“The human word would be ‘turmoil,’ but it is closer to your concept of chaos.”   Captain J’Klast sat in the middle of the table with Captain Wren Walton on one side and Commander Charlie Hargraves on the other.  The senior staff was spread around the room at the other tables, as well as senior staff from the Douglas.  He had polished off the Earth and Klingon appetizers.  He was sipping, with annoyance, on a synthetic version of Bloodwine.  “I am not a party to the discussions of the heads of this house, but I can assure you that Koloth and the members of this great house feel much as he does.”

Wren downed the dregs of her win, “You were not a member of this house when you met Commander Harris.”  She snacked on a plate of Klingon appetizers.

J’Klast gave her a knowing look, “You do your research, captain.  I was searching for a place in this Empire when I met Harris.  Yes, a Klingon with an identity crisis.”  He chuckled, “Were my father alive, he would have taken me to task long ago.  I took the two wayward sisters back to be handled by their minor house…and wandered searching for a Great House that would accept me.”  He accepted a plate of roast chicken and mashed potatoes, “You humans have such a fascinating view of a meal.”  He took a bite, appreciating the flavors as they danced across his palette.  “I sought out Koloth as that madman Toral is not worthy of my blood.”  He chuckled again, “Toral sought to prove his…you would call it ‘bonafides’ or something…by using Underspace to take back what he believes rightfully that of the Klingon Empire.”  He accepted a refill and continued, “You would call what has happened ironic, but I call it proof that he’s a fool blinded by arrogance.”

Walton raised her eyebrows, “Some would say that’s a Klingon’s default setting, Captain J’Klast.”

He laughed deeply at her use of sardonic humor, “We are as complex as we are simple, Captain Walton.”  He turned serious, “This does offer an opportunity, one I hope you will take back to your people.”  The Klingon captain continued, “Toral’s failure to see the Cardassian plot and prevent it from occurring will have short and long-term implications for not just us but for you and the rest of the quadrant.  His failure will be felt on Qo’noS and within each major and minor house across Klingon space.”

Charlie agreed, “If he had succeeded, war was a possibility.  We would have never shut down the apertures – it’s not the way of the Federation or Starfleet, at least at first.  As the conflict spun out of control, everything could be on the table.”

Wren circled back, “Captain J’Klast – reading between the lines…you’re suggesting a Klingon Civil War.”  She let the words sink in between them before she asked, “You can’t be serious.”

J’Klast shrugged, “I know my people, captain.  We do not take the idea of a false Chancellor lying down…but also learned from our history.  I do not speak for any Major or Minor House – I speak for myself.  For now.”  He savored the mashed potatoes, “I, for one, would vote against a war with your people.  Your food is one of the…many reasons why I’d like you to remain out of the path of our warriors.”

Wren chuckled, “There’s many reasons?”

He shoved his empty and clean plate away as one of the waitstaff slid a Tomahawk steak before him.  “This is another one.  I was told this cut of steak could easily feed two humans.”  He smiled, “I’ve ordered several more in case this does not quench my hunger for the blood of your cows.”  He grabbed it with both hands and tore a bleeding piece, his eyes closing as the seared spices mixed with the tender meat, “Your cows and your potatoes are at the top of this list.  It is a long list, I assure you.”

“Is most of it food?”

He set the half-eaten steak down and pointed a greasy hand at her, “Half of it.”

She raised her eyebrows, curious.  “And the other half of the list?”

J’Klast picked the oversized steak and chomped off another piece of meat, “You and your valiant crew occupy a good portion of the rest of it, Captain Walton.  Now, I must interrogate this meat – we shall sit and discuss your path home once dinner has finished.”

“We’re going to need a Starbase.”  Captain Helena Dread stood in an alcove of the diplomatic center, her report in the hands of her Division Commander.  “Moore and McKee are working with what they have and what you’re able to machine here, but there’s plenty of parts missing that we’re only going to find on our side of the border.”

Walton glanced through the report, “Three decks buckled, and several structure issues identified – the aperture did this?”

Dread pointed out a few spots, “Yes and no.  The apertures and Underspace before the Cardassians decided to take a supercharged electro spanner?  No.  They were rough, but we figured out a way to get through without tearing our ships apart.  When our favorite neighbor decided to force all the apertures closed, they put plenty of unknown and high-powered variables into the apertures and Underspace.  Engineering and ops are trying to identify what did what with the Douglas…but we don’t have anything to compare against besides what our sensors pulled when we were running to find an exit.”

Wren grumbled, “And without more data, we’re going to be making hypotheses that are, at best, guesses and at worst – completely incorrect.”  She turned to look at the room where Klingons and Starfleet officers intermingled, “What would Jim Kirk say to all this?”

Helena turned at the question, “Kirk’s history with the Klingons was… complicated.”

“The Federation’s history isn’t much better.  I was just thinking – when Praxis exploded – the events of General Chang, the conspirators – it was all so easy for them to dismiss the Klingons as not having enough value for us to help them…and stand with them.  Instead, they held a cruel desire to tear them down.”

Dread asked, “Do you think history could repeat itself?”  She had spent the last few hours researching the historical context of the events of the last few years and beyond.

Wren wasn’t sure. She just had a feeling that teased at the edge of her senses that the shape of these events was cyclical.  “I think the history of the Klingon people is the same as humanity – desperate to stay alive while desperate to prove their status in the universe.”  She straightened her uniform, “What place will we have on the board as the pieces start to make their moves?  Will they move at all?  Will it be a stalemate until a spark sets off an explosion that can’t be stopped?”

Dread put her hand on Walton’s shoulder, “You’ve been spending too much time with Charlie, Wren.  Maybe put on a holodeck program of a nice green field with some sun…”

Walton rolled her eyes, “Careful, Dread.  I’ll assign you to your favorite Klingon.”

Helena glared at her, “He still thinks he can marry his niece to one of my officers.  No thanks.  You’re my favorite division commander, and whatever you say, I agree with.”

Wren chuckled in response, dismissing her, “Go fix the Douglas, Captain Dread.  We can’t stay here forever.”  She watched her division deputy commander disappear into a turbolift.

“Captain.”  J’Klast ambled to her side, “Shall we discuss how we’ll get you home?”

Walton replied, “You going to be eating while we talk?”

He laughed, “I have ordered the full list of desserts, anticipating our long discussion.”