Claws 5

By the Twelve Virtuous Mysteries and the Nine Auspicious Cycles of the moons, I swear and attest this record to be mine: R'j Bl'k', Adept of the Seven Greater Dodecagons, Initiate of the Cycle of M'tt'-kk'ri, Harbinger of the Grand Maelstrom, honorary Lieutenant-General Klingon Defense Force, owner-master of the battleship Goroke.

"S'ss-tt'kkraa-hh'kkjiii!" I snarl, as I leap from my command couch, and have the added irritation of hearing the idiot translation computer say "[unpronounceable Mlkwbrian epithet]".
  
"Transponder confirmation received," my Klingon exec Laska says calmly from her science station. "USS Falcon, registry NCC-93057, commanding officer of record Vice Admiral Veronika Grau."

"Early," I hiss. "Why is she early? How is she early?" I pace the cavernous bridge of the Goroke, the odorous Elachi deckplates clanging beneath my booted feet. "So much for knowing Starfleet's capabilities! Comms, get me Brigadier-General Kaltak, now!"

"Falcon has raised shields and is powering weapons," Laska reports.

"Time to effective range?"

"Fifteen minutes at current relative velocities." Laska is imperturbable. It is a virtue of hers.

"I have Brigadier-General Kaltak," Nubir reports from the comms station. The Lethean's face is unreadable. Perhaps he too is imperturbable, perhaps not.

"On screen." The commander of the raider group appears on the main viewer. "The Feds have arrived ahead of schedule," I say. "Take your ships and depart for Imperial space, now."

The Klingon commander visibly bridles at that. "A single Federation cruiser is no match for the force we have gathered here -"

"The objective was to persuade the Feds that I am on their side. To achieve that, I would now have to open fire on you. Your ships would not survive the resulting encounter, and your death would be pointless. It is never a good day to die pointlessly. Go. Now."

"One Fed cruiser -"

"Is not the enemy today! The threat to the Empire is at Tiaza Zephora! Go now, and I may be able to salvage this situation!"

Kaltak glares at me. "I hope you know what you are doing," he snaps, and cuts the channel.

"Raider wings are coming about," Laska reports. I can see, on the tac display, the Birds of Prey wheeling around. Then energies flash about them as they depart at warp speed.

"Time to weapons range?" I ask.

"Ten minutes."

"Get me the Anar on secure comms. And try hailing that cruiser. The Feds should want to talk, it is a vice of theirs, talking -"

"Anar on screen." Rrueo's face appears.

"Change of plan," I tell her. "You are now mercenary security, hired to protect me."

"Rrueo would love to know her new pay scale," the Ferasan says. If she is concerned about the approaching enemy, she does not show it.

"I will arrange a bank draft on the assets of the House of Sinoom," I tell her.

"Wonderful. Why not throw in some prime beachfront property on Praxis as well?" Rrueo sighs theatrically. "Ah, well. It is not that Rrueo minds doing things purely for love of the ever-glorious Empire. It is just that patriotism pays only just enough to keep Rrueo in food and claw polish."

"I have communication with the Falcon," Nubir interrupts.

I take a deep breath, filling all my lungs, and rap out the K'h'dry-tk'r Sutra with my tongue, focusing my mind, calming me. "On screen. And link in the Anar." Rrueo, with her nose ring and her dangling earrings, her blue fur decorated with only one light stripe across her eyes, looks like a Ferasan mercenary. I am hoping her appearance will be enough to give Starfleet pause.

The screen changes, showing the bridge of the Federation cruiser. In the centre seat is a small, gaunt, pallid human female, dark-haired, with the turret shape of a Borg targeting implant covering her left eye. Beside her sits an Andorian female - I take a second look. Veronika Grau's first officer is an Andorian, but this is not her first officer - the collar insignia, and the scarring on her face, proclaim her to be Shalo's other Starfleet contact, Shohl. So. We are all gathered here, though not quite according to plan.

"Vice Admiral Veronika Grau, call me Ronnie, everyone does," says the gaunt woman. "On my right, Vice Admiral Tylha Shohl. You must be R'j Bl'k' -" she does a surprisingly good rendition of my name "- so who's the big blue pussycat?"

"Rrueo, owner-master of the NFV Anar," snaps Rrueo. "Your presence is not needed here, Starfleet."

"Why is no one ever pleased to see us?" says Grau, and laughs, inexplicably. "Anyway, here we all are... and just what were those Klinks doing, might one respectfully inquire?"

"There is no need for you to know," Rrueo snarls. She seems to be getting into her role as my protector. "Depart. Now."

"Keep your fur on, Buxton," says Grau.

"There is no need for conflict," I say. "Rrueo, stand down. The Anar is here for my protection - a private arrangement."

"And that's enough to scare off two squadrons of Birds of Prey? I'm impressed. Or I would be if I believed it."

I manage a thin smile. "I made another arrangement with the commander of those squadrons. A matter of personal honour - a debt owed by his house." These people are sworn enemies, I remind myself; this is a permitted circumstance.

"OK, so let's leave that," says Grau. "What are you doing in Federation space?"

"If you are here, you know why I am here. Let us not fence with words, Starfleet."

"Perfectly willing to fence with walloping great ray guns instead, you know," says Grau. "I just had this lot installed, I'm absolutely itching to give it all a test run."

"Try it," Rrueo hisses.

"Enough," I say. "Vice Admiral. You must know why I am in disfavour in the Empire. I am attempting to trace the origins of the - power, or entity - that now controls Tiaza Zephora."

"The thing that kicked your occupation force off that planet," says Grau. "You know what? I like it already. So, why don't I stop you bothering it? Few volleys from my forward beam banks should do the trick."

"You are a Starfleet officer," I say. "Starfleet officers are not short-sighted, or foolish. If you know what happened at Tiaza Zephora, you cannot help but be curious.... Let me also point out, I am currently at odds with the Empire over this matter. It would be preferable, from my point of view, for me to return to Qo'noS with a full understanding of this entity and a plan to defeat it. But there are other possibilities - I would be foolish not to entertain them. So, I submit, would you."

"You'd switch sides and take the information to the Federation?" Grau asks. "And what does Buxton there have to say about that?"

I do not know why Grau is giving Rrueo the wrong name. Shalo warned me that Grau's mentation was aberrant.... "Captain Rrueo is loyal to whomever holds her contract," I say.

"Though the Federation is not noted for favourable contract terms," Rrueo mutters.

"Let me also point out that the Tiaza Zephora entity might brush aside a Federation force as easily as it did a KDF one," I say.

"I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve," says Grau. "OK. Supposing I take your point. You want a temporary alliance to investigate this thing. Am I right?"

"I want to investigate. Your presence is not needed... but I would rather not fight you. So, I offer my services."

"Let me just run through another option, here," says Grau. "How about, I blast you into iron filings, and go to Tiaza Zephora and do some investigating myself? Or, better yet, get some dweeb from Starfleet's science division to do it. They're better at that sort of thing than I am."

I recite another sutra to myself. "You presumably have a transcript of the inquiry into my actions. You do not have the data that my vessel gathered at Tiaza Zephora... you do not have the information, for example, that led me here."

This is, of course, nothing more than a huge bluff. The original plan was to stage a battle at this star system, to have the Feds discover me apparently helpless in a damaged ship... to take me and a selected crew aboard their vessel, and thence to Tiaza Zephora, while the Goroke and the Anar followed under cloak. Kaltak's squadron was to provide convincing-looking warp signatures and other corroborating detail... and Duselva WX was nothing more than a convenient marker for a point that both I and the Federation could reach, given reasonable estimates of travel time. There was no information that led me here.

And I pray to the Eight Protecting Powers that they cannot read that, in my face or my voice.

"Keep talking," says Grau. Shohl has said nothing, yet. Her icy Andorian eyes are watchful. Grau is a grandstander, a braggart - competent, according to Shalo, but loud-mouthed. I fear the one who watches silently more than the one who threatens loudly.

"The positioning of certain landmarks on Tiaza Zephora's surface," I say, "corresponds to some extent with star charts of this location." This is, of course, true. If need be, I can review the geographical data and pick some landmarks to match. Such configurations are easy to find, after the fact. "I noted that our records suggest this dwarf Cepheid variable was not a variable star, perhaps as recently as three thousand years ago." And there must be inaccurate astronomical records I can cite here, too. "The coincidence... demanded investigation. I was about to begin detailed sensor sweeps, when General Kaltak's squadrons created a distraction. Now you are here, also creating a distraction." I glare at the viewscreen. "Let us hope it is not a fatal distraction."

Grau eyes me narrowly. Shohl's stern-featured face gives nothing away. "All right," Grau says. "I don't know yet how much of this I buy, but... all right. Let's meet and review your - evidence. My ship. One hour from now."

"Wait." Shohl speaks for the first time. "Make it eight hours, and we can do it on my ship." Grau turns her head to look at the Andorian. "Nothing personal, Ronnie," Shohl continues, "but I have more telepaths than you in my security teams."

"Point," says Grau. "OK. Eight hours. Then we meet on the King Estmere. Bring Buxton along, if she's house trained."

Rrueo hisses at her. She seems genuinely angry, which I do not often see. Grau's attitude is clearly needling her. "Eight hours," I say. "That is... perhaps... acceptable."

"Don't imagine for one second that we're dropping our targeting locks on the pair of you during that time," Grau says.

"You wish to take precautions. That is understandable. But do not let your caution get in the way of your good sense." That seems a good line to close on, so I turn to Nubir and snap, "Screen off."

"Shall I review the sensor data for our... evidence?" Laska asks dryly.

"I will attend to the matter. Tt't'tt'-ll'kkkyhhhi-krrr'rr." The translator says "[unpronounceable Mlkwbrian epithet]" again. Some day I must get that fixed. I stalk out of the globular shield that surrounds the command deck. "I will be in my chambers. Eight hours. I will find something to convince them with, in eight hours."

---

The room just off the bridge is... sparsely appointed. I do not know what the Elachi used it for - nothing good, I suspect. I use it as a private chamber, a place for thought, for planning.

Also, it houses my collection.

I have more than a hundred different game boards, from dozens of different cultures. I sit down at my desk and consider the ones I have placed on it today. The triangular klin zha board is set with the parti-coloured pieces for the Reflective Game, but I have no time for that now.

Beside it is a circular board, marked out in concentric rings and sectors in alternating grey and gold, with a black disc at the centre. The Andorian game, thev lin, the eighteen game pieces set around the outermost ring in the classic th'Varnis opening. Andorians.... The objective is to advance the pieces from the rim to the centre, scoring according to the value of each piece that reaches home. Some pieces have more freedom of movement than others, can reach that goal in a few moves - but the scoring value is inverted; the more mobile and powerful the piece, the fewer points it is worth when it reaches the centre. So, thev lin is a game of chivalry and self-abnegation, the strong protecting the weak, as all strive to a common end. A very apt game for a people who see themselves as ethical warriors.

The third board is plain and rectangular, white with black grid lines. The pieces are flat, blunt at one end, pointed at the other. They are marked individually with ideograms, done in delicate and beautiful calligraphy. This game is called shogi; one of many human games which fight an abstract formal war. This one, though, has an interesting variation.

I pick up one of the pieces. The ideogram on its flat surface tells me what it is, what its value and its powers are. What is not indicated... is which player it belongs to. In shogi, a piece that is captured from one side may be returned to the board - on the side of the player who captured it. Unlike chess or klin zha or thev lin, the pieces in shogi have no loyalties. Their opponent is - whoever their pointed ends point towards.

If thev lin is a game of chivalry, shogi is a game for opportunists, mercenaries, and turncoats.

I hold the piece between my fingers, and I wonder which way any of us will be facing, when this game plays out.