The Art of the Impossible

“That poor boy,”she said when he told her about Worf. “He’s the same age as Nikolai?”

Again, he chuckled. “A few years younger, though you would not know it to look at him. He’s twice as big as Nikolai. Doctor Tavares says that Klingons develop faster than humans.” Then he once again became serious. “There is something else.” Slowly, hoping he could convey Kahlest’s trepidation—he couldn’t really call it fear—he shared what she had told him in sickbay.

Helena frowned. “I don’t know, Sergey.”

Knowing it was a weak argument, Sergey said, “We did say that we wanted to have a second child when I came home next month.”

Naturally, Helena plowed right through it. “Yes, a secondbaby ! Who would not come for at least another nine months! Not a Klingon boy that we’d have to take in right away!”

“We have the space in the house.”

“Wonderful. And how will Nikolai react? Instead of having the better part of a year to prepare him we have, what, a few days? And how will we care for this boy? Do you know what he eats? What kind of clothes he wears? Will he be allergic to the furniture? How does he sleep?”

“Lenotchka—” He hesitated.

“What is it?”she asked gently. Sergey rarely used the diminutive except when they were in person.

“The boy has nothing. No home to go to. Just memories of a—a very bad place. I know because I have that memory now, too.” The smell of burnt flesh came back, unbidden, and Sergey’s quarters seemed to darken to the same dimness of that engine room he, Tobias, and the damage-control team had beamed into.

A second passed. Two. Then Helena’s smile came back, and the room lit up all over again. “Then we will give him better memories. Bring him home, Sergey, if he will come.”

“Good.” He smiled. “We will not regret this, Helena.”

She smirked. “I already do. I will see you soon.”

“Not soon enough. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

After Helena’s beautiful face faded from the viewscreen, Sergey decided to return to sickbay. He wanted to speak to his new son.

Chapter 37

Qo’nos

Lorgh stood in the small room on the upper level of his home that overlooked the HoSghaj River. The room’s sole illumination came from a large candle.

He watched the mighty river flow past his estate and toward the ocean into which it emptied.

The mission he had sent Mogh on had not quite been the success Lorgh had hoped. The true identity of the Romulan spy was not known, which meant they did not know who his or her accomplices might have been. Still, he had accounted for that possibility, which was one of the reasons why he had insisted on Kurn remaining behind. Better still, even though Mogh and Kaasin were killed, Worf survived—according to his sources, he had been taken in by the family of one of the humans serving on the Intrepid,the Starfleet vessel that first responded to the distress signal on Khitomer.

General Worf’s line would remain intact. One son of Mogh remained in the Federation, beyond the reach of any vengeful relations of whoever the spy was.

The other son of Mogh would be a son of Lorgh for the nonce. Lorgh had no sons of his own, so that would provide an adequate excuse for this step. And in the long term, the boy would have other uses. Lorgh intended to make sure that Kurn was a powerful warrior, and a force to be reckoned with in the Empire. He also intended to keep an eye on Worf—see how a Klingon raised in the Federation would turn out.

Both sons of Mogh might turn out to be quite useful to him.

And, even if the short-term consequences were devastating, the long-term prognosis was good. The Intrepid’s presence served to drive off the Romulans—and also reveal their responsibility for the attack. K’mpec had been able to ascend to the chancellorship, a move long overdue. The truth—that a Klingon betrayed Khitomer to the Romulans—would remain hidden for now, but there was nothing to be done about that. A pity,Lorgh thought. Proof of that might send us to war with the Romulans.Instead, the members of the High Council whose Houses owed their strength and position to Romulan assistance would continue to do all they could to keep the two powers from coming into conflict. It would be K’mpec’s task to keep those forces at bay—and Lorgh’s to try to expose them—over the course of time.

As for Kravokh, he had served his purpose—to get the Empire out of the rut that Kaarg and Ditagh had mired them in—but his Ch’gran obsession proved his undoing. It was almost worth the sacrifice of four thousand lives to speed him on his way to Sto-Vo-Korwhere he would no longer ruin the Empire with his constant worrying about the past.

Klingons could not forget their past, but it was I.I.’s job to make sure that the Empire had a future. Lorgh was confident that K’mpec was the one to bring them to that future.

If he isn’t, then he too will be replaced. The river will flow onward.

He walked over to the candle and unsheathed his d’k tahg. Mogh, Kaasin, you did your work well. Your sacrifices will not go unheeded. May you join the general inSto-Vo- Kor , and may your battles continue ever onward. You deserve no less.

Using the flat of his d’k tahg,he extinguished the candle’s flame.

Then he went downstairs to speak to his new son.

“You know, if you keep that up, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”

Elias Vaughn had been pacing in the corridor outside the new Klingon chancellor’s office for the better part of fifteen minutes. Curzon Dax had never considered Vaughn to be the type to have an excess of nervous energy—well, to be honest, he had never given Vaughn all that much thought at all—but he seemed to be boiling over with it today.

“Since this floor is made of rodinium, I doubt that’s an issue, Ambassador.”

Dax smiled at Vaughn’s disdain. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“The syllables spell out the word ‘ambassador,’ yet you manage to make it sound like ‘jackass’ every time.”

At that, Vaughn actually smirked. “Call it a gift.”

“I’d rather call it an irritant, but suit yourself. In any case, K’mpec will see us when he’s good and ready. He isthe newly appointed head of a massive interstellar empire.”

“It feels like we’re being stalled. I dislike being stalled.”

Dax laughed. “You have no appreciation of the Klingon mindset, Commander. Trust me, if K’mpec can’t see us, it’s because he’s too busy to see us. Klingons don’t stall. If he wanted us to sweat, he’d put us in a sauna—or just threaten to garrotte us, or some other such thing.”

“Well, you’re the expert,” Vaughn said, using that same disdainful tone.

The door to K’mpec’s office opened, and a surly looking guard stepped through it. “Inside,” he said, indicating the interior with his head.

The office, Dax noted as he entered, was spare. The desk was a small piece of metal just large enough to hold a workstation and a few padds. K’mpec’s impressive girth made him look like a full-grown adult sitting at a child’s play dining room set as he sat behind it, looking over something on the screen of that workstation. Behind him, the wall was decorated, typically, with weapons, as were two other walls, as well as a rather unfortunate painting. Dax prayed that the latter was a holdover from Kravokh’s reign that K’mpec simply hadn’t gotten around to having destroyed.