The Sato Series, Episode 3: a new Frontier

Kit kissed her gently then, gratefully. “Thanks, Corinne. I promise, I’ll find a way to make this up to you.”
Jenny waggled her eyebrows. “You’d better,” she threatened.

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P’Arth, daughter of Ven’mahr, wife of Mor’dehK and member of the house of Ve’chuK, dismissed her vassal, one of two afforded a woman of her station on the high council. This one in particular pleased her, a young, impressionable Klingon, who was so enamored with the high councilwoman, she would do anything P’Arth asked, and often did much more than was required of her post. P’Arth shivered, thinking of the young woman’s sexual prowess. Mor’dehK had not been a particularly fulfilling lover, and she had taken her share of lovers on the side when he was still alive. But then, so had he. It was simply understood between them, and since P’Arth had born him a son, Mor’dehK looked the other way when P’Arth invited women to spend the night in their castle.
The Klingon Bird of Prey she was being ferried upon was the finest in the Klingon Empire, as was fitting for a dignitary of her stature. She had spent the morning expending her nervous energy with her vassal, and now she turned her attention to the upcoming negotiations. She had known Lenara Kahn’s reputation for most of her life, despite the fact that Trill was in a different quadrant, because Lenara’s reputation extended throughout all four quadrants. P’Arth had been sufficiently embroiled in political posturing, however, that she had not kept abreast of Lenara Kahn’s work or her personal life, and P’Arth was stunned to discover that Lenara was not only married and going by the name Wildman, she was in fact, married to Kieran Thompson in a multiple partner arrangement. P’Arth studied the database file on Kieran Wildman, nee’ Thompson, thinking to herself how little the Captain of the Sato had changed physically since their torrid affair at the Academy.
P’Arth scowled, baring her teeth. The last time she had been on Earth, she had been a cadet at the Academy. Just before she dropped out of school, she and Kieran had had a terrible fight, screaming at one another. P’Arth recalled it had gotten very physical, and Kieran had stormed out of P’Arth’s quad, crying. P’Arth couldn’t recall what they had been fighting about, only that Kieran had walked out on her, on their relationship. Their blood-bonded relationship. The database spit out reams of information, and the Klingon rolled her eyes at the Captain’s accomplishments over the years. “Computer, stop,” she said suddenly. “Katie Torres,” she muttered, studying the image of Kieran and her nine year old daughter. “Kieran has a child—a Klingon child?” She smacked her comm link on the workstation, barking to her vassal to come back to her quarters.
Detara hurried back to her mistress, head bowed before the powerful woman. “How may I assist you, councilwoman?” she asked demurely.
“I need you to put your education to good use,” P’Arth advised her, teeth glittering. “I want you to search the database and put together a profile of Kieran Wildman, Lenara Wildman, Kathryn Janeway, and their respective families. I want every detail of their lives since I was at the Academy,” she instructed. “A good negotiator knows their opponents,” she explained thoughtfully. “You may use my workstation, Detara,” she said as if she had bestowed some grand honor on the woman. P’Arth paced with her hands behind her back, cursing the long gown adult Klingon women were expected to wear. She would have preferred breeches and a proper shirt, one that covered her cleavage. Starfleet Officers wore pants and sensible tunics, after all. “And Detara,” she decided, “replicate proper warrior’s garb for me.”
“Yes, Chancellor,” Detara agreed, though she stared in disbelief.
P’Arth continued pacing, considering the dilemma before her. If the populace took issue with her wearing ‘men’s’ clothing, she would find a way to pass it off as an eccentricity. Or a statement of the status of women, in general on the homeworld she decided. If a woman was forced to wear men’s clothing to be taken seriously, maybe the fashions would change, and less emphasis would be placed upon the sexualization of women’s clothing. And if she could convince the Federation to change their wormhole’s exit aperture, how much more favor would she win in the public eye? Still, there was always the danger, dealing with Starfleet, that her checkered past would come to light from her own days in the Academy. A past only Kieran Wildman could raise the curtain upon.
P’Arth remembered Kieran Thompson better than she cared to admit. And their relationship. “Lukara,” she said softly to herself, repeating the nickname she had given Kieran
“I’m sorry, Chancellor, what did you say?” Detara asked.
P’Arth did not realize she had spoken aloud. “Nothing, dearest,” she said in a conciliatory tone.
P’Arth remembered that last time she had seen Kieran Thompson, when Kieran was a member of the Enterprise crew. Kieran acted as though she detested the Klingon woman, and P’Arth had not understood it. Was it because I left you there? What choice did I have when you disappeared? What was there to hold me in Starfleet?
“Detara,” P’Arth turned back to her vassal, “hail Keh’grang and engage his assistance,” she ordered the younger woman. “I can see there is a great deal of information there. And I may need to take a break with you. The prospect of these negotiations vexes me,” she said absently, reaching for Detara’s shoulder. She slid her hand down the front of Detara’s chest and beneath the bodice of her gown, cupping her breast. “Distraction may be the best thing for my deliberations, right now,” she informed the attractive girl, pressing the scar tissue at the base of Detara’s throat. The gesture spoke volumes to Detara, conveying ownership and possessiveness, if not love.
“Yes, Chancellor,” she said softly, knowing that the second Keh’grang arrived, P’Arth would take her to private chambers and make love to her. Detara knew it was pointless to love one’s master, and yet she loved P’Arth, as illogical and futile as it was. She would never be worthy in P’Arth’s eyes, not of the oath, not of bearing children for her. And Keh’grang, she knew, though a less frequent guest in P’Arth’s bed was indeed an occasional visitor there.
Keh’grang, a weak and worthless P'taQ in Detara’s estimation, would cast pleading glances her way, and she wanted nothing to do with him. But P’Arth had intimated she wanted the two Klingons to mate for her entertainment, proposed it to Detara in a teasing fashion, as if to test her somehow. It had tried poor Detara’s patience and piqued her jealousy. She had hoped in vain that the Chancellor would forget about it.
P’Arth removed her hand from Detara’s breast, gazing at her. “He is in love with you, you know,” she advised her servant.
Detara stuck her chin out in a rare moment of defiance. “I am not in love with him,” she hissed. “I belong to you. I bear you mark,” she asserted, baring her throat and displaying the ragged scar there.
P’Arth smiled at her fiercely loyal tone. “Detara, you are mine,” she agreed, “but I bear no scars. You would do well to remember that, my dear,” she insisted. “If I wish my consort to consort with another, would you defy me?” she asked pointedly.
Detara’s eyes filled with angry tears. “You know I would not, councilwoman,” she replied. “But if you care at all for me, even a little, you will not ask that of me.”
“It is not a matter of my feelings for you,” P’Arth insisted. “It is a matter of my feelings for Keh’grang. He yearns for you. He has that hollow expression whenever you are near him. My heart goes out to him. If you find your happiness in my bed, should he not find some happiness in yours?”
Detara hung her head. Clearly, P’Arth would make her sleep with Keh’grang, whether she detested him or not. “Would it please you to watch him take what is yours?” she demanded, her heart nearly breaking. She met P’Arth’s eyes with a haunted, hungry look, a look that begged for leniency.
P’Arth pulled her out of the chair, holding her shoulders. The Chancellor’s gaze was steady and determined. “What would please me is if you were so devoted to me, you would do whatever I ask. Once Keh’grang has taken what is mine, he will forever envy me, and know his true place. I intend to vanquish his male ego once and for all. He may be a man, and a warrior, but he will never have more power than I do, and he will never have your heart,” she said sternly. “He is too proud. I will break him of that, and you will be the means,” she explained, her tone clearly indicating Detara had no voice in the matter. P’Arth had decided. And if Detara refused P’Arth would dismiss her from the service of the Chancellor in disgrace, and the dishonor would be a blot on her entire family.
She swallowed her anger for the moment. “I am devoted to you, Chancellor. I only thought you might punish him for coveting what is yours.”
“And so I shall,” P’Arth assured her. “In a way that will sting much worse than any beating. Keh’grang will find his love for you more agonizing than a pain stick.” P’Arth tapped her comm badge and hailed the young man.
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Kathryn Janeway lounged with her spouse, stretching before the fire in Gretchen’s farmhouse. Geejay and Katie were out back with Edward Kim playing in the snow, though Katie never lasted long with her Klingon metabolism, which was ill suited to cold climes. Seven of Nine stroked Kathryn’s auburn hair tenderly, gazing placidly at her wife.
Kathryn’s expression was a million miles away from the living room in her mother’s farmhouse, her thoughts roiling like a storm brewing.
“Kathryn,” Seven said softly, so that Gerry and Gretchen wouldn’t overhear, “what is bothering you?”
Kathryn sighed, glancing around the room. Harry and Phoebe were heavy in a discussion with Gerry and Gretchen, so she felt she could unburden herself. “It’s this—situation with the Klingons,” she admitted. “Specifically, the Chancellor,” she added, looking up at her wife to see if Seven understood the gravity of the matter.
“Because she is Kieran’s ex-lover?” Seven asked quietly.
“Not only that,” Kathryn explained. “Because of their history. The abuse. And the fact that half of the crew of the Sato would like to exact vengeance on P’Arth,” she said grimly.
Seven smiled facetiously. “You exaggerate, my love. There are fewer than thirty people on a ship of nearly two thousand who would like to assassinate the Chancellor. And you and I personally head the list,” she reminded the older woman.
“Yes,” Kathryn agreed. “But we both know we cannot. I’m not so sure about Kit and B'Elanna,” she chuckled.
Seven smirked. “Or Naomi. Or for that matter, Ro Laren. She’s found a mentor in Kieran, and a true friend.”
“Robin and Cassidy are another concern,” Kathryn sighed. “Damn, Seven, if P’Arth had any appreciation for how many people detest her who have never even met her, she’d be trembling in her breastplates,” she noted wryly. “More than that, this conflict over the wormhole signals an ill-wind. The alliance between humans, Romulans, Klingons, and eventually, the Cardassians, to defeat the Dominion was shaky at best. When we were faced with quadrant-wide domination, we pulled together. But without that magnitude of an external threat, we are left to our petty disagreements and power struggles. And there are bitternesses abounding in each society. It’s why there are so many Cardassian terrorist factions now,” she said contemplatively. “Angry warriors who cannot accept that an alliance was struck, or that they needed our help, or were too proud to admit they had erred in siding with the Founders in the first place.” Kathryn studied the fired as it crackled and hissed. “The alliance is still in its infancy, and I’m afraid this decision to place the wormhole in Romulan space will shatter that tentative solidarity.”
Seven nodded understanding, smoothing her hand over Kathryn’s brow. “If anyone can make the Klingons see reason, it’s you, darling,” she assured her wife. “After all, you negotiated with the Borg,” she reminded her. “No one before or since ever struck an alliance with the Collective.”
Kathryn smiled gently. “Thank you, love. I do rely on your faith in me to bolster my confidence,” she said softly. “But knowing what I do about P’Arth, I simply have no ability to trust her, or anything that comes out of her mouth. And I am none too happy that Kieran will have to interact with her. You know what a trauma that can be, Seven,” she pointed out.
Seven bit her lip. “I do know. Only, I don’t say that to bring it up to you, Kathryn. Only to express my cognizance of the situation. Kieran is not as far from those memories as she would like to believe,” she revealed.
“What do you mean?” Kathryn asked, alarmed. She sat up to face Seven.
Seven swallowed the difficult emotions welling in her. “When you and I were having trouble, I saw what the subject of abuse did to her,” she explained. “It’s still close to the surface with her, and being embroiled in our lives made her suffer. But not nearly as deeply as she suffered with Kit’s abuse,” she said regretfully. “Kathryn, I know how damaged she was by P’Arth. She confided things in me—when we lived together in San Francisco, and on the Jungle Planet, and I cannot say I think it is wise of her to force herself to confront P’Arth.” Seven sighed raggedly. “And I know she is half mad with worry over Lenara and the baby,” she added. “She is afraid Lenara is a target of some sort.”
“That’s why I insisted Lenara attend the negotiations. P’Arth can’t harm her without harming herself, and the rest of us,” Kathryn noted wisely. “And I am going to make sure that Lenara has a body guard in each session. Laren will be busy with the background investigation into the death of Mor’dehK, but I am going to have Kit act as her personal assistant. It’s consistent because Kit was her lab assistant and has published numerous articles with her.”
Seven nodded approval. “And it doesn’t hurt that Kit has three black belts,” she concurred.
“Four,” Kathryn chuckled. “She got her Kung Fu black belt last month,” she said proudly. “Who better than to protect Lenara? Plus, Kit is the best marksman with a phaser I’ve ever seen. She is so solid at Velocity, Seven. She can best me when she gives it her all, without breaking a sweat. The only reason I ever beat her is that she is still so in awe of me, she forgets to be competitive. But Naomi can’t beat her since I started playing her. If I had to choose a body guard for myself, it would be Kit.”
“And not me?” Seven squealed indignantly. “I am BORG,” she argued peevishly, a sly smile curling her full lips. “I defy anyone to do battle with my assimilation tubules and my nanoprobes,” she said in an offended tone.
Kathryn laughed. “You can’t fool me, your Borgness,” she teased, using Kieran’s nickname for her. “You’re all Borg bravado and bluster,” she accused, leaning in to kiss her wife sweetly.
Seven giggled into their kisses. “Well, maybe half bravado and half bluster,” she conceded. “I love you, Kathryn,” she advised the smaller woman, kissing her soundly.
“That’s a good thing,” Kathryn said, smiling. “Because if you didn’t, I’d curl up and die,” she said melodramatically.
Seven rolled her eyes. “Well, then it’s a good thing that will never have to happen.”
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Chancellor P’Arth of the House of Ve’chuk read over the report her vassals had prepared for her. So Kieran married a Klingon, she realized as she read the background of her former lover. And then her gaze froze. B'Elanna Torres? Kieran married HER? She shook her head in disbelief. A Maquis traitor? Kieran? That is so out of character for her. She did everything by the book. She practically slept with the Starfleet regs under her pillow. She studied Katie Torres’ face, her features. She looks more Klingon than I do, P’Arth thought silently. She must be some genetic anomaly, because her mother is not pure Klingon. I wonder what she would think about meeting a real Klingon warrior, a hero of the Empire? I think that will be my first priority. Kieran won’t be expecting me to act as though bygones are bygones. It will take her totally off guard. Which is exactly where I want her. Where I want them all. The Empire will not stand for dishonor when so many of our countrymen died in the Dominion War—THEIR war, not ours.
She read on, noting that Kieran was related to Kathryn Janeway by marriage. An incestuous little bunch, these Feddies. Naomi Wildman, she read the biography Detara had done on the Ktarian. Gorgeous. Such beauty. An accomplished lot, the Wildman clan. Plenty of education between them. What have we here? Her eyes narrowed to slits as she studied Kit Wildman’s face. She looks so familiar. So—where do I know her from? The Klingon stewed over the image on the PADD, trying to make the connections in her memory. She must be Kieran’s genetic daughter, because she looks just like Cassidy. A recessive trait, perhaps. And these other two must be Kieran’s children, as well. Ah, no, her daughter’s wives. P’Arth's jaw dropped. There staring back at her was Cassidy Thompson, with her wife Cameron and their daughter Chance. “Impossible,” she snarled. “She died. I am sure of it,” she muttered. She dismissed it as unimportant and read the Janeway biography next.
A Borg? Kathryn Janeway is married to a Borg drone? P’Arth threw back her head and laughed. Humans could be so gullible, so stupid. She had no doubt she would best them in these negotiations. And if they wouldn’t see reason, she would best them away from the table. It was that simple.
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Worf checked himself in the mirror, noting that the faint grey streak in his ever-lengthening hair lent an air of dignity to his appearance. The ambassadorial robe felt peculiar, however, and didn’t seem to want to hang from his shoulders properly. He was slated to meet with the Chancellor in less than an hour, and while his Klingon pride was fed by such a close affiliation with the leader of the High Council, he also knew the dubiousness of P’Arth’s acquisition of the post. And it made the stolid warrior relive so many memories, dealing with the home world: his own discommendation, the way K’mpec had covered the conspiracy to discredit Worf’s own family for their supposed role in the Khitomer massacre, and his triumph at restoring his name. Worf sighed. He had been like family to General Martok, had bested Chancellor Gowron in battle to allow Martok to become Chancellor of the High Council. And after the Dominion War, Worf had accepted the role of Federation ambassador to the Klingon Empire, and resided on Qo’noS for the next two years.
Politics frustrated the warrior in him, and he longed for something more active. When he contacted Jean-Luc Picard, Picard was only too happy to take him back onto the crew of the Enterprise. Worf had served as First Officer of the Defiant in the Dominion War, and was able to fill in on Enterprise whenever the First Officer’s chair was empty. He was ineligible for the permanent promotion, after a disciplinary action on DS9 had stunted his advancement potential. But if his choices were diplomacy vs. active duty, he preferred to run security. He was, after all, a warrior. And his decision to leave Qo’noS was certainly easier after Martok retired from the High Council. Martok was none too pleased to lose his favorite targ hunting partner, though.
Worf thought P’Arth’s request a bit peculiar, to meet him aboard the Sato, but the Chancellor purported to have an interest in touring the Supremacy class vessel, and Worf could hardly deny her request. He also thought it was peculiar that the Chancellor had arrived so early—well before she was supposed to be there and several days before the formal talks would begin. He felt as though P’Arth was trying deliberately to keep them off balance. He transported to Sato at the same time as the Chancellor, where Captain Kieran Wildman and First Officer Ro Laren awaited their guests.
“Captain Wildman,” Worf said formally, but smiled at his old friend, extending his hand in greeting. “I am pleased to see you’ve finally taken a ship worthy of your skill,” he complimented Kieran.
She bowed her head. “Thank you, Ambassador,” she replied, squeezing his hand affectionately. “I hope we can find time for a social visit later.” She turned to P’Arth trying not to show any sort of reaction. Gone was the teenaged athlete, gangly and unsure of herself, and in her place was a middle-aged Klingon woman with a regal air and a sharpness in her expression that put both Kieran and Ro on their guard. Kieran did not offer her hand. Instead she appraised the Chancellor coolly, noting that she wore the garb of a warrior, and not a lady.
“Chancellor, welcome aboard the Sato. This is my first officer, Ro Laren. Laren, P’Arth, wife of the late Chancellor Mor’dehK, of the house of Ve’chuK,” she recited P’Arth’s kinship ties.
“Commander,” P’Arth inclined her head, but never took her eyes from Kieran. “Captain, thank you for agreeing to show me your magnificent ship. I have heard a great deal about the Supremacy class,” she said politely, without alluding to their history at all.
“My pleasure,” Kieran lied. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to see, Chancellor? It’s a rather large ship,” she offered in a neutral tone.
“Klingons do not have recreational programs as you know them,” she said faintly. “I would be fascinated to see your dedicated holoprograms. I understand they are quite spectacular,” she offered. “If it’s not too much trouble?” P’Arth laced her fingers together in front of her hips, a gesture of nonchalance.
Kieran nodded. “No trouble at all. Shall we?” she inclined her head in the direction of the exit to the transporter room, all the while assessing the woman before her.
“May I ask a favor before we go, Captain?” she asked with a soft smile. “My son Ja’Kir has been begging to come aboard. He will behave himself. Would it be all right to take him along on the tour?”
Kieran was taken aback. P’Arth, with children? “Of course. Have him beam aboard, Chancellor. He is more than welcome to avail himself of our hospitality. He might find the amusement park interesting. My children adore it,” she added.
P’Arth smiled genuinely. “Children? Plural? I knew about Katie Torres,” she admitted.
Kieran tried to relax. “Hail your ship and invite Ja’Kir to join us,” she replied, avoiding the personal inquiry.
P’Arth tapped her comm badge and spoke in Klingon to advise her son to beam aboard. While they waited for him, P’Arth turned back to Kieran. “Captain, as long as we’re here, do you suppose you might find time for a game of Velocity? You do still play, don’t you?”
Kieran’s eyes fairly bulged. P’Arth acted as though they were old friends. “I doubt very much we will have time, Chancellor. Although the negotiations do not begin for three days, I am very busy. I only took command of the Sato in the past three weeks,” she explained smoothly. “But if I find time, I will certainly hail you,” she added, smiling to cover the fact that the last person in the Quadrant she would willingly spend time with was this woman.
Just then Ja’Kir materialized on the dais, and Kieran turned to look him over. He was a very handsome Klingon, indeed, slender, but clearly muscular, with a high ridged forehead, and his hair already in a ponytail. He smiled winningly, and stepped down from the transporter pad. “Thank you for allowing me to come along,” he said to Kieran.
“I’m Captain Wildman. Pleased to have you here,” she said politely, shaking his hand. “You must be about my daughter’s age,” she added, smiling.
“I am eleven,” he replied proudly.
“Ah, and no doubt nearly ready for your first rite of ascension,” Kieran noted, letting go of his hand. “Chancellor, shall we?” she asked, waving the entourage out the door and into the hallway.