KVorlag

K'Vorlag left the conference room, bound for the small B'Rel-class scout IKS Kij'pah docked with the station. They had learned nothing in the previous hour. Drankum had repeated his official statement and had been given little room to say much else. For all the grandeur of the Diplomatic Hub, there had been little diplomacy in evidence. It was clear to him now. The Federation and the Cardassians seemed incapable of treating the Ferengi with honor. They had merely traded threats over who had the bigger fleets, demanded the other side see things completely from their point of view, and made no attempt to discover the deeper causes. His own attempts had been equally futile. He could understand the Ferengi's consternation. The Federation had acted to move the station without even waiting for their response. If the Klingons had been delinquent in a response, would they have done the same? Unlikely. They would have feared political strain or outright military reprisal. But had they done likewise with the Ferengi? Clearly, they had feared neither. Worse, it was clear the Federation, Cardassians, and now the Romulans didn't care about the Ferengi objection or their foolhearted willingness to assert their treaty rights - economically and even militarily. The allies ignored that willingness itself showed something important. So much for mutual understanding: it had become a matter of honor. Stepping out of the lift, he snorted in irony. The other allies were acting like their worst imagined characatures of Klingons. He would have no part in it. He passed through the connection to his ship and ordered it sealed behind him. The Empire could decide what it wanted, but he would not be baited into a senseless battle without knowing what he fought for. Klingons killed for their own reasons. He could think of only one other option, but it was too distant. He didn't even know if he could make contact in time. If Muon ordered her Starfleet force at the border to close on Aegis now, the Ferengi would fight first, and it would be over before he could stop it. He dropped down into the center seat, waiting to see for whom it would be a good day to die first.

It was a move worthy of the Empire in its post-Organia days. Provocative, but not violent. Who would have thought the Ferengi had such boldness? The Ferengi had declared themselves the only remaining partners in the Aegis mission, effectively surrounding the station. The captain of Sky Harbor Aegis, herself a Ferengi, had invoked "martial law" and a state of emergency. This merely had the effect of bringing them to a typical Klingon readiness level. Not a bad move. They managed to avoid a messy diplomatic incident by not holding Drankum's courier shuttle hostage. The fact that the Ferengi had an "accidental misfire" which had struck nothing still showed that they were willing and able to enforce the immunity of their ambassador. The initial reaction had been strong, with salvos of sternly-worded memos. Cooler heads prevailed, reducing some tension. Bat'leths had rattled, but no declarations of war had gone out. The Ferengi had limited their incursion to pre-defined neutral routes. Starfleet had halted their ships at the border, respecting Cardassian sovereignty. The Ferengi had further agreed to move many of their ships to less-threatening positions, and the deadline had been extended to three days. These were all good, measured developments. Hopefully, the Romulan's promised response would be similarly restrained. He laughed at the thought of depending on that. From what his sources indicated, the Cardassians had made no attempt to stop this convoy of Ferengi marauders at their border. Had they been fooled by flight plans claiming the usual kinds of cargo runs? Or were they complicit in the trolls' move? Certainly the Cardassians would love to see a fracturing of the already strained post-war alliance. He trusted they would prove as shrewd as ever. K'Vorlag grunted at the irony of fighting battles with words. Since he had only a single B'Rel-class scout with a dozen officers and men at his immediate command, he had little else to use. He would make the best of it. He was quite capable of digging a pit with another's words. He tuned into the language of the response Drankum had personally delivered to Muon: - He noticed the Ferengi had not directed the surrender or evacution of any Klingon personnel. Whether this was an oversight or not, it was an opening available to him. - The Ferengi claimed that a majority of partners had withdrawn from the treaty by default. In this, they had leapt to the voiding provisions of Article 24, Section 5 and bypassed the explicit opening statement in Section 1 which defined withdrawal as requiring "at least one year's prior written notice" to the Depositary. There were no provisions for waiver of this requirement. Section 5 itself referred to stipulations being needed in the "written withdrawal notice". At a minimum, the Klingon Empire had provided no such notice. This would be the basis of their rebuttal to the Ferengi, if it came to that. - It left a bitter taste in his mouth that he'd had to point out Article 20, Section 4 regarding "conciliation, mediation or arbitration by a mutually agreed to neutral party". This was the very section he and Ambassador Joy had been debated. He still believed that hopes for a peaceful resolution were meaningless unless both sides agreed that they results would be binding. Subtle nuances and turns of phrase would not address the compelling reasons behind the Ferengi's action. The Ferengi were not going to be convinced by a clever reading of some meaningless fine print. What mattered was what they meant to gain from their action. Anything that didn't address that made no difference. It might yet come to battle. In that event, he would throw aside words and pick up more tangible weapons.

Governor K'Vorlag rubbed both fists against his ridgeplate, trying to get his blood flowing. It was hard to work up battle frenzy to respond to a memo. He took a deep breath and let it out as a growl... His name was on the To: line. He envied the Ferengi troll. His government would not allow him to fire off a short evasive response. It also wouldn't let him speak his mind on those parts where he disagreed with the High Council. No job was easy. It must be conquered. He began speaking his thoughts into the recorder. "Ambassador, I've read your memo and find you've extended bureacratic concepts to parts of the treaty where it just doesn't apply. Peaceful purposes, fine. Directives through civilian command channels? I find no mention of directives at all. I find no mention of civilian command, either. The two words are contradictory in Klingon. In the treaty language I see one mention of "ultimate civil authority" under the section titled Evolution but nothing under Management or Operations to imply civilians will command the station. The Empire would never have signed such a document. In fact, Article 7, Section 2 actually says the UFP, acting through Starfleet Command, shall be responsible for the management. Goal of consensus, fine. A failed goal, but how does one gain consensus with absent partners? Binding arbitration? I see one statement that a concerned Ally may submit an issue for conciliation, mediation or arbitration by a mutually agreed to neutral party. I do not see "binding". Right before that it says "in the hopes of a peaceful resolution" which admits that it cannot be binding except by the choice of the parties. So I dispute half of your opening statements before you begin your argument. It does not get better. It is proper and fitting that a Starfleet officer obey their chain of command. A Klingon would do no less. In the Federation's case, it is even under ultimate civilian authority, which you claim to rever. So how is this a gross violation, much less illegal and criminal? A commander who was forced to yield to the demands of competing parties would rule only chaos. As Kahless said, 'No warrior can serve two masters.' So, to your questions: 1. My orders are to respond "Yes" and "Yes". While I do not personally care about the fate of the cowardly Breen, the High Council disagrees. And we agree that keeping Aegis above Cardassia is a harmful waste. 2. Your phrasing is meant to evoke a reaction. Klingons are not content. We do nothing passive, and we do not yield. We waive nothing. We remain partners in Aegis, even if we are seldom active. And we do not recognize your insertion of civilian command, consensus management, and binding arbitration, as noted. 3. I have seen nothing to indicate non-peaceful use. And I doubt the station will keep moving around. We do not see command procedures being stressed, especially since we do not recognize your assertion of unanimous consensus or binding arbitration. 4. The Klingon Empire has expressed no interest in additional changes to the Aegis Treaty, but it does accept the Federation proposal regarding the station removal from Cardassia. We would not be opposed to consider other alterations. It is clear you do not share the same vision of Aegis that I do. That is not merely a Klingon to android difference. It seems our vision differs between people even within our species and our governments. To some it is the last best hope for Cardassia to join your bloody Federation, to me it is a convenient friendly port of call with a good bar. So be it. I do wonder which government has raised the objections to continued operations that you have stressed so often. It has not been the Klingons. It has not been the Cardassians. The Romulans have shown only apathy, while the Ferengi seem concerned but say nothing. I saw the letter from your own President issuing the order to move. Is the Federation so fractured that it cannot support the directives of its own civil authority? While I am aboard, I am at the Empire's service and your call. Respectfully, Governor K'Vorlag, Imperial representative" He sighed and posted the response.

Bah. You're too Federation-centric in your thinking. Why would Klingons care who stands at your station's little operations pedestal? Article 7 is about Management. Ask a Ferengi what that means to them. It means who's in charge. And when the Romulans exercised their option, they put one of their own people as XO of Aegis, not as a subordinate in a Starfleet-defined operations department. The Empire contributed beam weaponry during the initial build. Although some have mentioned Aegis reconstruction, those Klingon disruptors are still there. Klingons like myself have passed through but I don't think any were ever posted on Sky Harbor. Certainly none were department chiefs or command. Maybe Drankum remembers. But the treaty does not require constant contribution. Until the Federation actually notifies the "partner states" that they intend to modify Aegis' object and scope (Article 14, Sections 3 / 4 / 5), what is there for Klingons to participate in? Starfleet is free to talk amongst themselves for their own consensus, but the Federation has ONE vote that weighs equally with the Klingon vote. And you are right, the Empire has withdrawn from nothing. Merely the Klingon warning against unilateral thinking. We may well agree with some future decision to leave Cardassia, but we will speak of it.

As I read Article 7, Section 2 it gives the Federation the prime role for "overall Space Station operational management and coordination... and overall planning for and coordination of the execution of the overall integrated operation". We Klingons, like the Romulans, got a role in "supporting the UFP in performance... including participating in planning". We were also allowed to "maintain an option for placement of assistant senior manager of operations... at [our] discretion." All signatories may be equal, but clearly, some are more equal than others. Starfleet loves their bureacracy - why would the Empire rob them of their sense of self-importance when there are battles to be waged elsewhere? The Empire doesn't see it as a bad treaty, just one we were never interested in expanding. As I have said before, Klingons do not trouble themselves with the fate of their enemies. They sing no songs of heroic nation-builders. But Klingon blood was spilled for this spot in the Cardassian sky, so whatever Aegis' fate, the Empire will have its say in it.

Looks like you need a firm Klingon hand to set things in order and root out these gelatin taskmasters. I look forward to obliging.

IMPERIAL MEMORANDUM TO: Sorehl, Special Commissioner to the Federation Council FROM: K’Vorlag, Governor (Former) RE: Aegis Mission Inquiry The name of Aegis is not spoken in the Great Hall. The songs of the Cardassian defeat end with the warrior Martok drinking bloodwine before the fallen tens of thousands on the steps of their capital. Klingons do not trouble themselves with the fate of their enemies. There are no monuments to glorious occupations. There are no celebrations of heroic nation-builders. Whether the mission of Aegis succeeds or fails, the Klingon Empire knows well that if the Cardassians rise in anger again, we shall simply strike them down. In short, the Klingon Empire has little official interest in the Federation’s continuing presence there. Whatever the Federation claim, the mission of Aegis has been to let Starfleet keep an eye on Cardassia and hope to turn them into suitable members of their little coalition. There have been the usual construction projects, overseeing the questionable introduction of democracy, and a spate of health initiatives. But the planet has been poached at least three times under Aegis’ own eyes. The Breen still operate with impunity – this is not true in other parts of Cardassian space where Klingon influence remains. Aegis does not strike fear; instead, it tries to coddle the favor of those it should be rightly dominating. Thankfully, I played no part in this. Why has Cardassia failed to shake off its defeat? Its people discard the things that defined them as a culture. They no longer drive themselves to master their own fate. They let Aegis watch them from above. They experiment with ideals that are not their own. They leave their fate to others. Stay or go, what does it matter? The Federation doesn’t know whether to let Cardassia be Cardassia or to shape it into its own image. The Romulans want an ally that keeps the rest of us off-balance. The Ferengi just want another market to exploit. Since they are in no position to wage war, we Klingons are most likely to ignore them. As none of the attendants of the High Council seemed interested in providing an official response, these are likely to be the only Klingon answers you’ll get. If I did not owe you my life after the Scorpiad collision, you wouldn’t even get that. I will make a “diplomatic” visit to Aegis on my way back to the Gamma Quadrant. Don’t expect too much.

You're just figuring this out? Semil best hope a certain Klingon does not learn he's been toying with people's memories again. :::sharpens d'tagh:::

With a title like "What They Didn't Know" from Semil, I expected an entire encyclopedia. So, we're supposed to rely on the good will of another Vorta to warn the Klingon fleet at DS9? No wonder we're launching everything we've got.

Gravel crunched loudly under his boots as he stepped off the ramp onto the surface of New Bajor. A cool, pleasant wind breezed through the spaceport, as if to belie the tension in space above them. Members of the Bajoran militia hurried toward him on the tarmac. “Governor!” called one loudly. As he approached, K’Vorlag could see he held the rank of major. “When we first detected your signal, it was too much to hope for.” The major extended his hand eagerly. K’Vorlag took it firmly. “Then you have been cut off from all communication?” “Yes,” the major answered. “Those ships in orbit are doing a good job of jamming even our strongest signals. And they wiped out the entire relay network.” The Klingon nodded. The Scorpiad had done the same, and more, to Dominion targets. So why was this place not a smoldering crater? “Tell me what happened,” he insisted. The major gestured toward the control tower. “General Krim would discuss that with you himself.” # # # # # “They’ve completely cut us off from outside contact,” the Bajoran general explained, “until you.” K’Vorlag took a deep swig of raktajino. This was no time for bloodwine. “We had no indication of attack until our comm satellites started disappearing,” Krim began. “We think they were slow-moving, long-range torpedoes timed to strike at the same time. The ships swept into the system, jamming everything. They destroyed a few outgoing freighters and every impulse fighter we threw at them, but they broke off their attack before entering range of our planetary defense grid.” K’Vorlag set down the steaming mug. “We had reports of orbital bombardment.” “A Scorpiad message,” Krim replied grimly. “After we reconn’ed their position, they sent an attack wave to shell us. Our interceptors did their job, but there was so much incoming. Their ship hit a couple of our self-replicating mines, but two of their devices impacted in unpopulated postions twelve hundred kelicams away. At least 85 isotons. We felt the tremors here in the capital. It seems they don’t want anyone to leave or see what they’re doing.” “What are they doing?” Krim nodded to a nearby colonel in a rust-colored uniform, who stood and illuminated an on-wall graphic of the system. “They’ve gathered their ships somewhere along the asteroid belt that spans the distance between the sixth and seventh planets.” K’Vorlag narrowed his eyes, looking to his own officers. “Is there some significance to that location?” “We know of no tactical or strategic advantage to the position,” the colonel advised. “The whole belt is full of unremarkable iron-ore rocks. They could try to slingshot a big one at us, but it would take months to get here.” “We still have a number of ships in reserve,” General Krim revealed. “We’re preparing a strike.” K’Vorlag felt his lips draw back, baring teeth. How he could have used skilled freedom fighters like these on Betazed! His response was brief but emphatic. “Don’t.” The Bajoran general gaped at him as if he’d seen a Vulcan laugh. “Hoch nuH qel. You defend from a position of strength,” he insisted. New Bajor sat behind one of the most impregnible defenses yet devised, learned from the failures at chin’Toka and Betazed. “They have space superiority, but they do not use it against you. We must first learn why.” K’Vorlag knew his years in Imperial Intelligence had made him a different Klingon than outsiders expected. He revelled in offending their expectations. Krim looked uncertain. “Governor, they already destroyed a Romulan scout…” “Then we will have to do better than the Romulans,” he broke in, getting to his feet. The false dread of that early report had sent ripples of panic among the Allies. “Keep your defenses alert, general. nIteb Qob qaD jup ‘e’ chaw’be’ SuvwI’. You are not alone. The Klingons are with you.”

:::interlaces fingers and cracks knuckles::: Let's see how long this one lasts.

Which sims still use the Midshipman rank?

Of course, at least two STSF sims (Aegis and Excalibur) address some of these issues. Sky Harbor Aegis is thick in the post-war Cardassian environment, if memory serves. (May have to visit again just to see how that's going. It seems there's a lot of current socio/political events that could be parallelled - something I expect from my Trek.) Excalibur is off trying to stablize the post-war Dominion and stave off a civil war with returning changelings (the Hundred) that didn't participate (and lose) in the Alpha Quadrant war. And then there's some formerly oppressed worlds that think the Dominion is weak now - a real fracturing. Again, the strength of Trek: a way to deal with current events in a science fiction format. Are there other sims that try to answer some post-DS9 questions? I think Republic has been operating in the Gamma Quadrant, too...

K’Vorlag opened his eyes and bolted upright. His hands tensed into claws as he jerked his head around, looking for the enemy. There was a sterile smell, soft light, and familiar tones. A figure near the darkened wall stood, advancing. “You may feel some residual pain from capillary damage,” the cool baritone advised, “but you are quite alive, Governor.” Sorehl stepped closer to the biobed and into the bright illumination of the Reliant sickbay. K’Vorlag relaxed, letting his muscles ease against the mattress. His eyes burned and the tips of his ears and fingers pulsed with each beat of his heart. “Life is pain,” he sighed. There was more to that adage, he recalled, but he was too tired to think about it. “I thought I might wake up to one of those bloodsuckers. The battle was not going well.” “Hence your order to ram the Al-Ucard mothership,” Sorehl surmised. “Not the most prudent action.” K’Vorlag barked a laugh, feeling a searing tightness to his chest. “It worked, didn’t it?” “At the cost of your ship,” Sorehl noted. “I knew what I was doing,” K’Vorlag sighed raggedly, closed his eyes. He was silent for a moment. “And my crew?” “Captain Halloway advised me that they recovered some sixty lifepods,” Sorehl reported. “It would seem you gave them enough time to evacuate. Curious that you would plan a HIvneS but deny your crew the glory.” “Honor-attack,” K’Vorlag scoffed. “Death is the last glory – no need to hasten it if you can live and still send the enemy to theirs. I needed to dump life support into the structual integrity field. They're too good a crew to throw away.” He grinned savagely. “We were a kut’luch in their underbelly.” Sorehl merely nodded. “It had the virtue of being decisive.” The Klingon swung his legs around, hanging off the side of the biobed. He narrowed his eyes at the Vulcan. “We are not at alert. The battle ended well?” “It would seem we prevailed,” Sorehl answered succinctly. “Although our losses might have been greater without the intervention of the Hundred.” “Greater?” he frowned. “You mean those liquid traitors helped us?” The Klingon got to his feet, noting the Vulcan made no move to assist him. “Why?” “Unclear,” Sorehl folded his hands. “They may not have wished the Al-Ucard to intrude on territory they view as their own.” K’Vorlag stood, drawing in breath. “No sense letting someone ruin their inheritance,” he offered. He looked around for his uniform. “Precisely,” the captain agreed. “The Al-Ucard fleet seemed unwilling to contend against our combined forces after their arrival.” “Doq bIQtIq bIQ,” K’Vorlag muttered. “It is momentous, but of what I do not know. Our sword is in that river, too. The Scorpiad won’t ignore us now.” The Klingon looked around the cramped sickbay. “Where is my balric, Vulcan? I have tactical plots to review…”

It was suggested that I explain two of the Klingon metaphors from my log, neither of which are my creation, that come from "Star Trek Klingon for the Galactic Traveler" by Marc Okrand. Doq bIQtIq bIQ ("The river water is red.") While humans use this metaphor to indicate great carnage, the Klingon use indicates something momentous has happened. This comes from a drinking song commemorating the slaying of the tyrant Molor by Kahless. On that day, according to song, the River Skral was colored with the fluids of Molor. bIQ'a'Daq 'oHtah 'etlh'e' ("The sword is in the ocean.") Implies that something has changed and is impossible to return to a prior condition - there is no going back. After Kahless' brother Morath killed their father, he threw their father's sword into the ocean saying that if he could not have it, no one could. Kahless and Morath never spoke again.

This log takes place after communication with the starship Ardent, in the Dominion Wing of Camelot Station. Many thanks for additions from Ambassador T'Salik (in green). He glowered in the corner. It was not a punishment. K’Vorlag didn’t mind distancing himself from this assembly of squabbling Vorta. They didn’t seem to mind keeping him separate, either. Perhaps they’d heard what happened to Semil. The Federation ambassador T’Salik had urged him to observe the deliberations, especially while she was in conference with Admiral Day. He had been avoiding the chamber, agreeing with N’Kedre’s assessment that the Vorta Council was unimportant and ineffectual – an impotent government now in exile. But here, amongst their scheming and debate, he had learned something. It was easy to see the dissension, the disagreement, the disparity. K’Vorlag smelled blood. Although the decapitation strike had failed, the Scorpiad wound was starting to look mortal. Involuntarily, his lips drew back savagely, baring teeth. “I cannot help but be disturbed at what might bring a smile to your face,” came the cool female voice beside him. K’Vorlag straightened and unfolded his arms, mildly surprised that Ambassador T’Salik could approach him so imperceptibly. Obviously, her graces extended beyond mere diplomacy. His did not. “You’ll be pleased to know I didn’t snap any of their necks while you were gone,” he reported. The fair-haired Vulcan merely glanced over her shoulder toward the assembled Vorta. “Yes,” she acknowledged, “I counted.” K’Vorlag huffed. “I can’t believe you’ve stood here for days listening to this veQ,” he spat, editing his remarks. “They argue over sending envoys to the Hundred and whether to secure new cloning facilities. And that Keevan,” he added, nodding toward the apparent leader, “is a clever one. He casts doubt on Weyoun just to clutch at his position.” “Indeed,” T’Salik agreed. “For a Vorta, Keevan possesses an overdeveloped sense of self-preservation. He may react emotionally to the knowledge that Ardent’s mission has been successful.” K’Vorlag narrowed his eyes. “nuq?” “It would appear Weyoun has located a Vorta familiar with the Scorpiad, one the Founders preserved in the event of their return.” K’Vorlag glanced at the Jem’Hadar honor guard. “You know what this means,” he prompted. “With our help, Weyoun has returned to a position of primacy,” she elaborated. “He has completed his quest from the gods.” T’Salik tucked back a loose, blonde strand, then smoothed the folds of her diplomatic robes, as if ready to make a pronouncement to the group. K’Vorlag folded his arms again. “Some news is sharper than a kut’luch,” he mused. He looked at the slender woman, not concealing a twisted smile. “I have never seen a Vulcan deliver a death blow. Heghlu’DI’ mobbe’lu’chugh QaQqu’ Hegh wanI’. I shall stay and share it with you.”

"We have only 22 hours to prepare for this siege," Commander Corizon had said, prompting his departure from Camelot Station. K'Vorlag strode onto the bridge of the Negh'Var-class flagship Emperor's Might, casting his greatcoat over the center chair. Beside it, the displaced captain of the massive Klingon battlecruiser stood at the ready. "Brigadier," he clipped, "what are your orders?" The flagship remained at cloak. While the Romulans had chosen to showcase the magnitude of their presence, the Klingon fleet had avoided revealing the true strength of their numbers, or lack of them. For reasons they had not shared, the High Council had refused to commit more than a territorial task force with a number of scout wings. Although K'Vorlag had argued for a full expeditionary armada, he had managed to do much with the few ships under his authority. Klingon scouts had shadowed Romulan ships over the past few months, which had made the attack on T-Rogora less of a surprise than it had been for his Federation allies. Others had been launched on daring solo missions to gather intelligence. Their plans in the Chandra Vortex and the Expanse had been a direct result of Klingon scouting. "I recommend you take a position between us and the joint Romulan-Dominion line of force," Corizon had offered. Some of the Klingon scouts were already there, under cloak. K'Vorlag scowled, turning toward the huge holographic chamber that lay behind the bridge. Spinning amongst the stars of this spiral arm of the galaxy, the unstoppable force of rebel Jem'Hadar ships was about to meet the immovable force of the Alpha Quadrant allies and loyal Dominion ships. "Have Black Talon and Honor Blade attend us," K'Vorlag ordered. "Signal the other ships to take station between our allies and the Avalon system. If the enemy makes it as far as our position, we cannot hope to do more than a delaying action. Strike and cloak; do not engage in full force until we are within the planned perimeter." Heads nodded curtly as his words were turned to action. He dropped into the center chair, brooding already. "And bring our guest over from the Kij'Pah," he added. The fact that they held a member of the Hundred onboard his personal ship was known only to a select few such as Ambassador N'Kedre. The shapeshifter had been compliant, even friendly, when faced with the quantum stasis inhibitor. Locked into a humanoid form, he'd claimed complete innocence in the recent attacks on the Dominion cloning facilities. Seeing the size of the incoming attack, such claims of peace now seemed obvious lies. But the gelatin hostage could serve other purposes. "He can share whatever fate," K'Vorlag pontificated, "his comrades would bring to us. Qapla."

It had taken days to arrive at the Dominion cloning facility – time enough to traverse the distance from Avalon, slip across the well-patrolled border under cloak, and avoid Jem-Hadar sentries – only to find it already obliterated. The planetoid that had housed the base had been all but pulverized less than twelve hours before their arrival. N’Kedre had used some choice Romulan words to curse his “overcautiousness” in avoiding the Dominion patrols, but K’Vorlag knew that secrecy remained their real protection. A degree of plausible deniability, as the Vulcans referred to it, would shield the Klingon and Romauln governments from responsibility if they were detected by their Dominion “allies.” It might also keep them alive. They had maintained subspace radio silence for the past six days, changing course to avoid ships in their path. The resulting delay had been regrettable, but unavoidable. At first, the situation had left them with little evidence of who was responsible for the attack, which had been their objective. Undaunted, the IKS Kij’Pah (Black Talon) had remained under cloak, scanning the debris, prepared to withdraw from the system at the first sign of Jem’Hadar response. K’Vorlag had known it was a futile gesture, but they needed to glean something that might make sense of the destruction. How had the Dominion been caught so off-guard? Why had their border defenses and vaunted fleet not repelled the attackers? Why was there no evidence of a departure route? It had been the Starfleet officer who had detected it. “Whoa,” Commander John Blair had blurted, pulling his feet down from the scanning console. “What was that?” Although he’d complained about the inadequacy of Klingon sensors, the science officer had insisted on a thorough scan. K’Vorlag had barely roused from his chair. “That is your job to tell me,” he’d chided. “One of my peripheral protocols detected a morphogenic shift,” Blair explained. Moments later, they had caught sight of one of the drifting boulders as it shifted, coalescing into a spaceborne organism. Beating winglike appendages, it had folded subspace around it, surging forward at low warp speeds. K’Vorlag had seen the aquatic-looking creature before, once in library files, and once fleeing from Camelot Station. There was no doubt it was a shapeshifter, almost certainly one of the Hundred. He had ordered immediate pursuit. Still under cloak, the Kij’Pah followed at a sluggish Warp 4.8, choosing to see where their quarry would lead them. Under subspace silence, the ship had stayed this course for eleven days, heading toward a Dominion border opposite from the side they’d entered. The wait had been excruciating. Blair had extrapolated the flight path and found no known star system ahead. K’Vorlag had frowned, losing hope of locating some hidden enclave of the Hundred. Passive scans had confirmed that the organism was carrying dense metal objects inside it, but were unable to determine their nature. Was it carrying an asteroid-busting weapon, he wondered, or spoils from the ruined cloning facility? As he staring at the rhythmic movement of the wings onscreen, he’d found himself asking other questions. Why had it hidden among the debris for a full day after the destruction? Why had it destroyed the Jem’Hadar ships rather than turn them to its cause? Had their Vorta refused to defect? His resolve, never one for mindless vengeance, had turned to seizing answers to a hundred questions. As they slipped out of Dominion space at last, the B’Rel-class scout had closed distance, clamped onto the creature with a tractor, and beamed it aboard. It had been a risk, but K'Vorlag had let it shift into humanoid form before invoking the quantum stasis field. A prize stolen from the battered archives of the Obsidian Order, the quantum status generator had been acquired by his fellow Imperial Intelligence operatives during the occupation of Cardassia Prime. Although field tested only once, it had proven quite capable of locking a changeling into its current form. It was his zha gambit. Without it, they might all be dead. While N’Kedre might have little respect for shapeshifter power, K’Vorlag had seen it firsthand. The Founder that had infiltrated the Order of the Bat’leth ceremony had taken 83 disruptor hits before dissociating. Although he had slain one himself aboard the Excalibur-A, he’d been lucky enough to catch the Founder in a vulnerable transition. He’d seen the images of shapeshifters changing into gases, into metals that could absorb or deflect energy weapons, or simply phasing to be somewhere else when a beam hit. But this Hundred would have no such recourse. Confronted by N’Kedre from behind the transporter room forcefield, the shapeshifter had admitted he was one of that group. As it had morphed into a bipedal shape, the Hundred had pulled away from several objects that had been previously concealed inside its spaceborne form. From the looks of them, they appeared to be ordinary objects – isometic memory tubes and laboratory sample cases. It stood, looking somewhat pathetic at its lost abilities, facing both Klingon and Romulan ambassadors. He looked very unlike a powerful deity who commanded the worship of Vorta and Jem’Hadar alike. I wonder, K’Vorlag mused, if he knows what the Klingons did to their gods? A menacing smile crept across his visage. It was time to get his answers.

This is a continuation of the mission described earlier in Black Talon Unsheathed.

Name: K'Vorlag Gender : male Species : Klingon Height : 5 ft. 8 in. Weight : 175 lbs. Eye Color : grey Hair Color : black/grey Desciption: stocky Distinctions: Order of the Mek'leth, Crimson Ha'quj Service Record Imperial Intelligence, field operative Imperial Intelligence, senior mission officer Imperial Intelligence, Cardassian DMZ section chief Territorial Governor, Klingon-occupied systems, Cardassian front Prisoner of war, Dominion interment camp Imperial Intelligence, Betazed resistance cell leader Imperial Intelligence/Diplomatic Service, Gamma Quadrant liaison Personal - K'Vorlag is a capable agent of the Empire, believing the only true path to honor comes from service to the state. He has a fierce loyalty to Chancellor Martok, who also suffered the indignity of imprisonment at the hands of the Dominion. After rising to power, Martok absolved K'Vorlag from the dishonor of imprisonment and returned him to service. K'Vorlag is known for his shrewd, calculating manner and has never been prone to mindless violence. Command Style - K'Vorlag will always act for the long-term interests of the Empire. This drives his support of the restored alliance with Federation. An outsider with no family house affiliation, he feels himself unburdened by constant needs to seek personal glory. While unapologetic about crushing Cardassia in the recent war, he believes it a dishonor to humiliate them in defeat - remembering the shame of the Hur'q conquest that wound up forging the Klingon Empire. He is wary when dealing with representatives of the Dominion, considering them an unpredictable element one step short of fanaticism. History - K'Vorlag worked both with and against the Federation along the Cardassian border for years. As an intelligence officer in the DMZ, he was directly responsible for supplying illegal arms to the Maquis. One of his duties included enforcing strict neutrality aboard StarBase Aegis. In 2372, K'Vorlag was appointed governor of Klingon territories acquired in their brief war with Cardassia. This position was short-lived, however, as the Dominion presence soon drove the Klingons to abandon those systems. Working with the Federation, K'Vorlag conducted scouting missions from the B'Rel-class Qaj'wIH (Ruthless Warmaker) and later trained Starfleet officers on raiding tactics aboard the USS Excalibur. He came to the aid of StarBase Aegis during the forced evacuation of Canar. Captured during the attack on the Dominion shipyard at Torros II, K'Vorlag was among many officers who endured physical and psychological torture under Vorta agent Semil until his liberation in 2374. After admitting he had broken and provided information to the enemy, he was summarily stripped of all titles and duties by the High Council. As a private citizen, K'Vorlag is credited with organizing a resistance cell on Dominion-held Betazed, training civilians, gathering intelligence, and staging insurgencies. After the war, Chancellor Martok restored him to the rank of Brigadier, given the title Governor-at-large, and tasked him with aiding stability and intelligence gathering in occupied Cardassian space and the Dominion sphere of influence. He now serves as senior Klingon officer in Gamma Quadrant dealings with the Dominion and the Hundred rebellion. K'Vorlag raised tensions when, to prevent the loss of another Vorta prisoner, he killed the Dominion envoy Semil onboard Camelot Station. Items of Note It has long been suspected that K'Vorlag maintained a close relationship with former-Excalibur captain Vixis. K'Vorlag was accused of assault and complicity in freeing Vixis from a Starfleet court martial, but these charges were later dropped (diplomatic immunity). Vixis also remains "at large". K'Vorlag is credited with aiding the escape of hundreds of Federation citizens from Betazed during the war.

K’Vorlag paced the cramped bridge of the small bird of prey, scowling. The IKS Kij’Pah (Black Talon) was under cloak, four hours out from Camelot Station. Their mission: slip into Dominion territory to learn more about the eradication of several cloning facilities. At last, they were nearing the border. Kij’Pah was a small B’Rel-class ship, carrying the latest cloaking innovations. The crossing should be easy to conceal. But the Dominion had always shown an irritating tendency to surprise them with new technological tricks. They were so like the Federation that way. K’Vorlag folded his arms. Only two hours ago, they had passed up an easier opportunity to see the destruction at T-Rogora firsthand. It irked him that N’Kedre had been so fearful of detection. She’d insisted that they avoid the system, saying the Tal Shiar presence made it a dangerous incursion. The Klingon frowned. In his experience, Romulan intelligence were worthy rivals, masters of deception and intrigue, but their overconfidence left them unprepared to cover up blunders. He was sure the small bird of prey could have slipped in, taken a quick look around, and left without incident. But he’d sacrificed the opportunity as a token to interstellar cooperation. The Kij’Pah was on its way to one of the Dominion cloning facilities known to be intact. The covert exercise had been the suggestion of the Romulan ambassador herself, keen on learning how the Hundred had overpowered such defenses. K’Vorlag, however, didn’t expect to find an armada with turncoat Vorta and Jem’Hadar at the lead. What he could not tell his allies was that Klingon scouts, under cloak since before their arrival in the Gamma Quadrant, had been fanning out for months seeking the Hundred. But there had been no signs the rebellious Founders had amassed a fleet of any significant size. If the Hundred were at work, they would use methods far more sinister. It was far more likely they would quietly infiltrate the sites, manipulating events to their advantage – just like the Founders had done to his own Empire. From inside his own military, a single Founder had orchestrated Gowron into an invasion of Cardassian space, suspending the Khitomer Accords, and starting a brief war with the Federation over Archanis IV. They’d almost engineered the assassination of the chancellor himself by Starfleet operatives. K'Vorlag felt his scowl deepen. The fact that they now knew the Hundred was making its own clones seemed to confirm his suspicions. From behind him, the captain of the Kij’Pah spoke. “Governor, we’ve reached the border.” K’Vorlag stopped pacing, looking over the shoulder of the Starfleet officer at the sensor console. Commander Blair, sensing the presence, leaned back. “If you must know,” he offered indulgently, “my scans show a number of active cloak detection protocols, but your current countermeasures should be enough.” K’Vorlag didn’t think he could scowl any deeper. Even if they crossed successfully, it could be because the Dominion didn’t want to reveal an improved ability to detect cloaked crossings. The Kij’Pah could be tracked, ambushed, and disappear without a trace, leaving no clue as to how they were discovered. It was always a series of feints and countermoves in the finest traditions of komerex zha. His scowl eased into a thin smile. Blair looked more disturbed by the later expression. “Stay on course,” he ordered. “Alert me at the first sign of Jam’Hadar patrols. Koval, I return your bridge to you.” He whirled with a flourish of his ambassadorial drapings and strided out, toward the private mess.

Any role I may have played in the Ambassador's liberation from Betazed is grossly exaggerated - except the slaughter of every Jem'Hadar who stood in my way, that was actually understated. I notice she was diplomatic in noting I didn't manage to get myself out. BTW, don't expect me to show any favoritism to the Vulcan. I'm still waiting for a thank you!

majQa'! Another worthy adversary to join us at the sweet-smelling Round Table. :::sharpens his blade::: I notice I'm growing outnumbered by the pointed-ears around me on the station. I'll be keeping an eye on you.

Character Update K'Vorlag is currently under investigation for his role in the murder of Dominion representative Semil aboard Camelot Station. In spite of a history that might justify this killing as blood-vengeance under Klingon law, K'Vorlag asserts his action was merely to prevent (and perhaps retaliate for) Semil assisting the suicide of another Vorta prisoner who was being held under Romulan jurisdiction. Although he has invoked diplomatic immunity, K'Vorlag has agreed to "house arrest". Since he holds there is no honor in avoiding the consequences of his action, he has stated he will abide by the will of an Allied panel if it is determined he should be handed over to the Dominion. Until that determination, his position as the Klingon liaison remains unchanged.

April 2, 2374: Having liberated a Dominion internment camp, a StarFleet officer finds a known face among Semil's former prisoners. The corridor was starkly lit outside the cell door she had opened. Lieutenant Commander L’Hona Amnor looked at the figure before her. She had confirmed his identity; he was indeed HoD'a' K'Vorlag, a former Klingon territorial governor, missing since the initial attack on Torros II. His appearance confirmed more about his imprisonment, than he was likely to tell her. Amnor looked him over, trying to assess him with her own knowledge of Klingon psychology. Shame. Beyond merely the imprisonment itself, which brought dishonor. Somehow, she reasoned, he had betrayed them. She knew that. She knew that look. "I must help secure this base," she informed him. "Come with me." The Klingon did not look up. "You have no need of me." "Then, what can I do for you before I go?" "I am bound for Gre'thor," he spat. "You are not one to offer Mauk-to'Vor; you can do nothing." Amnor frowned. If he thought his own dishonor great enough to consider ritual suicide, then maybe there was little she could do for him. Dr. Cara Sabin arrived, pushing past Amnor to enter the cell and move to the Klingon. The patient sat, unspeaking. "How are you feeling?" she asked him. "It is of no consequence." “I want to get him back to Aegis." "IyjiS?" the Klingon asked, suddenly looking up. The doctor nodded. A spark of interest crossed his previously lifeless eyes. "I have information about the Vulcan." Amnor leaned forward, intently. "I'm listening." She slipped into interrogation mode. "He was here. The Vorta took him from the installation during the evacuation." The Klingon began to describe methods the Dominion had employed to gain information. He described how they had subsumed Captain Sorehl into a mental illusion he could not possibly tell from reality. “How do you know this?” she demanded. “This is what they did to me,” he answered. "They have done it to other prisoners. Your Captain has been compromised. I saw him. He is alive.” “The captain would never give information to the enemy,” the doctor insisted. “He’s a fully trained Vulcan; he wouldn’t even break under torture.” “No one can withstand what they have done," the Klingon admitted, his voice growing softer. “It is not a matter of strength, but guile.” "Where is he now?” Amnor insisted. “Do you know where they took him?" "ghobe'. pa' jIHpu'be'," he told her. "What else can you can tell me?" A slow hiss left the Klingon’s lips. "The Vorta... there was never any honor in him, but… he is different now. Something else moves his actions," he replied, cryptically. He looked far away, his lips moving, as if making a promise to himself. Amnor stepped forward. "You have done your allies a great service." "It changes nothing,” he grumbled, waving her away. “It does not restore honor." "If it is true what they have done to you,” Amnor interjected, “then they are the ones without honor. How can you fight an enemy in your mind? One that you do not even know is there? They will pay for what they have done. Our vengeance will be served cold. yaj’a’?” K’Vorlag stared at her for several moments. He thought to offer some poignant Klingon idiom in response. But his lips were no longer worthy to offer the wisdom of Kahless. "jIyaj," he said quietly. "naDev vo' yIghoS." <I understand. Go away.>