Chapter Text
4. Philippa
The first step was waiting. Admiral Cornwell's injuries needed treating, and la'Chang wanted to interrogate his new prisoner at last.
"Use truth serum," growled Lursa. "If you want her personality intact, there's no point altering it with unnecessary trauma."
Chang bristled, but Philippa could see that Lursa would win this battle.
While they were distracted, she slipped out to ready her squad's raider.
"Weapons drill," she told the sentry, but he was used to her by now, and just nodded.
It was a mid-sized raider, with space for up to eighteen -- soldiers and crew -- and heavily armoured enough to ram a starship with only minimal casualties. She could fly it alone, if she had to, but if she had her choice--
"What are you doing?" Mogh asked behind her.
"The Starfleet admiral is being questioned," she said, her voice even. "She might have valuable intelligence. We should be ready to move out."
"You should not have acted alone," said Mogh. "As your squad leader, I will be held responsible for your actions." He sighed, and added, "And as your brother … I should know what you intend."
"My little brother." She smiled, and he shifted.
"Before the war," he said, "you commanded a Federation starship."
"Yes."
"You must have been experienced." At her inquiring look, he added, "You are very old."
You're just very young, Mogh.
"What do you want to know?"
His voice was barely audible. "What did you do when your mission is dishonorable?"
"You mean, sending a veqlargh against the Federation?"
He said nothing.
"Starfleet officers are bound to refuse unlawful orders," she said.
"Do they?"
"It rarely comes up."
Acting in concert, they went below decks to perform visual checks on the weapons lockers.
"la'Gorkon has resigned from General Kol's staff," said Mogh. "He's on his way back to Qo'noS. There are rumours he is starting a movement against Kol."
"That's treason," Philippa whispered.
"Is it treason if it saves the Empire? Gorkon is young, but widely respected. Others will follow him."
Will you?
She did not ask.
*
Chang summoned their squad that night. He was in a jovial mood, drinking blood wine and stalking the observation deck as he looked over star charts and reports.
"T'Kuvma's murderer serves on the USS Discovery," he said. "The so-called ghost ship is the Federation's strongest weapon against us. General Kol wants the ship intact, its captain and navigator alive."
"And Michael Burnham?" she asked.
"Dead is acceptable. Alive is better."
She nodded.
"You will go to the Kortar system with the Third Fleet. Kortar Four is heavily populated and rich in topaline. Starfleet will have to defend it, and the only ship fast enough is Discovery. You leave in six hours."
The squad saluted and left, but Philippa lingered.
"Admiral Cornwell would be a valuable distraction," she said indifferently.
Chang considered it, then said, "No. Lursa's work takes priority. She's administering the first infusion of retrogenes now."
"Very well."
He clasped her shoulder. "Set your teeth, and send darkness to all that stop you."
Philippa blinked, and Chang laughed.
"Shakespeare, Captain. When you return, I will reacquaint you with your culture."
She swallowed her first response and said, "I'm honoured, la'Chang."
*
Her squad would be drinking and carousing until it was time to depart. She returned to their raider and armed herself with a knife and a holster and a couple of hyposprays from its rudimentary medical station.
Then she returned to the crew deck and followed the noise until she found her squad. They had more or less taken over a secondary mess hall, and welcomed her with hot blood wine.
It was the work of a moment to detach the sedative from the hypo and discharge it into the communal jug. Diluted and shared, it wasn't enough to knock them out, but it left them incapacitated, and that was all she needed.
Lursa was the only person working on the lab deck, humming to herself as she examined Kat Cornwell's vital signs. The lights were low, and she didn't sense Philippa in the shadows. The hypospray hissed against her neck, and she collapsed into Philippa's arms.
I'm sorry, little sister.
Kat lay on a biobed, stripped to her standard issue tank top and underwear. Philippa found her pants and boots and looked at her chart. She was stable; the interrogation drugs had left her system and the first infusion of Klingon retrogenes had been a success, and Lursa's notes indicated she was thinking of bringing the next treatment forward.
Philippa found the stimulant and injected it. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then Kat sighed and opened her eyes.
5. Katrina
A synthetic hand closed over her mouth.
"Don't scream."
Katrina resisted, but the veqlargh was stronger. She spoke carefully, as if she had forgotten how to form words in English.
"You're on the Klingon flagship. You've been interrogated and injected with Klingon retrogenes, but Lursa hasn't started the mental reprogramming. Commander Chang has set a trap for the USS Discovery. I need to get you out of here."
She released Kat, who took a long, deep breath and said, "Philippa?"
"It's good to see you again, Kat."
"You're a clone."
"I know."
"You killed Lieutenant Commander Douglas."
"Yes."
"How can I trust you?"
"Admiral, Discovery is compromised. We need to move."
She took hold of Kat's shoulders and helped her sit up. Her hands were warm, even the Klingon prosthesis, and gentle.
Once upright, Kat was struck by a powerful headache and a wave of nausea. She leaned forward, breathing through her nose, until the worst had passed. The veqlargh watched, and it might have been a trick of the half-light, but her eyes, mismatched though they were, seemed as intelligent and compassionate as the real Philippa's.
"You said I was interrogated?" Kat asked.
"Under drugs."
"Shit. I thought Klingons didn't do that."
"It's not preferred. Admiral, we don't have time for this."
"I know, I know."
At least, she found when she stood up, the only trace of her knee injury was a dull ache, and the headache was receding. And most of her uniform was on hand. She dressed and followed Philippa to the door.
"You might want this." Philippa pressed a disruptor into her hand. "Don't fire unless it's absolutely necessary."
They reached the raider bay without incident. The raider itself was under guard, but Philippa seemed unconcerned.
"Wait here," she told Kat, and advanced from the shadows to have a long, loud conversation with the sentry. About the prospects for the hunt, Kat thought, and she was struck by how dramatically Philippa's body language changed when she spoke Klingon.
Then Philippa pulled a knife and cut his throat. Kat was already on her feet, sprinting across the raider bay even as the sentry's body hit the floor. Her head still ached, her knee twinged and her stomach churned, but she was conscious of a strength and speed she hadn't possessed since she was a high school track champion.
Then the lights went up, and a disruptor bolt landed inches from her foot. She dodged and rolled, but a heavy Klingon boot stopped her.
Applause echoed through the raider bay. Commander Chang marched forward, flanked by guards. Behind him, bleeding and handcuffed, was the soldier Kat had dubbed Big Guy.
Philippa was still fighting Chang's troops, but she went limp when she saw Big Guy, her face falling.
"Mogh," she said, and asked a question in Klingon. Big Guy shook his head, gazing at the ground, his fury and despair in his face.
The conversation that followed was in Klingon, but Kat understood the gist: Big Guy -- Mogh -- had allowed Philippa to escape, was himself a traitor, and would suffer the fate of all such. Philippa didn't believe it, but Mogh denied nothing.
They were escorted to the prison deck, to another cell with one central light source, a transporter pad to receive food rations, and nothing else.
This one, at least, was empty. Kat wondered how long it had been since poor old Douglas had tried to strangle her, and if the rest of their cellmates were still alive.
No sooner had the door locked behind them than Philippa rounded on Mogh with a tirade of angry Klingon. How could he be so stupid? Why didn't he sound the alarm when he realised she had drugged the others? Had he perhaps suffered a head injury?
Kat was reminded of nothing more than herself, telling her younger brother off for one of his many bad decisions.
And then she realised something which should have been obvious.
"I understand you," she said. "You're speaking Klingon, and I understand you."
"Lursa must have implanted language along with the genetic graft," said Philippa. "Good. That makes it easier."
"How is that good?"
It probably explained the headache, which had disappeared entirely. Kat thought of the evenings she'd spent with her aides, trying to get her tongue around Klingon vocabulary. All that time, wasted.
The rest of it…
"Tell me about the genetic graft," she said, and she was quite proud of the way her voice didn't shake at all.
"You only received the first dose," said Philippa. "You'll notice improved strength and stamina, perhaps faster reflexes. A taste for rare meat."
"A better sense of humour," Mogh grunted, but Philippa held up a hand to hush him.
"Are you okay, Kat?" she asked.
"Do I have a choice?"
"Death," said Mogh.
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
"Mogh," said Philippa, "why didn't you sound the alarm when you realised I drugged the squad?"
"I knew what you were doing. I thought it … honourable." He scowled, staring at nothing in particular. "I thought to use the confusion to stage my own escape."
"You were defecting."
"To the Federation?" Kat asked.
"To Gorkon," said Mogh.
"The Empire's on the verge of a schism," Philippa told her. "It's an--"
"Opportunity," Kat finished. "We're stuck here."
"I know." Philippa looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, Admiral."
Kat waved it away.
"You know Chang. What will he do with us?" she asked.
"Reprogramming, I expect. He was very insistent on restoring my memories, retaining your personality. Lursa will finally get her way."
"The mission will go forward without us," said Mogh. "Discovery will be captured. Chang will give its captain to my sister."
And Gabriel would become the next Starfleet officer to be transformed into a killing machine for the Klingons. Along with Discovery and the spore drive. Klingon genetic science was far more advanced than the Federation's. Mogh's sister could probably churn out fresh navigators in her sleep.
Kat's fist left a dent in the wall.
"We can't let this happen," she said.
"I agree," said Philippa. "What are your orders, Admiral?"
*
Last time Kat had been in one of these cells, she had ordered Ensign Nonogak to dismantle the transporter pad. More as a way to pass the time than anything else, but there was a chance they could have pulled some usable parts from its guts. If it didn't overload and fry them all first.
This time, Philippa thrust her prosthetic arm straight through the pad, shattering the transparent aluminium as if it was glass.
It overloaded at once, sending wild tendrils of plasma up Philippa's arm, sizzling where it met flesh. With a visible effort, she kept reaching. Sweat streamed down her face, and Kat had to resist the urge to tell her to stop.
Eyes closed, teeth clenched, Philippa managed to say, "I've got it!"
Then she fell backwards, the power relay aglow in her clawed hand. The overload redirected itself, blowing out the door. At the same moment, the relay exploded and Philippa screamed.
Kat saw spots.
When her vision had returned, klaxons were sounding, and Philippa was staring at the space where her prosthetic arm had been.
"Move," growled Mogh. "We have less than a minute."
They scrambled.
The guards were already mobilising. Philippa launched herself at the lead, ducking his disruptor shot. But her missing arm threw her off-balance, and she fell short, compensating by sweeping him off his feet with a low kick. Mogh backed her up, seizing the fallen guard's disruptor and shooting the second, then kicking that guard's fallen disruptor back to Kat. She shot the third guard at the same moment Philippa broke the neck of the first.
It took less than ten seconds, and now they were armed. The corridor was filling with smoke, despite the fire suppression system. Ship's internal sensors must be lighting up like a Christmas tree.
"This way," said Mogh.
They took out six more guards on the way to the checkpoint, two groups of three, and acquired a handful of knives and daggers. Philippa claimed a two-pronged dagger, a more practical weapon than a disruptor rifle for a woman with one hand.
There were six soldiers at the checkpoint. Kat and her team paused at a crosswalk, concealed by smoke and the haze of the fire suppressant.
"If we shoot them," said Mogh, "our location will be revealed and we'll be overwhelmed."
"I can take them," said Philippa.
Kat didn't point out that obvious: that Philippa was still pale and clammy from the shock of losing her arm, badly off-balance, and even if she was in peak physical condition, she would struggle to defeat six Klingon warriors in hand-to-hand combat.
She just said, "Not alone. That's an order, Captain."
"Six against three are good odds," said Mogh.
"On my mark," said Kat.
Philippa didn't wait. Mogh was right behind her.
Kat shook her head and started after them.
She was pushing sixty. She had two knives, a rough idea of Klingon anatomy, and the strength and stamina that came from an infusion of Klingon genetic material.
And maybe something else (putting her knife through a guard's throat, rejoicing in the smell of his blood). Was the Klingon propensity for violence nature or nurture? She could write a paper (grabbing a fallen guard's bat'leth and ramming it into his colleague's back before the man could shoot Philippa). Or be its subject.
Philippa grabbed the last remaining guard and shoved his head at the retinal scanner. The checkpoint computer was unsealed, and she cut the guard's throat and dropped him to the floor. Mogh opened the prisoner records.
"There are thirty-two Federation prisoners," he said.
"And the raider bay?" Kat asked.
"Twelve soldiers." He opened the remote transporter controls. "Preparing to--"
He was interrupted by an angry growl as a seventh guard appeared. Kat and Philippa reached for their weapons, but from behind the guard came a disruptor bolt, and he fell.
"Lursa," Philippa breathed.
"Brother." Could a Klingon be shell-shocked? Lursa lowered her weapon, looking appalled and angry and afraid all at once.
"You can't stop us," said Mogh.
"la'Chang has ordered our execution," she said. "I killed the ones he sent for me." Her jaw clenched. "I won't let him destroy my family."
"Come with us," said Mogh.
"To the Federation? My work is anathema there."
"To Gorkon. Eventually."
She hesitated.
"We're wasting time," said Kat. "You want to live long enough to make plans? Come with us. Mogh, energise."
They beamed onto the raider.
The raider bay's guards were beamed into the cells.
Mogh had put them on the raider's bridge. He went straight to the helm. Philippa took weapons.
They had planned for Kat to take the ops station, but now they had Lursa.
So, wearing half her uniform and a coating of Klingon blood, Kat descended the ladder to address the Starfleet personnel they had rescued.
They went to warp before they had even cleared the flagship's shields.
Freedom.
*
Freedom had a smell.
Thirty-six people crammed into an alien ship designed for half that number. Life support was stretched enough without adjusting the environmental controls to something more comfortable for humans. The replicators produced only Klingon food. The medkits weren't calibrated for Federation species. And the prisoners' conditions ranged from hungry and scared to catatonic.
"You should kill that one," said Lursa, watching Kat take Clements's vitals.
They were hiding in an asteroid field, running silent, waiting for the last of their pursuers to give up and move on. The crew quarters were cramped and dark.
"You'll never get anywhere with humans with an attitude like that," said Kat. "Keep him cool," she told Reyes. "Make sure he's hydrated. That's all we can do."
"Yes, Admiral," said Reyes. She glanced over at Lursa and said quietly, "Admiral … it's been three days, and I've only seen you sleep for a few hours."
"I'll sleep when I'm dead, Lieutenant."
"There are rumours about what the Klingons did to you."
"You don't want to listen to gossip."
"Crem says they turned Captain Georgiou into some kind of eugenics experiment." Reyes looked Kat in the eye. "I trust you, and I'll support you. But we're days away from Federation space. We should know who we're dealing with."
*
"There are spaces in my memory."
Lursa and Mogh were sleeping. Snoring, in fact. Kat was at the helm. Philippa sat on the floor beside her, knees drawn to her chest, back to the main viewer.
"I remember pieces of my childhood. The Academy. I was always cold in San Francisco, and the air was too dry. But sometimes it seems like it all happened to someone else." She smiled bleakly. "Which, of course, it did."
"Believe it or not, your self-awareness is reassuring," said Kat.
"Is it? The missing pieces worry me. I've lost so many … important things."
"Tell me."
"My son. I can recall his face, but his name's just," Philippa waved her hand. "Gone."
Kat tried to imagine forgetting Phoebe's name. Her mind rejected the possibility outright.
Phoebe had accompanied her to the memorial for Starbase Forty-Four. She had worried that twelve was too young for such a bleak, solemn event, but Phoebe insisted. She kept her hand in Kat's through the whole ceremony, but if she regretted attending, she never said.
"Debare," said Kat at last. "His name was Debare Pierre Georgiou Alabi."
"Oh," said Philippa softly.
She covered her face with her hand and shook with silent tears.
*
They crossed the Federation border the next day. Kat put the raider on autopilot, and she, Philippa and the Klingons went belowdecks.
"We're a day out from the Koltar system," Kat told the assembled ex-prisoners. "We believe the Klingon Third Fleet has been assigned to attack Koltar Four as part of a trap for the USS Discovery. I've sent an encrypted warning to Starfleet Command, but they may not get it in time." Or believe it.
"So it's down to us," said Ensign Nonogak.
"This raider was designed to ram and board," said Philippa. "And that's what we'll do."
"Everyone who can fight will do so," Kat said. "Weapons are the one thing we have plenty of."
Mogh stood to attention. "I will teach you to fight like Klingons." He had spent the morning practising his English. "We have surprise on our side."
"Admiral," said a lieutenant who had been captured in a skirmish on Sherman's Planet, "we're not exactly a powerful fighting force right now."
"I know," said Kat, "but it's imperative that we keep Discovery out of Klingon hands."
It was too much to hope that Discovery simply wouldn't respond to the attack. This was an insignificant region, and Starfleet vessels were few and far between -- likely Discovery was the only ship that could arrive in time to save the population of Kortar Four.
And, knowing Gabriel, any report of a trap for Discovery would be tantamount to a formal invitation.
She wondered if she had told Chang that in her interrogation.
"Do you really think we can hold the Klingons off?" asked Lieutenant Crem.
"Alone?" Philippa asked. "No. But like Mogh says, we have the element of surprise. And he and I are familiar with Klingon hand-to-hand combat tactics." She made her way through the crew quarters, looking at faces, letting them see her. "Under normal circumstances, we could limp to a starbase and congratulate ourselves on a job well done. But we have a duty -- to the four million people of Kortar Four, if nothing else."
A cadet who had served on the Hypatia said, "A few weeks ago, you were killing Starfleet officers for the Klingons."
Kat felt Mogh bristle, but she put her hand on his arm to steady him. Philippa just gave the cadet a sad smile.
"I know who I am, now."
"The good news," said Crem, "is that if we die, our Klingon friend here can bring us back. More or less."
"Shut up, Crem," said Nonogak.
*
"Michael Burnham is serving on the Discovery," Kat told Philippa.
"I know."
"How do you feel about that?"
Philippa pulled a disruptor down, checked its components, replaced it and grabbed the next one. Kat didn't push.
"I'm not sure," Philippa said at last.
A very silly thought had been floating around Kat's head for the last day. "You're not … subconsciously programmed to assassinate her, are you?"
"I hope not."
Behind them, Lursa snorted.
"No," she said. "But only because that did not occur to la'Chang."
*
Four hours out from Kortar. Kat was too keyed up to rest, so she paced the engine room and checked and rechecked the knife sheaths at her wrists, hips and ankles.
"Stop."
She hadn't heard Lursa come in, but a knife was in her hand before the Klingon had finished speaking.
Lursa looked approving.
"I've been distracted," she said. "I should have been monitoring your condition since the gene graft." She held up her tricorder. "Sit." In clumsy English, she added, "I will not hurt you."
Kat allowed Lursa to scan her.
"Is your brother teaching you English?"
Lursa went back to Klingon. "And my -- Philippa." She studied her readings. "Starfleet will put us in prison. It wouldn't do to be unprepared. Your heartbeat is accelerated."
"Anticipation."
"How do you sleep?"
"Little and lightly."
"And your appetite is normal. I've seen you eat."
"Normal? I'm always hungry."
"Normal for a Klingon."
Kat leaned over her shoulder to study the results.
"Is this permanent?" she asked.
Lursa gave her a look that said, Well, obviously. "Of course." Wistfully she added, "I suppose your Starfleet won't let me continue with the gene grafts."
You'll be lucky if you aren't charged with war crimes, with Philippa and I as exhibits for the prosecution.
Instead, Kat said, "Why did you use your DNA for this? Out of all the Klingons in the Empire? Why not the…" she tried to think like a eugenicist, "the strongest, or the smartest? Or someone important? Why not T'Kuvma himself?"
"Foolishness." Lursa stood up. "My family, we were nothing but minor scions of an unworthy House. But my parents and my sisters are dead. I … missed them."
Kat reached out and took her hand.
*
They were almost too late.
The Third Fleet was in pieces, scattered throughout the system's asteroid belt, fragments orbiting Kortar Four and its moon. Only one bird-of-prey remained intact, engaged in battle with the USS Wu among the gas giants on the system's edge.
But Discovery was burning. A raider, twin to the one they had stolen, was attached to her saucer section.
"What's Discovery's status?" Philippa asked.
"Shields at thirty percent," said Lursa. "Warp drive offline. Hull breach on deck four."
"Signal them," Kat said.
This was the hard part. The next hard part. She had encoded the signal with her command codes, then, as insurance, added a parallel transmission. No encryption, just one word: Perseids.
"Discovery is hailing."
"You're up," said Philippa.
A raider this small had no holocom system. Discovery's bridge appeared on the viewscreen, and Kat heard Philippa draw a breath: three former Shenzhou officers were looking out at them.
Kat had arranged the comm system so that only she was visible to Discovery. Anything else was a distraction.
Without preamble, she said, "Captain Lorca, I have thirty-five armed soldiers ready to defend Discovery. I need you to lower your shields long enough for us to ram that raider on your hull."
Gabriel hesitated.
Burnham said, "Captain, the bird-of-prey is two-point-six billion kilometres away."
Mere minutes to Discovery, if they saw an opportunity. Gabriel had to trust her. If he was still capable of that.
A million years ago he had put his hand around her throat and held a phaser to her head. She was a different person, now.
I need you to see me, Gabriel.
The moment stretched.
Then Gabriel turned to his tactical officer and said, "Ready photon torpedos and drop shields. Get it done."
Thank you, Kat mouthed, and cut the connection.
On a ship this small, there was no need to activate the comm. Mogh just raised his voice and shouted, "Take your places. Ramming in five -- four -- three--"
"Discovery shields are down," said Lursa.
"Initiate drop," Philippa ordered.
They landed on the enemy raider with a sickening metal crunch. The ship was still shaking as Kat slid down the ladder and grabbed a disruptor.
She turned to Philippa.
"Mission is yours, Captain."
*
Mogh and Lursa took point on the enemy raider. It held two guards, easily taken out. Then Philippa moved into the lead and they emerged through the hull breach into Discovery, and chaos.
Fire. Fire suppressant. Klingons. Starfleet.
Too damn many Klingons, Kat thought, while Philippa cut a swathe through them. More than the crew complement of the raider. They must have broken through Discovery's shields long enough to beam an extra boarding party in.
But they weren't expecting to be attacked from behind. Nonogak shot three before a warrior knocked her off her feet and pulled the disruptor from her hands. He raised it to shoot her, and Kat took aim, but Reyes shot first.
"Thanks," said Nonogak.
"Don't mention it," said Reyes.
Close quarter fighting. Practically a brawl. Gabriel's new chief of security caught her eye; in a moment, he had joined her.
Taking aim at a soldier, he said, "Captain didn't mention you were bringing a couple of Klingons along."
"Tell your officers not to shoot them."
Tyler looked like he really wanted to argue, but his attention was caught by something else: Philippa Georgiou, ducking under a Klingon soldier's bat'leth, rising inches from his face, and shooting him.
"Is that--"
"Captain Georgiou."
Philippa discarded her phaser, claiming her enemy's bat'leth, unaware of the three soldiers behind her. Kat set her disruptor to overload and threw it at them, pulling Tyler down to shield him from the explosion.
"Captain didn't mention that, either."
He offered Kat his phaser, but she shook her head and pulled the knives from her hip sheaths. She advanced, conscious of the enemies around them and the lieutenant at her back, and for the first time, she understood why people talked about blood singing.
Cut. Thrust. Stab. She wasn't trained in knife combat, but she was strong and fast, and the cuts she received just made her feel alive.
And you had one gene graft. Imagine how Philippa feels.
Philippa was a whirl of energy, in one place then another, leaving Klingons dead or maimed in her wake.
It was almost enough.
They were down to just half a dozen Klingons, but most of the Starfleet personnel had fallen. Tyler lasted the longest, until a warrior slashed through the tendons behind his knees then picked him up and threw him away like a ragdoll. He landed with a crash, still conscious, but far away from the fray, or any convenient fallen weapons.
Lursa, civilian that she was, fell next. She screamed as the bat'leth took her leg, then fell back, dazed, watching the pool of magenta blood spread around her.
Mogh was shot -- stunned, thank God, and she couldn't believe she was grateful -- by a Starfleet officer.
And then it was just Kat and Philippa.
Philippa was trained and conditioned for this. She took lead, while Kat acted as back-up, and though they were surrounded, their enemies were diminishing--
Discovery shook. Photon torpedo fire.
The bird-of-prey had defeated the Wu and come back for Discovery.
Then an alarm sounded, and the ship's computer announced a black alert.
Everything shifted. Then returned.
Two more black alerts. Two more spore jumps.
(Kat's knife slid through Klingon armour, penetrating skin and organs, and as the soldier shrieked in anger, Philippa's bat'leth separated her head from her shoulders.)
Then Discovery stabilised, and, through the haze of blood and sweat, Kat heard Gabriel ordering all security personnel to deck four.
The last Klingon body hit the deck, and applause rang out from the smoke.
"Oh, well done, Captain." Chang emerged from the swirl of smoke and coolant. He was bleeding from a minor head wound, but otherwise seemed uninjured. He's been watching us, Kat realised. Evaluating. "Very well done, indeed."
"Stand down," Kat told him. "Your boarding parties are defeated. You have no means of escape."
There was movement in the smoke. Discovery officers.
Chang ignored them, and her. All his attention was on Philippa.
"You tell yourself you're still human," he said. "But you are, at heart, a Klingon." He tilted his head. "Or perhaps, deep down, you always were."
Philippa threw herself at him, pushing him against the wall with the edge of her bat'leth to his throat. Kat followed, grabbing Philippa's wrist. Starfleet uniforms surrounded them.
"Give us space," Kat snapped. "Philippa, don't."
Philippa stared at her, blind fury in her mismatched eyes.
"I said, stand down, Captain Georgiou, that's an order."
Philippa blinked and exhaled in something like relief.
"Yes, Admiral," she said.
Chang laughed.
"'Kindness'," he said. "'Nobler ever than revenge.' Pretend all you like, Admiral, neither of you are human any more -- not the humans the Federation wants. 'taH pagh taHbe.' Shakespeare is better in Klingon--"
Kat lashed out without conscious thought, and Chang's words were swallowed by a cry of agony and rage. Philippa released him, and he staggered forward, clutching his empty left eye socket. Blood poured between his fingers, and as he crouched, Chang was laughing.
Kat moved backwards, shaking, until she bumped into someone. Turning, she found herself inches from Gabriel.
"Kat," he was saying, though the sound was coming from a great distance, "Kat, you're okay. You're okay."
She put her hands up, stared at them, then shuddered and wiped the sticky vitreous humour on his shirt.
"Get your damn eyes fixed," she whispered, and she laughed and sobbed until someone produced a hypospray and sedated her.
6. Philippa
When Discovery's chief medical officer finally released her from sickbay, she was given private quarters, fresh clothes -- a standard-issue jumpsuit, no rank or insignia -- and a personal guard.
Precisely who the guard was meant to protect, she decided not to ask. In Captain Lorca's shoes, she would have done the same thing.
It was strange, being on a Starfleet ship again. She needed to rest, but it was too cold, too quiet, too…
Alien.
She slept for a few hours.
She woke up early, and hungry, craving nasi lemak with sambal hot enough to burn her sinuses, and sweet, milky teh tarik to wash it down.
As she dressed, she realised she was thinking in Malay again, and Mandarin, and Hokkien and French were just a breath away.
Am I home?
She was a clone. She had never visited Malaysia, or Paris, or San Francisco. Her memories had been stolen from a dead woman.
And her face. For the first time since Lursa had woken her up, she looked into a mirror.
And it was … her. One-armed, with one blue Klingon eye, hair grey and short. But she knew that face.
"Hello," she whispered.
There was a message from Captain Lorca, asking her to see him in his ready room at her earliest convenience. She decided to eat first.
It was 0630, and the mess hall was full of alpha shift crew grabbing breakfast before they went on duty. Huddled around one table were a dozen familiar faces: y'Roen, Detmer, Saru and more. Shenzhou crewmembers. Michael stood on the edge of the group, shoulder stiff, hands behind her back.
The conversation was so intent that they didn't even notice Philippa enter.
Except for Saru. His threat ganglia twitched and extended, and Keyla looked up, meeting Philippa's eyes.
The room went silent.
Michael's face was unreadable, except for her eyes, which were wide and liquid. She could never hide the emotion in her eyes, Philippa thought, and she stepped back, reeling, because she was looking at Michael and remembering, long conversations over plomeek soup and air bandung, chess games and arguments and the first time she got Michael to laugh.
She turned and walked out.
*
"We're three days out from Starbase Yorktown," Lorca told her. "Can't do more than warp five, towing the Wu. Once we dock, you, your Klingon allies, the prisoners, you're all Commodore Paris's problem." He gave her a lopsided smile. "No offence, Captain."
There were no seats in Lorca's ready room, and he kept the lights low. Kat had told Philippa a little about Discovery's captain, but her omissions were revealing.
"None taken," she said mildly. "Do you know what will happen to Mogh and Lursa? Defecting to the Federation was not their first choice."
Lorca shrugged. "Above my pay grade," he said. "But I can tell you one thing -- they won't be injected with human DNA and used against their own people."
She managed a smile.
"You, on the other hand," Lorca said, "the way the war's going, they'll probably give you a ship."
"That seems unlikely."
"I don't know. Looks to me like you're our new superweapon. Admiral Cornwell's making her own recommendations -- but she ripped a man's eyeball out yesterday afternoon, so I don't know if Starfleet will listen."
Lorca pinned her with a sharp, cold look.
"Just promise me one thing," he said. "Don't go poaching Burnham. I got her out of prison for a reason, and I need her on Discovery. As long as I'm in command of this ship--" He broke off, then changed tack. "She helped start this war. I need her with me to finish it."
*
Alpha shift had come on duty by the time she left Lorca's ready room. As she stepped out onto the bridge, Keyla rose from her chair, and Michael and Saru stood to attention.
"Captain," said Michael.
Philippa swallowed.
"As you were," she said.
*
Lursa and Mogh were housed in tiny shared quarters. Better than the brig, or Klingon troop barracks, but not comfortable.
"It's cold," said Mogh, when she visited. "And the food has no flavour."
"And we have to sit," said Lursa, waving her crutch, "not that we all have the choice, and wait to find out what happens next."
Lursa's leg had been cut off below the knee. No prosthetic was forthcoming yet; Philippa suspected that Discovery's doctors could easily provide one, but security concerns overruled them.
Likewise, Philippa still had to make do with one arm and one Klingon eye. Starfleet wanted to see her as she was.
Let them, she thought.
"Admiral Cornwell is going to recommend your parole," she told Lursa and Mogh. "She wants to send you as envoys to Gorkon."
"So the Federation can watch as Klingon fights Klingon?" Lursa asked.
"So we all survive," said Philippa. "I don't know what comes next. But we're family. I won't let you come to harm."
*
When she couldn't put it off any longer, she visited Michael.
She was greeted at the door by a young cadet, who froze when she recognised Philippa.
"I," she said, "you--"
Michael appeared behind her.
"Tilly," she said gently.
"Oh," said the cadet. "Yes. I'm … going to go take a walk. Maybe a long walk? Maybe grab a meal. Or two." She paused in the doorway and flashed a blinding smile at Michael. "Have fun!"
Then she was gone, and Philippa almost wished she had stayed.
"Say something," said Michael. "I killed T'Kuvma and started a war. Tell me you're angry, or disappointed. Tell me I let you down."
"All these things are true," said Philippa.
"I left you behind."
"If you hadn't, I wouldn't be here."
Michael flinched.
"Captain," she said, "what do you want from me?"
"When you came aboard the Shenzhou," Philippa said, "I gave myself the task of teaching you to be human."
What an ego I had…
But Michael nodded.
"Now," Philippa waved her hand in frustration, "I'm not that person anymore. I can't just slip into her life as if the last seven months never happened. I was programmed to be a weapon, but--"
Michael's eyes were bright. "You need to be more," she said. "I understand. You once told me you had seen a life of loss, yet chose hope."
"Making the choice is the easy part. But finding my path--"
Michael took her hand.
"Captain," she said, "I would be -- proud -- honoured -- I--" She drew breath and, with a visible effort, recovered a measure of Vulcan calm. "Let me help," she said.
end