Chapter Text
Part Five
Klath had cleaned himself up by the time he joined the rest of the Bounty’s crew at the foot of the ship’s rear ramp, as they prepared to leave Brexis II.
Toran had given them his word that they could safely return beyond the boundaries of the empire without the need for an escort, provided they kept to their assigned course. It wasn’t an offer that anyone had been interested in turning down.
As Klath arrived with the group, they were not entirely surprised to see that only K’Veth was with him.
“Karn?” Denella asked on everyone’s behalf.
Klath shook his head.
“My brother attempted to kill Toran,” K’Veth added, “He will be punished. But…Toran has no use for me. And, after our battle in the stores, has no wish to punish me either.”
“She requires transportation,” Klath stated flatly to Jirel, “I told her we would be able to provide it.”
“Back to Mentok colony?” the Trill asked.
“I cannot go back to my father now,” K’Veth replied with a shake of her head and a tinge of sadness in her voice, “And I cannot stay in Klingon space. I…do not know where I am going.”
Jirel considered the Klingon woman for a moment, aware that she had, no matter how reluctantly or accidentally, nearly framed them for treason. But he eventually offered a supportive shrug. He could recognise a lost soul when he saw one. “Well,” he replied, “That sounds like our kind of passenger.”
K’Veth nodded, and headed up the ramp with Natasha and Sunek. Denella and Jirel lingered with Klath for a few more moments.
“What?” Klath asked simply, as he saw them looking expectantly back at him.
Denella stifled a smile at the nonplussed look on her friend’s face. “So,” she said, “I’m still not totally clear on each and every Klingon custom and ceremony, as you know. But is it traditional for a shipmate to give their noble warrior friend a supportive embrace for getting through all this?”
“It is not,” Klath replied quickly.
“Fair enough,” Denella nodded and smiled wider, “Then once we’re out of sight of the Empire, I owe you a hell of a hug.”
Klath nodded stiffly, indicating that he was willing to accept those terms.
To Denella’s side, Jirel took a step forward, earning himself a sharp glare from the Klingon as soon as he did so. “Hey, don’t worry. Not gonna hug you either. I just…wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Firstly, for being a jerk earlier,” Jirel sighed, “I need to get used to the idea that everyone’s gonna leave the Bounty eventually.”
As soon as he said that, Klath looked over at Denella with a trace of amusement. This was clearly something that they had discussed together as well. “You do know,” he said patiently, “Starfleet does not give out field promotions to chief engineer.”
“Hey,” the Orion shrugged, “A girl can dream.”
“And secondly,” Jirel continued, “Because of everything that happened here. I guess I’m saying that I’m glad I didn’t lose a friend today, but I wish you hadn’t got stuck back here with us.”
Klath took a longing look around the innately Klingon confines of Toran’s residence, feeling the final traces of the surge of hope he had allowed himself to feel earlier dissipating away. “Yes,” he admitted, “I wish that as well.”
“Ok,” the slightly hurt Trill sighed, “Soon as we get a spare afternoon, I’m teaching you how to mince words—”
“Jirel,” Klath cut in, turning back to him, “There may be nothing I want more than to return to my people. But that is not possible. And so…there is nothing else I want more than to remain aboard this ship. There is more than enough honour for me here.”
Jirel’s face creased into a full smile. Realising that, if he wasn’t careful, he might actually start to tear up, he stole a glance at Denella and nodded at the Klingon. “See that? The guy’s fishing for hugs here.”
Denella mustered a wide smile of her own, then switched to a more concerned expression as she saw something over Klath’s shoulder.
“Um, Klath…?”
He turned around, and was surprised to see Toran striding across the landing pad towards them, his ever-present battle armour clinking with every step. As he reached them, he offered all three of them a curt nod.
“You are leaving now.”
It was partly a statement, partly an order, and in no way a question.
“I felt it necessary to warn you,” he continued, “Never return here, Klath, son of Morad.”
Klath felt the pain of the warning hit home like a d’k tahg being plunged into his chest, but he kept a stoic front and nodded back. He had accepted his fate now.
“Also,” Toran added, “I feel I should…apologise to your colleagues for their incarceration. I am relieved we were able to clear the matter up.”
Jirel remained silent, still a little fearful of the enormous warrior in front of them. But next to him, Denella piped up. “You knew, didn’t you?” she asked, earning a surprised look from Toran, “That we were innocent.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Cos, when our time was up and our QaS DevwI' still wasn’t back in the hall, if you really thought we were guilty, you’d have just killed us there and then. Instead, you kept on talking, like you were trying to stall for long enough for Klath to actually show up.”
Toran stiffened slightly at this accusation, but eventually gave her a slight nod. “I had my suspicions that you were not responsible for the infestation,” he conceded.
“Why?”
Toran’s mouth curled into a slight smile. A rare sight since they had first met him.
“Because,” he replied, “You are not very good liars.”
Denella smiled and nodded back. Jirel looked a little offended, before recalling Sunek’s speech about the Tribble Liberation Front and reasoning that Toran had a point.
“But,” Toran continued, “You do have courage. I may have been stalling, but if your QaS DevwI' had not returned when he did, I would have had to carry out the executions regardless.”
Denella suppressed a gulp and glanced over at Jirel’s rather pale-looking face.
“Good to know,” she offered with a shrug.
With that, Toran turned his attention back to Klath, and Denella took the hint. She grabbed Jirel’s arm and pulled him back up the Bounty’s ramp, backing off to a respectful distance.
“Klath, son of Morad,” Toran grunted, “Your crew are most certainly…unorthodox.”
“They are my friends,” Klath grunted back, a little self-consciously.
Toran nodded thoughtfully for a moment.
“The Vulcan talks a lot,” he replied eventually.
“Yes. He does.”
Toran nodded again, as Klath began to get the impression that the High Council was attempting small talk with him. As if he was struggling to find what he really wanted to say. “You assisted me greatly today,” the Councillor continued, “My guards have checked the entire residence twice over. The plague is truly vanquished.”
“It was a proud battle,” Klath offered back, still not happy at having to engage in such small talk, regardless of who he was engaging in it with.
“I am sure it was. And not one that you were obligated to lead. I told you it would not alter my decision. There was no honour to be gained from it.”
“Perhaps not in the eyes of the Empire,” Klath countered, “But there was for myself.”
Toran regarded the disgraced warrior in front of him. Then he looked up at the two Bounty crew members still standing on the ramp, just within earshot. And he nodded.
“I…believe I understand.”
He looked back at Klath, and his expression hardened again.
“Klath, son of Morad. I have not been able to assist you today. You and your house will still carry the burden of dishonour across the Empire. For now.”
Klath had prepared himself to accept one more humiliating speech before leaving. But Toran’s last words gave him cause to question himself, not entirely sure how to react.
“The situation in the High Council is somewhat fluid at the moment,” Toran continued, in a slightly quieter tone, as if he wanted to keep this information from everyone else, “Chancellor Martok is privately keen to reappraise much of what happened under Gowron, and there is growing support for such a move. And part of that concerns the Civil War itself.”
Klath remained a picture of stoic silence, but he couldn’t help but feel a fresh rush of emotion inside as Toran continued.
“There is an increasing belief that Gowron was overly severe in punishing any act of perceived dishonour from his side during the war. A clear attempt to distance himself from the treachery of Duras, and make himself appear even more honourable in comparison. A Chancellor so pure and noble that he would not think twice of exiling any of his own men who failed to meet his standards.”
Toran sighed and shook his head.
“None of it was challenged at the time. But there may come a moment when those matters are looked into again. Our recent history may be up for some interesting revisions.”
“I see,” Klath managed.
“So,” Toran concluded, “I cannot help you today. But, given what you did for me, I felt that before you return to exile, you should know that in the future, someone else may be able to.”
Klath felt a familiar feeling growing inside, even as he responded with a simple nod. Toran nodded back, then took a firm step back from him.
“And now, my guards will be watching. So, I must do this. It is…the Klingon way.”
“Yes,” Klath replied, prepared for what was to happen, “It is.”
Toran’s scowl darkened as he held his hands up and clenched his fists tightly.
“biHnuch!”
Coward.
As Toran turned his back to him, Klath played his own role in the theatre by bowing his head in shame and turning to leave under the shadow of his continued exile.
It wasn’t the first time he had been on the receiving end of that tradition. Toran himself had already done it to him when he had first arrived on Brexis II. But for the first time, he didn’t find himself overwhelmed with shame.
And as he walked back up the Bounty’s ramp to the waiting Denella and Jirel, he realised why that was. Because there was still something else inside him besides the shame. A feeling that, however faint it may have been, was still there.
He still had hope.
* * * * *
“Klath’s gonna kill you, you know that?”
Jirel looked down at the object on the table in Natasha’s cabin and shook his head.
The Bounty was cruising back to neutral space at warp, leaving the Brexis system and the Klingon Empire far behind. Before they had left, Natasha found time to treat Jirel and Denella’s concussions, in what she found was becoming a traditional trip to the medical bay whenever the Bounty was finished with one of their straightforward deliveries.
Elsewhere, the ship was in a state. It turned out that when you took a ship into orbit and then blew all the outer hatches in order to deal with a tribble infestation onboard, it tended to leave a bit of a mess.
Anything that hadn’t been securely nailed down had been tossed and thrown around by the sudden redistribution of air around the ship, and it was going to take some time to clean up. To say nothing of the damage to the ship’s internals that the tribbles had caused. So the Bounty wasn’t just leaving Klingon space, it was heading for a friendly port for some much needed repairs.
Shortly after they had gotten going, with Klath having returned to his cabin to rest, Natasha had said that she had something to show the rest of them. And she had led them to her cabin, where they had soon seen what she was referring to.
She had found time to replicate a modest cage that sat on the table, filled with comfortable bedding material and a water bowl.
And inside the cage, there was a chirping brown and white spotted tribble.
To Jirel’s side, Denella and Sunek looked on with similar levels of distrust on their faces, even as Natasha opened the top of the cage and gently lifted the tribble out, petting the chittering creature’s fur as she did so.
“It’s gonna be no trouble, trust me,” she insisted as she stroked it, “You won’t even know it’s onboard.”
The others shared a round of disbelieving glances as the tribble continued to coo contentedly at the fussing it was receiving.
“It’s just,” she continued, “Given how many of the poor things have died over the last few days, I thought it was only fair we saved one of them.”
“Um,” Denella sighed, “Not to needlessly point out the obvious, but how exactly is it gonna be no trouble? They’re born pregnant, and that thing’s siblings just ate half my ship back there.”
“Yeah,” Sunek added, “Trouble is kinda their deal. One tribble becomes ten, becomes a gajillion, becomes nightmare fuel when they make the noise they make when you blow them all out into the vacuum of—”
“You’re not gonna need to do that with this one,” Natasha jumped in quickly.
“How come?”
“Found it in the pile earlier,” she explained, “Thanks to a very rare genetic abnormality, this is an infertile tribble.”
“Huh,” Denella offered, “That’s…nice?”
“Well, not for the tribble,” Natasha shrugged, “But, outside of immaculate conception, it means that we don’t need to worry about any nasty surprises. One tribble is all we’ve got onboard, and one tribble is all we’re ever gonna have onboard.”
She fussed it some more and smiled, before looking back at the unimpressed trio and holding it out to Jirel.
“Wanna pet it?”
“Not even a tiny bit.”
“Aw,” she smiled, fussing the chirping tribble some more and addressing it directly with a put-on childish voice, “He doesn’t mean to be so nasty, Spotty.”
Denella and Sunek both stifled smirks, even as Jirel stared daggers at Natasha, who remained a picture of innocence as she looked back at him.
“Spotty?” the Trill replied with a dark look.
He had told her about the slightly cruel and deeply unimaginative nickname he had picked up during his time working at the Tyran Scrapyards a few weeks ago.
At the time, he had accidentally revealed that morsel of personal information while the pair of them had been tied up to a cabrodine bomb in the Bounty’s cargo bay. And he had feared that she was biding her time, waiting for the right moment to use that against him, as revenge for all of the ways that he had irritated her since she had joined up with his ship.
Apparently, she had found the right moment.
“Yeah, Spotty,” she repeated, still feigning ignorance as she gestured to the tribble, “Y’know. Cos of the spots.”
Jirel’s glare intensified further, even as Denella and Sunek both shrugged and reached out to fuss over the tribble. Both of them were entirely oblivious to the deeper meaning behind the name, but both clearly not oblivious to the surface level comparison.
“Well, I think it suits it,” Denella nodded, struggling to contain her amusement even as Jirel gently simmered next to her.
“Yep,” Sunek added, “It’s all covered in spots, completely neutered, kinda useless, a little bit on the chubby side. Kinda reminds me of someone.”
The Vulcan made no attempt to disguise his own amusement, as Natasha allowed herself a moment to look back at Jirel with the slightest look of victory on her face.
Jirel just shook his head and sighed.
“Klath’s gonna kill you…”
* * * * *
Elsewhere onboard the Bounty, Klath was entirely unaware of their additional passenger. He had enough problems of his own. He had found that, even though he had retired to his cabin to rest after his exertions on Brexis II, he was struggling to follow through with that plan.
He couldn’t sleep.
Inside him, there was still a swirling mass of emotions which were refusing to go away. And he was struggling to make sense of them all.
Part of it was the sense of hope that had been kindled inside him again by Toran’s parting words. But there were deeper passions than just that. Something he had come to realise he had been feeling for some time, separate from the hope of the mission.
He wondered whether they were being caused by being back in Klingon space, surrounded by the Empire. And whether they would disappear as soon as the Bounty returned to neutral space. But whatever they were, they were proving troublesome.
He had even tried running through some calming Mok’bara exercises, even though he wasn’t much of an expert in the practice, but that hadn’t helped him much either. He had struggled to follow the controlled breathing technique that was required for the exercise, and couldn’t maintain a calm and balanced centre.
And so he had resorted to pacing around his cabin, his mind still a whirlwind that showed no immediate signs of calming down.
Out of nowhere, the door buzzer sounded out. He grimaced unhappily and sighed. He didn’t want company, especially when he was in this sort of state.
But, again, it wasn’t exactly easy to hide away on the Bounty.
“Enter,” he begrudgingly boomed out.
K’Veth walked slowly into his cabin, allowing the doors to swish closed behind her as she kept her focus on him.
And Klath suddenly felt the extra feelings he was dealing with coalescing into something stronger and more definable. A feeling that he had heard a lot about, in song and in stories. But one that he had only experienced himself on a few fleeting occasions.
A feeling far stronger than just simple lust or desire for the Klingon who was now standing so close to him. A feeling that made his heart beat faster and his brain flood with an aggressive mixture of pain and endorphins.
A feeling of par’Mach.
He didn’t know if it was genuine. Or if it was just down to his proximity to a Klingon female for the first time in five years. Or even if it was just a result of an excess of energy and emotion from their long and fierce battle side by side with the hoards of tribbles back on Brexis II.
But right now, he didn’t care either way.
K’Veth didn’t say a word. She simply stood and stared at him across the cabin, baring her teeth slightly as she did so.
Neither Klingon really needed to say anything. It had been clear for some time that, whatever it might have been that they were feeling, it was clearly mutual.
Klath stepped over to her, meeting her stare with an angry glare of his own.
He shot out a limb and grabbed her right arm tightly, pulling it close to his face and taking in her scent. She forcefully grabbed his right arm and reciprocated the gesture, snarling aggressively at him as she did so.
Klath’s mouth curved into a slight smile as he snarled back.
Like Kahless and Lukara many centuries ago, they found themselves consumed by the passions of the aftermath of the battle. They stood together and felt their hearts beat as one inside their chests.
And then, with both of them powered by feelings and emotions neither could fully explain, the two disgraced Klingons, heading back into lonely exile, dutifully took part in another long and noble Klingon tradition.
The End