“The Klingon rumors are the most dangerous.  Fear is powerful.”  Chief Premier Gooren spoke as he sat at the long table that was down the hall from his office.  Around it sat the various officials and officers in the Central Vorethi Government.  They rarely gathered beyond the required three times a year.  Each of them was staring at Gooren or the outside, Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana.

One of the Iron Guild liaisons reported, “There have been protests, counter-protests, and even industrial shutdowns.  The minor guilds are struggling to manage their communities.  They are more volatile, even as small as they are.”

Another liaison grumbled, “There are open calls for retribution, justice…the purging of corrupt influences is gaining traction.  We are in the open, unknown, and I do not know if we can survive it.”

Geronimo could feel the fear in the voices.  Nervous worry steeped their eyes, faces, and postures.  He spoke, teasing out each word.  “We’ve been ordered to serve as neutral mediators to you, with a secondary option as a security advisor.  We have an extensive communications team between our ships, so we can offer to be a communication bridge between guilds.”

There were passive conversations across the table, a quiet rumble compared to the chaos in the parliament hall earlier.  One guild coordinator asked, “What about the concerns or even the rumors about Starfleet seizing control of the Vorethi government, guilds, or operations?”  His black eyes stared at the fleet captain as the unsettling accusation hung in the air.

Geronimo’s eyes widened in acute shock.  “That is not how the Federation operates.  We’re not in the business of conquering or claiming something as our own.  We’re partners and collaborators.  Our principles prevent that from even entering the picture.” 

Gooren returned to the present danger.  “I will suggest a motion to engage with Starfleet in security measures and operations as it relates to the Klingons.  We are responsible for our people and must endeavour to work with the population to help them see reason in the chaos.”  He looked around the table, “Is there any opposition?”

“It is not a simple thing, Klingon politics.”  The face of J’Klast, captain of the IKS Klothos, was on the screen of the USS Zephyr as he spoke.  Fleet Captain Fontana sat in the center seat after returning from the surface, carrying the full authority of the Vorethi Government to investigate and engage with the new Blood Guild partners.

Fontana cast a long look at the Klingon captain.  “And yet, there are some obvious lines that can be drawn pretty easily with how this scenario is developing.  We have little data on the K’t’inga-class Whisperblade or the Bird of Prey Shadowclaw.  This is a partnership, Captain J’Klast.”

Following the long sigh, J’Klast said, “You are very direct.  You don’t have a subtle bone in your body, do you, Fontana?”

“I’ve been at this long enough to know that playing games will not get us closer to the truth.”  Fontana sat forward in his chair.  “Those two ships represent a clear and present danger to the Vorethi empire and its people.  Whatever they’re intending with this move into the Blood Guild isn’t out of the kindness of their hearts.”

J’Klast chuckled darkly, his eyes shining with either malice or amusement.  Geronimo wasn’t sure.  The Klingon said, “Dragr’al captains the larger ship.  He is a disgraced warrior who has been in and out of honor.  His record is glorious and disappointing.”  J’Klast tapped ‌the console on his chair.  “The Bird of Prey is led by Chuki, a young, impetuous, and foolish boy.  He is bound to Dragr’al as his family is all dead – some in battle, others in battles of honor.  If you were looking for the ability to negotiate or have a rational conversation, you would be sorely disappointed.  Their house connection is suspect at best, and made up at worst.”

Fontana scoffed.  “Which means out here they can pass themselves off as whatever they need short of being part of the Chancellor’s personal diplomatic operation.  Wonderful.”

“We will monitor their transmissions.  I will make inquiries about them with those whom I trust.  Do not underestimate either of them, Fontana.  They may be foolish, idiotic, or both, but they are still highly trained Klingons.”

The channel closed.  Fontana muttered, “Well, I guess we’ve been warned.”

On the bridge of the Zephyr, Ensign Alayna Bertrand worked through the many signals being monitored between them, Perseverance, Franklin D. Roosevelt, and Klothos.  The Typhoon-class starship had the largest communication department, and the young crew below decks had needed experience to train on.  This mission was paying ‌dividends, and Alayna was thankful.  There was so much data in and around the system — from Vorethi signals to the newly arrived Klingons to the intermittent blips from the area where The Constructor was located.  Her task was to work on the two Klingon ships along with the other communication chiefs across the squadron.  Decrypting signals, trying to identify the type of signals, or even the messages being passed was on her list.

“Alayna, I’m getting something from one of the ships.”  The voice of Cadet Catrin Williams whispered in her earpiece.

“Loop me in.”  Alayna’s screen at her console shifted to show what the cadet had found.  It was a direct bundle of messages, some encrypted, some not.  “What are they thinking?”‌ she asked.

Williams’ voice sounded nervous as she replied, “I’m not sure, but it’s the first burst in a few hours.  I can process the ones that aren’t encrypted easily, but I’m not solid on my encryption protocols.”

Alayna understood.  Catrin was getting better and learning plenty with the help of the others.  There were still limits to what the cadet felt confident in handling alone.  “I’ll take the encrypted messages.”  She went to work, tasking the computer with the first pass over the messages.  Several protocols were in the default bank, but none of them worked.  Alayna went to the next level and put the messages through the system, looking for any kind of familiar pattern.  First protocol, no.  Second protocol, no.  Third, fourth, and fifth – all no.  There was a green blip on six and she pulled the elements out it recognized.  She frowned.  She could translate and view only part of each message.

She muttered to herself, “What are they playing at?”  She held the translations to the side and then took the messages to the third-level protocols.  A similar pattern played out with some opening and translation ready.  Others remained locked.  An idea formed, and she went to the fourth-level protocols.  This returned a smaller result, but still a partial translation.  “Tricky Klingons,” she mused as she cycled the messages into the fifth and final protocol.  The system opened more data for translation.  Bertrand felt her heart pound as she took the translations from each round of protocol, putting the translated Klingon back in order with the bundle of messages.  It took her a few more minutes, and she gasped when most of it was complete.  She turned in her chair. “Fleet Captain Fontana!”