But at least it had been a quiet patrol... so quiet, Kled thought, he deserved a little reward. "Change of route," he announced to the squad. "We're going to make sure nobody starts any bar fights."
His Klingon troopers, Chur and D'Mor, exchanged grins. Siowershoe just looked confused, if any expression was readable on that face. "How - how will we do that, sir?" she asked.
"We make our presence felt, Bekk Siowershoe," Kled said. "We pick a bar, we go in, we make it very clear to everyone that you don't mess with the patrols around here. Do you see?"
"I'm... not sure, sir," the alien replied. Damn her anyway, Kled thought.
"Watch and learn," he said, turning away from her and swaggering down the First City thoroughfare, ignoring the passers-by as they stepped out of his way. "The bar by the challenge floor is always a good place." Chur and D'Mor grinned again.
The challenge floor was busy, an Orion and a Lethean tearing into each other with knives as spectators howled their approval. Kled shouldered his way through the crowd, led his squad into the bar, and looked around. "Ah," he said with satisfaction. "Those three, there."
They looked where he was pointing. "They seem to be... minding their own business?" Siowershoe said, doubtfully.
"Oh, I think they're off duty," said Kled. He surveyed the three females with satisfaction. The Orion was wearing what looked like a white version of standard KDF uniform, the Ferasan was dressed in casual leathers, the third one... Kled didn't recognize her species. She was tall and slim, with dark green skin, and a complicated bony crest on her forehead which half-concealed long pointed ears and a ragged mane of green hair. She was wearing a soft red top which clashed horribly with her skin tone. "Professional ladies," he said with relish. "And ladies of that particular profession - well, they always want to keep the First City patrols sweet, don't they?"
D'Mor licked his lips. "We should run ID checks," Siowershoe muttered. Kled ignored her. He sauntered up to the table where the three women sat.
"Good evening, ladies," he said. "First City patrol. Let's make this easy for everyone, shall we?"
The green-skinned alien looked at him. Her eyes were pools of mercury, shining with a light of their own against the green of her face, and Kled had the disturbing impression that they moved independently of one another. When she spoke, her voice was a harsh rasping whisper, her words accompanied by a background of pops and clicks.
It took a moment for him to register that she had said, "Dismissed, Lieutenant."
Anger gripped him instantly. "Now what way is that for you to talk to a Klingon officer?" he demanded.
All three of them were looking at him now. The Orion woman's gaze was coolly dismissive. The Ferasan yawned, displaying a bright pink tongue and ominously shiny fangs. "Rrueo hopes there will not be trouble," she said. "Rrueo only just had claws cleaned."
Before Kled could speak again, Siowershoe pushed past him, to stand rigid at attention before the table. "Sirs!" she said. "Lieutenant General Rrueo, Lieutenant General Shalo, Lieutenant General -" she hesitated and stumbled "- Bl'k'! Please forgive my tardiness in confirming your identities! The First City patrol wishes you an enjoyable evening!"
"What the -? Let me see that!" Kled snarled, and tore the biometric scanner out of Siowershoe's hand. The stupid little alien had to have made some mistake -
He looked hard at the machine's screen, and felt chills run up his spine as he realized... no, he had made the mistake. Siowershoe, damn her, had followed procedure, checking a biometric scan against the current wanted list, then cross-referencing with KDF records - standard measures for catching defaulters or deserters. But these three were no more deserters than they were off-duty working girls. The Ferasan and the unpronounceable alien were senior officers, senior enough to have independent privateering contracts with the KDF. And the Orion had been a personal emissary of the Chancellor during the Bercera IV business.... Kled swallowed hard. If this Shalo had the ear of Chancellor J'mpok, she could have the liver of Lieutenant Kled any time she cared to ask for it.
In fact, short of accosting the Chancellor himself in drag, Kled couldn't see how he could have made a worse blunder. He forced his face to assume a neutral, professional mask. "Yes," he ground out, "that is... all... satisfactory." He saluted. "We will resume our patrol!"
"One moment," said the alien. Her silvery eyes were unreadable. Kled stood frozen at attention. Kahless's blood, he thought, if she kills me, at least let it be quick. The alien stabbed out one thin, bony finger at Siowershoe. "You," she rasped. "What is your name?"
"Siowershoe Ishlayn Dhien," Siowershoe replied promptly.
The alien grimaced. She pulled out a datapad of her own from a thigh pouch, and tapped rapidly at its interface. "Too many vowels," she muttered. "But... you showed adequate initiative, and a respect for correct procedure." One silvery eye rotated in its socket to glance at Kled. "And your superior does not look the type to thank you for trying to cover his errors. Most importantly, you made a creditable effort to pronounce my name.... My ship is under complement, and I have authorization to impress crew." Her fingers stabbed at the datapad with a gesture of finality. "You are now assigned to my command. Report aboard the Goroke, shipyard berth 3947, at 0400 hours tomorrow. Serve well and with honour."
"Yes, sir!" said Siowershoe, but her voice was almost drowned out as Kled shouted, "What?" Anger exploded within him, drowning out the fear. The stupid little alien was getting ship duty? She would be serving on a battleship, while he was stuck pounding the streets of First City? "You cannot do that!" he yelled. "You cannot take my patrollers -"
He got no further. The alien glared at him with both eyes, and the air before them seemed to shimmer and glow - and a force struck at Kled, lifting him off his feet, knocking the wind out of him as he crashed to the floor.
Over the ringing in his ears, and the raucous laughter of the crowd in the bar, he heard the alien rasp, again, "Dismissed, Lieutenant."
---
"You should have knocked him into the bloodwine vat," said Rrueo.
R'j Bl'k' shook her head. "No one in the bar would thank me for flavouring their drinks with idiot," she said.
Her voice was a hissing rasp: she had trouble pronouncing Klingon language clearly. Of course, Shalo thought, few other species could come close to speaking R'j's language at all; most humanoids lacked her continuous-cycle respiration and horny, multiply-articulated tongue. The other one, Siowershoe, had an almost normal name in comparison... the rasp, squelch and series of clicks which were transcribed as R'j Bl'k' were nearly impossible for others to reproduce exactly.
Now, the alien made a noise like "Sss'rr-tk'th'll-sh'sbst," and took a sip of raktajino. Shalo had always assumed it was just some automatic noise made by her complex mouth, but Rrueo said, "You must say that every time you drink?"
R'j nodded. "It is a ritual of my people."
The Ferasan snorted. "Foolishness."
"Perhaps," said R'j. "But rituals, customs... they define us. They make us what we are."
"If you must do that every time," said Rrueo, "what you are, most likely, is thirsty." She was idly grooming her whiskers with one claw-tipped finger.
"Are you really so under strength?" Shalo asked.
"I can use talented people," said R'j. "The Goroke is a big ship, and its technology requires much maintenance." R'j flew a captured Elachi battleship, Shalo knew; it was an impressive craft, but the alien design made operations difficult. "We go out next to the Aznetkur corridor, to attack the Feds' transports... they have held Aznetkur longer than anyone anticipated, we must do what we can to break their supply lines."
"Indeed," said Shalo, and took a sip of her own drink. "What do you think of the current developments in Federation and Romulan space?"
"The Hegemony of Bresar?" said R'j. "It is difficult to assess the implications, as yet."
"There have been reports of clashes involving Romulan Republic forces and this Hegemony. The Hegemony's people includes Vulcans.... If this could be exploited, somehow, to bring about a coolness between the Republic and the Federation...."
"That would be a good thing," said Rrueo. "Anything which weakens the Federation's alliances serves our purposes."
"Sss'rr-tk'th'll-sh'sbst," said R'j as she took another drink. "I wonder."
"Wonder at what?" Rrueo demanded.
"I wonder at what this Hegemony may become, if it flourishes," said R'j. "Their aim is a reunified Vulcan and Romulan state, yes? This is what puts them at odds with the Republic... they want reunification under different terms."
"So?" said Rrueo. "The Hegemony clashes with the Republic, the Republic is drawn to closer ties with us... this is a good thing."
"So long as the Hegemony is not a worse evil," said R'j. "My people have a saying: do not hunt the g'b-d'rrll with the k'k-th'yrr forged for the dnn'rs-sh."
"What?" said Rrueo.
"I think I understand," said Shalo. The Ferasan was a brilliant bio-scientist, she recalled, but she lacked any sense of subtlety. "We are familiar with two Romulan factions, the Republic and the Tal Shiar. The emergence of a third faction must make us re-evaluate our strategies in respect of all of them. And we need to understand the political complexion of the Hegemony before we can do this."
R'j nodded. "The Hegemony's rhetoric... concerns me," she said. "This Hegemon Valikra is an uncompromising fanatic. Such people can be dangerous, if they attract a following. And it seems that Valikra is doing precisely that."
"So let them follow her to Gre'thor," said Rrueo, "so long as they weaken the Federation in doing so."
"But what good is it to weaken the Federation," Shalo asked, "while strengthening something worse?"
"Sss'rr-tk'th'll-sh'sbst," said R'j.
"Foolishness."
"Perhaps."
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