Free Diplomatic Implausibility by Keith R. A. DeCandido Page B

will not bring trust. Heneeded me to lead the crew so he would be spared having to.”
    “So seeing him dead wasn’t exactly what you’d call a hardship,” Riker said with a sardonic smile.
    “No.”
    Taking another sip of bloodwine, Riker shook his head. Not for the first time, he realized he’d make a lousy Klingon. There was just no way he could take such pleasure in anyone’s death, never mind advancing in rank that way.
    Klag finished off his latest mug of bloodwine and poured some more. Riker had, at this point, lost count of how much the captain had drunk. “So, as the only survivor, it was left to me and me alone to finish what we had started. After all, if I survived, some of the enemy might have as well—and that meant the battle was not yet over. I found a working scanner and saw that seven Jem’Hadar and one Vorta still lived amidst the wreckage of their ship. Armed with a
mek’leth,
I went to greet them.”
    Smiling, Riker said, “‘Greet’ them, huh? And how’d they return the greeting?”
    “Poorly,” Klag said with a vicious grin. “Oh, it was magnificent. Their Vorta had been injured, and their instrumentation destroyed in the crash. I had lost a great deal of blood, and should have felt the effects, but the death of my comrades put a fire in my belly. The Jem’Hadar may have been bred for combat, but the heart of a warrior cannot be grown in a Vorta laboratory. Within minutes, I stood amongst the corpses of my enemies, my
mek’leth
stained with their blood and the Jem’Hadar’s drug.” He gulped down more bloodwine, half of it running down into his goatée. Slamming the mug to the table, he smiled. “Then I passed out.”
    Riker laughed. “Good timing.”
    “Indeed. I came to on a ship, being examined by some doctor or other who had stanched the bleeding from my shoulder. I was told that our battle had paved the way for Defense Force and Starfleet vessels to penetrate the Allicar sector. I had left the Homeworld the lapdog of a fool. I returned as a hero of the empire.” He indicated the ship around him with his hand. “I was given this as my reward.”
    “Quite a reward.”
    “Yes. One wonders why you have not been similarly blessed, old friend.”
    Riker sighed. He had expected this subject to come up. After all, he had remained a first officer longer than Klag had. “Big difference between us, Klag. Kargan forced you to stay under his command. I remain with Captain Picard—and on the
Enterprise
—by choice.”
    “Then you are a fool. Whatever Picard’s merits—and I admit, he has accomplished much—even he is not worth denying yourself the greatest glory of all.”
    Smiling, Riker quoted, “‘Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.’”
    Klag frowned. “What?”
    Riker had uttered the quote in English. He repeated it in Klingon, substituting
Sto-Vo-Kor
for heaven and
Gre’thor
for hell. The translation didn’t entirely hold up, as those two realms in Klingon mythology were not precise analogues to the human concepts. “It’s from a human poet named John Milton. Basically, it means that it’s better to be the ruler of a bad place than to be a subordinate in paradise.”
    Klag nodded. “Ah, I see. Obviously, you disagree with this poet.”
    “I didn’t used to. Time was I lived my life by it. Butthat was before I signed onto the
Enterprise
—she’s the finest ship in the finest fleet under the finest captain. I couldn’t ask for a better place to serve, even if it means staying a first officer.”
    Grinning, Klag said, “Plus, of course, there’s that half-Betazoid counselor of yours.”
    Riker laughed, and wondered if he blushed. His cheeks certainly felt flushed, but that could have been from the bloodwine. “Your sources are good, Klag. Yes, there is her also.”
    Klag shook his head. “You’re a typical human, Riker. Sacrificing duty for the sake of
par’Mach.”
    “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Riker said, raising his mug.
    Klag