Sitting in the security office, Kincaid preferred to handle sensitive communications himself. He believed that no-one else could accurately represent his voice, respond in the way he would, or be a proxy for a relationship that he started. His message to Divok was brief, curt by human standards, one warrior asking another to parlay.

Divok was one of three Klingon monks quietly ferried to Boreth. Kincaid had gone so far as to enjoy the younger Klingon’s company, initially as a sparring partner – one to which he consistently lost – and then as a drinking partner in the Sacramento’s Outpost.

For three frustrating minutes, the console was silent. Then the screen abruptly flared to life. Divok’s face filled the display, either older than Kincaid recalled or simply weighed down by a heavier burden. His robes were now sullied by dust, streaked with ash and torn in many small places. Behind him, the monastery’s surroundings were cast in shadows by erratic lighting.

Kincaid stiffened, “Divok”

The Klingon monk’s expression was guarded, “I was told you would call”

“Told by whom?”, a frown creased Kincaid’s brow.

Divok ignored the question, “You want my help?”

“I do. We’re taking on many of the wounded from your fleet. We need to honour them in the right ways”

A subtle shift passed across Divok’s face, a flicker of cautious calculation, “To help you I need to show you things here, and you will need supplies from the monastery to create the conditions for those entering Sto’Vo’Kor”, he declared, inviting no question.

“You’re asking me to come there?” Kincaid was surprised.

Moving closer to the console, Divok’s tone deepened. Behind him, shifting shadows hinted at other figures standing nearby, just out of sight, “Alone, by shuttle. We have disabled transporters to aid in our defence”

Kincaid’s eyes darted off the screen momentarily, as if weighing the uncertain perils of Boreth and of leaving the Sacramento now, in the lull of a battle.

Divok’s voice hardened into something almost ritualistic, “Time is on your side, Kincaid. Come and retrieve what you must”

Kincaid nodded once, resolute, “I’ll come”

For a heartbeat longer, Divok maintained his gaze. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the display was swallowed by darkness.

Main Bridge, USS Sacramento

At the entrance to the Bridge’s turbolift, Parr intercepted Kincaid, her eyes fixed on a PADD with the summary of his conversation, “You’re going where?” she demanded bluntly.

“The monastery”, Kincaid replied, zipping up his heavy thermal overcoat, “Divok wouldn’t talk over comms. He said we’ll need special items for some of the Klingon rituals as we treat them”

“Naturally”, Parr murmured, “Mystical monks in a secretive sanctuary, of course it wouldn’t be simple”
Standing behind the tactical station, Ayres interjected, “You think it’s necessary?”

“As sure as I can be with very little information”, Kincaid answered evenly, “He’s not a monk of many words, very enigmatic”

“T’Vaan mentioned that Boreth has always harboured strange energies”, Parr added, her voice low with apprehension, “Temporal irregularities, legends entwined with stories of the past and future”

“Sounds like an ideal spot during a space battle”, Kincaid remarked dryly.

“You’re not going alone”, Ayres insisted firmly.

“I must – those were his conditions”

There was a pause before Ayres offered a reluctant nod, “Alright. But I want to keep the line open to you and the shuttle”

Kincaid’s slight smile was tinged with concern, “Worried about me?”

Landing Area, Boreth Monastery

As the shuttle came into land near the monastery, an icey plateau loomed, a rugged realm of jagged stone, its peaks crowned with frost, battered continuously by relentless wind. There were no clear structures beyond the monastery itself, no comforting beacons; just a rift in the rock and a flat landing area that blended almost imperceptibly with the surrounding gloom.

Kincaid landed with a precision born of decades of experience, the shuttle’s engines winding down to be replaced by the sound of the howling wind. He stole one final glance at the weather readings on the shuttle’s console before stepping into the biting cold.

The ferocious wind, coated in frost and madness, howled across the landing zone as Kincaid stood poised at the top of the open ramp, one hand resting against the edge of the shuttle. Emerging from the oppressive snowy darkness, Divok appeared.

Slightly hunched and cloaked in an imposing fur hood that hid most of his face, Kincaid watched Divok move forward with strength, the mist from his breath visible before he could see the Klingon’s features. His robes, now burdened and heavy – a buttress against the extreme weather – were interwoven with ceremonial bands and strips of leather etched with incantations in Klingon.

Kincaid silently observed his approach. Ascending the ramp with deliberate force, Divok cast a brief, calculating glance into the shuttle’s interior.

With a hard gesture toward the passenger seat, Kincaid offered, “Let’s talk inside. The cold is bitter”
Without hesitation, Divok strode past him into the shuttle. The moment his boots struck the deck, a subtle but unmistakable transformation occurred, a stiffening of his broad shoulders, a whisper of remorse flaring in his eyes.

Kincaid had no time to exercise his suspicion.

In one swift motion the Klingon drew a compact disruptor from beneath his robes and fired three shots into the shuttle’s controls.

A violent shower of sparks erupted from the console. The steady hum of power wavered, then died, plunging the cabin into a dark blue light, punctuated only by the gradually brightening emergency lights.

Smoke mixed with the wind as Kincaid stood motionless, one hand on the handle of his holstered phaser. The calm before the storm. Divok lowered his weapon, a silent admission of the harm he had just caused.
“I am sorry”, came his low voice, “this action brings dishonour”

Kincaid held his silence momentarily. Then, stepping forward slowly as if treading toward a treacherous precipice, “Why?”

Divok nodded, his voice regretful, “The Timekeepers instructed me to keep you here. I do not know why, but I did not think you would agree if it was a request”

“You’re damn right. My ship has just been in a fight, and they’ll be another one soon”, Kincaid pressed further, his tone sharp, “Explain”

With a measured movement, Divok carefully holstered his disruptor and let his gaze rest outside the shuttle’s open doors, “The Timekeepers protect the time crystals. Boreth is important, yes, but the Emperor was clear in his instructions that the only battle that matters is the one to keep them safe from the Vaadwaur”

Kincaid exhaled a slow, heavy breath, his hands flexing in the growing cold, “The time crystals. What do I have to do with them?”

Turning his eyes to Kincaid, Divok lost some of his composure, “They said you would question. They warned that you would refuse to abandon your ship. But, Kincaid, the Timekeepers said that if we lose the battle here – and the crystals fall to the Vaadwar – then all hope for victory dies. Everywhere”

Tension surged as Kincaid’s voice tightened, “Are you calling this a prophecy?”

“No,” Divok countered, his tone fierce and resolute, “I’m speaking of necessity. The power of the crystals is known. To the Federation as well as the Empire. This is about ensuring a powerful weapon remains outside of the grasp of our enemies!”

Outside, the tempestuous wind screamed anew.