Surrender of a Klingon

[KVorlag 0]

K’Vorlag felt the bile in his mouth as he snatched up the neurocortical contacts. The Klingon steeled his hands, betraying no outward tremble as he affixed them one to one to his ridged forehead. Having fallen to this enemy once, he now walked willingly into its lair. Semil had insisted on entering the simulation, determined to pose his own questions about the Hundred to their subject. The Romulans had permitted this visit under watchful guard, but K’Vorlag did not trust the Vorta enough to let him have private communication with the prisoner, even if he had to enter the illusion himself. He felt a surge of blood pound against his temples, remembering what his last encounter had taken from him…

 

* * * * *

 

April 2, 2374: Having liberated a Dominion internment camp, a StarFleet officer finds a known face among the 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.>

 

* * * * *

 

Fixing the last contact into place, K’Vorlag eyed the one who had cost him his rank, his titles, and his honors. He had tried to prove his valiance in the resistance on Betazed, but it was only by the grace of the Chancellor Martok, himself a former prisoner of the Dominion, that he had been restored to his place. Only one Right had been denied him, he realized, but fate might yet redeem him.

 

K’Vorlag took one last glance at his surroundings – the holodeck, its Romulan guards, Vorta, and Vulcan. He did not consider himself brave, but he noted that Sorehl had not yet joined any of the illusions himself. Perhaps that was Vulcan wisdom compared to Klingon boldness. No matter. He closed his eyes, surrendering his sense of reality. For the Empire and its true allies, he would offer even more.

Edited May 14, 2005 by KVorlag