CHAPTER 15

“WHERE ARE MY PEOPLE?” Worf growled.

Normally, Jadzia didn't like to see her husband give himself over to typical Klingon confrontational techniques. But in this case, as Worf glared down at Captain T'len Jadzia was in full agreement. There were too many unanswered questions and too little time to use diplomacy.

T'len stepped back from Worf, her Vulcan features revealing no outward sign of intimidation. Her gaze, however, moved almost imperceptibly to the closed door leading from the planning room to the corridor, as if checking for a path of retreat. Good, Jadzia thought. Here was where having three hundred years of experience paid off. And her experience was telling her now that there was seldom a better person to negotiate with than a Vulcan who had a logical reason to cut negotiations short.

She watched as T'len tugged down on her black tunic. “If you wish to determine the fate of your family members,” the Vulcan captain told Worf, “you have been instructed in accessing Starfleet computers for all pertinent personnel records.”

Jadzia hid a smile as Worf slammed his massive fist down on the table beside him, causing a large schematic padd to jump several centimeters into the air and spilling a coffee mug onto the floor. Klingons could be so messy. It was one of their most endearing traits, she thought as she regarded her mate with loving pride.

“I am not talking about my family,” Worf shouted. “I know my parents have passed on to Sto-Vo-Kor. I know my brother died in the evacuation of Lark 53. I am asking, What happened to the Klingon people? And I want an answer now!”

T'len narrowed her eyes, in what was to Jadzia a rather startling and misguided display of unalloyed Vulcan defiance.

“Or you'll do what, Commander?”

Worf didn't hesitate an instant. Jadzia expected no less of him. Once her mate made up his mind to do something, she knew little could dissuade him.

“Or I will kill you where you stand,” Worf said.

T'len raised a dark, sculpted eyebrow. “You wouldn't dare.”

“I would rather die battling my enemies than wait passively for the universe to end.”

T'len looked past Worf at Jadzia. “Will you talk sense into your husband?”

Jadzia took a moment to enjoy the undercurrent of fear in T'len's voice. It was so satisfying when people had their worldviews turned upside down. As she had discovered in her many different lifetimes, on a personal level few events proved more rewarding. Though it might, of course, take some time for the person caught in such turmoil to realize it.

She shrugged as if completely powerless in this situation, though she and Worf had carefully rehearsed the moment—and this confrontation. “What can I say? You know how willful Klingons can be.”

T'len's chin lifted, and she turned again to face Worf. She was backed against a central engineering table that flickered with constantly updating engineering drawings of the Phoenix. “Commander, I am not your enemy.”

“If you do not tell me the fate of the Klingon Empire in this time period, then I have no choice but to conclude you are somehow responsible for the destruction of the Empire. That makes you my enemy, and deserving of death.”

In what Jadzia could only consider a Vulcan's last-ditch retreat into pure desperation, T'len thrust her hand forward in an attempt to give Worf a nerve pinch.

As Jadzia knew he would, Worf caught the Vulcan's hand before it had traveled more than half the distance to his shoulder. Then he began to squeeze it. Hard. “You have attacked me,” Worf announced in stentorian tones. “I am now justified in defending myself.” At the same time, he began to bend T'len's hand backward.

“I order you to release me!” T'len said.

Worf was implacable. He continued without pause. “I do not recognize your right to order me. In my time, the Empire and the Federation were allies. Since you do not support the Empire, to me that makes you an enemy of the Federation. Either explain to me why and how conditions have changed, or prepare to take passage on the Barge of the Dead.”

Jadzia could see T'len beginning to tremble in her effort to resist Worf's grip and to control the discomfort she must be feeling in her stressed wrist and hand.

“Vulcans do not believe in Klingon superstition,” the captain said, her voice wavering despite her attempts to keep it steady.

“It will not remain a superstition for long,” Worf said grimly. “In less than a minute, I guarantee you will have firsthand knowledge.”

T'len raised her other hand to try to slap her communicator. But Worf caught that hand, too.

Jadzia judged the time was right. She stepped forward. “Captain, you know we want to help the cause. Isn't it logical that you provide us with the same information that inspires you to fight?”

“This is not your concern,” Worf snapped at her, exactly as Jadzia had suggested he do. “The Trill homeworld is still within the Federation. But for all the information Starfleet is willing to give me”—he bent down until his fangs and glaring eyes were only a centimeter from T'len's tense features—“the Empire might as well have been destroyed.”

“It was!” T'len suddenly exclaimed. “There! Does that satisfy you?!”

Jadzia could see the surprise in Worf's face. Almost as an afterthought he released the Vulcan's hand, and she immediately hugged it to her chest, rubbing at her wrist.

“Why could you not tell me at the beginning?” Worf said accusingly. “Just as you told the humans about the destruction of the Earth.”

“Because the Earth was destroyed by the Grigari,” T'len said sharply and, Vulcan or not, the bitterness in her was clearly evident. “But the Empire destroyed itself.”

At once Jadzia moved to Worf's side then, to keep him grounded in this moment, to prevent his descent into the full rage of battle at T'len's revelation. She put her hands on his arm and his back.

“You—will—tell—me—how.” Through the touch that connected them Jadzia felt the visceral struggle each word cost her mate.

T'len's answer was slow in coming. “Project Looking Glass,” she said with a wary look at Worf and Jadzia. “The Klingons were so proud of it. While the Federation fought a holding battle against the Ascendancy, the Empire was to prepare a safe haven from the destruction of the universe.”

Jadzia stroked her mate's back to calm him. “Isn't that a contradiction in terms?” she asked.

“Not if the safe haven is another universe,” T'len said.

As quickly as that, Jadzia understood. “Looking Glass,” she said, stepping away from Worf.

Because Worf understood, as well. “The Mirror Universe.”

T'len nodded, and Jadzia relaxed, detecting the subtle change in the Vulcan captain's stance in response to Worf's more measured tones.

“In that universe,” T'len added with greater assurance, as she sensed that Worf would not respond physically to her unwelcome information, “the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance was in disarray and easy to overcome once the Prime Directive was suspended. The total population was much lower. There were sufficient worlds in which to create new colonies. And the best physicists concluded that the destruction of our own universe would have no effect on the Mirror Universe. It appears that the Prophets—or the wormhole aliens of Jalbador—don't seem to exist there.”

Jadzia knew Worf would not accept T'len's characterization of Klingons, no matter which universe they existed in. And he did not. “It is not like my people to plan for defeat,” Worf growled.

T'len promptly deflected his objection. “That was just a contingency plan, Commander. The original intention was to send a Klingon fleet into the Mirror Universe, fight its way to Bajor, then reappear in our universe behind the Ascendancy's lines.”

Worf grunted approvingly. “A worthy deception. It sounds like the work of General Martok.”

“Chancellor Martok,” T'len corrected. “And it was his plan.”

Jadzia could see from the way Worf's eyes flashed that he already knew how the plan had ended.

“How did it fail?” he asked.

The hesitant manner in which T'len answered suggested to Jadzia that the plan's outcome still baffled the Vulcan captain. “I assure you, Commander Worf, the first exploratory and reconnaissance missions were flawless. Every replicator in the Empire and most of those throughout the Federation were requisitioned to create transporter pads, to transfer goods and warriors to the other side. That effort alone took two years. We still haven't replaced all the replicators we expended. But in time our forces were ready.”

T'len's eyes lost their focus and became opaque, as she relived the moment. “The fleet—the Armada—moved out from the Empire in the Mirror Universe, heading for Bajor, while at the same time in our universe, to counter any suspicions, Earth entered into trade and treaty negotiations with the Grigari. But the Grigari fleet attacked Earth without warning, and with so many ships committed to Looking Glass—which we were certain had not been detected by the Ascendancy—there were no reinforcements to save that world.”

T'len's eyes cleared, and she looked squarely at Worf. “When word reached the Mirror Universe that the Grigari had attacked here before the Klingons could attack there, the Fleet turned around to come to Earth's defense. And when it was in that state of confusion as its mission changed, a second Grigari fleet attacked there as well.”

Jadzia took an involuntary step forward, then stopped herself as Worf's head bowed in sorrow.

“But how . . . how could the defeat of the Armada lose the Empire?” he asked T'len.

“All those transporters,” T'len said quietly. “They had been used to send untold trillions of tonnes of supplies and equipment between the universes. Enormous complexes of them were on all the major worlds of the Empire.”

“And the Grigari—” T'len paused for a moment before continuing. At that moment, Jadzia realized that in her way the Vulcan captain was trying to be kind to Worf, as she succinctly completed her account with little elaboration of the devastating consequences of the plan's failure.

“The Grigari used those same transporters to move weapons from the Mirror Universe into ours, weapons which detonated in place and tore apart worlds, rendered atmospheres unbreathable and collapsed entire ecosystems.

“The end result . . . was that we learned that the Grigari had known exactly what we had planned and had prepared a perfect series of countermoves against us. According to our best estimates,” T'len concluded, “there are slightly more than one million Klingons left alive in this quadrant.”

Worf's broad chest heaved, and if not for the presence of the Vulcan Jadzia would have reached out and drawn him close to her, to share his terrible grief.

When he finally spoke, Worf's voice was low but steady. “Why would you not tell me this before?”

“Because Starfleet needs every warrior who can serve. And that includes you, Commander. Also”—Jadzia felt T'len's gaze upon her—“we were concerned that if . . . when you found out about the fate of your Empire, you would do what so many other Klingons have done—go off on a suicidal mission to assuage survivor guilt and die in battle. Or that you would attempt to accomplish some great victory, in order to ensure that a relative lost in the destruction of the Armada might find a place in Sto-Vo-Kor.”

The sounds of Worf's deep breathing intensified, but he did not respond further.

“What will you do, Commander?” T'len asked. “Abandon Starfleet? Abandon the Phoenix? Go off and die in glorious battle?”

Jadzia held her breath. This time, not even she knew what Worf's answer would be.

It seemed forever to her before her mate again spoke. “How did Chancellor Martok die?”

“He was with the fleet,” T'len said simply, “on the flagship The Heart of Kahless. But they were wiped out to the last warrior. I do not know precisely how he died.”

“He died with honor,” Worf growled fiercely in what Jadzia knew was a challenge. “Of that you can be certain.”

Jadzia tensed. The Vulcan captain stared up at Worf for a moment before making her decision. “I am,” the Vulcan said.

Worf nodded once, then said, “I am a Starfleet officer. I see no conflict in fulfilling that duty and behaving honorably as a Klingon warrior. But you must no longer keep secrets from me, or from any of us. Either we are your fellow warriors and your equals, or we will leave you to fight on our own. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” T'len said.

Jadzia had a question of her own for T'len. “Why are there so few humans left?”

Once again, T'len's voice betrayed an un-Vulcan-like emotional turmoil, but now Jadzia was realizing that more than just institutions had changed in this time. So had the people. She would have to remember that, and not depend on perhaps irrelevant assumptions derived from centuries of experience in other times. The knowledge gave her an odd feeling of freedom from the past lives she remembered. Whatever she and the others faced in this time would require her to make observations uniquely her own.

“The Klingon colony worlds,” T'len explained, “were used to create the Armada in the Mirror Universe. In contrast, human colony worlds were used to establish emergency communities, survival camps really . . . in case Starfleet and the Empire were not successful in stopping the Ascendancy. And the same type of transporter facilities were installed everywhere from Alpha Centauri to Deneva. At sixty percent efficiency, with the facilities we established on fifty colony worlds, we would have had the capacity to transfer up to thirty million people a day into the Mirror Universe. In these past five years, we might have saved—evacuated—almost sixty billion people.”

The Trill understood at least one reason for the Vulcan captain's distress. Sixty billion was a vast number, yet it would only have accounted for slightly less than ten percent of the total population of the Federation. And factoring in the populations of the nonaligned systems and all the other beings who must exist elsewhere in the galaxy and throughout the universe, sixty billion was as inconsequential as a raindrop in an ocean.

But there was another possible reason.

“The Grigari used those transporters, too, didn't they?” Jadzia asked.

“Nanospores,” T'len said with distaste. “Nanites, which exist only to disassemble living cells to make other nanites, which then spread to other life-forms and begin the process again. They can't be screened through biofilters. There are no drugs to which they will respond. Neither are they affected by extremes of temperature. Whole populations were . . . were dissolved. Entire worlds stripped of their biospheres. And Starfleet had to maintain quarantines around all of them, to incinerate any ship that attempted to leave.” T'len's dark eyes bore into Jadzia's. “Do you really want to know more?”

Jadzia touched Worf's arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Felt no response in return. “Not now,” she said. “I think we need to be alone for a while.”

“We tour the Phoenix at 0800 hours tomorrow morning,” T'len said, by way of agreement.

Jadzia nodded. T'len sighed as she gave a last rub to her strained wrist, then left the planning room.

As soon as the Vulcan captain had moved through the doorway and out of earshot, Worf turned to Jadzia, looked down at her. “This future cannot be permitted to happen,” he said.

“But it already has, Worf.”

Worf shook his head angrily. “We are still connected to our past. To our present. We must go back somehow and prevent this.”

It was unfortunate, Jadzia thought, that the direct Klingon approach was not always the best—not even in this time, she would wager. And it was always so difficult to explain that to her mate. She put both hands on Worf's shoulders. “Worf, the only way we can go back to our present is by retracing our slingshot trajectory around the red wormhole, and that wormhole is in the middle of the Bajoran system. There's nothing Starfleet can do to get anywhere near it. We have to accept that there's nothing more we can do to change the past. But with the Phoenix, we do have a chance to change the future.”

“I refuse to accept that.”

Jadzia made a playful fist and lightly tapped her knuckles against Worf's heavy brow ridges. “Just as I thought,” she said. “No evidence of brain matter. Solid bone throughout.”

Her mate glared at her. “This is not the time for levity! The universe is trapped in a nightmare and we are the only ones who can restore it!”

“I agree,” Jadzia said, drawing her fingers along Worf's cheek. “But what do I always tell you when you make such grand and glorious plans?”

Jadzia hid her smile as Worf's bluster became uncertain.

“I . . . do not remember,” he said.

Jadzia didn't believe that for an instant. “We can do anything that we choose to do . . . say it. . . .”

Worf grimaced, as if he knew there was no escape this time. And this time, Jadzia thought, she would see that there wasn't.

“We can do anything that we choose to do,” he repeated without conviction.

“Very good,” Jadzia said, as she lowered her hand to caress his broad chest. “But sometimes, we do not have to choose to do it now.”

She looked up at Worf, knowing what it was they both must do to prepare for the battle ahead, just as the first Klingon male and female had done before they had stormed heaven and destroyed the gods who had created them.

“The Empire must be avenged,” Worf said.

“I know,” Jadzia agreed. “But first we must prepare for battle.”

Worf nodded his assent, placed both powerful hands on her arms.

“Computer,” Jadzia said clearly, “seal the planning office door. Security request gamma five.” She smiled at Worf, glad she had reviewed the security manuals for the shipyards.

Something clicked inside the door, and the security condition light changed from amber to red.

Right at that instant, Worf leaned down and kissed her, his full embrace of her powerful, charged with the emotion of the moment and not tempered by concerns that had gone before or would be faced in the future.

But that was Worf's way, not hers. There was still something that troubled Jadzia. She pulled back from him, but did not look away.

“What?” Worf asked roughly, his voice thick with passion.

“Something Captain T'len said. About . . . getting into Sto-Vo-Kor.”

Worf threw back his head proudly. “An easy matter. I have eaten the heart of an enemy.”

“There's more to it than that.”

“Of course. A warrior must die in glorious battle.”

“But T'len said that some Klingons were trying to fight to get their relatives into Sto-Vo-Kor.”

Worf sobered, became thoughtful. “There are many qualities a warrior must possess. Among them is the ability to inspire great actions in the hearts of others. So, if a great warrior does not fall in battle, he is not necessarily denied the reward of Sto-Vo-Kor. If those who know him dedicate their own great battle to him, then there will be a place for the fallen among the honored dead.”

Jadzia felt a wave of thankful relief for her mate's generous nature. In its way, the Klingon religion was also humane, in that there were many chances for personal redemption, even after death.

She gripped Worf”s hand tightly in both of hers, and with perfect warrior's inflection she said in Klingon, “Then know this, my husband. That if you should die outside of battle, I will dedicate each battle I fight for the rest of my life to your honor and to your place among the honored dead.”

Worf trailed his fingers through her long dark hair. “You are the most romantic female I have ever known,” he whispered gruffly.

Jadzia took that hand as well, and lightly bit his fingers. “And will you fight for me if I fall outside of battle?”

Worf kissed her forehead. “That is not your destiny. You will die an old woman with long white hair, secure in your bed, surrounded by your grandchildren, and it will be our sons who will win glorious victories for us both, that we might sit at the table of Sto-Vo-Kor.”

Jadzia felt tears well up in her eyes as her love for Worf grew even stronger. She smiled at him, knowing that the time for words, no matter how beautiful, was coming to an end.

“Our sons?” she asked teasingly.

“At least ten,” Worf murmured as he crushed her in his arms.

“Ten?” Jadzia laughed. “Then we'd better get to work. . . .”

They didn't speak past that, and afterward, content in the arms of her warrior, Jadzia drifted off to sleep, dreaming of sons—and daughters—and scores of grandchildren, and the perfect love she knew would last for decades to come.

Which meant, she dreamily realized, that the universe would not end as everyone feared.

She slept soundly, knowing that the future was secure, and that it would be many years before she came to the gates of Sto-Vo-Kor.