Update

Apologies for my long absences!

I have been ill. I’ve been ill for a long time and will be for the foreseeable future, but the pain comes and goes - sometimes I can sit up and write without any problem, other times I find it more difficult. Recently I’ve been on a new medication which seems to help with the pain/insomnia, but it has a side affect that makes it very difficult to keep my concentration focused. So the time I have to be at the computer is limited already, lately most of that time has been taken up with playing Spore instead of RPing!

Anyway, I haven’t forgotten all the threads I owe, and I intend to get on them soon, I hope everyone can understand and forgive my slowness.

Most of that explanation went right over Martok’s head. The longer Worf talked, the more the general’s concentration began to waver... he realised that he should have known better than to expect anything other than this sort of dutifully informative answer from Worf.

“Huh,” Martok grunted when Worf was finished, still playing and fiddling with the strap of Starfleet velcro he had found earlier that day. “What will these humans think up next?!” Of course, the Empire had something like velcro too, but they didn’t seem obsessed with sticking it to absolutely everything the way the Federation did.

“But enough small talk,” Martok said, throwing the thing casually over his shoulder and not caring if it landed in somebody else’s food. “How is life treating you Worf, hm? It has been a short while since we last spoke!”

_

Jack pulled out a PADD - a bit smaller than the standard issue, but still a PADD - and handed it over to the General. “Must have some amazing stories, your grandfather. The history books don’t do it justice, I’m sure.”

He looked around the bar with a pleased smile. “Oh, I’m always glad to be in a place like this. All the life, the stories, the different species mingling together. It never stops being incredible.”

Martok grabbed for the padd, missed, grabbed again and finally took it. He then stabbed at the keys with a finger, and wrote down a list of names: ta'aQ, be'Harr, be'Ila, quraq, maraq je.

"And war!" Martok grinned toothily after Harkness' comments. "The glory of fighting a formidable opponant! That is why my people are here! Although," he remembered belatedly, "your people do not enjoy war the way we do, do you? But, even Starfleet cannot deny that it has brought together three peoples, who would never have worked together before." He handed the padd back, practically shoving it in Harkness’ face. “Here, you will find the finest sword makers I know. Marak’s family crafted this...” with his other hand he retrieved his family d’k tahg and set it on the table.

may’ bom pIm bom [Sing a Different Battle Song]

_

She pulled a face but shrugged afterwards: “Well, that’s a pity, I think Klingon stories are always very exciting to listen too, and I’ve heard Klingons are often brilliant story tellers.”, maybe she could trick him to tell her another story, if not now then later maybe.

She grinned as he scowled, she knew that her suggestions were good, but that they also might provoke a Klingon. As far as she had observed the Klingon in front of her was feeling not very good at the moment, she hoped to wake something inside of him to make him feel more proud of himself again. He had to become more self confident, and more Klingon-like. At the moment he wasn’t the warrior he could be. At the moment she had given up caring about offending him or not, it would be good maybe to offend him just a little. After all she knew that a honorable Klingon – and for her Martok still was one – wouldn’t attack a teen girl without any possibility to defend herself.

As he spoke up she grinned at him and nodded: “I know, but I was sure a Klingon General wouldn’t seriously harm a child for only such words.”, she listened to him and smiled widely as he called her words wise. She frowned for a moment as he mentioned his age, then she counted on her fingers and after a brief moment she chuckled: “Old … Kang was older than you, I think. I’m sure you’re selling yourself too short!”, she shrugged: “And since when is being old an excuse for a Klingon? Wanna creep into a bed and wait for your death? Or are you a real Klingon and fight?”, she asked. She should really be careful not to provoke him too much. But since her words were true and based on a Klingon perspective, she hoped they would rather encourage Martok then make him stab her.

At his last words she smiled brightly: “Of course you should! You are Martok, a Klingon General. You will make you family proud of you and will do them honor, won’t you?”, she hoped dearly that she’d understood the Klingon system of honor right, but her words would encourage him nonetheless she thought.

"That's a great risk," he told her. "I don't know what you've heard about Klingon honour, but there are Klingons who would choose to answer such a challenge, made by a child or not." As Kaja did the mathematics on her fingers, Martok furrowed his brow and made an ugly frown.

"Kang was a DaHar master," he replied flatly. "So was Koloth." As if that settled it. He growled softly to himself, thinking it over. He did not really want to think about Kang, or Koloth - it made him think of the other master, Kor, who still lived... and Martok had a special reason to hate Kor. That wasn't relevent to this discussion, but it still made him grimace with distaste.

Fortunately, Kaja's next words drew the General out of these thoughts before they could go any further. "No true Klingon lies in bed waiting to die," he growled at her. "I should kill you and hang you up by your intestines for suggesting it." However, despite the violent threat, the anger died out of his voice before he had finished speaking, and without realising he was doing so, he cracked a smile, and then cackled.

"Very well," he said, sitting back and lacing his fingers together on top of the table. "But tell me Kaja, why this interest in my plight? What purpose does it serve you?" Her interference was actually helping his mood... but he suspected that she had some reason for trying to help other than just good will, and fully expected her to ask for something in return.

Orders on Hold | Open | Main Verse

_

Garak followed the elderly aid without preamble. He kept his eyes on their path, memorizing the twists and turns of the corridors that were not lit as harshly as those of Deep Space Nine’s. It was a welcome change after the harshness of the Federation’s preferred level of lighting.

When the aide left him at the door, he stepped inside with a caution that was borne of being overly familiar with knowing the majority of the station despised him. Not that he thought Martok would allow harm to come to him before this ‘honor challenge’ but Garak was a paranoid man. When Martok looked up and noticed his presence, the Cardassian moved closer. One thing he did know of Klingons was their lack of care for the comfort of visitors or at least the fact that it did not come to mind. He was used to similar circumstances, Tain had never had seating for his subordinates either.

Garak allowed himself to fall into a relaxed stance, brow ridges lifting once more at the way the Klingon phrased his questions. Revenge sounded so petty. Nonetheless it didn’t warrant noting, really. The Cardassian swept his hands out in a slow gesture that seemed to indicate ‘open arms’. His palms were up, wrists and shoulders relaxed, a slight bend at the elbow, “Please explain. I am familiar with Cardassian customs and Bajoran customs but Klingons have always been somewhat a mystery to me, I’m afraid.”

"Oh," said Martok casually, as though he were explaining something quite commonplace... which to him, it was. "Well, you can either punish him with a simple beating, or challenge him to a duel to the death." The latter seemed a bit extreme to Martok, however, if Garak chose this option, then he wouldn't stand in his way. After all, Martok had not always been an officer. He could remember a time when he was a poor boy, and during his youth he had known many a struggling businessman and woman - working in tiny shops and struggling to earn a living. When suffering acts similar to the one committed against Garak, they had almost always followed it up in one of these ways, because their livelihood was at stake as well as their honour.

"It is your choice, of course. But your business is your business. Should you allow this act to go unpunished you will only be proving that you are too weak to defend yourself, inviting the culprit to repeat his actions."

Inwardly Martok had to wonder at Garak's ability to fight a Klingon. However, though he was hardly an expert, Martok felt that he knew Cardassians a little better than most of his people. He had spent two years in prison with them, and had learned how clever a people they were, how they seemed to be able to suddenly reveal unexpected talents, special tricks hidden up their sleeves. Trickery wasn't the Klingon way, but for a Cardassian... he was hard pressed to fault it.

Leaning forward across the desk, he handed Garak a padd, on which he would find a picture of the warrior in question, plus a few details. “Lodeq, son of Rogh,” he said, in case Garak couldn’t read pIqaD (though he suspected that he probably could). “An unnoteworthy soldier who, according to his troop leader’s reports, has been known to cause trouble before.”

_

“I’d love to get those names from you. I’ve heard plenty of praise for Klingon blades.” Not to mention, he had someone back home who would love to add one to his collection of weapons. But that was neither here nor there right now, and Jack continued on with his tale.

“I sneaked out the old fashioned way. The natives there had a longer sleep cycle than humans, so I was able to snatch a few hours every night to work on my ship. And I may have banished them all from my sight on a couple occasions. In the end, I was able to get the ship working enough to get it airborne again - they had a lovely farewell ceremony for me before I returned to the heavens, though.”

"I'll write it down for you," Martok agreed, holding out his hand for Harkness to pass over a padd, if he had one. "And you're quite correct. Our blades are meant to be used and are fashioned to kill. I have not seen the same quality of weapon amongst the Federation, with the exception of the Andorians. My grandfather was a warrior when the Empire and the Federation were at war, and he said that they make fine fighters."

He grinned and laughed appreciatively as Harkness finished his story. "So, you escaped! I expect your freedom tastes so much sweeter to you now. And now you are here, on Deep Space Nine! How are you liking it?"

may’ bom pIm bom [Sing a Different Battle Song]

_

 However hewasn’t putting much emotion and excitement into his story, Kaja listened carefully. It was an interesting story though. As he mentioned Garak she smiled. After he finished she commented: “I know Garak, he’s a good man too.”, after all she had the impression. She couldn’t resist adding: “I always thought Klingons like telling stories, but obviously I’ve been mistaken, huh?”, just after she spoke those words she hoped he wouldn’t be offended. 

She nodded: “Exactly what I told them, and what Kang told me.”, she shook her head: “Sometimes Klingons are much wiser than Starfleet.”, she looked up at them: “Well, I’ve been able to practice mok’bara since I met Kang, and I’ve been practicing some human techniques. I guess that’s much more than human children usually have.”, she waited for a moment, then added: “I have turned the safety protocols off on my own, Starfleet never found out.”

Kaja noticed the way he was looking at her. Somehow she understood he wasn’t the same man anymore he’d been before the prison. However she strongly believed there still was something left from the “old Martok”, from the brave warrior he’d once been. He just was discouraged, she assumed. She knew it was hard to convince a Klingon, but she would try. “A lot, sir.”, she answered: “You’ve got much more experience than I have. You’ve survived so many battles, I haven’t had one yet. There must be very much I could learn from you.”, she spoke with strong believe. She sighted and added: “And to be honest, sir, it’s not that I’m free to choose. I have to wait for someone coming to Deep Space Nine, my father doesn’t allows me to fly through the whole galaxy. And overall many are not listening to a young girl like me.”, she watched him, hoping he would understand she was very serious: “But, everything I said is true. I strongly believe you haven’t lost all your abilities. And the experience you have is surely a major source of knowledge to me. Please, sir, we could at least try. I’m sure you are underestimating yourself.”

She nodded slowly: “It’s not up to me to decide that. However I’m pretty sure it could influence him if you don’t look and act like a broken man when you meet him, he might think you’ve become weak.”, she looked at him, hoping he won’t be offended: ” I’m sure you’re not weak at all!”

He shrugged. "Cardassians are a strange people, but I suppose I have gotten to know them better than I ever intended. No, you are correct. We Klingons usually enjoy telling stories. But there is a time and a place for story-telling, and that time and place is not here and now."

He listened to the rest of Kaja's speech attentively, then scowled. Kaja's suggestions sounded incredibly rude to Martok - she was practically accusing him of weakness, attacking his honour. And yet... the more that he thought about it... the more that he could see the wisdom in her words.

He let a silence pass whilst he mulled this over, chewing on his lip as he looked at the table thoughtfully. Finally he looked up.

"You know... you could get into a great deal of trouble speaking to a Klingon General that way," Martok scolded her... but there was a hint of a tiny smile on his face now. Her words surprised him, but the reprimand wasn't really a serious one. He shrugged and fiddled with his holster chain for a few seconds, then looked up again.

"But you do speak the truth. Words of wisdom beyond your years. Hrrr, but I am an old man, past his prime." Actually he wasn't that old. He was less than half Kang's age when Kang had died, and the old master had, as far as Martok knew, gone out fighting. Being old wasn't really a good excuse for weakness or laziness.

"You do me more honour than I deserve... I suppose I should try and live up to it, hmm?"

IKS Rotarran

_

"Thank you," Deanna said, genuinely flattered.

She closed her eyes and focused on the minds before them, trying to pick out each individual brain. “It’s difficult to tell because they tend to think alike,” she answered, “but I sense at least six, maybe eight.” She opened her eyes and glanced at him, hoping he had a better plan. Even with the element of surprise, fighting three Jem’Hadar had been difficult enough. Fighting six would be a suicide mission.

"Hrrrrrm," grumbled Martok. "The two of us cannot engage six of those beasts." He thought about it for a few moments, trying to come up with an alternative solution.

"If my memory serves me correctly, I believe there is an airlock just beyond here, which may indeed by how they came on board. One of us needs to repair the apparent hull breach... if the other can get to the airlock and open it, we can cast these petaQ out into open space. However, we shall have to work quickly, or else we may find outselves cast out into space along with them." He grinned. "What do you say, Commander Troi? Is today a good day to die?"