violated his home—for that was how he thought of this place. Not long after he was born, Mother was appointed Federation ambassador to the Klingon Empire. They traveled a great deal, of course, but this was where they remained when on the Homeworld—in fact, it was the only place on the planet they ever went. Legally speaking, Alexander was truly never on Qo’noS until after he joined the Klingon Defense Force during the war. Prior to that, he’d been only at the embassy, which was Federation soil. Mother had always insisted on beaming directly to the embassy from whatever ship they were on, and they had taken an apartment within the embassy walls. Mother hadn’t wanted Alexander exposed to “Klingon nonsense,” at least not until, as she had put it, “you’re old enough to make an informed decision about it.”

  Ever since Father was appointed to the very same position, Alexander had taken every opportunity to visit him here. Part of that was a desire to revisit the haunt of his infancy and youth, though the place had almost completely changed since he was a child. Still and all, despite having lived on the EnterpriseD, with his grandparents on Earth, and on the ships where he’d served in the Defense Force, he considered this embassy to be his first home.

  But that was only part of it. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had a father. When Alexander first met Worf, he denied that he even had a son—his way of protecting Alexander from a dishonor he was suffering at the time—but after Mother died, he claimed the boy and tried to raise him. “Try” being the operative word. With the distance of time, Alexander could now objectively see that there were few people in this galaxy less suited to fatherhood than the son of Mogh. But his attempts to make Alexander into a warrior fell on the deaf ears of a boy who wanted to find his own path. After the EnterpriseD was destroyed and Father, Alexander, and some of Father’s friends were caught up in a Romulan plot to overthrow the empire, Alexander went to Earth to live with Sergey and Helena Rozhenko, the humans who had raised Father after his own family was killed at Khitomer.

  Oddly, the cry of the warrior did not come until after Alexander had been separated from Father for a number of years. Then he enlisted with the Defense Force, serving first on the Korvak, then the Rotarran—where he was reunited with Father—and finally the Ya’Vang, where he still served.

  Except, of course, when he visited Father, whether here or on one of his assignments, as he had in the so-called Genesis sector a year and a half ago. He had even unofficially aided Father in some of his diplomatic duties.

  Now it’s time to help him out again. He needed to learn more about what was happening here.

  Rov was now looking over the hostages. “My name is Rov, son of Pekdal. You are prisoners of Klahb. If our demands are met, you will all live, though you will probably not be able to remain in this embassy. If our demands are not met, you will all die unpleasant deaths.”

  Next to Alexander, Wu spoke. The aide had not moved, had barely blinked, for the entire time Alexander had been present. “And what would those demands be, Rov, son of Pekdal?” Wu’s tone was one of respect, though not quite as deferential as Rov might have desired, in Alexander’s opinion.

  Smiling, Rov walked over to the northwest corner of the room. “I know you. You are Giancarlo Wu, the ambassador’s senior attaché.”

  “That is correct. That also does not answer my question.”

  At that, Rov laughed. “You are brave, human.” Rov then looked at Alexander. “I do not know you.”

  “I do.” Alexander looked past Rov to see Vark actually smiling for the first time since Alexander had come in the meeting room. Indeed, Alexander was sure he’d never seen Vark smile at all before. “This is Alexander.” He looked at Rov. “Son of Worf.”

  That put a smile on Rov’s face as well. “Really?”

  “If you think capturing me will get you anything…” Alexander started.

  “I know it has gained me another valuable hostage,” Rov said. “That is all that matters.” He put his hand to his ear. “B’Urgan, have you rigged the external—”

  A voice came from the meeting-room doorway. “Yes, I have.”

  Alexander looked up to see a very attractive young woman, also dressed as a kitchen steward, holding a large communications unit of some kind. I’m guessing this is how they’re going to let the High Council know what their demands are. Another steward, who was armed, walked in behind her.

  “You’re not gonna get away with this.”

  This time it was one of the embassy staff, a human named Gorjanc, who spoke.

  Rov walked over to the human, who was sitting against the wall opposite Alexander, next to one of the Starfleet guards. “Did you say something, human?”

  “I said you’re not gonna get away with this.”

  “Perhaps. But you will not live to know.”

  With that, he fired upon Gorjanc with his disruptor, killing him instantly.

  Alexander’s most vivid memory of childhood was the day Mother died. Father held her in his arms, and screamed his grief to the heavens in what Alexander would later learn was the Klingon death ritual. Then Father asked Alexander if he had ever seen death, to which he replied in the negative. “Then look now,” Father had said then, “and always remember.”

  He did. Twelve years later, the image of Mother dead on the floor of the VIP quarters on the EnterpriseD was still with him.

  Now, Alexander knew that it was that memory more than anything that had held him back from being a warrior. Because he knew in his heart that, if he became a warrior, he would inflict deaths like the one that had been visited upon Mother. Worse, he would lead a life that would probably end with a death just like Mother’s.

  Once, when on the Enterprise holodeck with his father and the House of Mogh’s ghIntaq, a man named K’mtar, Alexander was given a chance to kill a foe who was already down and defeated. He could not. Even now, as a soldier of the empire, though he was willing to kill in self-defense, and had done so both during the war and after it, he would not take a helpless life.

  And those who did, the way Rov just had done, sickened him to his very core.

  As Damir Gorjanc fell dead to the floor of the meeting room, Alexander swore a vow. I’ll make sure that you pay for what you’ve done, Rov, son of Pekdal.

  “Would anyone else like to speak?” Rov asked.

  Silence greeted his request. Alexander noted that the humans who had been agitated were now sitting quietly, looking frightened out of their wits. They lived and worked on Qo’noS, but they were still not used to dealing with this side of Klingon life. The Klingons they did encounter were politicians and functionaries, not warriors, and so they were not accustomed to such naked brutality.

  Alexander knew Rov’s query was rhetorical, but he answered it anyhow. “I would.”

  One of the Starfleet guards shot Alexander a look that seemed to say, Are you insane? And perhaps he was, but Alexander knew that, as the son of the ambassador, he was too valuable to kill just yet. Besides which, the uniform he wore would accord him more respect than that which would be granted to a human or even to a Klingon civilian.

  Rov walked over to him, aiming the disruptor between Alexander’s eyes.

  Alexander swallowed. At least I hope I’m too valuable to kill.

  “And what do you wish to say?”

  “I want to know what your demands are.”

  Lowering the disruptor, Rov said, “Then listen carefully, Alexander, son of Worf, and you will learn.” Then Rov walked over to the unit that B’Urgan had brought in and touched a control. One of the telltales lit up. Satisfied that the machine was working, Rov nodded to B’Urgan and the man with her. They both nodded back and departed the conference room.

  “My name is Rov, son of Pekdal, and I represent Klahb. I am sending you this message from the Federation Embassy on Qo’noS, which Klahb has taken possession of. Some of those within the embassy are dead; the rest are Klahb’s hostages. Whether or not those hostages join the ranks of the dead depends upon the actions of the Klingon High Council.

  “We demand that the following actions be taken: That the lowlander Martok be removed from the chancellorship that he was falsely given by a conniving, honorless coward. That the alliance with the Federation be treated like the sham it is and abrogated. That the hologram impersonating Emperor Kahless be deactivated. And that we declare war on the Federation, and do not cease until the Federation is destroyed and the true Kahless returned to us from whatever Federation prison he’s being held in.”

  It was all Alexander could do to keep from laughing out loud. Hologram impersonating Kahless? He had almost been willing to believe that Rov and Vark were championing a legitimate cause, right up until he got to that part of his demands.

  “We do not expect any of these actions to be taken. The council would never admit that they have become the Federation’s lapdogs, funneling instructions through their king-maker Worf, who is now our hostage. They will not admit that thousands died at Tezwa in order to preserve Federation lies. And they certainly would not admit to the Federation replacing our beloved emperor with a photonic fake.”

  Alexander shuddered. The Ya’Vang had been assigned to the task force sent to avenge the six thousand who died at Tezwa, and Alexander had feared he would die that day. But from what he’d heard on the Ya’Vang, there was no complicity between the Federation and the empire over Tezwa—quite the opposite, in fact. The two nations almost went to war over what happened on that planet. Obviously, Rov’s relationship with reality is pretty strained.

  “I expect a response within three hours. If I do not receive one, I will destroy this entire structure. The members of Klahb are willing to die to save the empire, but I doubt the Federation will be amused by the wholesale slaughter of its embassy personnel again.”

  This time, Alexander simply shook his head. The embassy had been badly damaged and many of its personnel killed when Morjod attempted to overthrow Martok right after the war. Now that I think about it, a lot of what Morjod was saying was the same thing Rov’s saying now. And it was nuts four years ago, too.

  Rov touched the control again, and the telltale went dark. He then put his hand to his ear. “Has the ambassador or the guard been found?” A second later, his face contorted into a mask of rage. “Why not? Find them, or your journey to the afterlife will be a swift one indeed!”

  Alexander felt something push into his hip. He turned to see Wu staring at him intently; it had been the aide’s knee that he felt. Alexander stared back questioningly, not sure what it was Wu wanted him to do.

  Then Wu mouthed the words talk to him. He mouthed them in English, so it was unlikely that Rov or any of the other Klingons would be able to discern the meaning.

  At once, Alexander realized what Wu wanted. He needed to keep Rov talking, possibly continue to drive a wedge—or, rather, drive the existing wedge further—between Rov and Vark. As both a valuable hostage and the only Defense Force personnel among the hostages, Alexander was probably the one who stood the best chance of being able to speak without suffering the same fate as Gorjanc.

  “What’s happening next?” Alexander asked.

  Shaking his head, Rov said, “You are as big a fool as your father. We wait.”

  “That isn’t what I meant. I mean after the High Council tells you to—” He hesitated. There was no real Klingon equivalent for the human phrase “go to hell.” After taking a breath, he amended his statement. “After they refuse your request, you’re going to blow up the embassy, right?”

  “That is what I said.”

  “So you’ll die with everyone else?”

  “Not quite. When we of Klahb die, we will be welcomed in Sto-Vo-Kor. The rest of you will wallow on the Barge of the Dead in Gre’thor.”

  Alexander had always been dubious about the whole Klingon afterlife notion, though he had always found it touching that Father dedicated a battle to his wife Jadzia after she died in the war to commend her soul to Sto-Vo-Kor. On those days when he actually believed, he wondered if Jadzia had found Mother in the Black Fleet, and if so, wondered how well they got along. He suspected they’d like each other.

  However, that was not his concern at the moment. “Either way, you and your followers’ll be dead.”

  “My ‘followers,’ as you call them, have pledged their lives. Unlike these human weaklings,” he spread his arms to take in the entire room, “they have no fear of death.”

  “Okay,” Alexander said after pretending to consider the notion for a moment. “So then what?”

  “What do you mean?” Rov sounded genuinely confused.

  “I mean, then what? You’ll be dead, your followers will be dead, all of us will be dead—and nothing will have changed. Martok will still be in power, the Federation will still be our allies, and—” keep a straight face! “—Kahless will still be a hologram.”

  “Perhaps. But the people will know the truth.”

  “How, by you letting yourselves get blown up? That doesn’t prove anything.”

  Rov raised the disruptor again. “Be silent, son of Worf! Your value as a hostage decreases with each word you speak.”

  So much for that plan, he thought dolefully.

  Turning his back on Alexander, Rov put his hand to his ear again. “Torvak, report.” A pause. “Torvak, report!”

  Vark shook his head. “That young yIntagh is probably listening to that wretched opera recording of his again.”

  “No doubt.” Rov spoke in a menacingly low tone. “I will get a report from him personally. Keep an eye on the prisoners. B’Eko, with me.”

  With that, Rov departed, followed by the female steward.

  Moments passed in silence before Wu said, “He’s going to leave the embassy before it blows up. You know that, Vark.”

  What the hell is he playing at? Alexander wondered. True, Wu knew Vark, but why was he so sure that Rov was going to leave his followers behind?

  Vark turned to Wu and raised his own disruptor. “Silence, human!”

  “Funny, you called me ‘Giancarlo’ this morning.” This time, Wu smirked slightly.

  “This morning, I had to pretend to be an employee of this embassy.”

  “There was no ‘pretending’ about it, Vark. You are an employee of this embassy—though, to be fair, your job prospects after today will probably be limited.”

  “I said, silence!”

  One of the other humans whispered, “For Christ’s sake, ’Carlo, shut the hell up!”

  Ignoring this sage advice, Wu said, “You know I’m right, Vark. And so was Alexander. If he’s trying to overthrow the High Council, he’s not just going to blow himself up. He’s a revolutionary, not a martyr. You and these other stewards are just his cannon fodder.”

  At once, Alexander saw that Wu was correct. Rov had never directly said that he was going to sacrifice his own life. Now that he looked back on the conversation, he hadn’t even committed to killing any other member of Klahb.

  But the uncertainty on Vark’s face meant that, whatever Rov’s true plans were, he hadn’t shared them with the kitchen staff supervisor.

  Let’s hope that’s a start, Alexander thought as he shifted position on the floor. Defense Force armor, whatever its benefits, was not designed for sitting comfortably on the floor, but he had the feeling he was going to be here awhile.