"You." The serjeant-at-arms puffs out his chest and glowers at me. "You three, you are all wanted by the High Council -"
"And we are here, now, to present ourselves to the High Council," I say with hauteur.
"You are proscribed! You are wanted criminals! You dare to approach the Great Hall in this manner?" He is a very picture of outraged Klingon officialdom.
"The High Council wishes us to account for ourselves, and we have urgent information for the High Council. It is in everyone's interests if we enter, immediately."
A breakneck flight from 54 Eridani to Qo'noS, using transwarp gates and every illicit means Melani D'ian could arrange to smooth our way... and now the last obstacle is this pompous official, barring our way to the Great Hall.
"I will summon the Yan-Isleth! You shall not go before the High Council, unless it is in chains! I will -"
There is a pulse of light in the air, and a force plucks the serjeant-at-arms off his feet and hurls him against the wall. He falls in a stunned heap.
I turn and direct a quelling stare at R'j. She shrugs. "Reasoning with him was getting you nowhere. And I believe we have a deadline."
"True." I step over the prone body and push open the door.
D'ian is on the other side, and she raises a finger to her lips. I look past her, at the Great Hall. J'mpok sits slumped and brooding on his seat; Sarv has the floor, and across the hall, the Lethean envoy glowers at him. A data sheet is showing on the holo-display; the population figures for the moon of 54 Eridani VI. They make grim reading, if you are a Lethean.
"Try not to attract attention," says D'ian, "for the moment. I have briefed the Lethean, but not J'mpok. I think it is best to have his authentic reaction."
The three of us sidle into the Great Hall, as inconspicuously as we can manage. It is not hard; the Lethean is speaking.
"So this," he says, "is the High Council's honour. This. The extermination of a colony of our people, to be resurrected as Kobali, as part of an underhand arrangement with that government -"
"The extermination was none of our doing!" snarls Sarv.
"That remains to be proved," the Lethean retorts. "And even so, what can the Kobali offer the Empire? A minor power, half the galaxy away! Lethean friendship towards the Empire has been steadfast, up till now... does the Councillor wish to throw that away, for the sake of a dubious Kobali alliance?"
"Not just Kobali!" shouts Sarv. "They will be our partners in that system - and will oversee our alliance with the humans!"
There is a shocked murmur among some of the Council - the ones Sarv has not already primed for this. J'mpok stirs on his seat, but does not speak.
"Yes!" Sarv crows. "The humans! A human colony, at first, but when Earth hears of this, when the warrior humans learn of a firm alliance with our people - they will rise up! They will throw off the shackles of the Federation pacifists! They will take back their birthright of combat and blood! Two great warrior peoples of the quadrant will unite, and nothing will be impossible for them!"
It is, I suppose, possible he believes this himself.
J'mpok speaks at last. "And at what cost will we buy this human alliance, Councillor?"
"Only a small one," says Sarv. "Only the granting of a title - a title that is meaningful, true, but one whose actual effectiveness is in name only. The one called Kahless filled the role of Emperor well - he inspired our warriors in battle, he upheld the great traditions of the Empire, and at the last he died as a warrior should! But his throne is now vacant. What Klingon can claim it? Would you dare, Chancellor?"
"I am not worthy," says J'mpok. "Who is?"
"What use is a throne if it is empty?" demands Sarv. "Someone must fill it - and the Grand Imperium has an Emperor. I say, in token of our grand alliance, we will seat him upon the throne! This honourable Council will attend to the details of administration - but the symbolic might, the name and title, will be borne by our new ally!"
It is worrying how little protest and outcry there is at this. Sarv has evidently prepared his puppets well.
"We shall let the new Emperor have all official pomp and splendour," says Sarv. "And how the humans will smile! They will think they have conquered us - but we, we will know that we have won! To take our old enemies and make them Klingon - is it not the greatest of victories?"
He swaggers across the floor of the Hall, and picks up a datapad. "The Council will be pleased to vote on these preliminaries," he says. "Matters of administrative trivia - the official entitlements, a formal treaty, a nominal amnesty for any offences committed against the Empire -"
D'ian nudges me, but I do not need her urging to spot the right moment. "Let us ensure that all relevant data is brought before the High Council," I declaim. "What is the name of our Emperor-to-be?"
Sarv stares at me. "You -" he begins.
"I have been called to account for myself before this honourable Council. Well, here I am. And I have information more current than Councillor Sarv's. We have obtained much data from the records of the late Councillors T'Khal and Dillan." With each word, I advance into the hall, until I am in the open, facing Sarv. I do not look at him; I let my smile play, like a disruptor bolt, across the ranks of Councillors.
And I see the quicker ones react, and my smile broadens. Yes. You know, now, that the blackmail files assembled by Thrang's minions are now in our hands. You know who owns you now.
"The name, Councillor Sarv," I repeat. "Give us the name."
"I -" He takes a step back. "The Grand Emperor is Hadrian VII of the House of Corvo -"
"Your information is out of date, Councillor." Now I smile directly at him. "By now, the ruler of the Grand Imperium - the man you want to rule this Empire - is Kalevar Thrang. And he will no doubt be very glad of that nominal amnesty you wish to arrange -"
And I am interrupted. J'mpok springs from his seat, his face congested with rage. His authentic reaction, indeed.
"You imbecile!" he roars at Sarv. "You dolt! You want my office, and you try to set up Kalevar Thrang as a puppet on your behalf? You are the puppet! Thrang's puppet! He would have you dancing on his strings within a week, and he would lead the Empire to ruin! You unutterable -" He clutches spasmodically at the air in his fury. "I have seen targ droppings with better sense than you!"
The Hall is filling with rancorous shouts. No one who was not already cowed by Sarv would support his proposal... and, now, those who were must realize that their only hope for survival lies in denouncing him.
Sarv's reaction... is not one I had expected. He gapes at J'mpok, he casts a worried glance around the Hall - and then he bolts for the nearest exit. I have never seen a High Councillor move so quickly.
The display of open cowardice stuns everyone, for an instant. J'mpok is first to recover. "Stop him!" he roars.
"Let him run!" I bellow, as loud as I can. "He will run to Thrang!"
J'mpok rounds on me, and for a moment I think I am dead. The floor of the Great Hall is not the wisest place to gainsay the Chancellor.... But his pragmatism kicks in, just in time to save my life. He glares at me. "Then you will pursue him," he snarls, "now!"
I raise my fist in salute. "As you order, Chancellor!"
J'mpok is staring at something else, now, and I see what - or, rather, who - it is, as we turn to go. "What are you grinning at?" he demands.
"Oh, just an idle thought." Melani D'ian's smile is bright and poisonous. "I just wondered... if the honourable Council would care to vote, now, on Councillor Sarv's proposal."
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