Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Foreword:

I know I said I wouldn't deal with Klingons in this series, as they've been done to death in TNG, DS9 and VOY - and quite controversially to TOS in some places, too. Hence the different adversaries established in Part One.

However, I wanted to do the EMV version of the "Rogue Planet" episode, and frankly, I found the Eska - the once-a-time alien species featured there - faceless, one-dimensional and boring. In fact, they were a cheap copy of TOS-Klingons, without much of a cultural background. So I thought I'd go for the real thing; and since I don't intend to do a "Sleeping Dogs" story, I've brought over the Klingon characters from that episode to a different setting. Klingons have a tradition of hunting, too, so I thought they would fit the plot rather nicely; and I really liked Officer Bu'kaH. Plus, this way I could use some book-canon aspects of Klingon culture, which are more interesting (in my opinion) than a lot of what we got to see in the various series.

I must point out that I haven't seen anything beyond Enterprise, so my views might contradict things that happened in the newer series. But since this is an AU already, I hereby claim poetic licence.

Sources used for this story:
- Vonda McIntyre's ideas about the various Klingon nations and customs in the novelization of the third Star Trek movie;
- The Klingon Dictionary by Mark Okrand (printed version);
- The unfilmed script "Kitumba"; a planned two-parter for the never realized Star Trek II series;
- The Memory Beta wiki for various aspects of TOS-era Klingon culture in the novels.
- "The Budget Guide to the Klingons 1995" - an uncensored and unauthorized (but very funny) fan book.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter One

Having finished mapping the Arachnid Nebula, the Enterprise crew parted ways with the V’tosh ka’tur – mostly on friendly terms, as the others were not responsible for Tolaris’s behaviour – and they continued their way to the next planet marked on the Elachi star map of Gamma Ventris IV.

There were several people who genuinely regretted not having the chance to spend more time with the unusual Vulcans, though. One of those was Hoshi, who had become fast friends with the formidable T'Vet, her counterpart on the Vahklas. Jack himself had found Captain Tavin an interesting character and would have loved to learn to know him better. And the entire engineering contingent mourned the loss of Kov; especially the ladies who had found the tubby young engineer cute.

T’Pol’s feelings (whether she admitted having them or not) were a lot more ambiguous. She’d been briefly reunited with her long-lost brother, only to have the trust between them broken again, their once so close bond destroyed even more by S’task’s mad ambition to prove himself right. In some aspects he had been right, she confessed to herself. He, more than anyone in the family, came too much after their second forefather to follow the strict discipline of kolinahr. But he had also been wrong trying to force her to follow his path.

Captain Archer had offered to press charges but she could not do it. S’task was her brother, a vital part of her early life. She had warned Captain Tavin and the crew of the Vahklas that ‘Tolaris’ was unstable and therefore unpredictably dangerous, though. The rest was up to them. She had done everything she could.

But the feeling of loss and loneliness hit her tenfold after having a little bit of their childhood closeness back, even if only for a short time.

Being surrounded by humans with their loud, emotional nature and questionable priorities could be a trial sometimes. In other times, though, it was a welcome distraction. Like now, when Commander Tucker was turning the entire Bridge upside down, only to take a good picture of the captain, who was quickly getting fed up with the exercise.

“We couldn’t do this in my ready room?”

“Nah, the captain got to be in the captain’s chair,” the chief engineer replied cheerfully. “Tilt your chin up.”

Archer rolled his eyes in exasperation. He did have a very impressive jawline, at least according to female crewmembers, but even his light streak of vanity was overstressed by his best friend’s enthusiastic fussing.

“Just take the damn picture, Trip!”

Charlie Tucker wasn’t so easily stopped, though. He was on a mission: to take the best, most dignified picture of his captain, and he would do it, regardless of the price.

“You've got a stanchion growing out of your head. Swivel to the right about ten degrees. Every recruit walking into Starfleet Command is going to see this on the wall.”

At this point Mayweather joined the conversation, pointing out – rather unhelpfully, from the captain’s point of view – what an inspiration it had been for young cadets to see the portraits of famous captains displayed at Starfleet Command. That seemingly innocent comment (Mayweather’s mien was too serious to be genuine) only irritated the captain further.

“Do Vulcan captains have their portraits hanging at the High Command?” He asked, just when Tucker tried to persuade T’Pol (unsuccessfully, of course) to kill the monitors in the situation room because there was a reflection from one of the status displays.

“Vulcans are revered for their accomplishments, not for the way they look,” she answered truthfully.

Tucker was clearly about to make some acerbic comment when Reed interrupted them, to everyone’s relief. “Sir, I'm picking up a small planet on our current heading.”

Archer turned around in surprise, happy to get a break from his enforced photo session. “I thought there weren't any systems along this course.”

“It's not a system, Captain,” the armoury officer said. “It's just a planet.”

The captain raised both eyebrows in sudden interest. “Put it up.”

Reed obeyed. The view on the main screen was not very impressive: just a black disc against the stars.

“Magnify,” the captain ordered.

The magnification didn’t bring any details. Not for the naked eye anyway. The sensors, however, had been more effective.

“It is a rogue, Captain,” T’Pol reported, peeking into her hooded scanner. The blank looks on several human faces inspired her to add, “A planet that has broken out of its orbit.”

“That happens?”

“Not too frequently, but there have been precedents.” She was careful to keep the excitement out of her voice but Archer still picked it up. The man was more observant than she had given him credit for.

“Definitely something of interest, then,” he turned to Mayweather. “Lay in a course, Travis. Let's take a closer look.”

“Aye, sir.” The helmsman’s smile was wide enough to reach from ear to ear… figuratively speaking. After spending all that time mapping the Arachnid Nebula, finding an actual, interesting planet was a godsend. Everybody had been desperately bored, ever since they had parted ways with the Vahklas.

Everybody but T’Pol, that is. She had too much emotional burden to deal with; and to keep hidden from everyone else. But even she was invigorated by the prospect of some scientific discovery. It was her job, after all. It was normal.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As they got within range of the short-range sensors, the chance of that scientific discovery promised to increase tenfold. The readings showed something she had never seen before. Not in context with a rogue planet.

“This planet supports a diverse animal population.” She managed to keep the surprise out of her voice, naturally. Barely.

“How is that possible?” Ensign Sato sounded every bit as surprised but could not hide her surprise quite so well.

“Shouldn't the surface be frozen solid?” Ensign Mayweather asked at the same time.

T’Pol consulted her readings again. “Hot gas is vented from the planet's interior. Most of the life forms are concentrated in those areas.”

“Oases,” the captain realized. “Any people?”

T'Pol re-checked her readings in the unlikely case she might have overlooked something. As expected, she had not. “No evidence of humanoid life.”

"I beg to differ,” Lt. Reed looked up from his own readings. “I'm picking up a power signature near the equator. There's a ship down there.”

Captain Archer went on high alert immediately. A ship did not necessarily mean any good in these days.

“Try to hail them,” he ordered Ensign Sato who gave it several tries; then she shook her head.

“No response.”

“Maybe they want to be left alone,” Commander Tucker suggested. “A single ship on a dark planet? Maybe they're on their honeymoon.”

The captain ignored his chief engineer’s juvenile attempt at humour and turned back to his armoury officer. “What kind of power signature is that, Lieutenant? Anything we’ve met before?”

Reed checked his readings again. “Afraid so, sir. It’s Klingon.”

Everyone on the Bridge became tense hearing that. Enterprise might have never had direct contact with the Klingons, but the warrior race had a fearsome reputation. Earth had barely avoided a war with them a couple of years previously, thanks to Vulcan Ambassador Soval’s diplomatic skills… and Hoshi’s abilities as a translator. That had been her last mission before her imprisonment.

“What are Klingons possibly doing down on that planet?” Archer finally asked. “It couldn’t have been part of their territory – the distance is too great. And it doesn’t even have any strategic importance.”

“Not that we know of,” Reed agreed; and if anyone, he would have known it.

“There has to be a something of interest for them, or they wouldn’t be here,” Mayweather pointed out. “Klingons aren’t into sightseeing.”

“It would be prudent to send down an away team and find out what has brought them here,” T’Pol said. “Any advantage they might have found would endanger the balance of power in this quadrant.”

“I see you’ve taken lessons from G.G,” Tucker drawled.

Indeed, that was something the Viseeth would have said – had they not left Enterprise for a consultation with some Vulcan diplomats a few weeks previously.

“The Subcommander is right, sir,” Reed, too, ignored the chief engineer’s attempts to be funny. “Klingons are hostile and unpredictable by their very nature. We should definitely check out what they are doing there… and why.”

“Agreed,” Archer looked at Tucker. “Have a ‘pod prepared, Trip. We’ll go down and play clueless explorers. We, as T’Pol, Doctor Yannes, Hoshi and the two of us.”

That sounded logical. Not only was T’Pol a scientist, she was also the First Officer and as such supposed to lead the away teams (even if the captain was reckless enough to participate). Dr. Yannes, their Centaurian guest, was a xenobiologist; studying what wildlife could exist on such an unusual planet was her job.

Hoshi, on the other hand, clearly hadn’t expected being included. “Me, sir?”

Archer shrugged. “They’re Klingons. You speak Klingon. I won’t depend on the universal translator alone when facing those guys.”

“With all due respect, sir, you shouldn’t go down there without a security escort!” Reed protested.

The captain shrugged off his concerns. “T’Pol and I can take care of ourselves. And I’m sure between us we can protect Hoshi and Doctor Yannes.”

“Have you ever dealt with Klingons, sir?” There was no answer, which told Reed everything he needed to know. “Well, I have. And while I don’t doubt the Subcommander is up to deal with them, I’m not sure you are. It takes experience.”

“Lieutenant Reed is right,” T’Pol interfered before Archer could have come up with a scathing answer. “We might need his expertise.”

After some reluctance the captain finally gave in. The six of them gathered their field jackets and phase pistols and headed towards the launch bay.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Less than an hour later they were sitting in the shuttlepod, approaching the dark planet beneath them. Reed was trying to get in some visuals – without success.

“Infrared's useless,” he muttered crossly. "There's too much heat coming from those thermal vents.’

As if on clue, the shuttlepod got hit by atmospheric turbulences. Archer needed to do a bit of clever manoeuvring to bring it into balance again. He then checked his readings.

“We should be right over that ship,” he said. “The question is: how to get down near enough to it. Getting lost in a dark alien forest would be… unfortunate.”

“I am scanning for a break in the canopy,” T’Pol was already doing so while speaking.

Hoshi, still a bit green around the gills from the previous manoeuvre, pulled a face. “If this is anything like the Amazon, good luck.”

Archer gave her a quick, encouraging smile. “You know I used to say I could land a shuttlepod with my eyes closed.”

“As long as you manage to land it in one piece,” she replied automatically. This was an old joke between them, and Archer laughed.

“I’m still here, aren’t I? And so are you. I’m fairly sure I’ll manage this time, too.”

“Well, the proof's in the pudding, Captain,” Reed commented, with just a hint of challenge in his voice.

“There is a clearing ahead, nine hundred metres, but it's not much bigger than the shuttlepod,” T’Pol interrupted them before things could have escalated.

“It doesn't have to be,” Archer replied confidently.

Hoshi was tempted to say something about drowning in testosterone. Unfortunately, the other two women, being aliens, might not have understood the metaphor. Which was a shame, as nothing could be as powerful as female solidarity, she thought.

She had to admit, though, that Jack’s confidence was more than just bragging. Their captain was still one of the best pilots Earth could offer; even though Travis had broken his long-standing Academy records. He set the ‘pod down on the handkerchief-sized clearing softly like a feather.

“Nice job, Captain,” Dr. Yannes commented; then she gave Reed a falsely friendly smile. “Proof enough for you, Lieutenant?”

Well-honed survival skills prevented Reed from answering. No-one in their right minds raised the ire of the amazons from Alpha Centauri IV when they were in protective mode. Dr. Yannes might have exchanged the traditional weapons of her people for a science lab, but she was still fiercely protective of her mate. Even if their… association was a temporary one.

Hoshi suppressed a grin as she picked up her field kit, preparing to leave the ‘pod. It was perhaps petty, probably childish even, but everyone who could shut Reed up was made of win in her books.

Switching on their torches they dared the first steps out into a completely dark world. The starlight was barely enough to make out the ‘pod that was still within reach. Despite the permanent darkness, though, the tropical large leaved foliage appeared green in the torchlight which, considering the lack of a sun, was somewhat surprising.

“I wonder when this planet has broken out of orbit,” Dr. Yannes commented. “The flora still seems fairly normal; I can’t discover any specific ways the plants might have adapted to the darkness.”

“Does it matter?” The captain asked.

Dr. Yannes nodded. “Of course! Chlorophyll, which makes the plants green, is needed for photosynthesis. But photosynthesis is not possible without a sun. Which again means that not so long ago this planet must have been part of a solar system, or the only life forms would be bacteria or algae, living in the hot springs.”

“Consequently, something must have knocked it out of orbit,” Reed said. “And that something must have been extremely powerful if it was able to tear a whole planet out of the gravitational hold of a sun. Whether it was an unknown sort of cosmic phenomenon – or a species with powers beyond our imagination.”

“Which brings us back to the Iconians; or to their servant races,” Archer said slowly.

Reed nodded. “Yes, Captain; although we cannot reject the possible existence of another, equally powerful race out of hand, just because we haven’t heard of them yet.”

“Captain,” T’Pol looked up from her scanner, “the vessel is that way, six hundred metres.”

She indicated the direction with a slightly extended hand.

“Good,” Archer took a deep breath. “Perhaps we can get some answers from the Klingons.”

“Or a mek’leth between our ribs,” Hoshi muttered.

“Klingons are rarely forthcoming with answers,” T’Pol agreed. “But they appreciate strangers speaking their language; assuming it is the right dialect.”

“No pressure at all, eh?” That last remark didn’t serve to boost Hoshi’s self-confidence. She was quite fluent in the two main dialects, Kumburanya and Rumaiym, but there were other Klingon languages she was barely familiar with; or not at all.

Archer squeezed her shoulder for a moment. “Don’t panic. You can do it. I know you can.”

For her part Hoshi had a lot less confidence in her own abilities, but it was encouraging that Jack had faith in her. Encouraging and frightening at the same time; because there were simply no guarantees for success.

They followed T’Pol’s lead, phase pistols on the ready and night vision monocles activated, when there was a barely audible noise on their right side. They swirled around to see a multi-legged creature – like a three-feet-long centipede – crawling up a tree at a fairly alarming speed, its long, pale body shimmering in the torchlight.

“What the hell was that?” Archer asked, shuddering. There was something profoundly disgusting in the way the creature moved. “Some kind of centipede?”

“Certainly not one I’ve seen before,” Dr. Yannes replied, “although it seemed to be a similar species. I hope we’ll see more of the local fauna; it promises to be fascinating.”

“Better you than me,” Hoshi muttered under her breath.

She’d never liked the creepy-crawlies; that had been the only disadvantage of living in Brazil. At least those had been small enough so she could crash them under her boots. Not like this monster.

Following T’Pol’s directions, they – rather unexpectedly – came upon a fairly mundane campsite, complete with tents and a fire that was still burning low. Only that no-one seemed to be home.

“Curious,” T’Pol murmured. “I am still not detecting any bio-signs, even though their ship is less than two hundred metres in that direction.”

Again, she indicated said direction with an extended hand.

“If they are indeed Klingons and not just pirates using a stolen Klingon ship, then they are wary and suspicious,” Reed said. “We can assume that they’ve already discovered our presence and are now waiting for the best chance to attack us.”

“That is a logical assumption,” T’Pol agreed.

“Aren’t you two a bit paranoid?” Archer asked, clearly exasperated that they had ganged up against him.

“Not at all,” T’Pol replied calmly. “Such thing would be fitting usual Klingon behaviour.”

Archer eyed the small campsite doubtfully. “This doesn’t seem like a military camp to me.”

“They may not be military,” Reed answered, “but they are all warriors. Only the members of the great warrior Houses can travel through space freely; and their retainers, of course.”

“You appear to know a great deal about those guys,” Archer said with just a hint of an edge in his voice.

Reed shrugged. “All part of the job, sir.”

“Which one?” The captain’s voice was deceivingly mild but the meaning unmistakable.

Reed, however, didn’t even blink. “Either one, sir. One day you’ll realize that my former… assignment can be quite useful for my current one.”

Again, T’Pol smoothly interfered before things could have escalated.

“As time is an issue, Captain, I suggest that we split up. You, Doctor Yannes and Lieutenant Reed can remain here, while Ensign Sato and I keep looking for the ship.”

Archer shook his head. “You and Lieutenant Reed check out the ship. I’ll need Hoshi here, in case anyone shows up.”

“By all due respect, sir, I doubt the Klingons would be interested in talking,” Reed’s voice was tense. The idea of leaving his commanding officer behind, unprotected, with only a civilian and an ensign who was still fairly helpless with the new phase pistols did not appeal to him.

“Why don’t let me play captain for a change, Malcolm?” Archer asked mildly, but with a finality that shut down any possible further argument. That he addressed his armoury officer by his first name might have sounded friendly, but Reed knew it better. Therefore he shut up reluctantly and followed T’Pol.

“He is right, you know,” the Vulcan said when they got out of the captain’s earshot. “He will need Ensign Sato if the Klingons show up.”

“So would we,” Reed muttered.

T’Pol shook her head. “Not necessarily. I do understand basic Klingon; and Ensign Sato has updated the universal translator with the newest information about both main dialects.”

“Enough to make us understood?” Reed asked doubtfully.

“Enough to understand the inscriptions inside the ship, which would be most likely in Kumburanya,” T’Pol replied calmly.

“You assume it is a military vessel.”

It was not a question, but in typical Vulcan manner T’Pol answered it nonetheless. Malcolm sometimes wondered whether Vulcans received special training from a tender age on to be as predictable as possible. Perhaps they did.

Unaware of his rather unflattering inner musings, T’Pol went on elaborating why she thought the Klingon ship had to be a military vessel… in time-honoured Vulcan manner not revealing a single thing that Reed, thanks to his years in Starfleet Intelligence, wouldn’t have known already. He toned out the useless infodump, focusing on their surroundings instead, aware of the fact that they were probably being watched and might be walking straight into a trap. The slight noise behind them only strengthened this feeling; it seemed as if somebody had stepped onto a dry twig.

“Did you hear that?” he interrupted T’Pol, who nodded.

“Yes.” She consulted her scanner with a slight frown.

“Anything?” Reed asked.

The Vulcan shook her head. “For a moment I had a humanoid bio-sign. It is gone now.”

“What kind of bio-sign?” The answer was glaringly obvious, but he had learned early on to deal with facts, not theories, no matter how well-founded those might be.

“Klingon,” T’Pol replied, as expected. “They must be using some kind of personal cloaking device that shields them from my scanner.”

“And yet you’ve spotted them for a moment.”

“The logical explanation is that the device fluctuated for a moment.”

That made sense; but it didn’t lessen the risk involved when one was being followed by invisible Klingons.

“Do we continue?” Reed asked.

Had it been up to him, he would have done so without a second thought. But right now he was outranked by their Vulcan executive officer, and Vulcans had different priorities. Usually. Not this time, though, obviously. This time T’Pol was for continuing their mission, too.

“I suggest that we go on,” she said. “They are watching us, regardless of what we do. It is only logical that we follow our orders. Besides,” she added after a moment, “I admit a certain amount of scientific curiosity towards a Warp-capable ship small enough to land on a planet.”

“They could have used a shuttlepod, too,” Reed pointed out, playing devil’s advocate.

T’Pol nodded. “They could, but I doubt that they had. According to the Security Directorate, a relatively new design has been added to the Klingon fleet: a DujHod-class transport vessel, the designation of which is to transport small units of warriors from one destination to another. It is usually manned by a small crew: a commanding officer and two subordinates, but it can carry as many as twenty additional troops.”

“And the Security Directorate didn’t find it necessary to inform Starfleet Command about this?” Reed asked acidly.

His tone, as usual, had absolutely no effect on T’Pol.

“No-one has actually seen such a ship so far,” she replied calmly. “It has only been in service for a couple of years, and only within Klingon territory. We might be the first off-worldlers to take a look… and gather some information.”

That was something Reed was eager to do, and thus they followed the direction indicated by T’Pol’s scanner. No-one attempted to stop them (not yet anyway), which might have been a sure sign that they were about to walk into a trap with their eyes wide open. But, as T’Pol had pointed out, they were being watched anyway; and besides, they had nowhere else to go, unless they wanted to turn around and walk back to the ‘pod. Which they did not. They had their orders; and they both wanted very much to see that mystery ship.

They fought their way through the dense forest foliage by torchlight, always feeling the watchful eyes in their back but unable to pinpoint the whereabouts of the watchers. Reed considered in all seriousness to request a machete being added to the standard equipment of all away teams… and not only to cut a way through the underwood. A really good, heavy and sharp machete could take it up with a Klingon mek’leth – if somebody was skilled with a blade.

He knew better than mention that thought to T’Pol, of course.

Against all expectations, they could make the two hundred metres to the lighting where T’Pol’s scanner indicated the ship without being attacked. When they finally got there, they stared at the relatively small vessel in surprise.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Reed said after a moment of quiet inspection. “I’ve never seen a Klingon ship like this.”

“Neither have I” T’Pol admitted. “We have no pictures of it in our database… yet,” she started redeeming that fact by taking several pictures with her scanner.

The small ship was indeed fairly different from the known Klingon vessels, being horseshoe-shaped and quite heavily armed for its size.

“It is approximately eighty-eight point seven six metres long,” T’Pol noted, consulting her readings. “It features high-quality sensors and a tractor beam generator. It also carries seven escape pods.”

“That’s rather unusual for a Klingon vessel,” Reed commented. “Are you sure it is Klingon?”

“Quite sure, based on the energy signature,” T’Pol replied dryly. “Besides, there is also a Klingon emblem on the hull.”

She aimed her torch at a certain spot of the hull to prove her point, and Reed had to admit that she was right.

“What about weapons?” He then asked.

She consulted her scanner again. “Four disruptor cannons and one torpedo launcher at the front.”

“No real danger for Enterprise then,” he concluded, “but it could shoot our ‘pod to smithereens.”

“That is correct,” her voice was as neutral as always; if she didn’t know what ‘smithereens’ meant, she chose not to ask. “According to our intelligence, its maximum travelling velocity is Warp factor five.”

“Meaning that we can’t outrun it, either.”

“That is also correct,” she admitted.

“Which means we should try to take a closer look, just to see what other surprises it might be hiding.”

“I am not certain that would be wise. We know we are being watched.”

“And they most likely expect us to try getting in, so we can as well do them the favour.”

With that, Reed made a determined step towards the ship – only to find himself staring straight down the barrel of a Klingon disruptor.

“mev!’ A harsh but unmistakably female voice demanded,” qalegh v Inett!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Bu’kaH vestai-Rustazh had been following the two intruders since they had parted from the other half of their group at the campsite. They had been heading for the ship, and protecting the ship was her responsibility. The epetai might have been the owner of the ship, but she was its engineer; the one who kept it up and running all the time. She did a good job and she knew it and was proud of her achievement. She would never allow some honourless strangers to steal it or damage it.

She could have attacked (and most likely killed) them any time while they were making their way to the ship but chose not to do so just yet. Not as long as she didn’t know whom she was dealing with and what they were capable of. She was an excellent fighter, never bested by anyone so far, but she was also an intelligent fighter. Watching a potential adversary first, finding out their strengths and weaknesses and using the latter against them was what had made her victorious in previous fights, against many warriors physically much stronger than she was.

At least the T’Khasi woman was a known quality. She had fought (and killed) T’Khasi before and knew they were deceivingly strong. And while they avoided one-to-one fights if possible, they could be absolutely lethal if cornered. Not as lethal as she was, though, so she did not worry about the T’Khasi.

The other one though… that one belonged to a species she had never met before. At first sight he (assuming it was a male) appeared pathetically puny, but her practiced eye recognized the smooth, powerful moves of a born predator under that unimpressive surface.

They said about the Seyalii(1) that while fragile-looking, they could kill Gnuta-beasts with their bare fists; at least the females could, when protecting their offspring(2). Bu’kaH never met a Seyali but she knew they were supposed to have beautiful faces (at least what other species considered beautiful, which didn’t meet the Klingon concept of beauty), skin smooth like glass and no hair at all.

The short, wiry man accompanying the T’Khasi had fine laugh lines around his mouth and eyes and a full head of wavy dark hair. Not enough to look presentable in Klingon terms, but at least he did have hair. Hair that was more attractive than the short-cropped one of the T’Khasi woman in any case.

He was an unknown entity, and that fact made Bu’kaH act with extreme caution. She could be reasonably certain that she’d be able to kill the T’Khasi without overmuch effort. She was unfamiliar with the abilities of the other one, though, and thus there were no guarantees that she could kill both of them. She needed an alternate solution.

Against either one of hem she’d have used her mek’leth – an excellent blade, custom-made for her use only. It had become an extension of her body; no huge male warrior with a heavy batt’leth would stand a chance against her in a duel fought with blades. Here and now, though, she had two adversaries, one of them unknown and therefore unpredictable. She needed to capture them and bring them to the epetai; it was his right to decide about their fate.

With a hint of regret, she shoved the mek’leth back into her belt and pulled out her disruptor pistol.

She hated firearms. They were brutal, primitive and required no finely-honed skills. But they were also very effective if one had to face more than just one enemy. She aimed at the male of unknown origins and barked in clipped Kumburanya, knowing that at least the T’Khasi would understand it: “mev! qalegh v Inett!”

As expected, the T’Khasi froze obediently. The other intruder, however, did not. Quickly like a striking baqghol(3), he lunged forward, grabbed the disruptor pistol, together with the hand holding it, and wrenched it to the side with a strength no-one would have expected from such a puny creature. Bu’kaH hissed in pain; the shot that had automatically gone off went widely astray. With the same move, the man wrestled the disruptor from her and turned it around, aiming straight at her face.

He said something that she could not understand. After a moment the T’Khasi adjusted something on her small, hand-held gadget, and now the words started making sense.

“That’s better,” the male intruder was saying. “Now we can discuss things like civilized people. But no tricks; I know how to fire a Klingon disruptor and won’t hesitate to do so.”

His grey eyes were cold like those of a baqghol; there could be no doubt that he would indeed shoot her if she tried to attack him. She scowled but had to give in – for the time being. Getting killed because she’d been outwitted by some unknown alien wouldn’t have been an honourable death. She had to wait for a better opportunity to gain the upper hand.

Chapter Text

Captain Archer’s decision to keep his language expert at his side soon proved to be a wise one. Hoshi didn’t just speak the main Klingon dialects – for that, the universal translator would have been enough. But she could also interpret body language; and she was familiar with the basics of Klingon society, the most common customs and symbols… as far as any outworldler could.

Therefore it didn’t take her long to make a more or less reliable first impression of the seemingly abandoned camp; one that surprised both Jack and Dr. Yannes, despite the latter being also somewhat familiar with the warrior race. But Dr. Yannes was a xenobiologist, not a sociologist; customs and social standing weren’t part of her expertise.

They were part of Hoshi’s though, and she put them to good use.

“This is not a military camp,” she said, after studying the symbols on the tents.

“How can you be so sure about that?” Jack asked, not doubting her expertise, just being surprised. Meeting non-military Klingon troops was almost unheard-of, at least for humans. Unless they were Boomers, of course, but even those rarely saw their Klingon counterparts.

Hoshi made a wide gesture with one arm, as if she’d wanted to embrace the whole place. The excitement of seeing something new was obvious on her face.

“Firstly, it’s too small for a military camp. Secondly, the tents haven’t been raised in the usual military pattern. And thirdly, those aren’t military symbols on the tents.”

“What are they then?”

“My guess would be the personal emblem of the epetai of a Great House.”

“Of the what of a what?”

“Epetai is an honorific used by Klingons,” Dr. Yannes supplied. She was familiar with the basics, too.

Hoshi nodded. “Indeed. An epetai has earned the highest personal status in Klingon culture and is the leader of his or her Great House. Such persons have judicial authority over the other members of their House. House laws set by an epetai may supersede even the imperial law in some cases, it is said.”

“Actually, it’s more than just hearsay,” Dr. Yannes added. “There are documented cases that prove this. Also, in military terms, the head of the Klingon defence forces can also be called an epetai if he or she chooses so.”

“She?” Jack asked in surprise.

Dr. Yannes nodded. “Oh, yes. Some Great Houses do have a female leader, and so do entire fleets. It’s rare but not entirely unheard of.”

“This here seems to be a male emblem, though,” Hoshi said, and the Centaurian xenobiologist nodded again.

“Definitely. I can’t read Klingon, but the symbols are unmistakably male. Can you read it?”

“Some of it,” Hoshi gave the emblem a closer look. “It is in Rumaiy and belongs to somebody called Klaang epetai-Rustazh. Doubtlessly the head of a Great House.”

“One day you’ll have to explain me what’s this about those Great Houses,” Jack said. “But what are we supposed to do now that we’ve found out whose camp this is?”

“Well, we can always declare our presence formally,” with that, Hoshi stepped forward and barked something in Klingon that, to Jack’s ears, sounded like durgDaj… or something similar.

“I doubt that they’d missed our presence,” he commented.

“Of course not,” Hoshi agreed, “but proper etiquette demands that we announce our coming and intentions. Oh, and Captain… try to cut back on the charm. Showing your teeth while you smile counts as a challenge among Klingons. Unless you want to fight a seven-foot warrior to the death, be better careful.”

Before Jack could have answered to that, a deep, somewhat rough voice called out to them, seemingly out of thin air.

“’Iv SoH!”

Uncertain whom to address, as their scanners still didn’t read any bio-signs, Hoshi turned towards the assumed source of the voice and answered truthfully.

“Tera’ngan jIH. maQoH QIn tera’ Duy. “

“What did you say?“ Jack demanded ; he hated to be left in the dark.

“That we’re humans; explorers from Earth,” Hoshi explained. “Perhaps you should switch on your universal translator, sir. It could be helpful.”

She didn’t do so herself; not yet. The universal translator was a useful tool but it couldn’t notice the fine changes and undertones of living speech. She knew she’d need her linguist’s experiences and instincts to notice the nuances in tone and behaviour in time. She had dealt with Klingons before, after all – unlike Jack.

In the next moment something strange happened. The air briefly warbled, and then several large, long-haired men stepped out of it, less than five metres from them, complete with elaborately ridged foreheads and leather clothes that were decorated with vicious-looking metal spikes. Jack had only ever seen Klingons on archive pictures and videos, but even he could identify the newcomers as members of the warrior race.

Their leader – the larger of all, at least seven feet tall and heavily muscled – had a nightmarish creature with him. The animal looked like a large hound at the brink of dying from hunger, with much of its skeletal structure visible through its darkened skin. Yet it also has a forked tongue like a lizard… and seemed extremely ill-tempered.

Its owner stared down at Hoshi, who was barely tall enough to reach to his shoulders, with a frown.

“YaS SoH,” he said. It didn’t sound like a question but Hoshi inclined her head in agreement nonetheless.

“Hoshi tai-Sato jIH,” she answered, using the prefix tai to indicate her status as a serving officer… a junior one.

At the same moment the universal translator finally clicked on, so that Jack and Dr. Yannes could follow the conversation, too. To their surprise the Klingon leader appeared to be familiar with Hoshi’s name.

“I have heard of you, Hov of Tera(1),” he said. “You were the translator of the T’Khasi ambassador. Our warlords first thought you’d be but a child; yet you proved your worth at the negotiations.”

“Sometimes one has to see beyond the surface,” Hoshi replied simply. “To whom do I have the honour to speak?”

“I am Klaang epetai-Rustazh,” the Klingon introduced himself,” and these,” he indicated the others, “are my retainers. And your companions would be…?”

“Captain Jack Archer is our commanding officer,” Hoshi made the introductions, “and Doctor Fre’ema Agye’man Mardah Yannes is a visiting scientist from Alpha Centauri IV.”

The Klingon nodded his understanding and turned to Jack, leader to leader. “What are you doing on Da’Hkala?”

Jack shrugged. “We’re just here to explore; none of us has seen a rogue planet first-hand before. And when we noticed the presence of a ship down here, my armoury officer insisted on investigating.”

The Klingon nodded approvingly. “A wise precaution. One should never leave anything in one’s back unchecked. Where is your armoury officer now?”

“Presumably taking a look at your ship, together with my science officer,” Jack admitted.

“That could be dangerous,” the Klingon said. “My ship is guarded, all the time. And my retainers are trained to shoot first – and not bother to ask questions.”

“Well,” Jack returned with a falsely friendly smile (being careful not to show his teeth, as Hoshi had warned him, “I’m sure you can do something to prevent that.”

The Klingon stared at him for a moment as if in disbelief; then he threw his head back and laughed.

“You’re a man of my liking, Jack sutai-Archer,” he said; then he took some kind of communications device out of a hidden pocket of his tunic and barked a short order into it in something Hoshi would later identify as clipped Klingon. “Your officers will be brought here in a moment,” he then said, pocketing the device again. “Do honour me with sharing a meal with us.”

Jack looked at Hoshi who gave a tiny nod, indicating that he should accept the invitation, which he therefore did. This promised to be an interesting encounter.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A short time later T’Pol and Reed arrived, escorting – or being escorted by, it was hard to tell – a young and attractive (in Klingon terms anyway) Klingon woman by the name of Bu’kaH. She was apparently an engineer… and a member of the leader’s extended family, as she was introduced as vestai-Rustazh. As Hoshi later explained, that probably meant a first or second cousin once removed. Klingon family structures were highly complicated and not always comparable with human ones.

In any case, Officer Bu’kaH was young, athletic and of a wild, exotic beauty that was appealing even to the human eye. Her forehead ridges were less prominent and more delicately shaped than those of the others, and she had beautiful eyes and a great, untamed mass of long, curly hair. She treated the epetai with proper respect yet with a certain familiarity that clearly showed her elevated status compared with that of the retainers.

Said retainers had stoked the campfire in the meantime and were now roasting large slabs of meat over it, filling the air with mouth-watering scents… for everyone but T’Pol, that is. But she was a highly disciplined individual who could conceal her disgust well.

Now that everyone was accounted for, Jack tried – with the help of Hoshi – to find out more about their hosts… and about the unusual planet under their feet.

“I hope we’re not trespassing your territory,” he began cautiously.

Klaang shook his massive head. “This planet is no-one’s territory; not anymore. But it is a special place for us.”

“How so?”

“It used to be part of a small solar system just beyond the outer edge of imperial territory,” Klaang explained. “Until it’s broken out of orbit and drifted away several DIS ago.”

“Years,” Hoshi supplied when the universal translator capitulated for a moment.

“Do you know what caused it?” Jack asked.

The Klingon shook his head again. “Our scientists could not find an explanation. But we are not giving up the planet. It’s drifting away, so we’re following it. Our people have been coming here for nine generations.”

“To kill the wildlife?” T’Pol gave the meat roasting over the fire a disapproving look.

The Klingon shrugged, clearly unimpressed by her disapproval.

“Hunting is part of our life. The homeworld does not produce much in the way of edible plants, so we learn to kill to eat at a very young age. Besides, it is a challenge for personal skills and courage; especially here, on Da’Hkala, where the wildlife is particularly dangerous.”

“Vulcans don’t approve of killing animals for food… or for sport,” Reed commented wryly. “Hunting has gone out of fashion on Earth, but they still consider us barbarians for eating meat in the first place.”

The Klingon raised a bushy eyebrow in surprise. “That’s what you call the T’Khasi? Vulqua’ngan?” He tried a version in his own language. “Where does that name come from?”

“It is an old Terran tradition to name stellar bodies for gods or heroes of ancient mythology,” Hoshi explained. “Vulcan – or T’Khasi, to use the indigenous name – is a hot planet. Vulcanus was the Roman god of fire and smithcraft. Hence the name.”

“You Tera’ngans are a controversial species,” the Klingon said.

“We’ve been called that occasionally,” Jack admitted. “Usually by Vulcans. What about you? Do you name planets or stars after your gods?”

“Our gods are dead,” Klaang replied dismissively. “Ancient Klingon warriors slaughtered them millennia ago. They were more trouble than they were worth.(2)”

“Well, that’s one way to deal with deities,” Jack said, not really knowing how to react to that. He looked at Reed. “If you think about it, we have killed our God, too. Only that He got better in a mere three days.”

“I don’t find that a joking matter, sir,” the armoury officer replied stiffly. He might not be a religious person, but he had been raised in the traditions of the Church of England, like every Reed since the seventeenth century, and he still respected those traditions.

“I wasn’t joking,” Jack returned coldly.

Before things could have turned ugly, one of the Klingon retainers reported that the meat was ready and started distributing large chunks of excellent roast. That served as a pleasant distraction for everyone.

Everyone but T’Pol, that is.

The others welcomed the change from resequenced protein to fresh meat very much. Humans were taught to think of Klingons as aggressive barbarians, but they clearly knew how to have a good time and how to share with random strangers.

At least these Klingons clearly knew, which was something of a surprise.

“You aren’t exactly roughing it,” Jack commented.

The epetai shrugged his heavy shoulders. “There are times of shortage and there are times of plenty. We know how to live through both. And drayjin meat is one of life’s great pleasures.”

“Mmm,” Reed swallowed the delicious bite in his mouth to speak (not that their hosts would bother to do the same, but he, at least, had been brought up with manners. “No argument here. But what exactly is a drayjin?”

“A wild animal indigenous to Da’Hkala only,” the Klingon explained. “A bit like a targ, just bigger and dumber.”

“It would help to compare them if I knew what a targ is,” Jack said.

“The Klingon equivalent of a wild boar,” Dr. Yannes explained; it was her job to know such things, after all. “Smaller in stature but every bit as fierce.”

The Klingon laughed uproariously. “Oh, they are fierce all right. They can bite off the arm of a grown man with little to no effort. Our children keep them as pets,” he added with twinkling eyes.

“You certainly keep interesting pets,” Jack eyed the nightmarish hound (or lizard?) that was crunching bones as thick as a man’s arm at his master’s feet, warily.

The Klingon patted the monstrous head of the creature affectionately. “PorgHoms(3) are not pets, Captain. They are hunting companions: fast, deadly and utterly faithful to their masters.”

“A fascinating species,” Dr. Yannes eyed the hideous canine with professional interest. “I’ve never seen a domesticated animal that would show both mammalian and reptilian characteristics. But so did your own ancestors once, so it is not truly surprising.”

“They are rare and precious. Not many people can afford to own one.”

Clearly, Klaang epetai-Rustazh was one of those rare people… and accordingly proud of the fact.

For his part Jack found it comforting that only a handful of the ugly beasts were in existence, but he found it wiser to keep his opinion to himself.

Reed must have had similar thoughts because he tried to change the topic as smoothly as he could. Which wasn’t smooth enough by far in Jack’s opinion, but at least he had to give the man credit for trying. Even if he acted like an elephant in a china shop.

“I’m curious why our sensors didn’t detect you,” the armoury officer said.

His seemingly casual remark caused the Klingon retainers to stiffen. No, Lieutenant, Jack thought, not smooth enough by far!

The only Klingon who remained unfazed by the way too direct spying effort was the epetai himself.

“We use sensing cloaks,” he explained readily enough. Too readily for Jack’s comfort, who wondered whether they’ll be allowed to leave in one piece with that knowledge.

“They keep the wildlife from spotting us,” Bu’kaH, the Klingon woman presumably related to the epetai, added.

Hoshi turned to her with innocent curiosity; she faked it so well that even Jack almost fell for it. Almost. He knew her better than that.

“Are you studying wildlife here? We’ve seen a few fascinating species in the short time since or arrival.”

“Like that giant centipede,” Dr. Yannes supplied with a professional interest that wasn’t even faked.

The Klingons exchanged confused glances. Being warriors, the idea perhaps hadn’t even occurred to them that one would like to study animals that could not be eaten. Of course, at that point Reed just had to ruin the women’s efforts to appear harmless.

“The gear you carry seems pretty elaborate to take down a few game animals,” he said.

The Klingons stiffened again and Jack seriously considered throttling his armoury officer because this time even the epetai seemed annoyed. Didn’t the man learn anything in spy school?

“Don’t underestimate the game on this planet,” Klaang replied. “They often get the better of us.”

That was highly unusual for a Klingon warrior – and a high-ranking one at that – to admit, assuming it was not a lie. Which gave Reed an idea. He knew it was a risky thing to ask, but the possible gain would be equally high, should the Klingons consent.

“I wonder if I might join one of your hunts,” he said speculatively.

A dozen or so bushy Klingon eyebrows went up in surprise… or suspicion. It was hard to tell. The one Vulcan eyebrow going up clearly signalled disapproval.

“I thought your people didn’t approve,” Officer Bu’kaH said.

“Not as a rule,” Reed allowed, “unless it’s a question of survival. But you were able to sneak up on us without being detected by our night-vision sensors. I’d like to see how you did that,” then, with a sarcastic look in T’Pol’s direction, he added. “I promise I won’t kill anything… or anyone.”

For some reason the Klingons obviously found that last remark hysterically funny because they all but fell over they were laughing so hard.

“I’d like to see you try that,” the epetai finally said, when he was capable of speaking again.

“Oh, no,” Reed smiled at him with just a brief flash of teeth. “Believe me, you would not.”

Everyone stiffened at this challenge… with the exception of the epetai who seemed more amused than offended.

“I offer you a deal,” he said, indicating at Officer Bu’kaH. “If you can beat her in a duel, you can come with us in the morning. Or do you subscribe to the romantic Tera’ngan nonsense of not hurting the female of the species?”

“Oh, believe me, he does not,” Hoshi commented dryly; in the clipped, militaristic version of Kumburanya, with which the universal translator had not been programmed. “Not even concerning his own species.”

The epetai raised an eyebrow. “You know that from first hand?” he asked in the same verbal shorthand.

“I have the scars to prove,” Hoshi replied.

Jack and Reed looked from her to the Klingon leader and back at her again, mildly alarmed. Before the captain could have interfered, though, T’Pol stopped him with a barely visibly headshake. Unlike the humans, she did understand the military shorthand.

“An excellent choice,” she said. “Male warriors, while physically stronger, would be at a disadvantage against Lieutenant Reed who is lithe and fast. I assume that Officer Bu’kaH is more than a match for him in that area.”

The epetai nodded. “Of course. She has won many duels against bigger, stronger opponents. She is the best of her generation.”

“And she is still physically stronger than a human,” T’Pol said.

It was not a question, but the Klingon nodded again nonetheless. “Of course she is. We like to win.”

It might have been cheating, but at least he was open about the fact. The Klingon concept of honour was a peculiar thing.

“So do I,” Reed flashed his teeth again, a clear challenge in Klingon terms. “All right, let’s do this. What are the rules?”

“The one who draws first blood is the winner,” the epetai declared. “There is no need to kill just yet.”

Reed nodded. “What about weapons?”

“Duels are fought with a single blade,” Bu’kaH produced a huge, wicked-looking, two-pronged dagger from under her tunic. “Do you have one on you?”

“Of course,” Reed pulled out a long, thin blade from his right boot. “Would this suffice?”

The blade – little more than a stiletto, actually – was not as impressive as the Klingon’s mek’leth that was typically used to slash the throat or disembowel, but just as deadly in the right hand. And there could be little doubt that Malcolm Reed was more than capable of causing maximum damage with it.

Just as his opponent was. They were evenly matched in build and skills, Officer Bu’kaH being smaller and more slender than the males of her people. Her thick mane of curly reddish-brown hair and cat-like green eyes gave her a decidedly leonine look. Her leather skirt was split to the hip on both sides, so that it wouldn’t restrain her mobility, and her calf-high, heavy leather boots ended in vicious steel spikes over the big toes. In the everlasting darkness of this sunless word, illuminated by the campfire and the electric torches only, she looked more like a demon of ancient legends than a being of flesh and blood.

It was hard to imagine that she was an engineer by trade. Nonetheless, that was the truth, and Jack mentally reminded himself not to tar every Klingon with the same brush. This young woman, while a fierce warrior, was clearly someone of keen intelligence as well, which only made her more dangerous.

Compared with her Reed appeared slim and almost fragile, but Jack knew the appearance was deceiving. No-one could survive in Starfleet Intelligence without having learned how to fight dirty. Still, he had serious doubt that Reed would stand a chance against the Klingon woman.

Klaang epetai-Rustazh clearly shared Jack’s doubts because he was grinning smugly (without showing his teeth) when he announced the rules… well, sort of. According to Klingon custom, there weren’t actual rules. Hitting and kicking one’s opponent was allowed, as well as using the blade and the hilt of it. It could also be thrown. Only two things were forbidden: attacking from behind and holding down the opponent. As he had said before, the duel was to be fought to the first blood.

T’Pol, whose neutrality was a given, and one of the Klingon guards were assigned as judges. Then the duel began.

It started with the two opponents moving around each other in gradually tightening circles, each looking for an opening to get under the defence of the other one. From time to time they attempted a feint, which the other one skilfully evaded; nothing spectacular, but they clearly found the watching Klingons’ approval.

Then Bu’kaH suddenly attacked without warning. For a heavy-boned creature from a higher-gravity world than Earth she was shockingly fast. The mek’leth, like a bolt of silver lightning – or rather than an extension of her body, elongated in a cat-like leap – only missed Reed’s midsection by half a millimetre. The epetai might have declared that there was no need to kill, yet the young woman clearly wasn’t above it.

Reed whirled aside in the last nanosecond, or else the mek’leth would have indeed disembowelled him. He ended the move in a well-practiced roll that took him out of her reach as she leaped after him. The mek’leth sank into the dirt just beside his face; he barely had the time to pull his legs in and kick her in the gut with all her might. He must have hit the right spot because he managed to hurl her backwards.

She hit the ground hard; the fall would have kicked the air out of a human, but she just used her arms to absorb some of the impact. With a dexterity no-one would have expected from a Klingon – they were known for using brutal force in a fight and were therefore considered slow – she snapped back onto her feet, striking upwards with her blade hard and fast.

No, she was definitely not above killing the human in order to win the duel, Jack thought, getting a bit concerned about the survival chances of his armoury officer.

Reed, however, must have expected the move and jumped a least two feet high to evade it. Again, the mek’leth missed him – this time his inner thigh – by barely a millimetre. As soon as he landed again, he spun around and slammed a foot into the side of her head kicking her off-balance and to the side. She grunted in pain and surprise and landed hard on the ground.

He used her momentary distraction to force her knife-arm back on itself with a strength that could have dislocated her elbow without much effort. Then he used his blade to make a long, thin cut on her left cheek.

The Klingons around them fell silent in something akin a shock. Clearly, they had not expected the puny human to be so incredibly strong. And they expected him even less to give his bested opponent an “honourable” scar, as it was time-honoured custom to do after winning a duel that had not been fought to the death.

The other humans (with the exception of Hoshi) were not familiar with Klingon traditions and were thus shocked for their own reasons.

“Did he really have to disfigure her?” Charlie Tucker muttered in disgust.

T’Pol gave him a look of forced patience. “You are misinterpreting the situation, Commander. By cutting her face, Lieutenant Reed declared her a worthy opponent, despite having bested her.”

“But he ruined her face!”

“No, he did not. Klingons wear such scars proudly. Having been honoured by a victorious opponent elevates one’s reputation as a duellist.”

Jack Archer shook his head in disbelief but was wise enough not to voice his opinion. The epetai, after checking the condition of his young relative and congratulating her to a duel well fought, now came over to the humans and clasped Reed on the shoulder with a heavy hand clad in iron-spiked, fingerless leather gloves.

“Well, fought, Lieutenant. Your name will become a legend among our young warriors. They all will wish to try their blade and skills against you from now on.”

“As honoured as I am, my duties would hardly allow me to become a full-time blade fighter,” the armoury officer replied dryly.

The Klingons laughed uproariously, including Officer Bu’kaH who didn’t seem particularly bothered by the fact that she had lost the duel against Reed. Clearly, being bested by an alien didn’t count as a shame, illogical though it might seem. The epetai then declared that they must have a night of celebration, with more roasted drayjin meat and copious amounts of bloodwine and other Klingon delicacies that the retainers were already fetching from their ship.

“Feel free to bring down as many of your crew as you want,” Klaang offered to Jack. “We have plenty of food to share.”

Refusing the hospitality would have been a serious insult, so Jack accepted on behalf of his officers. The fact that there were eighty people serving aboard Enterprise made it impossible to bring everyone down at once, of course. Besides, at least a skeleton crew needed to remain on board to maintain the most important systems.

“We can start with our entomologist, then bring the bioscience team down,” T’Pol suggested. “I would recommend we limit the number of crewmen on the surface to six at a time… aside from those who are already here.”

That sounded sensible to Jack, so he sent Charlie and Reed back to Enterprise to bring some camping gear and the first group down to the surface. At first Hoshi wanted to return to the ship, but T’Pol pointed out that her language skills might be needed. She also counted as some sort of minor celebrity in the eyes of the Klingons; it would have been rude not to participate in the celebration.

The first group that arrived half an hour later consisted of Crewmen Cutler and Novakovich from the bioscience department, Dr. Phlox, whose presence might have been needed, should Klingon food disagree with somebody, Crewman Namod from Security, who was burly enough to impress even Klingons, Lieutenant Hess from Engineering and Travis Mayweather, who was flying the second ‘pod. They were all excited to see such an unusual planet (save for Namod who was probably the most laconic creature on Earth.

Liz Cutler, on the other hand, was extraordinarily excited; not surprisingly, as she was their resident entomologist. As such, she couldn’t understand why Hoshi wouldn’t want to remain on a planet that offered so many things no-one of them had seen before. The giant centipede the others had caught a glimpse of was just one item on her wish-list to study.

Charlie couldn’t resist the temptation of teasing her a bit, telling hair-raising tales about the insects on the planet; tales that he’d just made up off the top of his head.

“If the bugs glow in the dark, at least you can tell when they’ve crawled in your sleeping bag,” he deadpanned.

Hoshi rolled her eyes. “One more reason I’d be happy to spend the night in my own bunk. I’ve had my fair share of bugs in Brazil; that would be enough for the rest of my life.”

Anna Hess laughed. “Come on, Hoshi, where’s your sense for adventure?”

“I must have permanently misplaced it,” Hoshi replied dryly.

Officer Bu’kaH, who had been attracted by the arrival of another female engineer, grinned (without showing her teeth). “It’s the things you can’t see that you should be worried about. Like those bore worms.”

“Bore worms?” Charlie repeated, frowning. Sometimes he could be as gullible as he was smart, and this seemed to be one of those times.

The Klingon woman nodded sagely. “They crawl into your ear to lay their eggs. Nasty creatures.”

The mere thought of that made Hoshi shudder, even though it was glaringly obvious that Bu’kaH was pulling the chief engineer’s leg. To everyone but Charlie himself, that is, who tended to take things told him by attractive women for face value. And no matter what one might think of Klingons in general, Bu’kaH vestai-Rustazh was an attractive woman, Hoshi thought. Strange, alien, savage, yes, but still attractive. Judging by his starstruck expression, Charlie apparently found it so, too.

Anna Hess shook her head, laughing. “She’s joking, Chief. Besides, no bore worm, should they exist in the first place, could find its way through that thick mane of hers,” she looked at Hoshi. “Perhaps we should consider a different hairdo, too, eh?”

She had her lush, white-blond hair in a tight knot, for practical reasons, and Hoshi had hers in a ponytail. Both had their ears unprotected that way, unlike the Klingons.

“No, thanks,” Hoshi shouldered her field kit. “I need to have my ears uncovered; job requirement and all that. Well, shall we raise our tent? Just in case we can have a nice, early night after the celebration.”

Chapter Text

PART III. – HUNTER, PREY 3.

It didn’t take Charlie Tucker long to realize that the feast the Klingons held in Reed’s honour wasn’t going to end early. Nor was he sure he’d call the celebration nice. It was certainly interesting, as it allowed them a deeper insight into the Klingons' true nature. He just wasn’t sure he actually liked what he was seeing.

He had never met a Klingon in person before, but he had heard stories, of course. Everyone serving in Starfleet had, and those stories weren’t very encouraging. That all Klingons were foul-smelling barbarians, ugly, bloodthirsty and dumb, with no culture whatsoever. That they liked their food freshly slaughtered, or preferably raw – or even still alive. That they all sharpened their teeth before going into battle, and their highest expectation in life was a glorious, honourable death.

Now that he got a closer look at them – sitting at the campfire with Hoshi, Officer Bu’kaH and Liz Cutler, while Jack, T’Pol, Reed and Dr. Yannes were sitting with the epetai at another fire – he started to realize that things weren’t quite that simple. Many of the stories did have a kernel of truth, of course, but without the necessary framework, it was hard to interpret that truth properly. Being an open-minded person (unless it concerned Vulcans, that is), Charlie was willing to re-evaluate his sketchy view on the warrior race and get rid of at least some of his prejudices.

Admittedly, he was greatly motivated by getting to know Officer Bu’kaH better, who wasn’t just beautiful (in his bizarrely alien and absolutely lethal way) but also turned out to be an excellent engineer. One that loved her job almost as much as she loved duelling; and that was saying a lot.

That fact surprised Charlie very much. He never thought that Klingons would be interested in science and technology; although, in retrospect, he should have. They were a Warp-capable society, after all, and clearly more than capable of using their technology to its best advantage.

As tactfully as he could, he voiced these thoughts. Bu’kaH laughed, not taking any offence.

“Our House comes from the Rumaiym, the Second Nation of our people,” she explained. “When our ancestors lost supreme military power to the Kumburanya – the First Nation – they chose the way of science and technology to keep their influence, and we have followed that path ever since. Without us, the warriors wouldn’t have ships and weapons; well, not beyond hand-forged blades, that is.”

“And yet you are still fighting duels,” Hoshi commented.

Bu’kaH nodded, clearly proud of her reputation; and rightly so.

“Of course. For us, the only way to enforce the respect of the warriors is to be better than they are.”

“You seem to be a very competitive people, no matter which nation you belong to,” Charlie said.

She nodded again. “That we are. After all, we used to be the First Nation in the distant past.”

Charlie wasn’t a sociologist or an historian, but neither was he one of those single-minded technopaths with no interest in the people they met among the starts.

“How long ago was that exactly?”

She thought about that for a moment. “This is not an easy question to answer; and I am not an orator.”

“The approximate meaning would be Talker of History,” Hoshi supplied. “The peculiarity of Imperial history is that it occurs in triage. Official state history is taught in schools to children and presented as the totality of Klingon history. Then there is the line history, kept by family historians called the lore-masters; it focuses on the history of a particular line, with a strong emphasis on the glory and great deeds of that line. And then there’s the oral history: tales that often never see print and are told by the orators on public festivals.”

Bu’kaH gave her a surprised – and impressed – look. “You are unusually well-versed in our traditions.”

Hoshi shrugged. “That’s my job; and I’ve learned a great deal during the negotiations between the Vulcans and your government officials a few years ago.”

“But wouldn’t that irreparably change the tales after a while?” Liz Cutler, who was sitting opposite them on the other side of the fire, asked. “Or have those orators eidetic memories?”

“That I don’t know,” Hoshi admitted.

“Neither do I,” Bu’kaH said, “since I’m not one of them. But this has been our tradition since the very beginning, so I assume they must have very good memories, because it is forbidden to write down or those tales. Should anything told by the Talkers of History be printed, the Defenders of History would remove the threat, by any means. Very few have ever survived their wrath.”

Charlie shook his head in bewilderment. “Even at the risk to sound like a Vulcan, I don’t see the logic in this.”

Bu’kaH looked at him earnestly. “To understand this is to begin to understand what it means to be Klingon.”

That statement killed the conversation for a moment, and they all turned their attention back to the strange but excellent meal that was being served. Aside from the roast drayjin meat some of them had already sampled before, there was something on offer that Bu’kaH called gladst and that looked like some leafy brown vegetable; a vivid burgundy substance called grapok sauce that intensified the taste of meat, and rokeg blood pie that basically looked like some kind of ragout.

Liz Cutler found that last dish very tasty. “What is it made of?” She asked.

Bu’kaH grinned wolfishly. “Trust me; you don’t really want to know.”

Hoshi and Charlie exchanged wary looks, but Liz just shrugged and helped herself to a second serving.

“Whatever it was while it lived, it tastes great. You should try it, Hoshi.”

“Thank you but I’ll pass,” Hoshi managed not to pull a face. “I think I’ve had enough meat for the next months today.”

Bu’kaH raised an eyebrow. “Are you a plant eater like the T’Khasi?”

“Not exclusively. I’m just not used to have so much meat. We mostly eat fish at home. This gladst is delicious, though.”

“It is made of nevroD; a carnivorous plant, that feeds on insects and small reptiles” Bu'kaH explained. “It is highly valued for its meaty taste.”

Charlie grinned. “I find it funny that even your vegetables are chosen to taste like meat.”

The Klingon shrugged. “Our metabolism requires a lot more protein than that of other species. And most plants that grow on the homeworld are inedible or carnivorous or both. Including the Tso plant, of the roots of which bloodwine is fermented.”

Charlie looked at the deep purple liquid in his tankard with an alarmed expression. “You mean this actually contains blood?”

“Of course; where, do you think, it got its name? The Tso plant doesn’t drink water; it leeches blood from passing animals… and people. That is why it has a slightly metallic aftertaste, no matter how sweet it is.”

“Uh… I see…“ Charlie kept staring at his tankard uncertainly. There was no way he’d drink its content – not now that he knew what it was made of – but he didn’t want to pour it onto the ground, either. Insulting a bunch of already inebriated Klingons would have been a very bad idea.

Bu’kaH laughed, clearly understanding his dilemma, and took the tankard from his unresisting hand, giving him a different one, “Here, try this!”

“What is this?” Charlie eyed the piping hot liquid suspiciously. A heavy aroma, bitter and sweet at once, wafted into his nose; and yet it clearly consisted alcohol, too – a fairly good amount of it.

“Black ale,” she replied. “Made of the syrup of gfai beans, fermented with grains. No meaty ingredients in this one.”

Charlie carefully took a sip. The ale tasted bitter on his tongue but had an extraordinary sweet aftertaste. He decided that he liked it. Therefore both Hoshi and he switched to black ale, while Liz Cutler, adventurous soul that she was, braved the bloodwine and seemed to actually enjoy it.

In the meantime spirits had become high all over the campsite. Some of the retainers, inspired by the strong drinks, brought out musical instruments. Most of those were fairly bizarre-looking, yet with a vague reminiscence of instruments used by other races – humans including. Apparently, guitars, drums and accordions were generally present on many worlds.

The one that caught Charlie’s interests at once was a stringed instrument, made of dark, dull-finished wood, with a pear-shaped soundbox about sixty centimetres high. Its base was wide and tapered into an upper tip holding an air grate, and a short bridge with four coiled strings of thick steel, and it was apparently played with a bow.

“What is that?” he asked.

Bu’kaH gave the instrument in question a fleeting glance. “That? That’s a chuS'ugh.”

The universal translator capitulated at that word and all humans present turned expectantly to Hoshi. She thought about it for a moment.

“I believe the closest translation would be heavy noise,” she finally said.

“That sounds… interesting,” Liz Cutler commented warily. “And loud.”

Minutes later her prediction proved true, when the Klingons began to play on their instruments. Hoshi, who had a vague idea about Klingon music, had taken precautions and now hurriedly put in the ear plugs to protect her sensitive hearing against the classical piece that sounded like battlefield agonies or war cries of blood-crazed combatants. The chuS'ugh made its name all honours. As Charlie Tucker later put, it made a sound as if a whole horde of dinosaurs were being tortured.

And there was dancing, too, looking like an intricate form of ritualized battle. Moves and counter-moves were made with the seeming intent of defeating a partner. Especially as the dancers were all male.

Until the third dance that is. Before that would start, the epetai came over to their fire and extended a hand to Anna Hess.

“For the next dance we require women,” he announced.

Anna shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with your dances.”

“Don’t worry,” Klaang grabbed her by both elbows and lifted her to her feet. Which wasn’t an easy feat, with Anna being a heavy-worldler and twice as strong as the average human male. “The Struggle Dance is simple enough for anyone with a slight sense of rhythm and a desire to learn. I shall teach you.”

Anna wasn’t sure she actually had a desire to learn a dance by that name but found it better to consent.

“All right,” she said, “but don’t blame me if I tread on your toes. I’m not much of a dancer.”

Klaang looked down at his heavy boots with the steel spikes on the toes. “I doubt you’d get the chance,” he said and dragged her with him.

Despite its suspicious name, the Struggle Dance proved fairly simple indeed. The dancers clasped hands with their fingers interlaced, while the leader took three steps forward, one step to the left, then three steps back, and finally a step to the right, bringing him to his original position. Then the pattern began again.

“It’s a bit like a waltz,” Charlie commented, mildly surprised, while Hoshi, Liz and Dr. Yannes were dragged into the dance by lower-ranking Klingons.

Bu’kaH grinned at him. “Would you like to give it a try? I’ll lead you well.”

“Oh, no,” Charlie shook his head. “I see that it’s always the man who leads.”

She gave him another wicked grin. “Do you think you’re man enough for me?”

“Well, we won’t know until we’ve tried it,” Charlie replied, allowing her to pull him to his feet.

“Be careful, commander,” T’Pol, now sitting alone at their fire (no-one of the Klingons was drunk enough to try dragging her into the dance) warned. “If you impress her too much, you might not be allowed to leave.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” Bu’kaH clasped hands with Charlie and they began to move to the slow, intense beat. “It is those who prove to be inferior that are not allowed to leave.”

“In that case I’d better do my best to impress you properly, wouldn’t I?” Charlie laughed, taking over the leading confidently. He was a good dancer, and the Struggle Dance was a lot like a waltz indeed. Well… like a combination of wrestling and a waltz, actually.

“You are good at this,” Bu’kaH declared after they had managed to fall into the rhythm. “And you are stronger than you look.” She tried to push him, but he pushed back keeping the leading position.

“We humans might not be as physically strong as you are,” he replied. “But we’re good at overwhelming obstacles.”

She could have overwhelmed him with minimal effort, of course, had it been her intention. It obviously was not, though. She was flirting with him in the Klingon manner, in which small talk intended to determine status: to define which one of the prospective partners would be the conqueror and which one the conquered. Yet she also gave him a fair chance to stand up to her in a battle of wits that went beyond the difference in physical strength; and she was clearly enjoying both the dance and his ripostes.

A great many rounds of the Struggle Dance were performed, until the human women tired out so much that they simply couldn’t continue. Anna Hess held out the longest, not surprisingly, but even she had to beg off after a while, and thus the epetai declared the feast closed and ordered his retainers to rest – or to watch the camp, respectively.

“We’re heading out in six hours,” he said to Reed. “I suggest you get some sleep if you’re still planning to come along.”

Reed, who was still surprisingly clear-headed, despite the amount of bloodwine and black ales foisted upon him by their hosts (him being the hero of the day), nodded with emphasis.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Klaang accepted that without a word and left for his tent. His retainers, save for those on guard duty, followed suit. T’Pol had been gone an hour or so previously, and Liz Cutler had simply fallen asleep in a sitting position.

Reed yawned. “Night. I suppose I’ll turn in then.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Charlie agreed. He was tired, too, and yet he felt invigorated; much more alive than he had ever felt since his fateful encounter with Iconian technology. He looked at Jack. “What about you?”

“I think I’ll sit up for a while,” the captain answered. “This place is fascinating. Eerie but fascinating. I’d like to listen to the night noises… now that I’d actually get the chance to hear them.”

Charlie grinned. “Have fun.”

He had no doubt that his friend would share his… observations with Dr. Yannes, but that was all right in his eyes. The burden of command was a heavy one; Jack deserved to put it aside from time to time.

“You, too,” Jack knew nigh to nothing about Klingon customs but he recognized interest when he saw it. And Bu’kaH vestai-Rustazh was definitely interested. So Jack found it only proper to deliver a warning. “I want him back in the morning. Unharmed.”

He didn’t add any threat, yet the meaning was unmistakable.

The Klingon woman nodded. “Agreed. Currently I am in no position to keep him anyway.”

Whether that was a weird Klingon attempt to joke or meant seriously (Jack strongly suspected the latter), they had come to a clear agreement. And so she rose and dragged Charlie to his feet, too.

“Come with me. I shall teach you a different kind of dance. And this time I will lead.”

Jack looked after them and shook his head in tolerant amusement. “Trip is in for the… dance of his life, it seems. Let’s hope he hasn’t bitten off more than he can stomach.”

Hoshi discreetly hid a yawn behind her hand. “I don’t think she intends to harm him; and he could use a bit of fun. He’s been increasingly depressed since his accident. Well, I’m turning in. I need sleep the worst way.”

“Me, too,” Dr. Yannes rose with a groan. “Clearly, partying with Klingons is more energetic than I’m used to.”

“We all have had more than enough,” Anna Hess agreed. “Let’s wake up Liz long enough to steer her to our tent; and then sleep.”

If Jack was disappointed that he’d have to spend the rest of the night alone (night being relative on a planet that knew nothing else), he didn’t show it. He wished the women good night and remained at the fire, just listening to the strange noises of the invisible jungle around them. He hadn’t lied when he said he wanted to do exactly that. This place fascinated him. It was dark, atmospheric, and mysterious; as if something extraordinary were just about to happen.

He leaned against a fallen tree and closed his eyes to focus on the noises of unseen creatures, trying to imagine what they might be like. He felt pleasantly heavy from the rich meal and the black ales he had consumed (like most humans, he only dared a brief taste of the infamous bloodwine), and was slowly falling asleep when an eerily familiar voice – a female one – called him by his name.

His eyes flew open at once but he saw no-one. No-one, save for the Klingon guards, that is, and the voice couldn’t have belonged to them. He rose carefully and took a look around… without spotting anything or anyone. And yet the voice called out again, low and gentle, from the surrounding darkness.

“JACK!”

He knew that voice. He was certain about that. He just couldn’t put a face to it; not yet anyway.

He glanced at the Klingon guards. They ignored him, standing in defensive formation around the epetai's tent, clearly not bothering to watch the rest of the camp. They wouldn’t care if he left, got lost or eaten by the local wildlife, as long as he didn’t approach that tent. Not that he’d planned to, of course.

Jack put on his night vision goggles and slowly inched away from the camp, heading in the direction the voice had come from.

Lieutenant Reed would have a fit if he knew, he thought in grim amusement. Fortunately, his armoury officer was sleeping like a log, to regain his strength for the hunt in the morning, so the reckless captain of Starfleet’s first-ever Warp 5 vessel could go out exploring this unknown, sunless world without being challenged.

Whether it was the sensible thing to do or not that remained to be seen. But he was an explorer at heart and hated unanswered questions. Therefore he decided to go and find some answers on his own.

As soon as he left the dimly lit campsite - the dying embers barely provided any glow - he stopped and asked in a low voice, "Hello? Is somebody here?"

"JACK! There was that voice again, that naggingly familiar voice. It seemed to come from a short distance; and at the same time it also seemed to echo within his head.

"Who is there?"

He switched on his torch and caught a glimpse of a woman wearing an elegant charcoal grey skirt suit with the characteristic stiff collar that had been very fashionable a few decades previously(1). Her silver hair was in a pixie cut, also fashionable in the early 2120s. As soon as the light of the torch caught her, she fled like a startled deer and vanished in the surrounding darkness.

All efforts to find a sign where she could have gone failed. After a while Jack gave up and headed back to the camp, hoping that he'd actually find his way back. Having to call Enterprise and asking whoever was on duty at the short-range sensors to locate him would have been beyond embarrassing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the meantime Charlie Tucker was wondering if he’d indeed bitten off more than he’d be able to stomach. Sure, he wouldn’t be the first to have a light romp in the proverbial straw with an alien; not even from the Enterprise crew. But Anna and Travis had dallied with Vulcans, and Dr. Yannes was a Mo’ari from Alpha Centauri IV, and Centaurians were said to have some human blood in them, due to the actions of some ancient race called the Providers.

At least the Rijil from Alpha Centauri VII apparently had, according to ancient legends. Whether those were true or not, no-one could tell. Still, Centaurians were much closer to humans, both in biochemistry and mentally, than Vulcans. Besides, Jack was a guy who’d shag anyone if only they were gorgeous enough.

Having a sexual encounter with a Klingon, though, was a very different can of worms… pun fully intended. However, Charlie was determined not to back of just yet.

“So, is this were we decide who’s the conqueror and who’s the conquered?” he asked, looking around in Bu’kaH’s Spartan little tent with interest. “How are we supposed to do that? By arm-wrestling? Cos’ that wouldn’t be exactly fair, you know.”

“That has already been decided,” she replied bluntly. “You are the conquered. Don’t worry; you’ll enjoy it.”

“You think so? Should I prepare myself to duck the heavy objects thrown in my direction then?”(2)

That was something Travis had mentioned once when discussing Klingon customs… what little the Boomers knew about them.

She snorted. “We are no Kumburanya savages! Our customs are more… civilized.”

“Does it mean I won’t have to recite love poetry either?” He tried to fake disappointment and failed. The thought actually frightened him.

She grinned. “Do you know any by heart?”

“Not a single one,” he admitted. “I never had the head to learn poems. Got me in all sorts of trouble at school. Which is why I chose to become an engineer; that and because I always wanted to go to the stars.”

“And here you are now, with somebody your people consider a violent savage,” she commented, with just a hint of bitterness in her voice. “I bet you never expected that.”

He shrugged. “I expected to meet other engineers, from many different people and exchange knowledge and ideas with them… among other things.”

She grinned again, her mood lifting visibly. “If you think I’d allow you to steal our secrets you are sorely mistaken. This is the right time for those other things, though.”

Charlie laughed, pushing the ever-present concern for his future (after all, what good was an engineer who couldn’t even make simple repairs due to nerve damage?) out of his conscious mind, and indeed, they didn’t talk about engineering stuff. Instead, they learned a great deal about each other and about their respective species; about things they shared and about things in which they were diagonal opposites. They touched passion and overcame the instinctive fear of the unknown, and realized that the people of the other one were just that: people, neither better nor worse than their own – just different.

And Charles Tucker III, prejudiced against Vulcans to the marrow of his bones, found that the Vulcan IDIC-principle was something profoundly true and truly wonderful.

Chapter Text

PART III. – HUNTER, PREY 4.

Six hours later the camp became busy like a beehive again, with the epetai and three of his retainers gearing up for the hunt. Reed did the same to go with them. As expected, they were extremely skeptical to believe Jack's story.

"You must have imagined it," one of the retainers named Damrus commented, fingering a wicked-looking mek'leth.

Charlie Tucker, bleary-eyed after his... energetic nightly activities, yet looking more content with life than he'd been for weeks, hurried to his friend's aid, as always. "If the Captain says he saw her, he saw her!"

The Klingon just shook his head. "Unlikely."

“Are there any others in your hunting party?” Jack asked the epetai.

“Just the four guarding our ship,” Klaang answered, “but they know better than to leave their post. Besides, they are all male.”

“You sure she wasn't from your vessel?” Damrus asked.

Jack rolled his eyes. “I am sure.” Only one-third of the Enterprise crew were women and he knew them all, personally and by name. Before he could have explained that, however, his communicator beeped. It was Mayweather, who had flown back the second shuttlepod to Enterprise.

“Captain, we’ve done a full scanner sweep. There are no other ships on the surface – or in orbit.”

“Thanks, Travis. Archer out.” He broke contact when he saw T’Pol and another Klingon, whose name was apparently Shira’Ht, return from the jungle.

“Nothing,” the Klingon reported to the epetai.

“She appeared to be of mature age, with short, greying hair,” Jack insisted. “She was clad after the fashion of the early 2120s.”

“The things with the weird collar?” Anna asked doubtfully.

“Perhaps you were dreaming,” T’Pol suggested.

Jack felt a wave of irrational anger rising inside him. This was such a Vulcan thing to say. So reasonable. So logical. So wrong. Just because something couldn’t be explained it didn’t mean it wouldn’t exist.

“It wasn't a dream,” he said tersely. “I know what a dream feels like. She was real; she said my name. She knew who I was and I think I knew her.”

Charlie Tucker looked at him in honest confusion. “You did?”

Jack nodded. “There was… something about her. I… I've seen her before... I think.”

“You think?” Charlie echoed doubtfully.

Jack shrugged and refused to say anything else.

“On this planet, it's always night,” the epetai pointed out. “You're surrounded by things you can hear, but not see. It can stimulate the imagination.”

“You wouldn't be the first person who looked into the jungle and saw something that wasn't there,” Bur'Zaan, another of the Klingon retainers, added.

Jack shook his head stubbornly. “She was real.”

Klaang raised a thick eyebrow in a manner that would have made a Vulcan proud. Present company excluded, of course.

“Captain Archer, what are the chances you'd encounter a mysterious woman who you think you know dozens of light years from your homeworld? Go to sleep. If you're lucky, maybe she'll visit you in your dreams,” he added, to the unabashed amusement of his men.

“I wish,” Jack muttered to himself. “Then I might actually find out who she is.”

By then the hunting party was getting ready to set out. Their equipment seemed impressive; and not the weapons alone.

“These can detect infrared,” Reed realized, examining one of the goggles.

The epetai took them off him with a finality that brooked no arguments. “Among other things.”

“What are you going after today?” Charlie inquired.

“We saw a pack of fire wolves yesterday about six kilometres from here,” Klaang gave Reed a measuring look. “It's a difficult hike.”

“I'll try to keep up,” the armoury officer replied with deceiving mildness.

The Klingon nodded. “We'd appreciate it. We only have two days left.”

That piece of information surprised Jack. “What's the hurry?”

“To preserve Da’Hkala, our law states that we're allowed to hunt here for four days each year,” Klaang explained. “Then we have to leave.”

“Hunters often wait decades for a chance to come here,” Shira’Ht added.

The epetai nodded. “So it is. Let’s not waste any more precious time.”

He made a low, hissing sound, like that of an enraged cobra, and the nightmarish-looking hound appeared noiselessly at his knees. He patted the creature on its head and said something not even Hoshi understood. The hound snarled; then it leaped forward, and the Klingons jogged after him with an ease no-one would have expected from such large, heavily-built people. Reed fell in step with them; a moment later the darkness swallowed them all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“And off they are,” Jack said philosophically. “So, what are we supposed to do with our time?”

Liz Cutler was eager to start exploring, despite having the mother of all headaches. So she, Ethan Novakovich and Dr. Yannes collected their kits and were about to get off as well. Jack sent Crewman Namod with them, just to be on the safe side. He seriously doubted that even the larger local fauna would be brave enough to get on Namod’s bad side.

T’Pol, too, revealed to have some scientific interest. She called up the map of the planet (automatically created by Enterprise’s short-range sensors) and showed a particular spot to Bu’kaH who had been left in charge of the camp.

“Are those volcanic vents?”

The Klingon woman took a fleeting look at her PADD and nodded. “Yes. That area's particularly active. Mineral springs, steam vents. It's quite spectacular.”

“Could be worth checking out while Malcolm's on his safari,” Jack suggested, and the others agreed.… with the exception of Hoshi who opted to remain in the camp and discuss Rumaiy oral traditions with Bu’kaH. The others picked up their kits, ready to go. Charlie also took his camera with him, to document whatever they might find.

Thanks to T’Pol’s unique Vulcan sense of direction (and her advanced Vulcan scanner), they reached the area of volcanic vents in less than an hour - even though it seemed hours upon hours to the two humans, in which they were stumbling along nonexistent paths, surrounded by the dark jungle and the indefinable noises of its inhabitants. It was also getting gradually hotter, which did not bother T’Pol the least; all the more the humans.

“At least it means we’re getting closer,” Jack sighed, wiping his face. “Or so I hope.”

“We are almost there,” T’Pol said. “Only twenty-six point seven metres left.”

And indeed, just a few minutes later they spotted a dim glow ahead, signalling volcanic activity.

“Do we have to expect an eruption?” Charlie seemed uncomfortable with that possibility. Jack didn’t blame him.

“No,” T’Pol replied, studying her scanner. “There is an open crater nine point six metres ahead of us, but the readings do not indicate any immediate danger.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Charlie muttered to himself, but he followed T’Pol’s lead nonetheless.

Shortly afterwards they stepped out from under the trees into a huge clearing that seemed mostly grey in the light of their torches. Bizarrely shaped rocks rose from the stone floor all around, some of them rising above their heads. They also felt slightly warm to the touch, indicating the brooding lava beneath. Large plumes of smoke emerged from the invisible vents; thin sprays of hot water shop up high from others. And beyond all this, the glow of an active yet currently calm volcano could be seen.

The sight was exhilarating and frightening at the same time.

“It reminds me of Yellowstone,” Jack commented.

“It is more like the grottoes of Deneva Prime.”

Of course, T’Pol had to disagree, just on purpose. Damn Vulcans and their know-it-all attitude! On the other hand, Charlie had never been to Deneva Prime, so he couldn’t tell whether she was right or not. Still, her attitude grated on his nerves.

The object of his silent fuming now turned to their commanding officer.

“Captain, I am detecting a large geothermal shaft sixty metres in that direction,” she waved with the hand holding the scanner. “I would like to examine it.” She got no answer from the captain who was staring into the dark forest intently, so she tried again. “Sir?”

Jack shook off his strange mood for the moment. “Permission granted. Stay in contact.”

She nodded and left. Jack switched off his night monocle and turned his back to the forest. Charlie looked at him in concern. They had known each other since the proverbial sandbox, but he had never seen his friend and captain behave so oddly.

“Still waiting for the mystery woman to reappear?” He asked. Jack nodded. “You think she is real?”

The look Jack gave him was deadly serious. “I wasn't hallucinating.”

Charlie wanted to believe him, he really did, but… “Captain, it doesn't make any sense.”

“I know.” Jack sighed. “Trip, have you ever known me to do anything foolish? I mean, really foolish?”

Charlie considered the question. Yes, Jack could be reckless, taking great risks if he had to, but never beyond reason. Unless his torrid affairs counted, of course. Or the pranks he sometimes liked to play.

A memory resurfaced, and the chief engineer broke into a broad grin.

"Well, a certain game of strip poker at Jupiter Station involving clueless Vulcans comes to mind. But other than that..."

“Last night I walked into an alien jungle, alone,” Jack interrupted him, “chasing a woman who couldn't possibly have been there.”

“That might qualify,” Charlie allowed.

"It was like I was drawn to her," Jack ignored his comment. "Like I didn't have any control over what I was doing. I can't explain it."

"You rarely can," Charlie said fondly because Jack had always been like that. If he got attracted to someone he tended to think with his dick rather than his head.

"True," Jack admitted a little ruefully. He might have been a notorious womanizer whenever duty allowed, but at least he was honest about it. “But this time it is different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” Jack sighed. “I can’t shake off the feeling that I know her; although, rationally, I know it’s impossible. She appeared a great deal older than me.”

“That never stopped you before,” Charlie pointed out reasonably, “as long as they were gorgeous enough. Was she?”

“I can’t tell. I only saw her for a fleeting moment.”

“Perhaps she’ll reappear when she thinks it’s safe,” Charlie said. “Well, I’m gonna take a few pictures now, Admiral Forrest wouldn’t like it if we wasted our time here without showing something in exchange.”

Jack nodded absently, his mind already back on the mysterious woman; who or what she might be, why she appeared so familiar and why would she choose him of all people roaming this strange planet to call.

And then he heard that voice again, both physically and telepathically. “JACK!”

A frantic look around allowed him to glimpse a slender figure with a glint of short, silver hair, before she fled again.

Without a conscious thought he followed her, struggling through the thick undergrowth and over the uneven ground, getting further and further from Trip and T'Pol, deeper and deeper into the dark jungle. The trees grew so thickly here that his torch barely gave him enough light to see where he was putting his feet. At some point he stumbled over... something and would have fallen, if two strong hands hadn't grabbed him and kept him upright with surprising strength.

That was when he finally could see her face... and froze in deep shock.

"This is impossible!" he said after an endless moment. "You are dead!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the meantime Malcolm Reed was having the most surreal experience of his life – and that, considering what he had seen in his years as a Starfleet Intelligence agent, was saying a lot.

The Klingons in stealth mode were an amazing sight to behold. Everyone thought them to be loud, aggressive and boisterous (everyone who wasn't a Klingon, that is), and most of the time they were — and proud of it. People mistakenly thought that the louder they were the more dangerous they would get, as they presented the very antithesis of the old Terran saying that dogs that barked didn't bite. A Klingon's bite was definitely worse — much worse — than his or her bark. They were a people that still sharpened their teeth before going to battle, after all.

And yet, watching them move noiselessly like ghosts through the dark foliage, Reed realized that they were a great deal more deadly in stealth mode. They didn't make the ruckus he had expected; the night noises of the jungle were barely interrupted by the odd creaking of a dry twig under a steel-spiked boot. The weak red glow of their night goggles was so dim that they appeared as vague dark shapes in the even deeper darkness.

Klaang’s hound – that was apparently called Warg (Reed found the name fitting, although he doubted the Klingons would understand the allusion; they might have appreciated it if they had, though) – was the same. It – Reed couldn’t decide if the creature was male or female – moved every bit as noiselessly as its master. It did not howl or growl or hiss; just jogged ahead of them in deadly silence.

Despite being fit and lithe, Reed had a hard time to keep up with the hunting party. Starfleet survival training was one thing; it didn’t provide him with what the Klingons had in spade: experience. Not to mention that his night vision goggles were vastly inferior to theirs. But he did his best not to fall behind.

Unexpectedly, they came upon a small lighting. A large, hairy four-legged animal – a lot like a wild boar, actually – sprang to its feet and ran away with a loud snort.

“What was that?” Reed asked.

“Drayjin,” the Klingon named Damrus replied. “A female. They're very unpredictable.”

Indeed, the drayjin must have turned around in the surrounding darkness because now it barrelled out of the jungle, aiming directly at the monster hound. The hound leaped to intercept; the two clashed and then rolled on the forest floor, each trying to tear out the other one’s throat. Perhaps the drayjin had piglets to protect (or whatever their young were called), because it showed just as much determination to kill the hound as the hound did to kill it.

It was still uncertain which animal would get the upper hand when over to the side a rock suddenly turned into a giant slug and moved off.

"Wraith!" Damrus hissed.

What the hell were they talking about, Reed wondered, not having actually seen it happening from behind all those towering Klingons. Granted, Starfleet Intelligence didn't have much on Klingon beliefs, but no-one had ever reported the guys being superstitious. The epetai, however, seemed to take it seriously, because he whistled his hound back and ordered his people to split up.

"Follow the drayjin," he said to Shira'Ht. "And take care of our guest. We'll follow the other trail."

"What other trail?" Reed felt understandably confused. "What's there?"

"Probably just a big plume of smoke," Bur'Zaan replied dismissively, but Reed wasn't easily dismissed.

"Why following a sensor ghost then?"

"Because we can't be certain it is a ghost," the epetai said grimly. "This jungle is very tricky. We need to be sure. Let’s go, Warg!"

He clicked his tongue and the monster dog took point again, Damrus and Bur'Zaan hot on its tail.

Shira’Ht took Reed’s elbow. “Come on. We need to catch up with the drayjin, or there will be no dinner tonight.”

Reed could swear they were lying – or, at the very least, not telling him the whole truth – but there was nothing he could do about it. The hands of the Klingon were like iron clamps as they steered him in a direction away from Klaang’s path. Trying to free himself and follow the other group didn’t look promising. So he gritted his teeth and allowed himself to be dragged along, following the trail of the fleeing drayjin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile Jack was still staring at the apparition in front of him is shocked disbelief. The elderly woman in the elegant yet outdated skirt suit looked exactly like Estelle — but Estelle was dead. Had been for twenty-six years, killed by some alien critters she fondly nicknamed "fairies". In truth, they had been ugly, malevolent little things with only rudimentary intelligence. Some long-range survey ship had found them on a nameless, dying planet, and Estelle, excited about the discovery of a new species as only a xenobiologist could be, volunteered to work with them.

At first things seemed to go swimmingly; but after nearly four years, the “fairies” became increasingly aggressive for no apparent reason, and a mere two months later they lured Estelle into the uncharted woods of their home planet, where she fell into a hidden ravine and died.

Jack’s father, who had known her all his life, never ceased to mourn her; and neither had Jack, in fact. Estelle had been like a beloved aunt for him; someone who made the fact that he had lost his mother at a tender age more bearable. That the planet got quarantined after this and the “fairies” left to die with it eventually was no comfort.

"You are dead," he repeated; after all those years, it still hurt.

"The one you knew; the one whose likeness I bear, she is dead," the apparition corrected. "I am very much alive."

"But why are you wearing her image? Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"I know more than just your name," the face that was so much like Estelle's remained serene, but there was an urgency in her voice. "I need your help, Jack."

"You're speaking English!" Jack realized he hadn't the universal translator switched on.

She — it wasn't possible not to think of her as 'she', since she looked just like Estelle — nodded. "I need you to understand."

“Understand what? Why have you come to me in the image of somebody I knew a long time ago?”

She actually smiled at that, with Estelle’s gentle, forgiving smile. “If you didn't know me, would you have come?”

“Probably not,” Jack allowed, “though I’m curios enough that I might have. You said you needed me. Why?”

She seemed to consider her answer. “You are different.”

“Different?” Jack echoed, still completely clueless what this might be about.

She didn’t answer immediately. She seemed to hear something that worried her. A moment later Jack, too, could hear the sounds of weapons fire. The Klingons were clearly shooting at something.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, because ‘Estelle’ was nearly paralysed with fear.

“Harm…” She whispered.

“I don't want to harm you,” Jack assured her.

She shook her head. “Not you.”

“Then who?” Jack was getting frustrated. “Who wants to harm you?”

Before she could answer, Charlie’s voice called out behind him. “Captain?”

Jack turned around and was momentarily blinded by a flashlight shining in his face. “Trip, is that you?”

“Are you all right, Captain?” Another voice, this one belonging to T’Pol, asked.

“Fine. “Jack raised an arm to protect his eyes and Charlie hurriedly lowered his torch.

“You disappeared on us,” he said, with a hint of accusation in his voice. “What are you doing out here?”

Jack looked back where ‘Estelle’ had been standing just a moment ago, but she was gone. “Just… taking some scans.”

Charlie’s expression made it obvious that he didn’t believe him. Thankfully, he didn’t press the issue just yet; not in T’Pol’s presence. Jack was sure there would be a discussion about it later, though.

“Let’s go back to the camp and see how Hoshi is doing,” he said, relieved that he could avoid talking about the issue for the moment.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hoshi, for her part, was doing fairly well while the others were hunting... exploring... whatever. Bu'kaH turned out to be well-versed in the (for outsiders) little-known Rumaiy tradition — not surprisingly, as it was also the basis for her line's history. A history that was markedly different from what little was written down and made available for foreigners. Which wasn't surprising, either. History was always written by the winners.

It soon became apparent that Bu’kaH and her people saw Kahless – and consequently his arch enemy Molor – in a different light than the official Imperial history and beliefs. Which, again, was not surprising. One person’s villain was another person’s shining hero – and vice versa. And Molor, First King Twelfth, as they secretly still called him, had been the monarch of the Rumaiym at the peak of their power.

Naturally, Bu’kaH would never have voiced the heretical Rumaiy beliefs within the earshot of other Klingons. But she clearly considered sharing them with an outworldler not dangerous. And Hoshi greatly enjoyed listening to her.

She also turned out to be a curious person; one who was not above asking fairly personal questions. Thus, to her own surprise, Hoshi found herself telling about her long-term friendship to Jack (and Charlie), and even how Jack had bailed her out of prison for this mission.

She did not hide the fact that she’d been imprisoned for treason; for cooperating with Terra Prime in exchange for her mother’s life. Against her expectations, though, Bu’kaH didn’t seem particularly shocked by that.

“You did what you had to do to protect your family,” she said with a shrug, “and were willing to pay the price. No-one could expect more.”

The Klingon concept of honour was a peculiar thing indeed.

At that point their conversation was interrupted by the return of the bioscience team. Liz Cutter and Dr. Yannes were enthusiastic about the samples and infrared pictures they had taken and were eagerly planning their next trip into the jungle. Crewmen Novakovich and Namod, on the other hand, seemed fairly uncomfortable with the idea.

Granted, everyone aboard Enterprise agreed that Namod was simply unable to get excited about anything (unless it was edible). And Ethan Novakovich, slightly paranoid by his very nature, had become increasingly more so since his near-fatal away mission on Gamma Ventris IV. Still, he wasn’t an idiot, and his observation skills were highly valued by his colleagues. (The conclusions he came up with afterwards less so, but that was another matter entirely.)

“We heard weapons fire from the distance,” he told the others in camp. “We’re not alone on this planet.”

“Of course we aren’t, Ethan,” Hoshi tried her best not to lose her patience. “The Klingons were here first, remember?”

Novakovich shook his head. “No, there’s somebody else here, too.”

Hoshi exchanged a look with Anna Hess, who was still nursing a bit of a hangover – she had wisely refused the bloodwine on the previous evening, but the black ale had a kick like a mule, too – and then turned to Namod.

“What do you think, Crewman?”

“I’m not sure,” the bug, burly security guard said slowly. “We know where the hunting party was supposed to go… the sound of weapons fire didn’t come from that direction.”

“I see,” Hoshi looked at Bu’kaH now. “Are you sure there isn’t any other hunting party at large?”

The Klingon shook her head. “The law is very strict about hunting rights. And not even the most reckless outlaws would dare to cross the way of Klaang epetai-Rustazh. He’s got a fearsome reputation.”

“In that case there has to be an unknown third party, with potentially hostile intentions,” Anna Hess frowned. “We should warn the captain.”

“Will do,” Hoshi activated her communicator. “Sato to Captain Archer.”

“Go ahead,” Jack’s tinny voice answered.

“Captain, we have reason to believe that there’s an unknown third party on this planet. The bioscience team has heard weapons fire from a direction where no-one was supposed to be. Perhaps you should return to the camp; all of you.”

“On our way,” Jack said. “In the meantime initiate emergency evacuation protocol. Send the bioscience team back to Enterprise immediately and tell Travis to come back for us right away.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Hoshi broke the connection and turned to the scientists. “You’ve heard the captain; pack your gear and get ready to be evacuated.”

Dr. Yannes tried to protest but Anna Hess intervened, being the ranking officer present. By the time Jack, Charlie and T’Pol arrived, Mayweather had taken off the shuttlepod and was on his way to the ship. Crewman Namod remained behind, in case his martial skills might be needed.

“Do we know anything for certain?” Jack asked.

Hoshi shook her head. “Only that they heard weapons fire from the distance.”

“I heard that, too, very faintly,” Jack said, “but I thought it was the hunting party.”

“We do not hunt with firearms, Captain Archer,” Bu’kaH said grimly. “We use chonnaQ – hunting spears. Anything else would be dishonourable.”

“But your hunting party was armed with disruptors,” Charlie pointed out.

She gave him a grim smile. “Not against animals.”

Well, that made sense – in a manner. What hunter liked competition that would calm their prey? But if there was indeed a third party afoot…

“Officer Bu’kaH, I understand your ship is watched all times.” Clearly, T’Pol had come to the same conclusion.

The Klingon woman nodded. “It is.”

“Then you might want to warn the guards, lest they get caught unaware.”

Her exasperated glare revealed how unlikely she thought that to happen, but she followed the Vulcan’s suggestion. She might have been a bit overconfident – all Klingons were – but she was no fool. She knew that no matter how strong one was, there could always come somebody stronger. Or more skilled, as her duel with Reed had shown.

She produced a communications tool from a hidden pocket inside her clothes and barked into it in Clipped Klingon, the verbal military shorthand of the Kumburanya language. There was no answer. She tried again – with the same results. And a third time – again, in vain.

“This is not good,” Jack said. “How many people are supposed to guard that ship of yours again?”

“Four,” Bu’kaH replied. “We are a small party: twelve retainers, the epetai and me.”

“So, someone’s managed to neutralize four battle-hardened warriors without them being able to send out a warning,” Jack concluded. “I don’t know about you, but I find that worrisome.”

“You should contact the epetai,” T’Pol suggested. “If for no other reason, then to see whether the hunting party has run into a problem.”

Bu’kaH hesitated for a moment; clearly, contacting the epetai in the middle of a potential crisis wasn’t the Klingon way. Before she could have come to a decision, though, the members of the hunting party arrived – from two different directions. Reed and the Klingon named Shira’Ht seemed fine, if sweaty and exhausted. At least Reed did; and while he also appeared rather annoyed, he was otherwise more or less all right.

The epetai’s party, on the other hand, had obviously just had a hostile encounter. Klaang, personally unharmed, carried his hideous dog in his arms. The beast was clearly badly injured, perhaps even dead. Damrus and another Klingon whose name the Enterprise officers hadn’t caught, were carrying some kind of makeshift litter; basically just tree branches tied together with leather straps. Tied down to that litter with more leather straps was Bur'Zaan, trashing and howling in pain yet without any visible injury.

Well, that answered the question about a possible third party at large.

“What happened?” Jack asked Reed quietly.

The armoury officer shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. We got separated. The epetai and his party followed something called a wraith; Shira’Ht and I went after a drayjin.”

“Did you catch it?” Charlie inquired.

Reed shook his head. “The epetai ordered us – well, Shira’Ht, actually, I was just… persuaded to tag along – to return to the camp at once.”

“Did he tell why?”

“No; Klingon commanding officers don’t explain their orders as a rule. But I think we can guess the reason, can’t we?”

“A guess is all we have at the moment,” Jack said unhappily. “By the way, it appears that the officers guarding the Klingon ship have been knocked out, too. Whoever is behind this, they clearly mean business.”

“And we have no idea who they might be,” Reed said. It wasn’t a question, but Jack nodded nevertheless.

“Not a clue. Let’s hope Klaang has an inkling.”

“Assuming he’s willing to share it with us,” Reed muttered doubtfully.

“There’s that,” Jack allowed. “We can but ask.”

Chapter Text

At the moment, though, the epetai’s attention was fixed on his (presumably) dead hound and on his mysteriously wounded retainer, who was still howling and trashing like a madman, trying to tear off his restrains. Which was disturbing in itself, as T’Pol quietly pointed out. Klingons usually endured pain and injuries in stoic silence. Everything else would have been considered shameful.

“Are you saying he’s out of his mind?” Charlie asked.

“I cannot offer a suitably founded theory without learning more about the circumstances of his injury,” T’Pol replied with customary Vulcan precision.

“Well, he doesn’t look well, for sure,” the chief engineer commented, a hint of compassion colouring his voice.

That, of course, was the understatement of the century. Through barely conscious, Burzaa’N was trashing so wildly his two comrades had a hard time to keep him down.

“Hold him,” the epetai hissed at his men.

“I'm trying,” Damrus replied through gritted teeth. “If we can't keep him steady…”

Shira’Ht hurried over to them to help immobilizing their friend. “Burzaa’N, you're going to be fine but you have to be still.”

“Don’t promise him something you can’t guarantee,” Bu’kaH said dryly. “What did this?”

“We don’t know!” By now Damrus was practically sitting on Burzaa’N to keep him still. “They fired at us from the cover of the jungle, without provocation, without a warning. Whoever they were, they had no honour.”

Not that the ethical beliefs of the unknown attackers – or rather the lack thereof – would truly play a role, Charlie thought, but knew better than speak out loudly.

“He doesn’t seem to have any visible wounds,” Bu’kaH frowned. “And yet he seems to be in such pain! What kind of weapon could do that?”

“One we haven’t encountered before,” Damrus replied. “The first shot took out Warg; and then Burzaa’N was hit and has been like this ever since.”

“Curious,” T’Pol took out her scanner. “Epetai-Rustazh, would you allow me to scan both injured patients? Perhaps I can find something in our database that might help.”

After a moment of hesitation Klaang nodded. T’Pol scanned first the hound and then the injured man, studied her readings, and one eyebrow slowly went up, nearly touching her hairline. “Fascinating.”

“Have you found something?” Jack asked impatiently.

T’Pol nodded. “Indeed, I have. The hound is not dead; not yet. It has suffered serious damage that shut down its nervous system, leading to a comatose state.”

“Can he be healed?” Klaang asked hopefully.

“Perhaps,” T’Pol wasn’t about to make any promises. “Your man was hit by a similar or identical weapon. These readings are the same I saw when Enterprise was invaded by the Elachi who attacked the two engineering crewmen.”

Jack shook his head. “That can’t be. Our people were out like a light for weeks after that attack. This man is very much awake.”

“He is delirious,” T’Pol corrected. “The nervous system of a Klingon is vastly different from that of a human. He probably reacts differently to the effects of the weapon.”

“You think we’re dealing with the Shroomies again?” Jack clarified. That was bad news, very bad news again; although not entirely unexpected. They knew the Elachi ship had been following them just outside sensor range for quite some time.

“There is an eighty-nine point seven per cent probability that the hunting party was attacked by the Elachi,” T’Pol replied. “I would prefer Doctor Phlox to take a look at this to verify my theory, though.”

“That can be arranged,” Hoshi said. “He hasn’t be evacuated yet; and he always goes on away missions with a well-stocked medkit.”

As if knowing he was needed, the Denobulan popped out his head of the tent where he was packing his gear. Jack called him over, and he studied T’Pol’s readings thoroughly before nodding in agreement.

“Yes, this looks very familiar indeed. I, too, believe that both the hound and the man were hit by an Elachi weapon. More precisely, by a hand-held disruptor firearm that affects directly the victim’s nervous system.”

“You’ve managed to help our injured crewmen,” Jack said. “Have you ever treated a Klingon before?”

“Not for real,” Phlox admitted. “But interspecies medicine is one of my special fields and I took part of several simulations during my training. I shall certainly try my best; whether or not that will be enough remains to be seen.”

“What about Warg?” Bu’kaH asked.

Phlox gave the hideous creature a doubtful look. “About him I’m not certain. The only canine I had to treat so far was Captain Archer’s dog, and he’s a very different kind of animal.”

Klaang was visibly hesitating whether he should entrust his retainer to the care of an alien. At this point, though, Bu’kaH intervened again.

“He was cowardly ambushed, without given the chance of a proper fight,” she pointed out. “If he dies now, he won’t be able to take his place in the Black Fleet. If the doctor can help him, though, he might have an honourable death later.”

Bizarrely enough, that made Klaang reconsider, and he allowed Phlox to treat his injured man. Or perhaps it was the faint chance to save his hound. As a dog owner himself, Jack certainly could relate; even though comparing Porthos to the creature seemed… well, not really possible.

In any case, the Klingon leader clearly had his priorities in the right order. As soon as he was reassured that both his retainer and his hound were in taken care of, his focus turned towards his ship.

"Our attackers are honourless cowards," he declared. "So it is possible that they have ambushed and killed the ones guarding our ship. We must see to it — and to them — immediately."

“You’d walk into a trap without knowing what might be waiting for you,” Jack looked at T’Pol. “Do you have any data about the Shroomies stored in your scanner?”

“Yes,” the Vulcan replied simply.

“Give them to Klaang,” Jack ordered. “He needs to know what he might be facing.”

The Klingon gave him a suspicious glare which, considering the less than amiable relations between their two peoples, was understandable.

“Are you Tera’ngans always so eager to share intelligence with non-allied powers?”

“No, we are not,” Jack admitted bluntly. “But unless I’m mistaken, which I don’t think I am, you are about to be attacked by a vastly superior force that aims to wipe out all major powers in the known galaxy, and we need to band together if we want to stop them. If we can, which is by no means certain.”

"What force would that be?" Klaang clearly wasn't buying it. Not yet.

"Iconians," Jack answered.

The Klingon shook his head. "The Iconians are a myth. They have been gone for ages uncounted — if they ever existed.

“Oh, they did exist all right,” Jack said grimly. “And even if they might be gone themselves, which I’m beginning to doubt, we’ve had run-ins with at least three of their servitor races, all of whom are considered gone as well. There’s a distinct possibility that your party was attacked by one of those; the one called the Elachi; and believe me, they are surprisingly hard to kill.”

The Klingon looked at T'Pol. "Can you confirm this?"

She nodded. “They have attacked our ship, boarded it and injured several crewmen. They also attacked our landing party on a previously unknown planet where we discovered an Iconian gateway and triggered the self-destruct mechanism of that gateway, rendering the planet uninhabitable, to prevent us from gaining access to Iconian technology.”

She choose not to mention that the Elachi had been following Enterprise ever since. Klingons were paranoid by nature; Klaang might have concluded that the humans had brought the enemy to Da'HKala by their mere presence.

The epetai digested the information for a moment; then he seemed to come to a decision.

“All right. Yours is a bloodless race but one that does not lie. I shall view your data before we go and look after our ship.”

He held out an imperious hand and T’Pol handed him the scanner that was linked to the universal translator, thus making the data accessible for him. He studied the data with a deepening frown, clearly not liking what he saw.

“And those personal shields of the creatures can withstand weapon’s fire?”

“They can withstand Starfleet-issue phase pistols,” T’Pol corrected. “Your disruptors have considerably more firepower; they might be more effective against their shields.”

“I’d prefer hacking them to pieces with my mek’leth,” Klaang growled, “but sometimes we have to be content with a simple kill.”

“Killing the Elachi is anything but simple,” T’Pol warned. “You must keep firing until nothing is left of them. Breathing in the particles of their disintegrating bodies would infect you with their spores and you would be eventually transformed into one of them, while keeping the knowledge about your people. It happened to an Enterprise crewmember not to long ago.”

“Really? What did you do with them?”

“We’ve left her behind on an uninhabited planet,” Jack said in T’Pol’s stead. “The transformation was irreversible; we couldn’t endanger the rest of the crew.”

That seemed to impress the Klingon.

“You Tera’ngans have more guts than I would have expected,” he said. “Very well. I shall take these facts under consideration.”

He switched to the clipped military slang, barking orders. His retainers, with the exception of Burzaa’N, who was still being treated by Dr. Phlox, grabbed their heavy disruptors, ready to go.

“Do you need some help?” Jack offered. “I can lend you Lieutenant Reed and Crewman Namod. They have some experience with the Elachi.”

Klaang shook his head. “This is our ship; and our fight. Stay here where you are safe. Bu’kaH, you’ll take command of the camp. I’ll call you if you’re needed with the ship. Look after Burzaa'N… and Warg.”

If Bu'kaH was unhappy about being left behind, she gave no sign of it — just saluted and acknowledged her orders. T'Pol, however, put on her night goggles as soon as Klaang's party had left, and picked up her scanner and phase pistol, clearly intending to follow them.

"They won't welcome your interference," Hoshi warned.

"I do not intend to interfere," the Vulcan said calmly. "I shall merely observe. We need to know how this encounter ends, for our own safety."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That was very true, of course, so Jack didn’t try to talk her out of it – not that he’d have succeeded. Vulcans were like a force of nature; there was no stopping them, once they have made up their minds. Thus T’Pol melted into the eternal darkness of Da’Hkala, without even the Klingons noticing it, while the Enterprise team – those not yet evacuated, that is – huddled together just outside the dim light of the dying campfires. There was no need to make the job of the Shroomies easier by offering a well-visible target. Even though their night vision was most likely magnitudes better than that of the average human, considering their natural environment.

Jack was the only one not joining the others. He wasn’t fool enough to leave the camp entirely, but he lingered on the outskirts of it, hoping that the elusive alien wearing Estelle’s form would return if it could find him alone. He’d ‘heard’ its telepathic call for some time by now.

And indeed, a short time later – presumably as soon as Klaang and his men were out of earshot – he heard his name spoken softly. He turned around and there was ‘Estelle’, barely out of arm’s reach.

“I’m here,” he said simply, keeping his voice low, so that not even Hoshi’s acute hearing could pick it up… or so he hoped.

‘Estelle’ nodded. “As I said before: You are not like the others.”

“You mean the Klingons?” Jack tried to clarify.

“No,” she said. “Not the hunters. With them, we can deal. They come here to hunt us, but we can evade them. The animal they bring with them can smell our young ones when they are afraid, but we can deal with it, if we have to. But the others…”

“What others?”

“The silent ones.”

“You mean the Shroomies? I mean, the Elachi?” Jack corrected himself.

“We don’t have a name for them,” she replied. “They started coming to our world,” she paused, looking for the right term, “six of your years ago. They captured many of us; we don’t know why, but their mental shrieks nearly paralyzed the rest of us. They must have done something terrible to them.”

“I can imagine,” Jack still remembered all too vividly the torture chamber disguised as a lab where the subspace-dwelling Solanae (or fish monks, as Trip nicknamed them) tried to drastically alter Gerasen Gerasal’s biochemistry, so that she would survive in subspace long enough for a thorough interrogation.

‘Estelle’ must have picked out the memory of his mind because she stiffened. “You know who they are.”

It wasn’t a question but Jack shook his head nonetheless.

“We have a theory,” he corrected. “We might be wrong; although I don’t think we are.”

“You have encountered them before,” again, it wasn’t a question, but Jack nodded.

“Twice so far. Both time we barely escaped. And we’ve run into allies of them; the ones who make experiences on people they abduct. That was another close call.”

“And yet you escaped, both time,” she said.

“We were lucky,” Jack replied grimly. ‘We were something new for them; something they didn’t know what to expect from. Next time they will be prepared.”

“So will be you.”

“Not really. We don’t have anything that would work against them; not yet. Perhaps the Klingons will be able to deal with this particular group, but in the long run our chances are not good.”

“You aren’t giving up, though, are you?”

Jack smiled grimly. “Never. We are a stubborn sort of people. But what do they want from you? There must be something they want very much if they’d knocked your entire planet out of orbit.”

“We don’t know for certain that they caused our world to leave its original place,” she corrected. “It might be so; or it might be not. We believe, however, that they want us for our shape-shifting abilities. Perhaps they want to find out how we do it.”

“Is that even possible?”

“We don’t know. It’s our nature. We don’t have… science the way your or any of the other… solids have. We understand our world from within because we are part of it, more intimately than you are part of yours.”

“Does it mean you can’t even survive on other planets?”

“We don’t know. We never tried; we don’t have the means to leave this world. We don’t want to leave it. We belong here.”

“And those who were taken…” Jack trailed off.

“… died soon thereafter,” she finished for him. “Whether from torture or from the fact that they could no longer connect with our world, with the rest of us, we don’t know. But we all felt when the link to them was broken.”

“You say you are bound to this world…”

“We are.”

“But living conditions must have changed, now that you aren’t part of your solar system anymore. Can you adapt?”

“To a certain extent. If nothing else helps, we can go dormant and lie under the surface in crystalline form until the planet gets captured by the gravity of another star. But we can’t do that as long as the silent ones are here. We are defenceless in that form.”

Jack imagined fragile crystals being stomped to shards under heavy boots and shuddered.

“What you need is a safe hiding place,” he said. “One equipped with a camouflage field.”

She shook her head. “We cannot generate such a field naturally. And we don’t have… technology, I think you call it. We can influence living things on our world to a certain extent, but that won’t help us against the silent ones,” she looked at him with Estelle’s pleading eyes. “Do you have the knowledge to create such protection for us?”

“Not me,” Jack admitted. “But my friend Trip might. Let me talk to him.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Charlie and Bu’kaH, who had been keeping company, listened to Jack’s explanation with awe (Charlie) and a healthy amount of suspicion (the Klingon, of course).

“Are you telling me that the wraiths we’ve been hunting for generations are actually people?” Bu’kaH clearly wasn’t buying it.

Jack nodded. “A peculiar species of telepathic shape-shifters native to this world only. Their shape-shifting abilities are their only weapon.”

“Hardly the only one if they can get into your head and read your thoughts from a distance,” Charlie commented. “Not even the Vulcans can do that, for which we should be eternally grateful.”

“GG’s people can, though,” Jack reminded him. “And so can several other people, apparently, like the Deltans.”

“Still, it seems neither shape-shifting nor telepathy could protect them from the Iconians or their servants,” Reed steered their focus back to the problem at hand. “If they had the right place to hide, though, a camouflage field could.”

“But does a technology that could fool the Elachi sensors exist in the first place?” Hoshi asked.

Charlie shrugged. “Theoretically, it is doable. I just never heard of any species that actually had it. Not even the Vulcans do; not that they’d let us use it anyway.”

“There is a species that uses cloaking technology besides the Suliban,” Reed said slowly. “Starfleet Intelligence hasn’t encountered them yet, but there are… rumours about ships appearing, seemingly out of nowhere, attacking without warning and then disappearing without a trace again. Huge ships, not like those small Suliban vessels.”

Bu’kaH nodded. “They are called the Rihannsu; well, that’s what they call themselves. We had… encounters with them but never got to see them face to face. A few years ago we – as the explorers of our family – found one of their small scout ships… crippled, abandoned, with a dysfunctional cloaking device. We’ve been trying to reverse engineer it ever since.”

I wish I could take a look at it,” the longing in Charlie’s voice was unmistakable. “Perhaps a fresh perspective would be helpful.”

Bu’kaH grinned, without showing her teeth. “I doubt that our scientists would tolerate an outsider in their lab. I do have the basics saved to my PADD, though.”

Charlie gave her a calculating look. “What would it cost me to get a glimpse?”

“If you figure out anything, I want the results,” she replied promptly.

Charlie looked at Jack. “Captain?”

“It’s only fair, Trip,” the captain said.

“Perhaps,” Charlie wasn’t so sure about it. He looked at Bu’kaH in concern. “Won’t the epetai have your head for showing me the stuff?”

“Not if we succeed,” she replied confidently. “He’s interested in results; not in the way how they were achieved.”

“Great,” Charlie muttered darkly. “No pressure at all.”

Jack patted him on the shoulder. “C’mon, Trip. If anyone can figure this out, it’s you.”

“Easy for you to say,” Charlie muttered. “What if I can’t?”

“Then I’ll do the honourable thing and remove myself,” Bu’kaH said impatiently. “Stop fretting. We can do this.”

The two returned to the shuttlepod to study the data. Jack looked at Hoshi questioningly.

“What did she mean with removing herself?”

“Committing ritual suicide to save her honour and that of her House,” she explained in a low voice. “Just don’t tell it Charlie; not yet. He needs to focus on the problem.”

Jack nodded in agreement, even though the idea of Bu’kaH killing herself upon failure did make him uncomfortable. But that was the Klingon way; there was no need to put even more pressure on their chief engineer.

“What about these Rihannsu?” He then asked. “Ever heard about them? Any mentioning of them in the linguistic database?”

Hoshi shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. Perhaps T’Pol knows something; she used to be with the Security Directorate, after all. Or Gerasen Gerasal, when they return.”

“Assuming either of them is willing to share,” Jack said doubtfully.

Hoshi shrugged. “They’re both highly intelligent individuals. They will realize – sooner than their respective governments, I bet – that the time of petty secrecy is over.”

“I hope you’re right,” Jack sighed, not entirely convinced. “Although they could both get in trouble with their bosses if they tell us more than officially allowed.”

“Gerasen Gerasal is one of the big bosses on Berengaria,” Hoshi pointed out. “And somehow I don’t think T’Pol would let the Vulcan administration hinder her in doing what she considers the right thing.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That was certainly true for T’Pol who was currently following the Klingons, aimed with night goggles and her Vulcan-made scanner on recording modus. Her infallible sense of direction enabled her to find the Klingon ship on her own, so she could afford to keep safe distance.

Said distance resulted in her arriving at the small lighting where the Klingon ship had landed several standard minutes after the epetai and his retainers. Still soon enough to observe them finding the four Klingons left to guard the hip lying on the floor, unconscious yet twitching uncontrollably. Logic dictated that they must have been hit by the same weapon as Burzaa’N; though perhaps at a higher setting.

An Elachi weapon, presumably.

She watched the epetai check on his injured men and exchange quick words with his still battle-ready retainers; not in the main dialect, not even in the clipped military version of it but in what she recognized as Rumaiy, even though she did not understand it. Ensign Sato had programmed it into the universal translator, but switching the instrument on would have revealed her presence – something she wanted to prevent. As much as she did not want to get involved in the Klingons’ fight with the supposed Elachi, she did not want to become a target, either. Her task was to gather information, not to play hero.

The Klingons still on their feet took up a formation she had never seen before, using the never-ending darkness of the planet to their advantage. Their advanced night goggles enabled them to move confidently on the uneven ground, without using any light sources that would reveal their respective positions. They formed a circle around their ship, pulling it gradually tighter, super-aware of their surroundings as only born hunters and warriors could be.

Or Vulcans. T’Pol was watching the small lighting every bit as closely; and she had the advantage of knowing what kind of readings to look for with her scanner. Even so, she nearly missed the moment when the intruders showed up behind the Klingon ship.

Or rather all over it. The stiff-limbed creatures climbed the outer hull of the vessel like oversized stick insects, their large, mushroom-shaped heads bobbing at the rhythm of their spidery movements. Their eyes glowed even in the ink-black darkness, and their entire bodies appeared to be edged with a soft green glow.

They had positioned themselves cleverly; she had to give them that. Any weapon with enough firepower to shatter their personal energy shields might have damaged the hull of the small ship as well. Having originated from a planet with a dying sun meant that they did not need night goggles to find their way even on a world like Da’Hkala, which put them to an unfair advantage.

That, and the huge weapons they were carrying. Weapons, the effect of which both the Klingons and the Enterprise crew had already experienced on their very bodies.

T’Pol had studied what little data Gerasen Gerasal could draw about the Elachi from Berengaria VII’s historical databases and could tell that these particular troops consisted of simple warriors; what humans would call “mere muscle”, even though they appeared to have very little in the way of actual muscle. Their true strength lay in their superior weapons; and in the fact that even their disintegrating bodies could contaminate other species with their spores and turn them into ones of their own.

Completely with absorbing the victim’s knowledge.

If anything, they certainly provided the Klingons with a serious challenge. T'Pol admitted a certain amount of scientific curiosity concerning the outcome of the inevitable fight.

What she got to see was not what she had expected, based on what she knew about Klingon battle tactics. Not even close. The personal concealing field of the Klingons clearly had fooled the sensors of the Elachi, too, because they appeared more than a little confused, trying to get a precise location on their attackers – and failing. Then there was a low, almost subvocal hiss, and the Klingons fired their powerful disruptors at the only part of the enemy not protected by their energy shields: their weapons. T'Pol counted eight standard seconds till the Elachi weapons went up in spectacular fireballs like miniature supernovae, tearing the energy shields into harmless sparkles.

T'Pol had to give the epetai a mental nod. This had been a strike of military genius. The Klingon disruptors might or might not have destroyed the personal shields of the Elachi. Their own weapons did so with ease.

At another hissed command of their leader, the Klingons kept firing until there was nothing left from the Elachi, just energy particles. Clearly, the epetai had paid attention when being told that the disintegrating Elachi bodies could contaminate them. T’Pol’s respect for him went up another notch. It was not usual for Klingons to actually listen. Apparently, the Rumaiym were a different bunch than the ones outsiders frequently interacted with.

Having meticulously swept the entire area with wide-fanned disruptor beams, just to make sure that nothing was left of the enemy that could endanger them in any way, the epetai sent one of his retainers to check on the ship. The man climbed into the vessel and remained inside what T'Pol estimated to be 21.6 standard minutes. When he reappeared, his dark face was contorted with rage.

T'Pol did not understand his clopped report (not without the universal translator that was still off-line) but his tone and his expression told everything she needed to know.

The Elachi had damaged the ship. The Klingons were stranded on Da'Hkala.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“What exactly did they do?” Charlie Tucker asked several hours later. After Bu’kaH had checked the damage thoroughly and completed her report.

“I have no idea what they did,” the Klingon engineer admitted sourly. “But whatever it was, it has completely depleted our ship of energy. All systems are dead; including the engines. They are cold.”

"Could we reignite the plasma flow using a fusion injector?" Charlie asked.

She gave him a jaundiced look. "We? As letting you enter our reactor pit, so that you can steal our secrets?"

Charlie mentally counted to ten. In Spanish. Then he repeated it in Vulcan, which in itself was almost enough to calm him down. She'd said something like that before, only half-joking, but he'd thought she might have come to trust him, just a little.

Clearly, he had been wrong.

"Look," he said with forced patience. "This is an engineering problem, right? I happen to be a damn good engineer. I don't have to physically enter your reactor pit, whatever it might be, to make suggestions.

"I'd listen to Trip if I were you," Jack said to the epetai quietly. "He knows what he's doing."

Klaang gave Charlie a somewhat doubtful look. "Is he really that good?"

Jack shrugged. "The best Earth can currently offer. My father might have designed the Warp 5 engine but Trip was the one who made it actually work. Or would you prefer to stay on this planet until the next hunting party arrives? Because I won’t take you and your merry band of hunters with us aboard Enterprise. No offence. "

“None taken,” Klaang replied. “You’d be a fool to do so; and you don’t seem to be a fool. All right then; I’ll accept the… suggestions of your engineer. If we could make my ship spaceborn again we could make a detour to the automated repair station two sectors from here. That would take care of the rest.”