Kaga’s Restaurant
Federation Starbase Deep Space 9
Dorrek sat opposite the Klingon who believed himself to be Rodek, son of Noggra, and said, “You are a difficult man to find, Lieutenant. I had come to your father’s home to speak with you but was told you had gone offworld. Luckily for both of us I was able to commandeer a ship to take me to this forsaken place.” He glanced around. For years, this station had been a dreary Cardassian backwater. Now, thanks to the discovery of the Bajoran wormhole, it was a major Federation outpost—but still, it was dreary, and still quite far from civilized space.
Rodek bared his teeth. “Is your vessel still under repair from the damage it took thanks to your dishonor?”
Dorrek refused to take the bait. “The K’mpec is space-worthy again; however, it now has a new captain. I have been removed from my post thanks to the actions of a coward.”
“And which coward would that be, Captain?” Rodek all but snarled the rank.
The disdain Rodek expressed had not been entirely unexpected. After all, the Gorkon fought hard at San-Tarah against Dorrek, General Talak, and their forces, and Rodek was the ship’s gunner. If he was not loyal to Klag, Klag would have replaced him rather than promote him as he did.
Still and all, he barged ahead. The plan required it.
“The coward would be my older brother, Lieutenant. Klag, most unworthy son of M’Raq. It is not enough that he soiled the honor of our family, and that of the House of K’Tal, but he did likewise for your family as well.”
As expected, Rodek unsheathed his d’k tahg. “You dare to insult my captain?”
Holding up a hand, Dorrek said, “Let me speak, Lieutenant. If, after you have heard my tale, you still wish to challenge me for insulting your captain, then I will accept. But you do not know Klag as I do, and you do not know what he has done.”
The restaurateur came by then. Dorrek waved him off, but Rodek said, “Bring me a skull stew.”
After the chef bowed and went to fill the order, Rodek looked at Dorrek. “I never killed anyone at the supper table, Captain. You have until I finish my stew to convince me that I should not cut you down where you stand.”
Dorrek inclined his head. All I need is for you to sit and listen, and then, at last, vengeance shall be mine!
He had spent a full day after General Kriz took his command from him going over the service records of the Gorkon crew, convinced that there was someone among his brother’s subordinates who could be used against him. The best choice seemed to be Rodek, son of Noggra, especially when Dorrek did some investigating and learned that Rodek had not existed until four turns previous.
Now facing the object of his research, Dorrek said, “You were not born with the name Rodek, Lieutenant. Your name is Kurn, son of Mogh, brother of Worf.”
“What?” Rodek’s mouth widened with shock. “That cannot be!”
“I see the doubt in your eyes that belies your words, my friend. Your ship has transported Worf since his posting to the Federation embassy, has it not?”
“Yes,” Rodek said in a low voice. “And he said to me that I reminded him of someone he once knew who was now dead.”
“An entertaining fiction,” Dorrek said wryly. “When you were an infant, your father, Mogh, as well as his mate, Kaasin, your older brother, Worf, and your family’s ghojmoq, all traveled to Khitomer. You were deemed too young to go and stayed with a family friend named Lorgh.”
Dorrek could see that Rodek was doing the arithmetic in his head. “The massacre?”
Nodding, Dorrek said, “Yes. The Romulan attack on Khitomer claimed thousands of lives, including those of Mogh and Kaasin. Your brother survived, rescued by a Starfleet vessel. One of their crew took him in and raised him in the Federation, eventually to become their ambassador to the empire. Lorgh took you as his own son, not telling you the truth until you reached the Age of Ascension. Eventually, you joined the Defense Force as an officer, rising to the rank of captain. But you did not share your true bloodline until your father was accused of betraying Khitomer to the Romulans.”
The chef came by with the skull stew, but Rodek barely acknowledged it. It was as Dorrek hoped: the true story was prompting long-dead memories.
But then Dorrek’s hopes were dimmed when Rodek said, “I recall none of this.”
“Do you recall approaching your older brother, revealing the truth to him, and aiding him when he challenged the High Council’s ruling against your father? Do you recall learning the truth—that Ja’rod of the House of Duras, whose son served on the High Council, was the true traitor at Khitomer. Do you—”
“All of this is in the public record, Captain,” Rodek said, spitting the stew on which he chewed. “Chancellor Gowron restored the House of Mogh in exchange for the House’s support in his civil war against Duras’s sisters, who tried to put Duras’s bastard in the chancellor’s chair.”
“And when they failed, Gowron ascended to that chair—and appointed you one of his councillors.”
That seemed to bring the lieutenant up short. “I served on the council?” he asked in a much quieter voice than he’d been using.
“Yes. After commanding the Hegh’ta against House Duras’s forces, Chancellor Gowron rewarded you with a seat.”
Rodek got a faraway look in his eyes, and Dorrek knew that he had, at last, struck home. Perhaps he has some memories of his time on the High Council. The reasons why did not matter; Dorrek knew that he had him.
Which was fortunate, as the rest of his story would be pure falsehood.
“And then four years ago, your memories were taken from you by Klag.”
That brought Rodek out of whatever fugue he’d been in. “Klag did this to me?”
“Yes. My brother has always been ambitious. Throughout our childhoods, he always needed to be best at everything.” That much, at least, was true. “Being an officer was never good enough. Being a ship captain was never good enough. He was not to be satisfied until he ruled the empire. To that end, he had targeted several councillors in the hopes of making them allies. But you refused, so he had you brought here and blackmailed the human doctor into making you into Rodek. Apparently, the doctor had broken some Federation laws regarding genetic enhancement; Klag learned of this and threatened to expose him. He altered your crest and erased your memory.”
“No wonder the human was so reluctant to assist me just now.” Rodek looked at Dorrek. “He covered it well, but he was hiding something from me.”
“Now you know what it is. Klag’s plans were curtailed by the Dominion War, but after its end, he redoubled his efforts. The House of K’Tal has also stood against him, which is why Klag contrived to have both Captain Kargan and General Talak killed, and I was cast out of my own House. Klag was able to get you assigned to his command so he could keep an eye on you.”
Rodek shook his head, his skull stew lying abandoned in front of him. “I was so blind—I saw none of this.”
“You saw only what my brother wished you to see, my friend.” Dorrek leaned in, speaking in an intense whisper. “There is more. This is by far the worst sin.”
Pulling a padd out of a pouch in his armor, Dorrek keyed up the display to show the recording that he’d liberated from the House Noggra estate’s security system. He’d called in his last remaining favors with a friend in I.I. to obtain this footage.
He knew what was on it before he’d ever gotten it, of course, by virtue of being in it, which was also why he had the need to edit it.
Rodek—or, rather, Kurn—stared at the padd with eager eyes. He saw Noggra returning home from a trip he’d been on. As he walked in the door, he was assaulted by a figure dressed in black who kept his face obscured behind what Rodek, as a lieutenant in the Defense Force, had to recognize as a holomask. That figure beat Noggra repeatedly, who fell to the floor. The mystery figure then unsheathed a d’k tahg, picked Noggra up (though the old man’s face was obscured from the security sensor), and stabbed Noggra in his heart.
“QI’yaH!” Rodek cried and got to his feet, the padd clattering to the restaurant floor. The non-Klingons in the place looked up in surprise. “Who has done this?”
Leaning over, Dorrek retrieved the padd from the floor and handed it back to Rodek, after thumbing the display back a few seconds so he could see what he missed by tossing it aside.
Rodek snatched it from his hands and started the playback going again. Dorrek heard the words, filtered through the holomask, of the assassin: “Die, traitor, in the name of the House of M’Raq!”
Dorrek knew the words well, for he had spoken them himself. He had also spent quite some time interrogating Noggra from behind the holomask before killing him, but that footage was edited out before it was placed on this padd.
Again, Rodek tossed the padd aside. “Klag did this?”
“And more, though not to you. He must answer for these crimes, Rodek—or should I say Kurn?”
Shaking his head, the lieutenant clenched his fist. “I no longer know who I am—and for that, and his other crimes, Klag must pay!”
Dorrek stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “Then return to the homeworld with me, son of Mogh, that we both may have our revenge.”
As the pair of them left the restaurant, Dorrek smiled when his face was out of the lieutenant’s sight. All is going according to plan. Soon Klag will be dead and I will be restored to my rightful place as the head of the House—as it should have been all along.
Julian Bashir and Ezri Dax entered Kaga’s Restaurant but saw no sign of Rodek.
“He said he’d be here,” Bashir said. He sighted Kaga placing three plates on the table of a Bajoran couple and made a beeline for the chef, Dax trailing behind his longer strides.
“Doctor!” Kaga said with a hearty smile. “Do you wish more zilm’kach?”
Rubbing his belly from the stomachache that even the thought of more zilm’kach gave him, he said, “Er, no, I’m sorry, we’re not here to eat. We’re looking for someone—a Defense Force lieutenant by the name of Rodek?”
“Yes, he was here, but he left half an hour ago. He had been joined by a captain named Dorrek—who did not eat anything, the petaQ!”
“His loss,” Bashir said with a small smile. “Did they leave together?”
Kaga nodded. Bashir thanked him, and he and Dax went out onto the Promenade. Dax tapped her combadge. “Computer, locate Lieutenant Rodek and Captain Dorrek.”
“Lieutenant Rodek is not on the station. Captain Dorrek is not on the station.”
“When did they leave?”
“Unknown.”
Bashir muttered a curse. Dax, however, was undaunted. “Computer, check outgoing vessels manifest for both those names.”
“Captain Dorrek, son of M’Raq, and Lieutenant Rodek, son of Noggra, are listed as passengers on the Klingon transport vessel Ky’rok.”
“Dax to ops.”
“Nog here.”
“Nog, has the Ky’rok left yet?”
“Uh, hang on, let me check.” After a pause that seemed interminable to Bashir, the young Ferengi ops officer said, “I’m sorry, Ezri, it left ten minutes ago, bound for Qo’noS.”
“Dammit,” Bashir muttered.
“Thanks, Nog. Dax out.” Looking up at Bashir, Dax asked, “Now what?”
Bashir sighed. “I don’t know. I suppose we could contact the Ky’rok, but this isn’t the sort of thing I want to broadcast over subspace. It would be best if we could bring him back here, but I don’t see a Klingon transport turning around for us, do you?”
“No,” Dax said emphatically. “But we don’t need any of that. Remember, we’ve got an in at the Federation embassy.” She smiled.
Moments later, they were back in the infirmary. Bashir was seated at his desk, Dax standing behind him instructing ops to put a call through to the Federation embassy on Qo’noS.
A human face of mixed ancestry appeared on Bashir’s workstation screen a minute or two later. “Greetings—I am Giancarlo Wu, the ambassador’s aide. How may I assist you?”
Bashir said, “You may put the ambassador on, Mister Wu. My name is Julian Bashir, and this is Ezri Dax. We’re—”
“The ambassador’s former crewmates from Deep Space 9, of course. My apologies for not recognizing you straight away. The ambassador is in the midst of a call.”
Dax said, “We can contact him later, if—”
Wu gave a small smile. “No need. I believe the ambassador would find a call from the pair of you a convenient excuse to end a rather onerous discussion. If you’ll excuse me for one moment, I’ll fetch him.”
“Thank you, Mister Wu,” Bashir said.
“Very good, sir.” With that, the screen went back to the Federation emblem.
Bashir fidgeted in his seat. Dax, standing behind him, said, “Stop fidgeting, Julian.” Bashir sighed.
Worf’s face replaced the emblem a moment later. Bashir had served with Worf for four years and had eventually learned to be able to tell the taciturn Klingon’s emotions from his eyes. When they widened, he was angry or surprised. When they squinted slightly, he was amused. A deep squint meant caution or respect.
If the expression didn’t change, but his features relaxed ever so slightly, then he was glad to see you. That was the expression he had now, though Bashir suspected it wouldn’t last very long.
“Doctor. Ezri. It is good to hear from you.”
“I doubt you’ll say the same once we tell you why we called, Worf.” Bashir took a deep breath and filled him in.
Worf squinted deeply as Bashir talked, and somehow he didn’t think respect was involved.
Bashir ended by saying, “But by the time we reached Kaga’s, he had already left with some captain or other. He’s on a civilian transport back to Qo’noS even as we speak.”
“Which captain was it?” Worf asked, which struck Bashir as an odd question.
“Dorrek,” Dax said.
Now the eyes widened.
Dax asked, “Do you know him?”
“Yes.” Worf’s voice had deepened, which Bashir did not view as a good sign. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will deal with it.”
And with that, he signed off.
Bashir leaned back. “Good to hear from you, too.”
Frowning, Dax said, “Computer, display Klingon Defense Force service record for Captain Dorrek, son of M’Raq.”
A moment later, a Klingon military record appeared. Bashir’s Klingon was a bit rusty, but he recognized his most recent posting as the I.K.S. K’mpec.
“There’s a notation in his file that he was discommendated from the House of M’Raq by his older brother, Klag.”
Bashir frowned. “I know that name.” He rubbed his chin. “Of course, Klag’s the captain of the Gorkon—that’s Rodek’s posting!”
“I don’t like this,” Dax said, arms folded. “Why would Rodek leave without even waiting to speak to you with the disgraced brother of his captain?”
“I couldn’t even begin to guess,” Bashir said with a smirk, “primarily because the nuances of Klingon feuds give me a headache.”
“Me, too.” Dax smirked back. She shook her head. “Well, forget it. It’s Worf’s problem now. Curzon said it best: the only people who can deal with Klingons are Klingons. We’ve put the ball in Worf’s court—let him deal with it.”
Nodding, Bashir said, “You’re probably right. I just hope for his sake that it’s relatively painless.”
“That’s one thing I can guarantee it won’t be,” Dax said gravely. “Klingon feuds usually result in much worse than a headache.”