“I WAS NOT AWARE that the ambassador had an heir,” Councillor Qolka said as Alexander entered his office, “much less that he was a soldier of the empire. And now his lackey as well?”

Alexander did not take the bait, but instead simply stood opposite Qolka, in the spot where guest chairs would be in the Federation. Klingon officials saw no reason for their guests to be comfortable—and even if they did, the chairs would be metal slabs of some kind. I’d just as soon stand, Alexander thought.

Aloud, he said, “I’ve been temporarily assigned to the embassy until they can restaff after the attack last month.”

Qolka sat behind his desk, grabbing one of five mugs that sat on the table. Though Alexander’s olfactory senses were not as sharp as most Klingons’—and given most Klingon smells, he was more than happy to have inherited a weak nose from the human quarter of his heritage—he could definitely make out one warnog, one raktajino, and one prune juice. The latter had become a popular import item in recent years. I wonder, Alexander thought with amusement, if Qolka’s aware that it was my father who started that trend.

The mug Qolka gulped from had one of the two unidentifiable drinks—though Alexander could see that it was green, based on the bit that spilled into Qolka’s gray beard. After setting it down, he regarded Alexander. “Why has a Defense Force bekk been assigned to the Federation embassy? Or is it solely because you’re the ambassador’s whelp?”

Again, Alexander did not take the bait. “I’m also a Federation citizen, sir. In fact, I was born there. But I also lived in the embassy when I was a child before my mother died.”

Qolka squinted at Alexander, looking like he was making some kind of deduction. Then his eyes widened again and he grinned. “You’re Ambassador K’Ehleyr’s boy, aren’t you?”

Alexander smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“She was quite a woman. Only Federation ambassador I could stand being near for more than five minutes, including your father.” Qolka laughed. “And she and Worf actually mated? It is a strange universe.”

“I’ve noticed that, sir. If we can get to the business at hand…”

“That Wu person said you wished to speak with me about the Federation alliance.”

“Yes, sir.” Alexander paused to take a breath. “The Federation Council’s concerned about the state of the alliance.”

“Really?” Qolka grabbed another mug—Alexander was pretty sure this was the warnog—and held it near his mouth. “Then they should have allowed us to deal with Tezwa ourselves.”

“Sir, I assume you’ve read the reports from Tezwa.”

Qolka shrugged. “My aides have. What of it?”

“You’re aware, aren’t you, sir, that it was the crew of the Enterprise—which was the only ship to survive the Tezwans’ first attack on the fleet—who were able to destroy the Tezwan weapons. If they hadn’t, the second fleet that went in—a fleet which I was part of, by the way, on the Ya’Vang—wouldn’t have survived.”

“Of course they were able to destroy the weapons—they were Federation cannons that the Tezwans stole from Starfleet. Which is what I’d expect from a collection of weaklings. The Federation’s concept of security is pathetic.” Now he drank from the mug. Slamming it down after guzzling its contents, he said, “With each day, I see less and less reason to continue to be allied with a body of fools. And now your own leader calls for us to change our ways in order to be worthy of remaining aligned with you.” He laughed. “It is even more pathetic. If anything, the Federation should change its ways.”

Based on the lengthy meeting he had with Father and Wu the previous day, Alexander had expected something like this, so his answer was ready. “Fel Pagro isn’t the leader of anything, Councillor. He’s just a man trying to get elected. There are plenty of people in the Federation who think the way he does, and he’s hoping there’s enough of them that they’ll vote for him.”

“This is supposed to put me at ease?” Qolka asked with a snort. He picked up the prune juice mug.

“No, but this is: Pagro’s losing ground. The Federation News Service takes regular polls, and with each one, the number of people who say they’re gonna vote for Pagro goes down. His opponent—”

“—is a female,” Qolka said dismissively.

Alexander gritted his teeth. “So was my mother, Councillor.”

Smiling, Qolka said, “Which is why I could stand being in her presence. Your mother was quite the comely one.”

Resisting the great urge to respond with violence—mostly because he knew Qolka would stuff him headfirst into one of the drink mugs if he tried—Alexander instead said, “Well, Governor Bacco has negotiated treaties with the Gorn and the Metrons.”

That seemed to surprise Qolka. “Really? A female did that?”

“Yes, sir.” Alexander let out a breath. Klingons generally respected the Gorn, as much as they respected anyone, and they had a healthy regard for advanced beings like the Metrons, owing mostly to the empire’s experiences with the Organians a century earlier. “And she’s come out in favor of keeping the alliance strong.”

“That merely proves she knows that we will crush the Federation if we do go to war.”

“Really? You sure of that? Since the war, the Federation’s been rebuilding its fleet, and it’s getting stronger every day. In that same four-year period, the empire’s lost ships at battles from San-Tarah to Tezwa, against the Elabrej, the Kinshaya, the Kreel—you really think you can win a war against the Federation?” Before Qolka could answer, Alexander pressed his advantage. “Look at the shape the empire was in before the Khitomer Accords were signed. Soldiers were dying by the thousands in battles with the Federation, the Romulans, the Kinshaya, the Tholians. Whole planets were starving to death. Planetary resources were next to nonexistent. A moon blew up—one lousy moon—and it would’ve destroyed the empire if the Federation hadn’t helped out.”

“That is ancient history—” Qolka started, but Alexander interrupted, hoping it wasn’t a mistake to do so.

“But it leads to current history. Nobody in the empire’s starving, and they haven’t been since Chancellor Kravokh’s day. We’ve got replicator technology, we’ve got access to resources that we never had before the treaty. Our ships have stronger shields, better sensors, and quantum torpedoes because of the alliance.” He pointed to the mug Qolka still held. “You’re drinking that prune juice because of the alliance. Why do you want to give that up? Why do you want to go back to the way things were?” Alexander paused a moment, then went for what he hoped was the killer ending to the rant he’d been practicing all morning. “When the Federation was the empire’s enemy, the empire was weak and cowardly. Since the alliance, the empire has just gotten stronger. You don’t win battles by retreating, Councillor.”

Qolka started to drink his prune juice, then set it down. “Truly you are a man of two worlds, Alexander, son of Worf—you talk like a human, but you speak as a warrior.” He smiled. “Tell your father that I will continue to support the alliance—for the time being.”

Alexander blinked. That was too easy. “Just like that?”

“I did say ‘for the time being,’ did I not?”

Nodding, Alexander said, “Yeah, you did.”

“When you speak to your father, be also sure to tell him that I expect not to be given reasons to change my mind.” Grinning lasciviously, he added, “And tell him I admire his taste in women.”

Again, Alexander gritted his teeth. “I’ll do that, sir. Thank you.”

With that, he left Qolka’s office. He checked the time, and saw that he had only a half hour until his next appointment, with Councillor Grevaq. This may not be as exciting as serving on the Ya’Vang, he thought, but I gotta say I’m liking this. I feel like I’m doing something good. I’m helping the Federation and the empire—and I’m helping Father.

Thinking back to the less-pleasant parts of his conversation with Qolka, he nonetheless got a warm feeling inside. And in a way, I’m helping Mother, too. I think she’d be proud of what I did today.

“Ah, Ambassador Worf. Once again you grace the Great Hall with your presence.”

His stomachs rumbling with nausea, Worf stepped into Councillor Kopek’s office. Unlike most of the other members of the High Council, who decorated their chambers sparsely if at all, Kopek made his as lavish as possible, from the Betazoid water sculpture to the targhDIr furniture to the crystal sconces for the candles that provided illumination. A Danqo tapestry decorated the wall behind his desk, and a J’lang sculpture of Aktuh embracing Melota sat on one end of his desk. He had replaced the functional duranium doors with Terran redwood ones, covered the ceiling with Vulcan paper tiles and the floor with black marble, and added wholly unnecessary pillars of obsidian.

Kopek walked over to the small table on which he kept an assortment of liquids in crystal pitchers. “Can I interest you in a drink, Ambassador? I have prune juice straight from Earth.”

Under any other circumstances, Worf would welcome the refreshing beverage, but Worf was ever mindful of the Klingon aphorism Drink not with the enemy. And, despite the purpose of his visit, Kopek was most definitely the enemy. He had opposed Martok from the moment he took his seat on the council, three years earlier, and an enemy of Martok’s was, by definition, an enemy of Worf’s.

But for now, I need to cultivate him as an ally of the Federation ambassador, he reminded himself.

“Thank you, but no,” Worf said, “I will not be here long.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. I would speak to you about the Federation alliance.”

Pouring himself an amber liquid that looked like no Klingon beverage—but looked a lot like Saurian brandy, a drink Worf had always found rather bland—Kopek said, “Suit yourself.” He brought the glass—not a traditional Klingon mug, but rather a clear glass, decorated with the empire trefoil—with him to his desk and sat in a chair that was upholstered with Terran leather. “What about the Federation alliance would you like to speak of?”

“The Federation has expressed concern that the High Council will attempt to sway Martok in the direction of breaking the alliance.”

Kopek laughed. “Of course they have. So you come to me because you know that I am an opponent of Martok and all he stands for. And that is as it should be—commoners do not belong in the Great Hall. As a scion of a noble House, you should be aware of that.” With a look of mock-realization, he added, “Oh but wait—your father’s House was dissolved by Gowron, was it not? A pity. Still, the rule of men belongs to those of noble blood; it is not a place for laborers from the lowlands.”

It was all Worf could do to restrain himself from saying, No, that place is your bed. “Regardless of his origins, the chancellor feels that the empire’s alliance—”

“The alliance is a sham, and it does me no good. The Ferengi have a saying—” He chuckled. “In fact, they have an entire book of sayings, but the one I like best is the one about how war is good for business. Peace with the Federation means nothing. War with the Federation means new ship construction, it means a rise in the sale of difficult-to-obtain goods, it means a rise in weapons sales across the galaxy. It means I profit, and, as an added bonus, it strikes another blow into Martok’s lowborn heart.” Kopek downed his brandy in one gulp by way of punctuating his statement.

Worf’s mouth twisted in annoyance. He had expected no less from Kopek, but he had to make the effort. “Very well. Thank you for your time.”

Even as Worf turned to leave, Kopek continued speaking. “I do wish to thank you, Ambassador. You’ve done me a great service.”

Worf stopped, but did not turn around. “How is that?”

“Oh, I know you can’t admit it—and those toys you used to disguise yourself were quite impressive—but we both know who it was who traded a data rod for my access code. By the way, I’ve changed the code, so don’t think that will do you any good in the future. That rod, however, has been a great boon. I had no idea that I.I. knew that much about me. It has enabled me to strengthen my own position, and eliminate several enemies I did not even know I had.”

The nausea in Worf’s stomachs increased. Kopek had mentioned ship construction in his litany of potential benefits from a Federation-Klingon war, but the dossier Worf had been provided on Kopek said nothing about shipbuilding being among his many concerns. No doubt one of those enemies did, Worf thought angrily, and those concerns now belong to the House of Kopek.

Kopek stood and walked back to the drinks table. “Oh, one more thing, Ambassador. A mutual acquaintance of mine is here. He wishes to give you his regards.”

At that, Worf turned around, just in time to see the door to the antechamber open. During the Tezwa crisis, when Worf had broken into these very same chambers and rendered both Kopek and his aide-de-camp unconscious, he had placed both their prone forms in that antechamber.

Now, it was Kl’rt who leapt from the now-open doors, firing a disruptor.

Worf ducked behind one of the pillars. Kl’rt’s shot was wild, as he fired before he could take proper aim, and so the blast only grazed Worf’s shoulder. It didn’t even make it through to the skin, although his cassock was badly singed.

“Now you will die the death you deserve, traitor!” Kl’rt cried.

Reaching into his pocket, Worf pulled out his own phaser and fired back.

Kl’rt fell to the floor, dead, even as his disruptor fired into the ceiling, damaging the Vulcan tiles.

Kopek smiled. “Well done, Ambassador!”

Coming out from behind the pillar, blood boiling in his veins, Worf growled and asked, “What was he doing here? He should be dead!” According to the report he’d read upon his return to Qo’noS, all the members of Klahb—except for Rov, whose body was predictably not retrieved at Pheben V—were executed.

“And he is dead,” Kopek said, pointing at the body. “See?”

Worf squinted, and reined in his temper. Tempting as it was—justified as it would be under the circumstances—killing Kopek would do him no good.

Then, even as he calmed down, his mind worked through the true meaning of Kopek having Kl’rt hiding in his closet, as well as the still-unanswered question as to how a group of kitchen stewards were able to so easily take over the Federation embassy.

“You,” he said.

“What about me?” Kopek asked, trying and failing to sound innocent.

“You were behind Klahb. Only someone with the High Council’s resources could have given them the information they needed to neutralize weaponry and take over the security system.”

Laughing, Kopek said, “Of course. As I said, war is good for business. All the pieces were on the game board. There was the disaster at Tezwa. That tiresome clone of Kahless had been replaced by a Federation hologram. And there I was, with a clean slate, as it were, thanks to a fool of a diplomat who labored under the delusion that I.I.’s file on me was fair payment for so ephemeral a piece of data as an access code.”

Though it did not seem so from Kopek’s perspective, the trade was a fair one, because the one thing Kopek did not factor in was time. Worf had a limited window of opportunity in which to act. He could not afford to think about the long-term consequences of what was, of necessity, a short-term solution. Now, he thought bitterly, those consequences return to haunt me.

Kopek went on. “With my newfound freedom to maneuver, it was child’s play to start the game by providing Klahb with the means to take over the Federation embassy. No matter what the outcome—and I have to give you credit, Ambassador, I did not expect you to so readily resolve the situation all on your own—it would send our respective governments further down the road to war, especially with Special Emissary Pagro’s leadership a distinct possibility.”

Recalling his conversation on Earth with Jas Abrik, Worf thought angrily, Pagro will make your desires reality more quickly than you realize. Whenever there was a change in leadership in the Federation, all ambassadors traditionally handed in their resignations, to allow the new president the option to select new ones. Those the administration wished to keep in place would be reinstated right away. After talking with Abrik, Worf had decided that, should Pagro be elected, his resignation would be permanent, and this conversation with Kopek was only reinforcing that decision.

Aloud, Worf asked with surprise, “You admit this freely?”

Kopek poured himself some more brandy. “Why shouldn’t I? The truth will never leave these chambers. The only way for it to do so would be for you to admit publicly that you provided the codes that enabled Picard to disable Captain Krogan’s fleet at Tezwa—and you’re not prepared to do that, are you?”

No, but it might be worth it just to bring you down. Again, Worf had to restrain himself from speaking the words.

Instead, he pointed to Kl’rt’s body. “What of him?”

“If you check the magistrate’s records, you will find that Kl’rt escaped imprisonment prior to execution and is at large. Somehow, he broke into my chambers and waited until the arrival of the Federation ambassador—against whom he had sworn revenge during his trial—before attacking both of us. Luckily, the quick-thinking ambassador was able to subdue him, thus striking a blow for justice.”

Again, Worf growled. “And had Kl’rt succeeded in killing me, you would have then killed him yourself, avenging my death, and making yourself a hero of the empire—even putting Martok in your debt.”

“I am so glad you appreciate the intricacies of my plan. Either way, I win. But then, victory is not difficult when my enemy—in this case, you—makes it so easy on me.” Again, he swallowed all his brandy in one gulp. “Is there anything else I can do for you today, Ambassador?”

“You have done quite enough, Councillor.” With that, Worf turned his back on Kopek. The insult was probably lost on the honorless petaQ, but under the circumstances, an insult was all Worf could really give him.

This is what it has come to, he thought as he left Kopek’s derisive laughter behind. I have kept my word to a yIntagh who does not deserve or appreciate it, and it has driven the Federation and the empire closer to war. The immediate need to preserve the peace at Tezwa was fulfilled, but Worf now had to wonder if his effort to achieve peace only served to make it easier for war to come later.

Worf had deliberately saved Kopek for last on his list of councillors to visit this day, so he returned to the embassy. Until this last visit, the trip had been more or less successful. Unsurprisingly, the hardliners had not changed their position, but Worf had been able to convince the more moderate councillors to support the alliance. He wondered how Alexander did.

Upon arriving at the embassy, he was greeted in the lobby by Wu. “How did it go, sir?” He looked at the singed material on the shoulder of Worf’s cassock. “Or should I even ask?”

“It went quite well, despite the damage to my clothing,” Worf said, not wishing to dwell on Kopek. He filled Wu in on his progress.

“That’s good to hear, sir.” They entered the turbolift, which accelerated up to the second floor. “You’ll be happy to know that Alexander was able to obtain the support of Grevaq, Mortran, and Qolka.”

Worf shot Wu a look of surprise at that last name, even as the lift came to a halt. “Qolka?”

“Yes, sir.” They exited the turbolift as the doors opened. “He seemed quite pleased with himself.”

“As well he should.”

“If I may say so, sir—if there is a way to make his assignment to the embassy permanent, you should attempt to find it. He has a knack for this sort of work.”

Worf had been thinking much the same thing—indeed, he had entertained such thoughts as far back as the mission to Aluwna two years earlier, when Alexander had resolved a dispute. “Perhaps” was all he would say out loud. “Are there any other matters that need my immediate attention?”

As expected, Wu ascertained from Worf’s phrasing that right now he wanted to deal with diplomatic matters only if absolutely necessary. “Nothing that can’t wait until morning, sir.”

“Good.” He removed his cassock and tossed it to the floor of his office. “I will require a new cassock. Make sure all the decorations are transferred. I shall be in the gymnasium.” The embassy gym was equipped with holoemitters that could generate sparring partners, and at the moment Worf felt the need to hit something very hard.