Qo’noS lay before them like a sleeping beast, a vast planet around which the viewscreen and sensor feeds showed a steady buzz of activity of ships, industry, and life. All at rest, the beating heart of the Empire thudded on, even, strong, and not stirring itself to action. Not yet.

‘We’re in steady orbit,’ Ensign Fox reported at Helm.

‘Lady L’kor’s ship has transmitted us coordinates for beaming down,’ called Kally, finger pressed to her earpiece. ‘Directly outside the Great Hall of the High Council. She says four people.’

‘I didn’t know she got to dictate who comes before the Council,’ mused Rourke, hands behind his back.

‘I’m going to trust,’ said Hale gently, ‘that she’s at least liaising with the High Council if she came to fetch us and this wasn’t a trap. Commodore, Captain, I would appreciate the company of both of you below.’ Perhaps the House of K’Var would be present, and take umbrage at Rourke’s arrival. But she could use that, too; decide whether she wanted to provoke them and keep him by her side, or decide if she could win an easy victory by placating them. Even if that was a victory she’d likely pay for personally, if only in guilt.

‘I’ll stay here,’ Kharth said in a wry voice. ‘And put a bag over my head if they hail us or something. But you need security.’ Her eyes flickered past them.

Commander Logan stood but didn’t move away from his post at Tactical. He looked to Hale. ‘You have your pick of the Security Department, Ambassador.’ It was a terribly polite way, she thought, to say he understood if she didn’t want to bring a former Borg drone as the group’s bodyguard, and Hale did hesitate.

‘You should bring Commander Logan,’ Kharth said before she could reply, and gave Valance a pointed look. ‘If the CO is disembarking, especially with dignitaries, there’s nobody I trust more than our chief of security.’

‘I can’t turn down such a recommendation,’ said Hale. ‘Thank you, Commander Logan. Your company will be welcome.’

‘We’ll beam down from transporter room 2,’ Valance said, and ushered them to a turbolift.

Once inside, Logan did shift his weight. ‘It’s kind of Commander Kharth to vouch for me,’ he said as the turbolift hummed through the belly of the ship. ‘But I understand if -’

‘This mission isn’t just about appeasing the Klingons,’ Hale said smoothly, before Valance or Rourke could prevaricate. ‘We have to maintain the bridge between them and us, which means being honest about who the modern Federation are. And anyway, sometimes in diplomacy you just have to stand your ground, which is even more the case with Klingons. Constant appeasement annoys them. We have to walk the line between not upsetting them too badly, and proving we have spines.’

‘Let’s hope they don’t try to find that out for themselves,’ muttered Rourke.

They beamed down directly, as promised, to an antechamber in what Hale recognised as the Great Hall, the centre of governance in the First City. It was like tumbling from light into darkness, as the shimmering of the transporters and the brightness of a Starfleet interior evaporated to cast them into muggy shadow, the air musty with the scent of Klingons, of sconces, of fur and meat and ancient stone.

She had not been here in long years; not since she was a girl, her father bringing her in on an occasion where he swore she’d been asked for. She’d clung to his arm, daunted by the shadows as much as the foreboding stone, as the tales of what Klingons did with friends and foes alike.

Only to have been welcomed by Chancellor K’mpec himself, who had always – she’d realised later in life – treated her father with a sort of disinterested disdain. But the great man had been impeccably kind in greeting a new ambassador’s young daughter, setting aside politics or even projections of strength to speak softly with her, show her the hall, explain with the solemnity only children truly appreciated the vast histories and heroes who gazed down on them from pictures and tapestries. He had done more than put a small child at ease, she’d understood when older. He’d made himself untouchable, so secure in his position and strength that he could be soft, even to the offspring of a rival. There was a power in demonstrating vulnerability, in appearing so fearless and confident that vulnerability itself was no weakness.

She did not think they would be as warmly received today.

The shadows moved, and Lady L’kor stepped from them. She must have beamed down and waited, Hale thought. ‘Will you tolerate being heralded by the House of Mo’Kai, Ambassador? Or will that pin Starfleet colours to the wrong mast?’

Power in vulnerability. Hale gave the enigmatic smile she knew frustrated. ‘I would be honoured if a councillor such as you could introduce us.’

L’kor did not wait as she advanced on the heavy double doors and shoved them open. They swung with a clatter, and while the heaving council chamber beyond had clearly been abuzz with words and tension, the arrival of the Mo’Kai and Starfleet alike was enough to shatter sound into silence.

The five advanced, Logan taking up the rear, Hale sure to be in the lead behind L’kor, with the eyes of over a dozen Klingon warriors, councillors, advisers fixed on them. Their footsteps rang out on the thick paving slabs, L’kor’s boots loudest, the Starfleet boots softer, Hale’s steps softest of all.

Martok’s seat, the seat of the Chancellor, stood empty in the middle. Carved of ancient wood, it loomed over the rest of the chamber, given a wide berth by most of the councillors, gave voice to the gaping chasm left in the wake of the great man himself. Only one figure had stood near it when they arrived, positioned directly to its right, and Hale’s chest eased when she saw the husky Klingon, beard shot through with grey, advance towards them.

‘Sophia!’

There was no way that Koloth, son of Koloth, was not making a calculated decision to approach her so cordially. He all but shoved past L’kor – blunting, Hale realised, her chance to brandish Starfleet as her toy – to reach her, pulling her to him in a broad hug.

‘Lift me off the ground and I’ll implement trade sanctions,’ she hissed in his ear, earning a quiet guffaw from the great warrior.

He pulled back, hands on her shoulders, beaming, before he turned to the rest of the High Council. ‘My brethren. I present Ambassador Sophia Hale, daughter of Michael – whom some of you may also recall for the years he stood alongside us.’

‘I have ensured,’ said L’kor quickly, ‘our Federation friends reached Qo’noS without interference. In the ambassador’s company is also Captain Karana Valance of the Endeavour, daughter of Jodmang of the House of A’trok, and Commodore Rourke – Commodore, are you not blood-bonded to the House of K’Var?’

Rourke hesitated, then a low, growl of a voice rang out. ‘He is not.’

Hale’s heart sank when a figure she recognised but had not met shouldered his way out of the crowd – a tall, wiry warrior who still had the presence to push others back with merely a step. This was Torkath, son of K’Var, brother of Dakor, whom Rourke had slain at Agarath.

‘Matthew Rourke broke those oaths to my family a year ago,’ snarled Torkath, advancing on the group, but then his eyes settled on Rourke himself. ‘That you have the audacity to show your face here -’

Rourke lifted his hands. ‘Torkath -’

‘I should run you through here –’

Koloth moved, but it was not his intervention that stopped Torkath, nor L’kor’s nor even Logan, who had reached for his phaser. Another Klingon strode from the crowd, planting heavy hands on Torkath’s shoulders to stop his advance.

‘Enough, Torkath. This is not the place.’ This warrior was not as tall as Torkath but had the same build of wiry strength and speed rather than raw strength. It was clearly influence, not power, that held Torkath back. ‘We have enough unknown foes to make new ones.’

Torkath stopped short, lip curling, eyes still on Rourke. ‘I did not make this foe.’

‘But he comes with Starfleet. Let them say their piece.’

Koloth looked at the other Klingon as Torkath spat on the floor and turned back to the crowd. ‘Thank you, Toral,’ he said quietly. ‘At this time, it is more important than ever that the High Council stands side by side, and the Empire stands side-by-side with its friends.’

Hale looked sharply at the man who had stopped Torkath. ‘Toral, son of Duras?’

He had grown up a dishonoured youth, his family torn down over thirty years prior for their role in the last Klingon Civil War and their collusion with the Romulan Star Empire. But in recent years it was he who had dealt the last blow to the D’Ghor, led warriors on one final hunt, and Martok had restored his family’s standing in recognition of these heroic deeds.

More than this, Hale knew there were many Klingons who were not so extreme to side with the Mo’Kai, but still found Toral to be an appealing voice in the call to the old ways.

Toral, son of Duras, planted a fist over his chest as he inclined his head. ‘Of the High Council, Ambassador. But perhaps you should not have brought an enemy of a councillor here.’

Before Hale could decide how to deflect this, L’kor gave an indignant hiss. ‘Have you finished your posturing with your pets, Toral? We have true business to attend to.’

L’kor thought the demonstration a performance, Hale realised, and now she had to wonder if she had a point. Toral had shown himself to both have empathy for those who hated Starfleet, and be able to control them, to recognise the realpolitik. Hale desperately wished she had read more of the briefing papers on the man.

‘We do have business,’ rumbled Koloth, and turned with a flourish towards the head of the cluster of councillors. L’kor and Toral had spat at each other to try to come on top of this situation, but Koloth had acted, and all eyes fell on him now. ‘My brethren, I requested the presence of the Federation, of Starfleet, for several reasons. Friends turn to friends during times of hardship. We still do not know the truth of what has befallen Martok. Starfleet have uncovered dark truths within our Empire before; I would have them here as a clear pair of eyes, both for our own sake, and so the galaxy can have no doubt that we step forward as an Empire, united and with no falsehoods.’

Toral watched him walk, and his lip curled. ‘Or it tells the galaxy that we can do nothing without Starfleet’s say-so. I do not deny there are liars and dogs among us, Koloth…’ His gaze flickered to L’kor at that. ‘But there are those of us here untarnished by the in-fighting, the factionalism.’

‘You mean you?’ said Koloth, reaching Martok’s chair, and turning to stand beside it as he faced Toral. ‘You think your hands cleaner than anyone else’s Toral? You defied Martok’s orders and joined the raids over the Romulan border last year.’

‘And you think yourself above reproach?’ sneered Toral. ‘You wear your loyalty to Martok like a shield – but many here were loyal to the warrior, not all he stood for. There are many of his decisions we would discuss, debate.’

‘And now,’ said L’kor, clearly aware of Toral’s acrimony but focusing on Koloth now, ‘you have us continuing to discuss, debate, go round in circles. I agree that we need to know more of Martok’s fate. That questions need answers. But this council has repeatedly demonstrated itself as baulking in the face of truth when the truth is hard.’

‘I see you, Koloth,’ pressed Toral, ‘positioning yourself as the man who would follow neatly in Martok’s footsteps without us skipping a beat. Without listening to the Council. The Council who did not ask for Starfleet to be here!’

A low hubbub covered the room, the councillors aggravated by L’kor’s words, stirred by Toral. It was easy, Hale thought, to become distrustful in times of uncertainty. And it was outsiders that were distrusted first.

She slid up beside Valance, leaning in as Koloth tried to call for control of the room, as Toral pressed his point.

‘Speak up,’ she muttered at Valance. ‘Speak up, and speak as a Klingon.’

‘I don’t -’

‘They won’t listen to me. The commodore is now here to annoy them when I want them annoyed. Speak up, daughter of Jodmang.’ The taller woman was given a none-too-gentle elbow in the side.

‘This is a Klingon affair,’ Toral was sneering at Koloth. Both men had flanked Martok’s chair, neither touching as they stared at each other over the carved, intricate woodwork. ‘But you have grown so soft that you would have our affairs answered by outsiders.’

‘You know as well as I,’ said Koloth, ‘that threats have come from within. Surely you suspect foul play has befallen our Chancellor, and surely that foul play is more likely to have stemmed from Klingons?’

L’kor was nearby, and fixed Koloth with a sickly sweet smile that was, again, all teeth. ‘Do you have something to say to me, Koloth?’

Koloth scowled, but Toral clenched his fist as he glared at both of them. ‘Do you need Starfleet, old man, to tell you the Mo’Kai have betrayed us for years?’

‘High Council!’ Valance’s voice rang out as she took a step forward, and Hale tried to not hold her breath. This would either work or would destroy any shred of respectability they had.

But it did, at least, silence everyone enough to look at the tall half-Klingon woman in a Starfleet uniform. Her boots thudded on the old stonework, a beat to her words.

‘I see a divided room at the heart of a divided Empire. There are many ways to move forward. Is Martok dead? Is he in need of aid? What happens if he is gone? And for years – years – this Empire has seen foes within who would rip the Klingon heart in two.’ There was, Hale thought, the faintest waver to Valance’s voice. A Starfleet audience would suspect bravado to cover up apprehension.

Would the Klingon audience notice? Would they respect the bravado regardless?

‘There is one thing that unites you,’ said Valance, and then said the worst word Hale could have imagined when she said, ‘Fear.’

‘Oh no,’ muttered Hale to Rourke. ‘Don’t call them cowards.’

‘Let her work,’ Rourke rumbled back.

‘Fear, because you have not been able to trust each other. The Sovereignty, the D’Ghor, the – the attacks at Khitomer in recent years.’ Valance only faintly faltered at the last, at the mention of crimes in which the Mo’Kai had been implicated.

‘Heinous attacks,’ L’kor agreed mildly.

‘You look at me as an outsider,’ said Valance, trying to hold her ground. ‘And in many ways I am. I was not born in the Empire. I wear a Starfleet uniform.’ She paused a beat. ‘How do you think the Federation views me? As one of theirs? Or do you think they look at me and see a Klingon?’

That did bring a rumble, which Hale read as both a hint of confusion on what Valance was driving at – a sentiment she shared – but they were, at least, caught on the hook of curiosity.

‘My heart still beats as a Klingon’s does. I have still lived among you. Fought alongside you. Fought your enemies with you. You do not know how to trust each other. You do not wish to trust your future – the Empire’s future – in the Federation.’ Valance opened her hands as she turned to take the council room in. ‘I am neither. I am Karana Valance, daughter of Jodmang, of the House of A’trok, captain of the Federation starship Endeavour. I ask not for you to trust me to the end of days. I ask you to trust me to uncover the truth of Martok’s fate. For I am not the dagger in the dark you fear, or the outsider who does not understand you who would dictate your fate.’

There was the briefest flash of apology from Valance to Hale, and the ambassador had to smother a smile.

‘She threw me out the airlock to cement her own position with them,’ Hale mumbled to Rourke. ‘I’m so proud.’

L’kor and Koloth looked at each other, two councillors whom Hale knew had to have hated each other for years. As one, they stepped to the centre.

‘We do not yet know Martok’s fate,’ said Koloth. ‘We should know if he lives or is dead, know if we mourn him and move on, if we rescue him, or if we unleash bloody vengeance.’

‘And I know you will not trust me,’ said L’kor, chin tilting up as she regarded the room. ‘But trust that I know my work well. Trust me when I say that discovering the fate of our Chancellor will take a subtler touch than many of you can bring to bear.’

Koloth turned to Valance, and nodded. ‘Karana, daughter of Jodmang. Find our Chancellor.’ He slammed his fist into his armoured breastplate with a resounding thud that first echoed, then was answered by the score of councillors in the room, a solid beat affirming their agreement.

But not of all. As the sound faded, the noise of Toral spitting on the floor rose above the echo. Near the door he lurked, a furious shadow, shaking his head as eyes turned to him.

‘This is nothing but a delay,’ he sneered. ‘Ignoring the Mo’Kai viper in our midst while Koloth tries to use his Federation friends to seize power. They will not find the truth you need, my friends; they will find the truth they want you to see.’

Koloth took a step forward. ‘This is the decision of this Council -’

‘That you do not lead,’ Toral said, shaking his head. ‘Wishing otherwise does not make it so, Koloth.’ He looked to the others. ‘You want truth? I will find your truth. I, a true Klingon, not a Starfleet dog, endorsed by the greatest snake in the Empire and the man who would sell our hearts to the Federation!’

He turned sharply on his heel, storming to the doors, leaving the High Council a buzzing rumble of discontent in his wake. Koloth spoke, voice rising over the hubbub, rallying them with sheer force of personality, and many subsided as the veteran councillor reminded them to focus, that they would find the truth of Martok, that they would then decide on their future.

But not all of them listened. None had walked out with Toral, but Hale’s eyes swept the crowd, saw those who looked after him, and those who did not look swayed by Koloth.

Chief among them Torkath, son of K’Var, brother of the slain Dakor, who had not moved from the crowd, and had not torn his blazing, betrayed gaze from the silent figure beside her of Matt Rourke.