The Art of the Impossible

“He died on Raknal V, investigating a building collapse—that building then fell on both of us. I managed to get out, he didn’t. The kicker is that the building was sabotaged by Romulans.”

“Romulans?” Dax sat up. His headache grew worse, but the involvement of Romulans on Raknal V changed everything. “What the hell do they have to do with it?”

“A very good question to which greater minds than yours are trying to come up with answers,” Vaughn said dryly.

“I sincerely doubt that you know any minds greater than mine, Vaughn, though I don’t expect you to admit it, either.”

Vaughn stared at Dax with his steely blue eyes for several seconds. Finally, he spoke. “Do you remember what I said to you on the Carthagesixteen years ago?”

Dax sighed. “Yes. You said that this wouldn’t come to a good end and that it would blow up in our faces.”

“I’d say I’m two for two on that score, Ambassador. Hundreds of Klingons and Cardassians have died, and now a Starfleet officer’s been killed. This idiocy has gone on so long, the Romulans are using it as an opportunity to foment chaos for their own reasons. It has to stop.”

“Agreed. Though I doubt I’ll be able to get Prefect Monor and Governor Qaolin into a room together so they can kiss and make up.”

“No, but you might use some of that clout with the Klingons that you’re so proud of to get them to focus. They’re pouring all their resources into developing their military for a fight against Cardassia while ignoring the planet that’s the source of the conflict.” Vaughn’s eyes were fairly smoldering. “I’m not leaving this planet without you, Ambassador. One way or another, you’re coming with me to clean up this mess that you’ve made.”

“Relax, Vaughn, you sold me the moment you mentioned the Romulans. Although I am impressed. I didn’t think you had this level of fire in you.”

“Ian Troi was a good friend. He died because of your carelessness.”

“Don’t try to put that on me, young man,” Dax said, standing up. A breeze blew through his white hair. “You said yourself that Romulans killed him by dropping a building on his head. Troi took an oath that he would die in service of the Federation if called upon to do so. I took no such oath, but I did promise to oversee the development of Raknal V.”

“Obviously it has not developed as you hoped.”

“Obviously,” Dax snapped. “Well, let’s be off. We can take whatever ship you and your intelligence friends commandeered for the purpose.”

“Fine, we can go back to your room and pack. Where is it?”

Dax gri

“Your self-confidence is—”

“Well earned,” Dax interrupted, his grin widening, “I assure you.”

Vaughn scowled. “If that were the case, we wouldn’t still be tallying the damage from your solution at the Betreka Nebula, would we?”

“Touché,” Dax said with a dismissive gesture. “Shall we?”

As they walked toward the resort’s exit, Dax couldn’t resist one final shot. “By the way, I see you’ve grown a beard. I don’t like it. Looks like a sehlatdied on your face.”

Chapter 29

Qo’nos

For years, K’mpec had heard stories about “the Great Curzon,” mostly from Captain Kang, who had gone so far as to name his firstborn after the Trill. So, when the High Council received a request from the ambassador to speak before them, K’mpec had been looking forward to finally seeing the person behind the legend.

What he got was a small, middle-aged, white-haired, smooth-foreheaded humanoid who was indistinguishable from any other small, middle-aged, white-haired, smooth-foreheaded humanoid. Except for the spots. Hardly the subject of song and story.

However, the body was just a shell. The true heart of a warrior ca

“Councillors—Chancellor Kravokh. I thank you for allowing me to speak before you.”

Kravokh nodded. “Your service to the Klingon Empire and its people is well noted by the Council, Ambassador.”

“Again, thank you. It is one of those past services that I wish to discuss with you now. Sixteen years ago at the Betreka Nebula, I proposed—and you all accepted—an arrangement whereby the Klingon Empire and the Cardassian Union would each be given a continent on Raknal V to develop. Whoever proved better able to exploit the planet would be granted full control of it—as well as the sacred remains of Ch’gran. I did this because I knew that a true Klingon would not shirk such a challenge, indeed would rise to it, and fight like warriors to the end.”

Dax started to pace the hall, looking each councillor in the eye as he spoke. “Yet here I stand before you, sixteen years later, and what have you done? Instead of fighting like warriors, you skulk like vermin!”

Several members of the Council rumbled in outrage. Recognizing the obvious rhetorical technique, K’mpec was not among them. Still, had anyone other than the Great Curzon made this statement, their lives would be forfeit—but had it been anyone other than the Great Curzon, they would not be speaking before the High Council in the first place.

“The Klingon colony on Raknal V is a joke, a model of inefficiency run by a drunken former ship captain. The equipment is substandard, the work uninspired, the population barely interested in sustaining their own lives. Hundreds have died due to incompetence, mismanagement, or the dozens of small battles that have erupted between Klingon and Cardassian. Now a Starfleet officer has been killed, a man with a widow and child who cry out for vengeance. What is it we may tell them?”

K’mpec admired the effectiveness of Dax’s oratory. Humans, of course, did not cry for vengeance when their loved ones died—they simply cried. That, and whined about the injustice of it all, as if it were some great revelation that the universe was cruel. But that did not change the fact that an honorable ally died on a Klingon world for no reason other than the apparent incompetence of Klingon builders—or Cardassian sabotage, but K’mpec believed the Federation report that the Cardassians were not responsible.

“I ask you, Councillors—honorable Chancellor—is this how the heroes of Ch’gran are to be remembered? Are the pioneers who paved the road to space with their sacrifice—with their blood—to be remembered as the instigators of a drawn-out, futile conflict? Are we—”

“Enough!”

K’mpec’s attention had been focused on Dax. He turned now to see Kravokh standing in front of his chair of office, his face contorted in fury.

And something else—something K’mpec never imagined he would see in the eyes of a leader of the High Council: fear.

“I have let you speak out of respect for all you have done, Ambassador, but do not try the Council’s patience any further! You are not one of us, you ca