The honour is to serve.
The joy is to do battle.
He who can laugh in the face of death,
Knows the Warrior's Way.
Klingon proverb

PERSONAL LOG: LT. VALMACH, CHIEF TACTICAL OFFICER

I have made all the necessary preparations.

The blades of my dagger are razor sharp and gleam menacingly. My ceremonial armour is immaculate. The leather is polished to an almost metallic sheen. The metal clasps shine like mirrors. More importantly, the damned thing fits. I was worried about that.

Kaylin left minutes ago. She came to help me dress and to make sure my hair was properly oiled and braided. Within the hour I will kill or be killed. It behooves me to make a good appearance.

The Klavesh. Loosely translated the name means "Dog of War". This once sleek battleship had seen better days. It was out-dated, battle-weary, and in need of a major over-haul. Never-the-less, it was more massive, much faster, and greatly out-gunned the motley Exile Fleet.

The Fleet. Nine Bird of Preys patrolling in teams of three, each team led by a light cruiser. The remainder of the aero-space force consisted of a dozen or more converted shuttles that defended the home-world.

Home-world was a misnomer. One of the outer-most planets in the Klingon Empire, it was the place of banishment for the people that had once been the imperial race - the race that created the empire. The Exiles called it Purgos, from the human word: purgatory.

Once this race of Klingons ruled the council. They had defined what it was to be Klingon. Then they lost ascendancy and, as a species, were discommoded. They had lost everything but a handful of ships, this far-flung planet, and their dignity. Now the Klavesh had come to take what was left.

"I am Mord, commander of the Klavesh. Identify yourself now."

Mord leaned forward menacingly in his chair. Bizarre shadows on the red-lit bridge deepened the creases caused by his ridged forehead, ancient scars, and pronounced jowls. In contrast, the bridge of the defending ship was brightly illuminated. Its commander's face was smooth. His species lacked the bony ridges on the forehead, and the years had not etched themselves deeply on his face. Unlike Mord's long, wiry hair and beard, his was short, straight and, contrary to most adult male Klingons, his only facial hair were his up-swept eyebrows.

"I am Kal," the younger man replied. His tone was deceptively pleasant. A slight smile curled the corners of his mouth. "Kal: son of Kerrin, grandson of Kor, Captain of this vessel, The Bortas."

The Bortas: Revenge. Mord didn't need a history lesson to know that The Revenge had been Kor's ship, and Kor had been one of the greatest military leaders of the Klingon Empire. He had forgotten, however, that Kor had been exiled. It was a fact glossed over at the Klingon Imperial Academy.

Mord recovered quickly, his face set in a yet grimmer expression.

"You are ordered to evacuate your people from the planet," he growled. "If you cannot, or will not comply, I will be forced to reduce your numbers to a manageable sum and move them myself. If I move them," he added with a toothy grin, "they will not like their destination."

"You have no authority here," Kal replied flatly. "Your orders are meaningless."

"My authority comes from Governor Krugh who sits on the High Council. It is backed by weapons eighty years ahead of your technology. You have ten days to complete the evacuation."

With a gesture Mord cut off communications. His pugilistic visage was replaced by the forward view. For a moment, Kal stood staring.

"Damn," he swore softly.

First Officer Dorn punctuated his Captain's comment with a deep grunt. The rest of the bridge crew maintained a grim silence.

"Relay a recording of that message to Planetary Command," Kal ordered briskly.

"Done," replied the tactical officer, Valmach. She was ready and had only been awaiting the word.

Kal smiled, one eyebrow raised a fraction. Dorn nodded approvingly.

"Relay same to the fleet," Kal continued. "Inform the commanders of the Atos, Portosh, and D'Tangon I expect them in my ready room in one hour." He looked back at the view screen where the Klavesh loomed against a starry background. "We are definitely going to have to think our way out of this one."

Today I have the distinction of adding to this history. It is my responsibility and privilege to bring honour to my ship and the descendants of Klin.

Valmach sat at the auxiliary tactical station in the Captain's ready room. She split her attention between the screen and the excited conversation taking place between the Bird of Prey commanders.

T'Kel of the Atos had given Valmach a nod as greeting. The commander was the older sister of the Bortas' Chief of Security, Kaylin. She did not entirely approve of the friendship that Kaylin and Valmach shared. At the same time, she respected Valmach's talent in her field.

To Khalor, commander of the Portosh, she might have been invisible for the attention he paid her. He went straight to T'Kel and started to tell her everything he thought about the situation. When Kang arrived from the D'Tangon, he was also roped into hearing Khalor's diatribe. Though he had no chance to greet Valmach, Kang managed to throw her a weary grin.

Valmach's position as Chief Tactical Officer put her on a par with the Bird of Prey commanders. Though technically inferior to them in rank and status, they were often under her control - an extension of the Bortas' weaponry. T'Kel accepted this as a fact of life. Kang treated her like a colleague. Khalor, however, had been a crony of her predecessor and resented her very existence.

The door hissed open as Kal entered, followed closely by Dorn. Valmach stood at attention. A moment later the room was silent.

Kal settled into his chair at the head of the briefing table. Dorn stood behind him, a monolithic guardian.

The commanders assumed their places at the large table. Only then did Valmach sit at her station at the far end. Behind her a screen showed the forward view. The Klavesh no longer dominated the vista. Shortly after closing communications with the Bortas, it had moved off and cloaked.

"As you might expect," Kal announced, "we will not surrender."

Khalor gave a short cheer. The other commanders simply nodded.

"Our mission is to delay the Klavesh as long as possible - to stop it if we can. As we speak, Planetary Defense is mobilising. Transport freighters are being armed for battle. Preparations for guerilla warfare are being made."

"What of the Fleet?" asked T'Kel, with a delicate mix of respect and haughteur.

Kal nodded towards his first officer. Dorn cleared his throat and walked over to the screen. Before he reached it, Valmach had replaced the forward view with a tactical map of the system and surrounding space.

"The Ghol intercepted a squad of J'Taki pirates thirty-eight hours ago. They managed to capture two of the raiders intact."

There was a murmur of pleasure from Khalor and Kang.

"One of the raiders," Dorn continued grimly, "rammed the engineering section of the Ghol. Repairs will be complete within two days."

Khalor groaned loudly. T'Kel raised an eyebrow and gave her portly colleague a look of disdain.

"Ghol's escort is already on the way with extra troops," Kal interjected. "They have left their second engineers to aid the Ghol and convert the raiders to our use."

"The H'Moch," Dorn concluded, "is on long patrol. They are returning to the Home World at best possible speed."

"Estimated time of arrival?" asked Kang.

"Ninety-two hours."

"Still within the time allotted us," Khalor said with a grunt.

T'Kel's brows beetled. Her mouth pursed, changing her usually composed expression to one of grim anxiety.

"Don't assume that just because Mord says he will give us ten days, he will," she said solemnly. "When he realizes that we have no intention of surrendering, he will not likely wait for the deadline.

Khalor grunted. "One ship against many. Even now we out number them."

"And they out-gun us," Kang said dryly. "I don't know about you, but my honour does not demand that I commit suicide for my enemy. If I am going to die, I would rather it mean something. Perhaps we should make a show of defeat to buy time."

Khalor sneered with disgust at the idea. Even T'Kel looked uncomfortable with the suggestion. Dorn took his post behind Kal, his expression impassive.

"Valmach?" Kal prompted.

The tactical chart was replaced by a schematic diagram of the D-13 Class Battleship, Klavesh. Disruptors and torpedo cannons were highlighted. Valmach stood, slightly to the left of the screen. The display cast an eerie green light on her fair hair and complexion.

"I estimate that the fire-power of the Klavesh exceeds our entire Fleet by approximately eighteen per cent. Their shields are strong enough to withstand everything we can throw at them with minimal chance of seriously damaging them."

Valmach triggered the remote she had palmed. Shield range and strength were superimposed on the schematic.

"A direct attack," she added, "would be useless. Even if we had the inclination, we could not out run them. The Klavesh's warp drive is far more powerful. Based on the evidence of our sensors and what little intelligence we have been able to gain, their warp factor exceeds ours by the power of two."

There was a sharp intake of breath from T'Kel.

"That's fast," agreed Kang with a nod.

"However," Valmach added, smiling slightly, "the behemoth is as manoeuvrable as a Mud-flicker."

Kal's mouth twitched slightly. Dorn almost choked on a snort of laughter. T'Kel and Khalor were not nearly as amused, and Kang sighed. He generally enjoyed Valmach's colourful langauge, but sometimes her timing was a little off.

The schematic shrunk in size and moved to the bottom right corner of the screen. In the centre, a tactical display showed six Bird of Preys buzzing around the battleship like flies.

"We can out-manoeuvre them. At sub-light, the Bird of Preys can fly circles around the Klavesh."

"So?" asked T'Kel, a little impatiently.

The Bird of Preys on the screen faded out.

"As far as the Empire is concerned," Valmach persevered, "we no longer possess cloaking technology. That is a point in our favour."

"Only the Bird of Preys have that capability," Kang pointed out.

"That may be enough. If we can bring the Ghol's Bird of Preys into the battle unseen, it may tip the balance in our favour."

"You are being uncharacteristically optimistic, Lieutenant," T'Kel said flatly.

"Not entirely," the tactical chief replied, smiling. "I have analyzed their sensor capabilities. Not only is their energy is devoted to shields and weapons, but in this area, our technology is superior."

The forward view came back on the screen. First there was nothing visible but stars. Then the outline of the Klavesh appeared. Valmach's diminutive frame was silhouetted as she stepped forward to make her point.

"As long as they think they're invisible, they will believe they are safe behind their cloaking device. Their shields, while cloaked, are at forty percent. Their weapons are inoperable. If nothing else we can keep tabs on their location and scan for approaching cloaked ships."

"And nothing more," Khalor stated, derision colouring his tone. "We cannot use our weapons while cloaked, any more than the Klavesh. The moment we de-cloak we will be lucky if we get one good shot."

"Our advantage is a little better than that," Kal said dryly. Valmach automatically sat at her station as attention turned towards the captain. "Courtesy of the J'Taki we have broadcast scramblers. Those we can deploy from cloaked Bird of Preys. We should be able to jam their transmissions and sensors. We may also be able to interfere with their shields."

"Just as the J'Taki interfere with ours," Kang added.

"Exactly." Kal leaned forward. For the first time since this affaire began, he allowed the depth of his anger to surface. "Mord is so sure that we have stood still while the rest of the Empire has developed technologically. He assumes we are a race of cowards and fools. That is our advantage." Sitting back, Kal schooled his face into an expression of calm strength. "We must make sure they continue to under-estimate us."

Almost as one, the commanders took deep breaths and squared their shoulders. At the end of the table, Valmach allowed herself a brief smile. Only Dorn noticed the expression. He answered it with the slightest of nods before taking a step forward. His clear bass voice cut through the intense silence.

"There will be no uncoded inter-ship transmissions. There will be no sensitive information transmitted. We will reconvene here in six hours to discuss strategy. Everyone will have at least one concrete plan of operation. Bring a weapons technician with you. Valmach and Kaylin will be briefing them."

Kal watched his commanders' faces. Already ideas were occurring to them. Good, he thought.

"Additional orders?" Dorn queried, looking down at his captain.

Kal shook his head. Dorn nodded and turned back to the group.

"Dismissed."

"From this day forward," Kal said, raising his cup of ale, "you are one of us."

The second meeting with the War Bird commanders lasted several hours. When it was done, Kal had a multi-level attack plan. During the meeting the T'Lar, Kerl and Mogh, the Ghol's Bird of Preys, arrived cloaked. Valmach confirmed that the Klavesh showed no sign of sensing their presence. Each of the cloaked ships picked one of the uncloaked Bird of Preys and hugged them. By staying in their sensor shadows, limited communication was possible between the two ships without risking discovery by the Klavesh.

There was a tense moment as the Klavesh changed position. The Bortas and its escort remained oriented towards the Imperial ship's last uncloaked location. Only the cloaked ships could move, and they had to be very careful. The Klavesh was coming close enough for standard sensors to pick up the sub-space shimmer cloaked vessels created.

Suddenly the ship de-cloaked and Mord's ugly face filled the screen. Dorn remained impassive, but the rest of the bridge crew did not need to feign surprise.

Mord grinned at the reaction.

"Where is your dog of a captain?" he asked.

"Stand-by," Dorn replied tightly. Then he closed the communications channel.

Kal made Mord wait. He used the time to position his escort more strategically.

"What do you want?" Kal asked, when contact was re-established.

"Status report," barked Mord. "Why are you still here? You should be helping with the evacuation."

"I am awaiting my orders," Kal said stiffly. "The Planetary Council is considering their options."

"You have no options! Evacuate or die."

Kal managed a tight-lipped smile.

"That is an option."

Transmission was cut. Again, the crew of the Bortas watched the Klavesh shimmer from view.

"Initiate standard defense pattern," Dorn ordered.

A moment later, Valmach walked on to the bridge. She stood silently at attention until Kal acknowledged her with a nod.

"We're ready," she reported.

With those few words, the tension on the bridge palatably eased. The day may see their deaths, but at least there would be action.

"Open a channel to the Bird of Preys," Kal said briskly. "Stations."

Valmach let her relief establish the communications link then took her place. She nodded to Kal.

"This is Kal," the captain started, his voice reflecting his noble heritage. "We are waiting for word from the Council. Our duty, in the meantime is clear. We must block the Klavesh from approaching the home world before we are ready. Spread out. Sensors on maximum range. Maintain alert status and full shields until further notification. Bortas out."

Using the last uncloaked location of the Klavesh as their focus, the Bird of Preys spread out and back. Once their distance was sufficient, their shadows moved away a made a wide circle around the Imperial ship. The Bortas took a position that seemed out of the way, but in fact closed the ring around the Klavesh.

"Phase one complete," Valmach reported. "Bird of Preys deployed, weapons on line."

"Stand-by," Dorn said curtly. He was like a racehorse chomping at the bit, but he was well disciplined.

"Take the helm, my friend," Kal said calmly, nodding to his first officer. "We've got one shot. Make it count."

The defensive shields of the Bortas fluctuated. It could have been a malfunction quickly corrected. It was a signal to the escort. Their circle tightened, like a noose around the Klavesh.

"Scramblers deployed," Valmach announced. "T'Lar, Kerl, and Mogh decloaking to fire."

The Bortas dropped out of formation.

"Klavesh decloaking. Shields at sixty percent."

The Bortas swooped up under the Klavesh.

"Target engineering," ordered Dorn.

"Locked on target," Valmach responded. "Eight seconds to optimal range. Six. Five."

"Stand-by for evasive manoeuvres," Dorn snapped.

"Two ... Torpedoes away!"

Valmach had to grab hold of her console to keep herself from being flung from her stool. Dorn executed a turn better suited to a Bird of Prey than a cruiser.

"Damage report," Kal demanded.

Valmach's fingers flitted across her console.

"Minimal damaged to hull from radiation and shrapnel. Shields holding at eighty percent. Stand-by ..." Valmach tensed. "Klavesh preparing to fire."

"Bring her around, Dorn," Kal said tersely.

"Targeting forward torpedo bays,' Valmach notified them.

"Fire!" cried Kal, as he watched the Mogh explode in a blazing flash. Even as the Klavesh's torpedo bays detonated, disruptor fire cut across the Bortas.

"Back off," Kal commanded. "Everyone back off. Get out of range of their disruptors until we know where we are."

As the five Bird of Preys pulled back, they re-positioned to fill the gap in left by the Mogh.

"Maintain scrambler net," Kal continued, "and stand-by disruptors."

"Mord is hailing us," Valmach interjected.

"Let him wait. How bad is their damage?"

Valmach check and rechecked her readings before she spoke. They had achieved a lot in a very short time.

"Warp propulsion systems off line. Forward torpedoes and disruptors off line. Estimated disruptor charge down to thirty percent. Forward and ventral shields are up to twenty- three percent, despite extensive damage. Remaining shields at forty percent and destabilizing."

Valmach paused, her expression thoughtful. Kal waited expectantly. "To facilitate communications," she said slowly, "we will have to punch a hole through the scrambling web. We'll have to use T'Mech's Carrier Wave."

T'Mech: First Engineer of the Ghol, creator of a sub-space carrier wave that was impervious to J'Taki scramblers.

"Yes," Kal agreed. "So?"

Valmach smiled. "The wave will break through the scramblers' static. It will also breach the Klavesh's remaining shields."

"Enough to fire on them?" Dorn asked sharply.

"Enough for me to link with their computer and maybe break their command codes."

Kal smiled.

"Open communications to Klavesh."

"You fish faced lying coward,' Mord swore. He was near apoplectic with fury. "How dare you keep me waiting."

"My apologies, Commander," Kal said smoothly. "We have been experiencing communications difficulties. It took time to find a clear frequency. What can I do for you?"

"You can surrender," Mord replied.

"Funny," Kal remarked, "I was about to say the same thing."

While Mord ranted about support ships and horrible deaths, Valmach worked quickly establishing a link, down-loading information and searching the Klavesh's computers for the command codes. She didn't have enough time. Excepting their operas, Klingons are not long-winded by nature. The Klavesh's First Officer sensed a trap in Kal's encouraging Mord to talk. He terminated the link. When communications were opened again, Valmach was locked out of the computer.

"You think you are so clever," Mord sneered. "Surrender now, Kal of Klin, or self- destruct and die like a true Klingon. You won't have a chance to bargain when my attack force arrives."

"We will not surrender or commit suicide for your benefit," Kal replied. His calm voice belied the anger and frustration welling up in him. "I'll see you in hell first."

"Captain," Valmach interjected, in a carrying tone. "They have no attack force."

"What?" snapped Kal. His gaze turned full force upon her. His eyes told her she had better be sure.

"They have no attack force," Valmach repeated, steadily. "They are working alone. They're pirates!"

Kal turned back to Mord who had blanched slightly.

"You lie!" Mord growled. "We are sanctioned by Governor Krugh. He is - "

"He is the governor of a minor colony far from the High Council," Valmach finished. "Krugh is looking to expand his power. Mord is his hired lackey. There is no Fleet," she concluded. "I doubt they could round up one other ship to follow them."

"You lie, Klin," Mord declared, a hint of panic in his voice. Looking at the shocked faces of the Klavesh's bridge crew, Kal could see why Mord was worried. Only the First Officer seemed unsurprised by the news. "You are a coward race," Mord continued. "You could have fought like Klingons. Instead you allowed yourselves to be discommoded. A race of cowards and liars, you deserve whatever you get!"

"We could have split the Empire," Kal shouted, slamming his fist on his command console. "We could have cleaved it in two!" He rose up imperiously, Kor's blood racing through his veins. "And if we had fought, the Federation and Romulans would have split up the remains of the Klingon Empire between them. Unlike you, we knew the meaning of duty and honour. You cannot bully us, and we will not be intimidated."

"You will suffer for your insolence," Mord hissed.

"Then fight for your honour. Single combat: where no one has the advantage of superior technology. I would stake any of my crew against yours."

A slow smile spread across Mord's face.

"Done. My weapon's officer against yours," he qualified, nodding towards Valmach.

The Weapons' Chief of the Klavesh stepped forward. He was as tall and broad as Dorn, with the added advantage of youth on his side.

"I will gladly fight for the honour of the Klavesh," the young man said, "but give me an opponent up to -"

"Shut-up," Mord commanded. "What do you say, Klin? Are you as good as your word?"

"You are without honour," Kal said, almost spitting the words out with distaste.

"But we are not," Valmach said, stepping away from her console. She seemed pitifully small. "I will fight your champion. If I win, you will surrender to our forces."

"And if we win - " Mord started.

"You will be allowed to leave," Kal said quietly. "That is all."

PERSONAL LOG: LT. VALMACH, CHIEF TACTICAL OFFICER (continued).

The duel is to take place on the Klavesh. Ostensibly, this is because they have better facilities. After waiting so long, I've finally been told that there have been some security problems. In the meantime, I feel like I've been babbling at this terminal forever. On the other hand, any fear I had has been whittled away by boredom.

Valmach's revenge. Computer note for the record, if I should die, key my personal logs to Captain Kal. Let him be my editor. Kaylin thinks I talk too much already, and I wouldn't want to disillusion Dorn.

(Another voice.) I do not think that is possible.

(Pause.) Is it finally time? (Pause.) In that case, personal log off.

"You tired of wearing the body armour?" Kal asked, nodding towards the bunk.

"I had to use the head," Valmach replied curtly. "Can you help me get it back on?"

Kal nodded and picked up the leather armoured vest. Except for the materials, it was similar to the standard uniform over-tunic. Underneath she wore a military jump-suit. It had one special feature: it could not be torn or cut by conventional means. She could bleed to death inside it and the Imperials would not see that her blood ran red. Her brows were trimmed to seem more angular and her ears were covered by the uniform's headdress. All she had to do was protect her face.

Kal fitted the baldric over the tunic and made sure its scabbard was properly placed.

"I recognize this dagger," Kal remarked, startled. "It belongs to Dorn."

"He said I should have it," replied Valmach, giving him an odd smile. "I think he's a little put out that he isn't fighting today." She fingered the hilt then made a slight adjustment to the position of the scabbard. "There were others who offered me their blades. He was the first."

"And here I thought I would get that honour," Kal said lightly. "Perhaps you will carry this of mine instead." He attached a medallion to the breast of the armour just over where her heart would have been if she were Klingon. "It was my grandfather's."

"Kor's?"

Kal smiled and nodded.

"My grandmother gave it to me when I received my commission. She was a remarkable woman. You remind me of her. Like you, she was exiled from her people by fortune."

"She was human?"

"Yes. She was a very unofficial exchange officer from Kirk's Enterprise. She knew she might be stranded when she chose to join the crew of the Revenge - but she came anyway. "Kor requested it," she said. I think she couldn't pass up the challenge."

"What was her name?"

"Jamie Finney. James Kirk was her sponsor - godfather, I believe she called him. Of course, she took a Klingon name - "

The chime of the door interrupted any further confidences. Dorn stepped in far enough to hold it open.

"The Klavesh waits," he announced. His tone suggested that as far as he was concerned, the Klavesh could wait forever.

Valmach nodded. Head held high, she marched out into the corridor. Kal and Dorn followed. Outside, an honour guard brought up the rear. Along the route, available crewmembers waited to salute the Bortas' appointed champion.

Kaylin was waiting for them in the transporter room. Though she desperately wanted to lead the security team going over to the Klavesh, Kal insisted that, like Dorn, her place was on the Bortas. She had to content herself with sending Valmach off with a rib- crushing hug.

"Die well," she said, thumping her chest in salute. "But only if you have to."

The party from the Bortas were beamed directly to the hall where the duel would take place. It seemed to be a multi-function room, used for physical training as well as assemblies and possibly celebrations. In any case, it was not only much larger than any open section of the Bortas, it was also more decorative.

Seated at one end of the hall was Mord. Flanking him were his First Officer and Valmach's opponent. Surrounding the marked off battle ground, twenty or more Klavesh crewmembers stood watching.

Valmach, her captain, and their honour guard of six materialized in the middle of the circle.

"Finally," Mord greeted them, "I was beginning to think you would renege."

"Your arrangements made it necessary for me to make a few of my own," Kal replied flatly.

"What do you mean?"

"There is nothing for you to worry about as long as you honour the terms of this duel. My arrangements are merely insurance against your treachery."

Mord growled with fury. His First Officer, however, nodded.

"There will be no treachery," he said quietly. "This is Dar'Ken, son of Bo'Ken of the Pallara clan, our champion."

Dar'Ken stepped forward. He wore the traditional costume of a warrior: leather breeches, armour-breasted jacket, and heavy boots, all reinforced with metal plates and spikes. His long, rusty-brown hair was loose except for two braids woven back from his temples. Valmach suspected that these, along with the intricate tooling on his leather armour, were marks of his clan.

"This," Kal announced dryly, "is Valmach. I won't bore you with her exact lineage but she is kin of my kin."

Valmach stepped forward. She had to look up to meet Dar'ken's eyes, even at this distance. Still, her gaze was steady. If either came close to wavering, it was Dar'Ken.

"Let's get this started," Mord said impatiently.

With a look, Kal parted the ring of spectators creating a gap in the circle. The Bortas honour guard filled it out. In front of them, directly opposite Mord, Kal stood, Valmach beside him.

"Whenever you are ready," Kal said casually.

"Wait," Dar'Ken said suddenly. He stripped off his armoured jacked revealing a wealth of olive-brown muscle. One of his shipmates took it from him and lent him a shoulder while Dar'Ken pulled off his spiked boots.

Valmach smiled, slipped the baldric over her neck and unclasped the buckles of her own armoured vest. Kal frowned as she handed the garments to him, keeping only the dagger.

"No offense," she said softly, "but I prefer it this way." She then gave him a very un- Klingon-like wink before going to meet her opponent.

Dar'Ken looked very unhappy as he dropped into the standard opening crouch. There was no honour in defeating a foe you so obviously outmatched, less still when that foe refused to accept a handicap. Except that she retained her boots, they were equally equipped. Looking down at the way the soft leather hugged her small feet, the boots were not much of an edge.

The hilt of Valmach's dagger lifted Dar'Ken's head violently, and one of those small feet kicked the back of his knee, throwing him off balance. He landed hard, but rolled up quickly. Embarrassment at being caught off guard suffused his face with blood. He had to fight down his anger and remind himself that his opponent needed to take every advantage he offered her.

After a momentary out-burst of indignation, the spectators from the Klavesh fell silent again. The Bortas contingent maintained a dignified impassivity. If a flicker of amusement passed over one of the younger guard's face, it was quickly suppressed.

Valmach and Dar'Ken circled like gamecocks, waiting for the other to make a move. Dar'Ken was reluctant to initiate an attack. Valmach was taking the measure of her opponent. Mord gave a grunt of impatience prompting Dar'ken to feint a thrust of his dagger. Valmach did not take the bait.

"Who do you fight for, Dar'Ken?" she asked, her calm voice cut through the ambient noise of the spectators. "Your ship? Your pirate captain?" He tensed, but said nothing. Valmach continued. "I fight for a race. You see me as small and weak. Fair enough," she added, smiling. "But as you confront me today, remember that if you try to enslave or exterminate the Klin, you will face a planet full of those who will fight just as well, and at least as determinedly. You wanted an opponent up to your weight. Instead get a taste of how the slightest of us battles with honour and courage."

Dar'Ken stopped his circling, shame, pride, and anger warring for ascendancy.

Valmach drew herself up to her full height. Even crouched, Dar'Ken was taller, but at this point few people noticed.

"We may be outcast," Valmach said proudly, "but each of us has the heart of a Klingon. How is your heart, Dar'Ken."

At the moment that anger won Dar'Ken's battle of emotions, Valmach attacked. While he was at his most distracted, she floored him with a flying kick to the solar plexus. As he got up, she leaped over him and gave him a vicious mule-kick before summersaulting to her feet. After that, there was no more grand-standing. The battle became tight and fast.

Twice, Valmach could have killed him. Once, Dar'Ken had the opportunity of dealing her a fatal blow. Each time they neglected to follow through.

Kal noticed these moments. Amid the chorus of chants and cheers from the Klavesh crew, he was grimly silent. He knew that Valmach's best chance was finishing the duel quickly. She was a better fighter, but she had neither the strength nor the stamina of her opponent. Though he maintained a calm demeanour, inside he screamed: finish it while you can!

Mord was not nearly as controlled.

"Kill her!" he kept shouting.

Dar'Ken lunged. Valmach sided-stepped and used his momentum to slam him into the floor. She did not move fast enough, however, and he pulled her down with him. Her ribs cracked as he threw his weight on her chest, pinning her. She was able to hold back his dagger, but he had her dagger hand pinned. Soon, his strength would overwhelm her.

"You could have killed me," Dar'Ken hissed, his breath hot on her face. "Why didn't you?"

He had to ease up on the pressure to her ribcage in order for her to be able to answer. When she got her breath, her voice was a hoarse whisper.

"I saw two roads," she said, her eyes locking on his. Despite her exhaustion, pain, and closeness to death, her tone was calm. "I chose the other one."

His hold relaxed. Instinctively, Valmach jack-rabbitted her legs, throwing him off balance. In less time than it takes to tell, she was on top of him, her dagger at his throat.

Dar'Ken dropped his weapon in surrender. A hush fell like a curtain over the assembly. Valmach picked the dagger up and stood. She offered her hand to Dar'Ken. He took it, his grasp strong, but he did not use any of her remaining strength to help him stand. Valmach gave him his dagger back, hilt first.

Mord's voice ruptured the pensive silence.

"Kill her, you fool!"

Dar'Ken turned and threw his dagger. It found it's mark in Mord's neck. Too stunned to realize he was dead, Mord reached for his disruptor. His First Officer twisted it out of his hand.

"Valmach was right," the commander said, projecting his voice over the murmur of his confused crew's voices. "Mord was a pirate. He was furthering his own ambitions, not the greater glory of the Empire." He spared his former captain a glance and stepped out the path of the pooling blood. Then he directed himself to Klin. "We were led to believe we were subjugating an inferior, enemy race. But you, you," he repeated turning his gaze on Valmach, "are Klingon. No matter what the High Council may dictate, we know the truth. The Klavesh recognizes their brethren."

A cheer rose up amongst the ranks of the Klavesh crew. A clear, sharp word silenced them. As one, they came to attention and saluted the Klin.

It hurt like hell for Valmach to return the salute.

PERSONAL LOG: LT. VALMACH, CHIEF TACTICAL OFFICER.

We are being honoured by a celebration on the Klavesh. Kaylin isn't sure about trusting them. I suggested that she maintain the lock on their propulsion systems during the party. They're still vulnerable. As I pointed out, now is the best time to trust them.

I almost passed out when we returned to the Bortas. Two cracked ribs, a wrenched shoulder, and more bruises than I cared to count, were treated. Other than telling me not to get into any more fights, the doctor had no objection to me attending the festivities.

Fortunately, the Klin are not built for head-bashing. I will, however, be expected to eat their traditional dishes, and consume vast quantities of their strong liquor, "Blood wine". At Kal's suggestion, the doctor gave me a shot of something to keep my stomach settled. To my surprise, Kal was also dosed.

Smiling sheepishly, Kal told me that he was sure that his quarter of humanity was centred in the gut.

The doctor grunted.

"Tomorrow," he said, "I will attend the other belly-aches. Do me a favour, Kal. Take them some of our beer. Then, at least, I know their medical officer will be as busy as me."

I talked with Dorn briefly in the Infirmary. He came to report to the captain. Since the duel had been broadcasted to the Bortas, we had nothing to report to him except the extent of my injuries. I did, however, offer to return his dagger. He refused. I had earned it, he told me.

"In any case," he added, just before taking his leave, "if I were to take it back, someone would only offer to replace it."

I managed to get a couple hours sleep before Kaylin came off duty. Since my promotion to Tactical Chief, we have shared quarters. She dragged me off my bunk and put me in the refresher: deep cleanse and massage cycle. Right now she's out trying to find me something more appropriate to wear. She doesn't think my duty uniform is formal enough, and I certainly wouldn't fit into anything she has.

Kaylin tells me that she and Dorn have been given permission to attend the celebration. T'Kel is taking temporary command of the Bortas since she is the most experienced commander available. I suspect Kal wishes the Klavesh commander to think we trust him more than we do. My hope is that these precautions are unnecessary, that this day sees the start of the reintegration of the Klin into the Empire.

Once again, the Bortas party transported to the assembly room of the Klavesh.

Kal stood at the point. His long cloak, flowing over his body-hugging jump-suit, made him seem taller and broader than he was. Nevertheless, Dorn loomed up behind him, a head above, and a couple of inches wider than his captain.

To Dorn's right, Kaylin stood as tall as Kal and at least as muscular. She wore the standard military jump-suit with the dress tunic over. Though it was a celebration, she still felt very much on-duty.

Valmach stood on Dorn's left. If he put his arm straight out, she could stand beneath it. Kaylin had found her a dress tunic and one of the lower cut jump-suits that were an allowed variation of the uniform. Though maintaining an austere look for herself, Kaylin insisted that Valmach should wear her hair loose. It was more flattering. She produced a decorative headband to keep Valmach's ear tips covered and her long wavy hair off of her face. A hip belt carried her disruptor and the dagger Dorn had presented. The tunic bore her rank insignia and Kor's medallion, prominently displayed.

Behind them, a dozen other officers ranged, beamed in before the command party. They would be rotated throughout the evening so that others could enjoy the hospitality of the Imperials without leaving the ship short-staffed.

A similar group of Klavesh crewmembers stood before them. When the company had assembled, the new captain of the Klavesh closed the gap between the two parties.

"I am Garek. As commander of the Klavesh, I welcome you. For fighting with honour and wisdom, I have appointed Dar'Ken to the position of First Officer." His lips curled in a wry grin. "He is, I imagine, the first Klingon to win a promotion for loosing a battle."

The rest of the introductions washed over Valmach. It was too much information, and she had too little energy to absorb it. She allowed herself to run on automatic until Dar'Ken offered her a filled cup.

"This will put some life back into you," he said softly. "I could use a little myself."

Valmach looked at him strangely. The Klingon appeared no worse for wear. Perhaps his darker skin covered the bruises, or maybe their medical technology was better than the Klin's.

"A toast," Dar'Ken pronounced, "to new friends."

She tossed the contents back in one long gulp. It burned like liquid fire going down, but the resulting glow was worth the effort. It melted the tension out of her aching muscles and put the first genuine smile on her face since she had beamed aboard the Klavesh. Suddenly realizing she was hungry, Valmach turned that smile on Dar'Ken.

"How 'bout introducing me to some of your native dishes?" she suggested. "I think I should have some ballast if I'm going to have more of this devil's brew."

Puzzled, but pleased, Dar'Ken led the way to the food tables. Soon he found himself competing for Valmach's attention as his shipmates, and her fellow officers started swarming like moths to her flame.

Some orbited briefly. They wished only to congratulate or, in Khalor's case, make their peace with her. Others, most notably the respective captains of the Bortas and Klavesh, drifted in and out of Valmach's circle regularly. Dar'Ken had to defer to them, of course, but social duties didn't allow them to stay long.

Then there was Kang. He arrived as soon as Khalor returned to the Portosh. Claiming a long standing friendship, he made his way directly to Valmach's side. With Dar'Ken and Kang flanking her, Valmach felt more like an Elasian dohlman than a Klin officer. Both were eager to entertain and captivate her, and both guarded her jealously.

Diverting as it was, socializing with Klingons was almost as exhausting as fighting them. Eventually fatigue, medication and the drink took its toll on Valmach.

"It is time to go," said Dorn, appearing suddenly.

He had not been within two meters of Valmach since they arrived, but even as she wondered how she could excuse herself from the party, there he was.

"Let me escort you," Kang started.

"Let me," Dar'Ken interjected.

"There is no need," Dorn said, holding a hand out to Valmach. She took it, both grateful and amused. "You attend to your business," he added, with just the right touch of menace, "and I'll attend to mine." He activated his communicator. "Two to beam over."

PERSONAL LOG: LT. VALMACH, CHIEF TACTICAL OFFICER.

It took the better part of a week to repair the Klavesh sufficiently to go home.

I slept through the first two days. I think Dorn slipped me a mickey. I missed out on a lot of the fun. Kaylin insists its just as well. She was afraid I might feel compelled to improve the Klavesh's systems as I did the Bortas'. Dorn also says it's a blessing, but I think his reasons are different.

Before they got under way, the Klavesh hosted another celebration in honour of the dead, and the living. I stuck around to hear the ritual exchanges of continued friendship then excused myself. One killer hangover per annum is sufficient for me.

For the most part, life has returned to normal. We were hoping for leave, but with the Ghol in dry dock, the Bortas is needed on the J'Taki border. It's no great loss for me, but I know many of my shipmates were looking forward to visiting their families.

Kal and I continue to hold our periodic discussions on being human, or Klingon, or a bit of both. My tolerance for Klin ale improves with each meeting.

Kaylin has made me an assistant instructor in her martial arts class. She's also coaching me through the basic security course and recommended me for pilot's training. On top of my regular duties, is it any wonder I have no time for my journal?

Anyway, once he saw the request, Dorn volunteered to instruct me in piloting. I couldn't have a better, or more attentive teacher. He cannot, however, help me with my in-flight training. Kal drew the line there. Two bridge officers in the same shuttle, one of them a learner ... to quote the captain: "I am indulgent. I am not crazy."

Today I get to pilot a fighter shuttle. Chief pilot Khadra will be flying as my wing and assessing my performance. She's already warned me she's going to be very tough. Heros cannot afford to rest on their laurels.

"So far, so good," Khadra said briskly. "You do Dorn proud."

Valmach smiled. Now that she was used to it, flying the converted shuttle seemed second nature to her. She wondered if piloting were one of the many skills she forgot she had. Her trip through the wormhole had damaged her memory. She was left with a vague sense of who she was and where she came from, but no clear recollections. Some of the gaps filled over time, but that only seemed to create more questions.

"Heads up," Khadra called, her tone calm but urgent. "In-coming raiders. Take my wing."

Valmach throttled back so that Khadra had the lead just in time for the squad to come into visual range.

"Valmach to Bortas. We have a squad of four J'Taki raiders, transmitting coordinates. We could use some help, Captain."

J'Taki scramblers swallowed any reply there might have been. Fortunately, short-range communications were more reliable.

"I don't like the odds," Khadra remarked cooly, "so let's even them up. Here's where you learn to fly, my friend."

Valmach followed the leader in what seemed like a suicide run across the flight path of the raiders. Her shields dropped to seventy-six percent as they entered the field of the broadcast scramblers then fell into formation with the squad. She didn't need Khadra's coded signal to know that the next step was to fire the rear torpedoes and get the hell out of there. It was a tactic that she had helped develop when the torpedo launchers were mounted in the small craft.

Shuttles did not have adequate stabilizers to support the recoil caused by firing torpedoes. But, Valmach had argued, what if the recoil coincided with acceleration? Then the torpedo would act like a rocket boost. Khadra and Kaylin had supported the proposal. Now it was being tested under fire.

The shuttle bucked and shot forward like a wild horse. Like a bronco rider, Valmach had to fight for control. She veered off just in time to evade fire from one of the two remaining raiders. The trick worked. Now they just had to keep the other raiders from getting back to tell their cohorts. Already the J'Taki were turning to retreat. They didn't like the odds when they were even.

"You get the right one," Khadra told her. "I'll take the left."

Valmach's eyes darted back and forth between her tactical display and her view screen. It was one hell of a pilot, that J'Taki. She took mental notes of its style for future reference as she closed the gap between them.

Khadra got her's first. Valmach's mark was just coming in range when it throttled back. She shot past it, sheering off before it made her a target. Suddenly it exploded. Something stronger than a fighter shuttle's disruptors hit it. Closing in, Valmach saw the Bortas. She changed course, swerving out its flight path.

"You're a pilot now, Valmach," Khadra laughed. "The first ale is on me."

"I will provide the second round," came Dorn's voice.

"Congratulations, Lieutenant," added Kal, "but you have to prove you can land your craft first."

"You take the lead, Valmach," said Khadra.

Valmach's shuttle continued to arc away from the Bortas.

"Valmach?"

"Stand-by," Valmach said tersely. "Bloody hell! The helm isn't responding." There was a pause and the shuttle slowed and bucked slightly. "I've got her in full reverse. What's pulling the damned thing?"

"I am reading a gravimetric force," Dorn grumbled. "We are going lock a tractor beam on you. Get out of the way, Khadra."

A huge slit of light opened up before the shuttle.

"Hold on, Valmach!" Kal commanded, as though his words could make the difference. Sitting on the bridge of the Bortas, watching it happen, he felt so impotent.

"We have her," Dorn announced.

The shuttle slowed slightly in its course, but the stresses of the conflicting fields of force were taking their toll on its hull integrity.

"I have to cut engines," Valmach announced, her voice slightly tinny over the communicator. "I'm over-loading."

"We have you," Dorn assured her, sounding more calm than he felt."

"You better start reeling me in. I don't know how long this bucket will hold."

Dorn did not want to tell her that the Bortas had been trying to "reel her in" and was having no success.

"Hull integrity down to thirty percent," the tactical officer intoned.

"Can we beam her out?" Kal asked quietly.

"Negative, captain. Whatever is pulling her in is also disrupting her signal."

Kal nodded. Somehow he knew that would be the answer.

"Release tractor beam."

"Captain!" Dorn half demanded, half pleaded.

"Release the tractor beam, ensign," Kal told the tactical officer. "Let her go."

The slit of light closed around the shuttle and immediately disappeared. Dorn stood staring at the screen, his face an unreadable mask. Kal stood and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Let her go."

CAPTAIN'S PERSONAL LOG:

Dorn has requested transfer to another ship. He's angry at me for giving up on Valmach. I hope he'll change his mind once he's had a chance to sleep on it. In any case, he'll sleep a good long while. I had Kaylin drug his ale.

Give up on Valmach. As if I would.

I had no choice. If we didn't release the tractor beam, she would have died as her shuttle flew apart. I can't help wondering if that is what almost happened when she came through the wormhole to us. Perhaps there was someone on the other side who wanted her to stay as much as we did. I only hope that there is also someone waiting when she goes through this time.

I remember telling Valmach that this was her home, that she could not go back the way she came. Trust her to make a liar of me.

Log ended.

First Mission Logs
War Stories
Second Mission Logs
Beyond the Logs