ON THE DAY PRESIDENT ZIFE RESIGNED, Ambassador Worf was injured while risking his life in order to liberate the Federation embassy from the terrorists who had taken it over.

The subsequent two weeks made him nostalgic for that day.

Once he subdued Torvak and his guard—a task made easier by Worf’s loaded conversation with Rov, which sent the Klahb leader into a panic—and was able to reactivate the security system, ending the siege of the embassy was simple work. Once he rendered everyone unconscious, he retrieved Kl’rt, the bodies of the other two Klingons, and his Ferengi phaser from the sub-subbasement, taking the time to stun Kl’rt first. It was a laborious process with only one functioning arm, but necessary—Worf wasn’t prepared to share the intelligence about the lower floor with anyone just yet.

Unfortunately, in the confusion following the flooding of the embassy interior with anesthezine gas, Rov managed to escape.

After the tiresome recovery of Kl’rt and the others from down below, Worf had to deal with the more tiresome aftermath of the seizing of the embassy. First he had to let the High Council and the Federation know that all was safe. Then he had to argue with the Defense Force commander who had been about to take the embassy by force when Worf sounded the all-clear—he almost attacked Federation soil without Federation authorization, in direct violation of the Khitomer Accords. Then he had to deal with jurisdictional issues regarding the disposition of the surviving captured Klahb members, finally agreeing to let the empire prosecute them, but with a Federation representative present during all proceedings, a task Worf delegated to Wu. (The magistrate assigned to the case laughed derisively at this, assuming a human would not be able to handle observing Klingon interrogations, but Wu had seen worse in over a decade of service at the embassy on Qo’noS and Worf was not concerned.)

Delegating that task was necessary, as Worf had been recalled to Earth to give a full report to the council, which was understandably concerned at the embassy being taken over on the very day that the president resigned.

In addition, Worf felt it important to provide in-person condolences to the families of Carl Murphy, Damir Gorjanc, and the security personnel who were killed.

Now, a fortnight later, he was at last returning to Qo’noS aboard the U.S.S. Sugihara, eager to meet with the High Council to finally have the discussion he was supposed to have regarding Zife’s resignation.

The door chime to his guest cabin sounded. “Enter,” he said, and the doors parted to reveal Captain Janna Demitrijian.

“Am I intruding, Mr. Ambassador?”

In fact, Worf had been working on some overdue paper-work that had backed up in the last two weeks, and he relished the opportunity to take a break from it. “Not at all.”

“We’ve entered the Klingon home system—we’ll be in orbit of Qo’noS in twenty minutes. I thought you’d want to be prepared.”

Worf nodded, and got up from the desk at which he’d been working. “Good.”

Demitrijian hesitated. Worf, realizing that she had something else to say—if she hadn’t, she would have simply used the intercom from the bridge to inform him of their ETA—prompted her. “What do you wish to ask, Captain?”

“Mr. Ambassador, to be blunt, I want to know if this is the last chance I’ll get to cross the Klingon border freely.”

Walking over to the nightstand in order to pack the few personal items he’d brought with him into his duffel, Worf said, “I do not know what you mean.”

“Yeah, you do. Let’s face it, Fel Pagro has a pretty good chance of winning the election, and you must have heard his speeches. If he is elected, the alliance is in serious jeopardy. Even if he isn’t, you and I both know that Tezwa was a nasty piece of work, and that new ambassador the High Council appointed is the textbook definition of ‘hawk.’ Klingon loonies taking over the embassy isn’t helping, either. So I’m asking you, since you know Klingon politics as well as anyone: Is the alliance in jeopardy?”

By way of stalling, Worf packed his wedding photo with the late Jadzia Dax and the photo of him and Alexander taken on the Enterprise-D, when his son was much younger and Worf was a Starfleet lieutenant.

The fact of the matter was, he did not have a good answer to give Demitrijian. Before Tezwa, there would have been no doubt in Worf’s mind that the Federation-Klingon alliance was as strong as it ever was, but the time since had served as a reminder that it was never all that strong to begin with.

Choosing his words carefully—a skill with which he had had a great deal of practice in these past four years—Worf said, “I will do everything that I am able to do to keep the alliance strong, Captain. I can tell you no more than that.”

Demitrijian shook her head, her black hair bouncing with the motion. “Figures—never expect a straight answer from a politician.”

Worf reacted as if he’d been slapped.

The captain apparently noticed this. “No offense was intended, Mr. Ambassador. I’m just—concerned, is all. Before the Dominion War, the alliance was the only thing that was maintaining galactic peace. During the war, it was the only reason why we won. Now—I don’t know what to think. The Romulans and the Breen have gone quiet, and every time that damn Bajoran wormhole opens, I’m expecting a fleet of Jem’Hadar ships to come through and start the war all over again.” She looked at Worf with deep black eyes that suddenly reminded Worf of Deanna Troi’s. “I joined Starfleet to maintain peace in the Federation, not to wage its wars.” Before Worf could say anything in reply, Demitrijian held up a hand. “I’m sorry, I’m philosophizing.” She grinned. “Comes with the big chair, it seems.”

“So I have observed.”

At that, Demitrijian laughed. “I’ll bet. You’ve probably been ferried on a lot of different ships over the years.”

Blinking, Worf said, “I was referring to my time in Starfleet. I served as an officer on the Aldrin, the Enterprise, and at Deep Space 9 for fifteen years before I was appointed ambassador.”

It was Demitrijian’s turn to blink. “Really? I didn’t know that. Hmp. Well, maybe there’s hope for the alliance after all, then.” She straightened, her face growing more serious. “Sorry to have taken your time, Mr. Ambassador. I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay on my ship.”

Worf inclined his head.

After the captain took her leave, Worf finished packing, considering her words. Worf had met Special Emissary Pagro a few times, and had no doubt that he would make a fine president. But, Captain Demitrijian’s assumption to the contrary, Worf had not heard any of Pagro’s speeches as a candidate, having been far too busy the past fortnight with problems of his own. If he is advocating breaking the alliance, I will need to know about it. If nothing else, I suspect someone on the High Council will question me about it this afternoon.

“Computer,” he said, grabbing a padd, “copy all of the public speeches by Governor Nan Bacco and Special Emissary Fel Pagro since they were declared presidential candidates to this padd.”

“Working.” A moment, then: “Transfer complete.”

By the time the Sugihara entered orbit, Worf had only had time to view the two candidates’ initial speeches, but it was enough. Pagro wasn’t just questioning the alliance, he all but said he would dissolve it unless the Klingons changed their ways. That, he thought, will never happen. Either Pagro was a complete fool, or he was a warmonger, because the only possible outcome of his proposed agenda would be war between the Federation and the empire.

Wu greeted him when he beamed to the embassy grounds, which had been fully repaired, with yet another upgrade to the security system. As they walked through security at the front gate and thence to the turbolift, Worf paid only partial attention to the lengthy list of items he had to deal with after the meeting, but one thing Wu said grabbed his attention: “The members of Klahb all turned on each other. Each was happy to sacrifice the others, and they all were happy to sacrifice Rov. Alexander did his work well.”

It was the mention of his son in particular that drew his notice. As they exited the turbolift to the second-floor landing, he asked, “What did Alexander do?”

After Wu explained how Alexander was able to sow seeds of discontent among the Klahb members, Worf beamed with paternal pride. He had barely had any time to speak with Alexander in the chaos that followed the embassy takeover, and so had known none of this.

“Make a note for me to contact Alexander on the Ya’Vang to thank him.”

“That won’t be necessary, sir. He has remained in the First City—the High Council requested he be detached to the investigation, since he was the only Defense Force soldier present.”

Worf nodded. “In that case, I will wish to speak with him after I meet with the council.”

Wu made a note on his padd. “Very good, sir. There is one other thing, I’m afraid, and it cannot wait.”

If Wu said it could not wait, then it could not. Worf inclined his head, indicating that he should proceed.

“Carl and Damir were both killed, and three other people resigned after the attack. Starfleet has sent replacements for the guards who were killed, but we’re still horribly short-staffed, and the aftermath of the attack has left us with little opportunity to search for replacements. In addition, you have to approve any new hires.”

“That task I will delegate to you,” Worf said, with a glance at Carl Murphy’s now-unoccupied desk.

“Thank you, sir, but that only solves part of the problem. We need at the very least to bring in temporary help to handle some of the more menial tasks, which are lying fallow and threatening to cause difficulties down the line.”

“Do so,” Worf said. “I will also see if there is anyone I can convince to work here.”

Wu smiled. “That would be appreciated, sir. Is there anything else?”

“No.”

“Very good, sir.” Wu took his leave.

After placing his duffel in the office, Worf then left the embassy and walked to the Great Hall, which was only a short distance away. Councillor Ra’ch’s words to him from two weeks ago had been buried in the back of his mind, but he recalled them—and the other words spoken to him by the Federation Council a few days ago—now.

The first time Worf set foot in the council chamber of the Great Hall was thirteen years earlier, when he challenged the High Council’s ruling that Captain Mogh, son of Worf, of the Klingon Defense Force was a traitor to the empire. The council had declared him guilty of consorting with the Romulans in the destruction of the Khitomer outpost, at which thousands of Klingons died—including Mogh and his mate Kaasin. Their six-year-old son Worf, named for Mogh’s father, barely survived, and was raised by humans on Gault and Earth. Although Worf’s challenge was valid, he was forced, for political reasons, to withdraw it, and accept discommendation from the empire.

The last time he was in the chamber was six weeks ago, when he was trying to convince Martok to let the Klingon fleet heading to Tezwa be under the command of Jean-Luc Picard and the Enterprise. Then, too, Worf’s actions were driven as much by political expediency as by honor.

That would seem to be the story of my life, he thought bitterly.

In between those occasions, the Great Hall had been destroyed by the traitor Morjod and rebuilt. As with every other time the hall had been damaged or destroyed over the centuries, the new hall was built as close to the previous one as possible. So, while the actual room was not the same one in which he had challenged the council’s judgment against his father, it looked just like the dark high-ceilinged space with directed light casting long shadows. The strongest light shone on the large raised metal throne that sat under the trefoil emblem of the empire, in which sat Martok.

This time, Worf was addressing the entire council for the first time since before Tezwa. Though the dim lighting made it difficult to make out the features of the councillors, the ambassador could sense the tension in the room. No one was thrilled to see Worf here these days.

Martok sat on the edge of his chair. Unlike K’mpec, who was chancellor a decade and a half earlier, Martok was not at all comfortable in the seat of power. He had always been one who preferred to be moving—a literal man of action—and he obviously hated being stuck in that chair for any length of time.

“So,” the chancellor said, “it would seem that the Federation has lost its leader.”

“Yes,” Worf said, and proceeded to give the cover story Ra’ch had provided.

As predicted, Martok asked why there was no warning of this, and Worf gave the planned answer. It was as if they were performing an opera, long rehearsed.

“And now, your people will choose a new leader by drawing lots.” Martok shook his head. “Madness. Elevation in status comes from the judgment of your peers and your betters, not your lessers. It is an insane system.”

“The Federation government has worked successfully for centuries.” Worf bemusedly realized that he’d used similar words to justify Klingon traditions to humans over the years.

One of the councillors spoke. “And if Fel Pagro should win the accolades of your people and be granted power—what then?” Worf finally placed the voice as belonging to Qolka. “Will they insist upon our becoming as weak as the Federation?”

“No one is proposing that!” This was another councillor, whom Worf did not recognize.

“Pagro is,” Qolka said.

Worf said quickly, “Pagro is not president yet.”

A third councillor, whom Worf recognized instantly, said, “And if he is, Mr. Ambassador? Can you, as representative of the Federation to the empire, guarantee that the Khitomer Accords will not be abrogated?”

Worf turned to the speaker. “I can make no such guarantee, Councillor Kopek, as you well know. None of us may predict the future.” He paused. The comforting lie he told Captain Demitrijian would not work on the High Council. “I will give you my word on this: As long as I am ambassador, the alliance will stand.”

Kopek smiled, and Worf felt as if the temperature in the chamber had dropped. “And we all know that the son of Mogh is a man of his word.”

Qolka snorted. “All that means is that he will resign if the Federation withdraws from the Accords.”

Several other councillors spoke in response, but Worf ignored them. He was more concerned with Kopek.

In exchange for not revealing Kopek’s dishonorable secrets to the High Council, Kopek provided Worf with the prefix codes for the fleet en route to Tezwa. Worf had dealt anonymously with Kopek, disguising himself physically and electronically, but the councillor knew precisely who had blackmailed him.

Worf had kept his word not to reveal Kopek’s despicable actions to the council—or to the public. Not for the first time, he wondered if that had been such a good idea.

“Enough!” At Martok’s interjection, the council grew silent. “I am willing to accept Worf’s assurances.” He gazed with his good eye upon Worf. “For now. But rest assured, Mr. Ambassador, if Pagro does ascend to power, this conversation will be revisited.”

“Of course, Chancellor.”

“Now then, there is other, more important business. You might recall that the Klahb terrorists who took over the embassy claimed that I was your puppet, that the High Council took its orders from the Federation, and that Kahless had been replaced by a Federation hologram.”

“Yes,” Worf said, wondering why Martok was telling him what he already knew.

“Based on your report, as well as that of the rest of your staff, these were assumed to be lies.”

“They are lies.”

Martok hesitated.

Worf closed his eyes. No.

“Summon Emperor Kahless!” Martok cried, and one of the guards ran out of the room.

A moment later, the emperor entered, escorted by the guard. He looked much the same as ever he did: short, stocky, with a crest that was less refined than the crests of most modern Klingons, befitting the era from which he came.

Or, more accurately, the era from which the being he was cloned from came. The person who appeared before Worf on Boreth a decade earlier was a clone of the original Kahless, educated with the knowledge of Kahless from the sacred texts and the oral traditions of the Klingon people, and trumpeted as the prophesied return of the man from whom most Klingons derived their notions of honor, duty, and spirituality. Although the truth of his laboratory-grown nature did come out, many people still embraced the clone as the rightful heir to Kahless’s legacy, and so Worf proposed to then-Chancellor Gowron that he be installed as emperor. Political power in the empire had long since migrated to the High Council, to the point where the office of emperor was dissolved, but Kahless took it now as a spiritual position.

Shortly after the Dominion War ended, Kahless had been instrumental in the fight against Morjod and the restoration of Martok to the chancellorship, after which he disappeared for several months. However, he did eventually return, and had continued in his appointed task as a guide to Klingon honor and glory for the past several years.

“Greetings, Worf,” Kahless said in his scratchy baritone.

In response, Worf bowed his head. “Excellency. It is good to see you again.”

Martok snorted. “You need not bow your head to this one, Worf.” The chancellor nodded to the guard, who pressed a button on a device on his wrist.

Kahless disappeared. A small device fell to the floor of the chamber with a hollow thunk.

The guard bent down to pick up the device, and Worf realized with a start that he recognized it from a year-old intelligence briefing. A mobile emitter.

Worf turned on Martok. “Rov was correct?”

In a low, dangerous voice, Martok said, “Yes.”

“How long has this been going on?”

Again, Martok hesitated. “We do not know.”

It seems the tension in this room is not all directed at me, Worf realized.

Qolka said, “According to Imperial Intelligence, this is a Federation device.”

Worf said nothing. The briefing, which also mentioned that the Starfleet Corps of Engineers had been working on reverse-engineering the emitter for a few years now, made it clear that the information contained in it was to remain within the Federation.

“Or,” Martok continued, “more accurately, a device the Federation scavenged. It was brought back from the Delta Quadrant by a Starfleet vessel that was stranded there for seven years.”

At once, Worf realized that his worst fear—that Kahless had never returned from his walkabout following the war, and had been a hologram all the time since—would not be realized. Kahless had returned after only a few months. The exchange of flesh and blood for photons had to have happened in the slightly less than two years since Voyager’s return to the Alpha Quadrant.

He also realized that Martok’s original statement was, in an odd sort of way, accurate. The mobile emitter was Federation technology, albeit from a possible future, representatives of whom were encountered several times by Voyager during their Delta Quadrant sojourn. However, there was no point getting into that with Martok. Even if he could speak of it to the High Council, he preferred to avoid discussions of time travel, as they invariably gave him a headache.

Another councillor, this one a young warrior named Grevaq, spoke. “The chancellor does not wish to ask this question, Mr. Ambassador, so I will. Is—”

“Be silent!” Martok stood up as his words echoed off the chamber’s walls. “Do not presume to speak for me, Grevaq!”

“My apologies, Chancellor, but—”

“I said be silent!”

Grevaq stepped back, actually looking abashed.

“Worf, you know what I must ask you. Is the Federation responsible for replacing Kahless with a hologram?”

“Of course not.”

No longer abashed, Grevaq asked, “And do you expect us to believe this?”

Turning toward the young councillor, Worf said, “The Federation would never attempt to destabilize another nation in that way.”

Another councillor spoke. “Did not the disease that afflicted the Founders of the Dominion originate with the Federation? I would think that would qualify as attempting to destabilize another nation.”

“We were at war with the Dominion. The empire is the Federation’s ally.”

“For the moment, yes,” the councillor said. “I have to wonder if that is the case any longer. The Federation attempted to undermine our just actions against Tezwa’s aggression. The Federation president now speaks of breaking the alliance.”

“He is not president yet,” Worf said, wondering if the councillor was being deliberately obtuse. “At the moment, there is no president.”

“Ah, so there is a vacuum of power. How, then, are we to trust that what you say is true? You have just admitted that there is no authority.”

“The Federation Council continues to govern the Federation, and they have authorized nothing like this.”

“What about Starfleet?” Qolka then asked. “They have taken rogue action against the wishes of the council before. I seem to recall an attempted coup by an admiral named Leyton several years ago.”

This is getting ridiculous, Worf thought. “That was an isolated incident.”

“Enough!” Martok said before Qolka could reply to that. “For now, Ambassador, we will take you at your word. However, this still leaves the question of what happened to the emperor.”

“The hologram did not provide its origins?”

Martok shook his head. “It was well programmed—it is not even aware that it is a hologram.” Retaking his seat, Martok continued. “Even if you are correct, and your government had nothing to do with this, that still leaves us with a hologram for an emperor—a feat accomplished by technology that only exists in the Federation.”

Before Worf could reply to that, a young Klingon burst into the room. “Chancellor! We have found Rov!”

Again, Martok stood. “Where?”

“The fifth planet in the Pheben system. He is broadcasting a message to the entire empire.”

Several grunts came from around the chamber. Martok asked, “What forces are in the Pheben system now?”

The youth said, “Captain Tavana’s fleet is on maneuvers in that system.”

“Instruct them to destroy the source of that transmission.”

“Yes, Chancellor. It will take some time for the captain to reach the planet. If you wish, we can pipe Rov’s transmission in here while we wait.”

“Do so.”

The young man mumbled into a communicator on his wrist. A moment later, a screen located over the main entrance to the chamber lit up with the trefoil emblem, then switched to an image of Rov.

“—ederation will no longer be able to control us like jatyIn possessing the dead. I tell you now, people of the empire, that Kahless has been taken from us! The Federation has stolen away our emperor and put a soulless collection of photons in his place! They do not wish—”

Clenching a fist, Martok asked, “Why has this not been jammed?”

The youth shook his head. “The transmission is broad-based and complex. We have had only limited success in jamming it.”

“—ou to rise up! To remove the commoner puppet Martok and his puppet master Worf! To ta—”

Qolka stepped forward. “Chancellor, this changes everything.”

Silently, Worf agreed. As long as Rov’s claims were known only to the High Council and the embassy staff, the situation could remain controlled. But a public declaration like this would outrage the general populace. Most would believe it to be foolishness, as I did—but enough won’t to be problematic.

“—ire must be strong! It is we who will rule the galaxy—not the Romulans, not the Dominion, and certainly not the Federation! We sha—”

The youth spoke. “Captain Tavana is entering orbit of the planet now.”

Worf felt the need to speak. “It is possible that Pheben V is only a relay station—or is only the source of a previously made recording.”

Martok nodded, conceding the point. “Perhaps, my friend, perhaps—but for now I am more concerned with ending the transmission.”

“—en we shall take the traitors and rip out their hearts with their own d’k tahg s as we—”

The transmission went dead.

“Captain Tavana has fired upon the only energy source on Pheben V,” the youth said.

Several cheers went up around the chamber. Worf noticed that Martok was not among those doing so.

When those cheers died down, Martok sat in his throne and spoke in a low, rumbling voice. “I expect a full report on how that transmission was able to penetrate our security and why it was impossible to fully jam it.”

Now sounding a bit scared, the youth said, “Yes, Chancellor. You will have the report within the hour.” With that, he left the chamber.

Martok turned his one-eyed gaze on Worf. “It would seem, Ambassador, that your word is no longer sufficient. Before, we could treat this matter internally within the council, but now that the public—and the Defense Force—is aware of Rov’s accusations, we must take more overt action.”

“Must we?” Grevaq asked. “We can condemn Rov as a terrorist and an agitator.”

“And we will prove our words, how?” Martok pointed to the spot where the false Kahless had stood. “Shall we put that before the people and proclaim it emperor? This council will not spin lies in order to spare ourselves inconvenience.”

No one spoke in objection to that, which gave Worf a proud feeling. He had been responsible for Martok’s ascension to chancellor, on the assumption that he would bring honor back to the High Council. Statements like that, and the complete lack of objection to its sentiments, proved to Worf once again that he had made the right choice.

Turning back to Worf, Martok said, “You will return to your government and tell them that the Klingon Empire wishes the formal written assurance of whoever’s in charge that the Federation is not responsible for abducting our emperor. And—” For the third time today, Martok hesitated, which also marked the third time in recent memory that Martok had done so in Worf’s presence. “And, assuming they make such an assurance, tell them that the empire requests the Federation’s assistance in finding Kahless and restoring him to us.”

Worf nodded, wondering if he could justify doing this by subspace.

No, he thought, this will need to be done in person. Even on a secure channel, we cannot risk confirming the replacement of Kahless with a hologram over a com line. Rov has already proven himself capable of circumventing security measures and having access to classified intelligence.

Which meant that he had to turn right around and go back to Earth.

Wu’s earlier words came back to him, both regarding the staffing situation at the embassy and about his son’s performance during the crisis.

“Chancellor, I must make a request.”

“Yes?”

“My son is currently assigned to the investigation into Klahb. When those duties are concluded, I would like him to be temporarily assigned to Mr. Wu at the embassy. We are short-staffed since the Klahb takeover, and his assistance would be—useful.”

For the first time since Worf entered the Great Hall, Martok smiled. “Very well, my friend. It shall be done.”

Worf inclined his head. “If there is no other business, I will arrange for a return to Earth.” He wondered if the Sugihara was still nearby. At the very least, it might be able to bring him to Starbase 24, and he could more easily find transport back to Earth from there.

As he left the chamber, he felt the eyes of many of the councillors drilling into his back. Worf wondered how many of them believed as Rov did, that the Federation was responsible for Kahless’s fate. He also wondered how many of those believed that Worf himself was responsible.