The interior of the Monbosh battleship reminds me, in a peculiar way, of a tropical rain forest. The hexagonal metal plating seems to be assembled into organic shapes, curving and branching; there are mists, there are unexpected pools of light, bulbous computer nodes like fruits, display panels like the petals of flowers. It is an unusual sensation. The Elachi are a very different species from most humanoids, and their design and technology reflects this. Even the air smells strange, as if the Elachi atmosphere has not yet entirely dissipated.
I find my way to the Goroke's bridge without incident. The centre of the room is dominated by a rippling, glassy, force field sphere, enclosing the command couch where R'j Bl'k' is lying, apparently absorbed in her work. I turn to one of the Klingon junior officers. "I have the latest data on the suspect warp signature," I say, and raise the PADD in my right hand.
He glowers at me. His face is harsh, bearded, scarred around the left eye. "Commander Laska," he says, and points the way with a jerk of the hand.
Commander Laska is a Klingon female, rather tall, with a craggy humourless face and dark eyes. She is standing at a console, apparently busy at some task, but she turns as I approach. "You are Vice Admiral T'Pia," she says. "Welcome to the Goroke."
"Thank you." I hold out the PADD. "I have here all the available data on the warp signature detected at Delta Gracilis."
"Good." She takes the PADD.
"I do not know if you have the technical background to appreciate this information," I say. "Although the warp field is essentially the same for any type of vessel, the exact details of the wave-forms it produces in subspace vary according to a multitude of factors -"
"I am aware of this," says Laska. "I am a graduate of the science division of the Klingon Imperial Academy... specializing in warp mechanics."
"I see," I say. "Then you will not require further explanations."
"I will not, no." She looks at me, snorts, and smiles wryly. "Vulcans," she says.
"Is there a problem?"
"You do not apologize, so you are not weak. But you do not... challenge. There is no attitude of 'pah, a mere Klingon could not hope to understand warp physics'. You merely - acknowledge the facts, and move on." She shakes her head. "I am Klingon. I do not have the right... cultural reference points... for dealing with you."
"I see." I contemplate this. "I do not see how this situation can immediately be ameliorated."
"And there you go again," says Laska.
"Klingons and Vulcans have had social interactions on many occasions, over a period of some centuries."
"Indeed they have. And many of them," says Laska, "have ended with the Klingon in question screaming with rage and burying a blade in the Vulcan's head." She seems amused, though, rather than combative. I suppose I should be grateful for that.
"Please do not kill our guests and allies," says a sibilant whisper from behind me, "at least where we may be found out." R'j Bl'k' has left the command couch and is standing behind us. Tall, thin and wiry, she towers even over the Klingon, to say nothing of myself. The ancillary breathing organs along her jawline expand and contract arrhythmically. Her silvery eyes gleam in the tropical forest lighting of the bridge.
"General Bl'k'," I say, politely.
"S-s-s-s-s. Your pronunciation is... reasonably adequate. What results do we have?"
"None, as yet," says Laska. "You must give these adaptive pattern matchers some time to run.... In any case, I am less than sanguine about this. It is by no means impossible, given reasonable engineering facilities, to change a ship's warp signature."
"I regret," I say, "that our trace is so incomplete that only a partial identification would be possible in any case."
"No matter," says R'j. She sounds almost cheerful. "If we can only identify some possibilities, that will be a start. We can cross-reference with our internal intelligence files, which are not insubstantial."
"I see," I say. "There must be a limited subset of persons already with both the incentive and the technical capability to abduct Vice Admiral Grau. Presumably, many of them will be known to Klingon Intelligence in... one capacity or another."
"Precisely," says R'j with a disturbing grin.
"Could you do it?" I ask.
"Conceivably," says R'j, and her grin widens. "Tylha Shohl has Caitian flight deck transporter officers - I have Ferasans. An improved breed, as it were."
"I did not know that the Monbosh battleship also served as a carrier."
"We have specialized auxiliary vessels. One thing we do not have, however, is a cloaking device. The Goroke is too large, its power signatures too exotic, for a standard KDF cloak to be effective. However, I do have access to other ships.... S-s-s-s-s. It would be a pretty tactical problem... to snatch, as my people would say, the h'dr'hh while the gg'trr'n and the ll'hhhn-krr fight over it...."
"I think, now, I am the one who lacks the proper cultural reference points," I say.
"Most do," says R'j with a noise that might be a laugh. "My culture is not widely studied."
"Preliminary data conversions are complete," says Laska. While we have been talking, she has been working busily at the computer console. "Beginning matches now. As I said, the adaptive algorithms will take time to run. There is a great deal of data to process, which is not tremendously significant - and much of it is corrupt or incomplete, which affects the outcome greatly."
"I do not ask for miracles," says R'j, "only results."
"Is there a difference?" asks Laska dryly. Interesting. This verges on insubordination; a Klingon captain would not permit it... but R'j Bl'k' is not a Klingon. I do not know what she is. I am familiar, of course, with our standard files on her species, but that is a very long way from knowing her as an individual. When last I saw her, she was morose and angry, with herself more than anyone else, for the failure of her plans to exploit the Tiaza Zephora entity. Here, on the bridge of her starship, she is assured, confident, almost affable. Confident enough, in fact, to ignore minor acts of insubordination... most Klingon crews would take advantage of that, unless their commanding officer held their respect and their loyalty tightly. R'j is an alien from an obscure minority species, but somehow she has managed to inspire that respect and loyalty.
I find myself relieved that she is no longer the enemy.
"Working," says Laska. "Amazing. We have some results. First possible, a criminal by the name of Ekkdosin sh'Durn...."
"No," says R'j.
"You say that with some authority," says Laska. "Sh'Durn is listed as technically competent, owns - or has owned - a scout ship whose warp drive might be a match... and his current whereabouts are unknown."
"I know that he is not our man," says R'j. "Move on."
Laska shoots her a puzzled look, but complies. "Next up, a group of Orion minor houses... probabilities roughly equal. Perhaps we should ask General Shalo's opinion?"
"Perhaps," says R'j. "I do not wish to distract her from her existing duties unless it becomes necessary, though. Our resources," she adds, turning to me, "are unusually limited, due to the Siohonin problem. Many ships are being diverted to that conflict. Others are having to cope with a greatly expanded range of duties as a consequence."
"I appreciate the difficulty," I say. Inwardly, I am alarmed. The Siohonin "problem", it seems, has already grown to the stage where it is significantly affecting Imperial ship deployments. That is a worrying development.
"So," says Laska. "Novoad Toln. Kalevar Thrang. Surtus the Indefeasible. Matron Khevnitra of the House of Vuon. Those would be the names of our four most plausible culprits, according to this... so far."
"S-s-s-s-s. The House of Vuon... I know that name. Surtus the Indefeasible, I have heard that one, too. But in what context...?"
"Only you can answer that," says Laska. "The pattern matcher is throwing up more possibilities, now, but they are an order of magnitude less probable. These five names - four, if we are to discount sh'Durn - would seem the best place to start."
"Yes," says R'j, thoughtfully. "Do we have internal intelligence files cross-linked with out database yet?"
"Everything Imperial Intelligence has seen fit to disclose, at least," says Laska.
"The day Imperial Intelligence tells anyone a complete story," R'j growls, "the jj'y't-dh'l will dance across the rrr'g'rr'kyhrr. With its tail feathers pointing left," she adds. "Well, no matter. On the balance of probabilities, which of these individuals is likely to be closest to us?"
Laska sighs heavily and turns back to the console. "You do not ask much.... Probabilities. Surtus the Indefeasible is known to have a base of operations in the Qey'tirgh system... last reports from II put him in that area... and it is only some five light years away, and even in approximately the right direction."
"I will transmit this information to Vice Admiral Shohl," I say, "and we will consult and decide a course of action."
"Oh, by all means, do so," says R'j. "In the meantime, we will set course for Qey'tirgh at maximum warp. I saw Vice Admiral Shohl, a little while ago, and I recognized in her certain symptoms."
"Symptoms?" I ask. Tylha has not mentioned any medical issues.
"Symptoms common to warrior races," says R'j. "Symptoms of an urgent desire to go out and punch someone. So, we go to Qey'tirgh. If nothing else, Surtus the Indefeasible is likely to be intensely punchable."
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