The Sato Series, Episode 3: a new Frontier

“Yes. Skyler Barrows was her name. She was quite good,” Kieran added.
“Are you still in contact with any of the old team?” P’Arth asked amiably.
“Skyler died in the war,” Kieran replied. “But no, I don’t keep up with anyone who survived,” she admitted.
“You were always musical,” P’Arth commented. “Do you play this?”
“Piano,” Kieran supplied. “No, I don’t. Naomi is an astonishing musician. It’s her instrument,” she explained, easing down into her chair.
“Counselor,” she turned to Naomi. “Would you please play something for me?”
“Of course, Chancellor,” Naomi capitulated. “I’d be delighted.”
Naomi played two selections from her ever growing repertoire, and P’Arth stood beside her, watching her fingers dance over the keys. P’Arth closed her eyes, and suddenly she was back at the Academy, listening to Skyler play. It had been during a tournament, and the team had gone back to their hotel for the evening. Ambling through the lobby, they had spotted the grand piano, and persuaded Skyler to play for them. P’Arth and Kieran had sat on a couch together, holding hands and exchanging enamored looks. P’Arth opened her eyes, and Lenara looked on, startled as she realized P’Arth’s eyes had tears in them. P’Arth swayed, slightly, moving imperceptibly to the music. That night at the hotel, she had claimed Kieran Thompson, and Kieran had marked her, as well. The bloodlust had gripped them both, she recalled, and that night had been particularly wild. P’Arth could not recall how or when their relationship had deteriorated into constant bickering and anger, only that it had.

After dinner, Lenara went over the findings several times, patiently answering every question P’Arth asked, no matter how directionless. For good measure, Lenara had Naomi accompany them to the lab, and of course, Kit, who would not leave P’Arth alone with her mothers for an instant. She heard very little of the scientific lecture, instead concentrating on memorizing P’Arth’s chi, feeling it, sensing it, and mentally calculating how to counter it should the need arise. Kit was perched on the edge of her chair, like a cat ready to leap across a crevasse.

Together, Naomi and Lenara found a way to make P’Arth understand the physics and mathematics involved in the science of stable wormholes, by using analogies and metaphors when simple language failed. P’Arth was far from the dullard she had proclaimed herself to be, but it was clear she was not a scientist. Still, she did her best, and no matter how frustrated she became, she never lost her tactful and respectful manner with her hostesses.
Kit realized that P’Arth never did anything predictable. Kit had expected her to lose her temper at the negotiating table, but she didn’t. Kit had waited for the inevitable outburst as Lenara went over the complex theoretical material, but it never came. She had expected the violent person she had read about to emerge, but only the diplomat was in attendance.
“Doctor, I am tiring you,” P’Arth mentioned at one point, as she noted Lenara’s vallette paling. “Please, let me walk you back to your quarters,” she added, sounding very worried. She looked to Naomi with a pleading expression.
“I’m fine, Chancellor,” Lenara replied, closing her eyes to steady herself. “It’s just—I’m pregnant, and I am afraid the baby is taking a good bit of my physiological resources, just now,” she said apologetically.
P’Arth’s face fell. “Pregnant? And you have allowed me to keep you out so late? I am ashamed, Doctor,” she wailed. She knelt in the floor, covering her eyes. “Please, forgive me. I did not know you are with child,” she apologized.
Lenara smiled warmly. “You have no need to prostrate yourself. You couldn’t have known, and I insisted on this meeting,” she assured the Klingon. “Please, Chancellor, get up,” she urged. “You should never be on your knees for anyone,” she said kindly.
P’Arth obediently arose, helping Lenara to her feet. “I am grateful for the instructive patience you have shown me, all of you,” she told the three women. “You should have advised me you are not well, Doctor. I understand enough to see why you have supported the Federation’s position, and I will not continue to argue my own selfish agenda,” she pledged. “You have sacrificed much for your work, and taken excessive risks, and I will not ask you to endanger anyone further for this wormhole. The Romulans will gloat, but I will make the high council understand the science involved as best I can. I only wish you could both come and explain it to them, as I am certainly inadequate to the task.” She held Lenara’s arm, making sure she was stable on her feet. “Are you able to walk to your quarters?” she asked quietly.
“I am. But if you would accompany us, I would be honored,” Lenara replied. “Will you be in trouble with your government for acquiescing to the Federation’s plans?” she asked, knowing how hard it must be for the proud warrior to give in for any reason.
P’Arth smiled. “You are kind to be concerned, Doctor,” she said genuinely as they exited the lab, Kit and Naomi following behind them. “It will not be the most popular decision I could make, but I will bear the brunt of the council’s ire willingly. My fear is that the men on the council will conclude I am weak because I am a woman, and that will color their perceptions. It is not easy, being in a position of authority as a female in my society,” she explained.
The truth of her words hit Lenara, suddenly. P’Arth was probably a target for assassination every moment she spent on Qo’noS. Lenara gazed at the tall, muscular woman in warrior’s garb. “You are at risk,” she stated more than asked.
“Not your concern,” P’Arth replied easily. “I have served my people to the best of my ability, and if they no longer wish to avail themselves of my services, then today is a good day to die,” she chuckled, as if it meant nothing to her if she were murdered. “Mor’dehK understood these things, and he awaits me in Sto’Vo’Kor. There is no dishonor in service to the Empire, and I will not meet Gre’thor anytime soon,” she concluded. “Besides, my tenure on the high council, however brief, pales in comparison to my role in the war. Or at least it has, until now,” she said sincerely, smiling at Lenara. “I cannot tell you how much of an honor it has been to meet you. There has never been a Klingon scholar or scientist equal to you,” she complimented the Trill. “May I ask a favor of you, Doctor Kahn?” she requested as they stopped outside the Wildman’s quarters.
Naomi and Kit looked at the Chancellor expectantly, but it was clear P’Arth’s focus was solely on Lenara.
“Of course, Chancellor,” Lenara replied. “How may I assist you?”
“It is a vanity,” P’Arth admitted sheepishly. “Would you—allow me to have a holophoto taken with you, for my collection? This has been the crowning moment of my political career, and I would like to remember it always.”
Lenara was stunned. “Only that?” she asked mildly.
P’Arth nodded. “It would mean a great deal to me. My family will treasure it.”
“Of course, Chancellor. I would be delighted,” she agreed. She hesitated to say goodbye, studying the Klingon before her.
“What is it?” P’Arth asked, noting the look of consternation Lenara wore.
“You—are not what I expected,” she said honestly.
“Because Kieran has told you I am a monster,” she acknowledged. “Or so I understand from what she has said to me. I do not understand it. She remembers things I do not,” P’Arth puzzled over it. “I have tried to make amends with her. I know she despises me, and I don’t know why,” she said sadly. “I wish someone would tell me what I supposedly did that was so reprehensible,” she lamented. “I loved her. I had hoped to be friends with her. Clearly, she will not permit it.”
Kit Wildman had stood by silently all evening, watching the Chancellor working her phony charm on Lenara and Naomi, and her blood had reached a boiling point. “How convenient that you’ve forgotten beating my mother senseless,” she hissed, stepping in between Lenara and P’Arth, golden eyes smoldering. “If we weren’t in Federation space, I would love to return the favor,” she threatened the Chancellor.
P’Arth glanced at Naomi and Lenara. “Is that what Kieran told you all?” she asked, bewildered.
“It’s what we’ve seen and heard from everyone who knew her back then,” Kit answered for her mothers.
Lenara was deceptively strong and she yanked Kit backwards. “Lieutenant,” she said tersely, “stand down. This is not your business, and Kieran would be the first to tell you so.”
Kit stood there, clenching and unclenching her jaw, wanting to dismantle this arrogant Klingon.
“Is what she says true, Doctor Kahn?” P’Arth asked quietly.
Lenara swallowed hard, nodding. “It’s true. Chancellor, it’s in her medical records.”
P’Arth was visibly upset and dismayed. “I don’t know what to say. That’s not what I remember,” she offered. “I hurt her?” she asked, sounding small and frightened.
Kit was shaking with rage. Naomi rested a hand on her back to try to calm her. “Assaulted is more accurate,” Kit said under her breath.
P’Arth blanched. “Assaulted?” she murmured. She shook her head. “Surely not,” she muttered in disbelief.
“I can prove it,” Kit assured her. “Would you like to see her medical records?” she sneered, knowing P’Arth would never agree.
“Yes, I would,” P’Arth replied, folding her hands passively in front of her. “Please.”
Kit was nonplussed. “I—I—” she stammered. She recovered herself momentarily. “Come with me,” she replied, leading them all to her quarters across the hall.

Chancellor P’Arth sat stone-faced, reading over the medical data, perusing Kieran’s file. It had taken Naomi Wildman’s access code to open the documents, but as Kieran’s spouse and a ship’s counselor, she had the right to look at them. She had debated with herself only momentarily, knowing Kieran was intensely private, but also knowing the only way to diffuse the tension between Kit and P’Arth was for them to keep talking. The medical records were the crux of Kit’s arguments.

P’Arth tried to conjure up the events of the last night she had been with Kieran. Lukara, P’Arth remembered saying to Kieran, you have insulted my honor for the last time. She remembered backhanding Kieran, who had cursed her in Klingonese. Kieran collapsed into a corner of the quad room, blood trickling from her mouth. The sight of it aroused P’Arth, and she lunged for Kieran, grasping her shoulders, the bloodlust giving her greater strength than she ordinarily possessed. Kieran went limp, and P’Arth crushed her body closer. Fight me, damn you, she had demanded angrily. Fight for this bond, she had snarled. Kieran slumped to the floor. P’Arth stood there, her blood raging in her veins. Lukara, she had said, shaking her head. She reached for a blanket, draping it over Kieran’s limp body. Too much bloodwine. You never could hold your liquor, any more than I could hold my humans, she had laughed.
“I didn’t know,” P’Arth protested. “I thought she had too much to drink. I didn’t know I broke her jaw,” she insisted. “I swear it on the house of my father,” she said miserably. She tapped her comm badge, speaking in Klingonese to the person at the other end, who replied.
Kit assumed she was asking to be transported off the ship, and expected as much from a coward. Instead, a transporter swirl appeared in Kit’s quarters, and two bat’leths materialized.
P’Arth looked at Kit. “Take one. Whichever you prefer,” she said solemnly.
“You think a gift will fix everything?” Kit demanded incredulously.
P’Arth sighed. “I think a battle to the death will,” she replied. “You, me, the nearest holodeck,” she said in a wooden tone. “Isn’t that what you want? My blood, in exchange for your mother’s?”
Kit looked from Naomi to Lenara, back to P’Arth. “You want to fight me?” she asked, grinning confidently.
P’Arth stood to go, selecting a bat’leth. “No, but you want to fight me.”
Lenara grabbed P’Arth’s arm, addressing her in Klingon. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’d kill Kieran’s daughter?” she asked in the guttural language.
P’Arth shook her head, and replied in Klingonese as well. “No, I would not. But she claims the right of vengeance, as any honorable daughter would. I promise I will not hurt her.”
Lenara was near panic. “You don’t understand. She is a very skilled fighter. She may kill you,” Lenara argued.
P’Arth shrugged, and said in English “It’s a good day to die.” She turned to Kit. “Lead the way.”
Just then Ro Laren stumbled out of bed, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on out here?” she asked. “You woke me up.”
Kit scurried over. “Nothing, honey. We’re going to a holodeck. I’m sorry we were loud. Go back to sleep,” she said calmly, leading Ro back into the darkened bedroom. “I love you, Laren,” she said tenderly, kissing her lover. “I’ll be home soon.”
“Kittner,” Laren said suspiciously, “what are you doing?”
“P’Arth is going to show me some moves with a bat’leth, that’s all. Now go to bed, Averone,” she encouraged her. “I promise, I won’t be long.”
Laren yawned, nodding. “Okay, Kittner. Hurry back.”
Kit kissed her goodbye and tucked her into bed, went to her own room to retrieve her own bat’leth, then rejoined the women in her living room. “I’m ready,” she announced. “No offense, but I have my own blade,” she told the Chancellor.
“May I see it?” P’Arth asked, reaching for it. She examined the weapon, nodding approvingly. “Excellent quality. You have used them before, then?” she asked, wanting to be certain it would be a fair fight.
“I’ve been training over a year,” Kit replied. “I’m better with my bare hands than I am with a blade, but I’m not bad,” she said truthfully.
“If you are Kieran’s child, I will take that to mean you are very skilled indeed. I presume you have the same gift of humble understatement your mother has,” she chuckled, waving the women out into the hallway. “Which way to your holodeck?”

It became readily apparent that P’Arth was not taking the offensive. She countered Kit’s attacks and fought them off, but she made no advances of her own. Naomi turned to Lenara, wringing her hands. “What the hell is she doing? She’s not fighting back,” she whispered.

Lenara nodded. “She promised me she would not hurt Kit,” she replied.
Kit circled her opponent, assuming that P’Arth was taking time to size her up, and that was why she hadn’t advanced against Kit. Kit noted that P’Arth was a very skilled and controlled fighter, graceful, economic in her motion. She kept waiting for the Klingon to retaliate, but P’Arth held back. Kit began to sweat from exertion, and on the next exchange, she swept P’Arth’s legs with a karate move. P’Arth’s teeth glittered with satisfaction as she hit the mat and rolled to avoid being beheaded.
“You are very good,” she complimented Kit, a sincere admiration in her tone. She leapt to her feet and centered herself, blocking another blow.
Kit sneered. “You think you’ll lull me into complacency if you hold back long enough, but you won’t,” she challenged the Chancellor. “Fight me, you P’taQ,” she demanded, swinging through as P’Arth caught Kit’s blade with her own. Kit’s rage festered and her face contorted with it. “Fight me, God damn you,” she shouted angrily, letting out a blood curdling cry as she advanced on P’Arth again.
P’Arth was startled when Kit actually landed a blow on her shoulder, and the metal edge shredded her tunic and her flesh. She glanced at the injury as if it were nothing. “You have drawn first blood,” she acknowledged to Kit. “Well done.” P’Arth took a defensive posture, ignoring the blood soaking the fabric of her tunic. She had not broken a sweat.
Lenara and Naomi exchanged worried looks. “Get Laren,” Lenara urged Naomi. “Hurry. P’Arth is going to let Kit kill her, and Kit will be court-martialed.”
Naomi exited the holodeck and sprinted to Laren’s quarters, waking the first officer up. “Kit and P’Arth,” she gasped, out of breath. “Hurry.”
Laren shook the cobwebs from her head, but she dressed in a flash and ran to the holodeck. As they entered, Laren was shocked to see blood everywhere. P’Arth was obviously letting Kit best her, and Laren had no idea why, but she knew from P’Arth’s history in the war that she could have slaughtered Kit in a manner of seconds if she had wanted to.
Kit was unaware her lover had entered the holodeck, and when P’Arth’s bat’leth clattered against a wall after Kit knocked it free, P’Arth dropped to her knees, as if awaiting execution. Kit stepped back to gather momentum for her swing, thinking she would send the Chancellor’s head fifty feet rather than twenty.
“Kit!” Laren screamed, leaping at her and knocking her down. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” she roared, standing over her lover, who was sprawled on the mat at Laren’s feet. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a prison camp?” she demanded, hauling Kit up by the front of her uniform. “Do you?”
Kit’s fury drained away, and looked from Laren to the Chancellor, who was still kneeling where she would have let Kit finish her. “Holy shit, you’re bleeding,” she said to P’Arth, suddenly in control of her faculties again. “Laren, we have to get her to sickbay,” she realized, snapping into action.
“No shit,” Laren scowled. “Chancellor,” she helped P’Arth to her feet, “come with me. I ought to have you both arrested,” she snarled, shaking P’Arth by the uninjured arm, and grabbing Kit by the front of her uniform again. “Are you insane?”
P’Arth smiled. “Probably,” she replied affably.
Joely Winfield was back on duty, though she moved gingerly enough to suggest she was not entirely at her best. She answered the hail to sickbay and found the Chancellor bleeding profusely. She didn’t ask any questions, but one look at Ro Laren told her that all was not well.
Laren turned to Kit, satisfied that Joely would tend to the Chancellor. “Lieutenant,” she barked angrily, “you get your ass to the holodeck and clean it up. Every drop of blood. And put those bat’leths someplace where no one will find them,” she added, fuming. “God damn it Kit,” she threw her hands up, “do you have any idea what sort of compromising position you’ve put me in?”
Kit nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. Don’t violate regs for me, Laren. You’ve done it too many times before. Just call security and have me thrown in the brig,” she replied.
P’Arth was listening to their exchange, and howled with laughter. Joely was certain the woman had lost her mind.
“What’s so funny?” Lenara demanded, losing patience with everyone present.
“Those two,” P’Arth answered, laughing. “If I had an ounce of latinum for every time Kieran covered for my sorry ass in school,” she wheezed, slapping her thigh. “I see the tradition continues,” she advised Laren.
“Chancellor, this is your call. You can press charges, if you want,” Laren told the woman.
“For what? I challenged her. She should be having me taken into custody,” she offered mildly. “I am glad you arrived when you did, however. I am rather attached to my head,” she joked.
Laren had to laugh at that. “You are both P’taQs,” she pronounced.
Kit spun around. “My mom? She violated regs?” she asked, not believing it for a second.
P’Arth nodded. “I could tell you stories,” she laughed. “For instance, there was the time Kieran and I went sailing on Lake Qo’noS, which her basketball coach had strictly forbidden,” she recalled. “She had to do some pretty fast talking when Coach Kilkenny showed up at the rec center and walked out across the water to our sailboat,” she chortled.
Kit started to smile. “Coach Kilkenny?” she asked, remembering the woman from when Kieran had introduced them. “She seems like the type that wouldn’t take any shit,” she chuckled, moving closer to the Chancellor.
“Oh, good Kahless on a pike, she was pissed off,” P’Arth laughed. “I’ve never seen Kieran so frightened, in fact. I believe she wet herself,” she added.
“What did the Coach do?” Kit asked, leaning on P’Arth’s biobed.
“Benched her for two games,” P’Arth replied. “That was the worst thing she could have ever done. The Academy lost both games, and the team was blaming Kieran, of course, because she was the leading scorer. She was something else, Kit,” P’Arth said softly. “She could jump like nothing I’ve ever seen before or since,” she remembered, her expression far away. “Everyone was simply in awe of her. Me included.”
Kit studied her intently. “Why didn’t you fight back?” she asked, confused.
P’Arth touched her arm. “Do you think for a second you could have beaten me, if I had?” she asked.
Kit smirked. “I don’t know. I’d have given it my best shot.”
P’Arth threw back her head and laughed. “You would have died trying, Kit Wildman,” she informed her.
“Yeah, probably. Katie told me how many Jem Hadar you killed,” she admitted. “She says you’re the most famous warrior on the homeworld, in fact,” Kit acknowledged.
“True enough,” P’Arth agreed.
“So why not just kill me? I insulted your honor. I wanted to kill you,” Kit said honestly.
P’Arth considered spouting off some glib Klingon bravado, but she opted for the truth. “Because you are your mother’s heart,” she reasoned. “Kieran loves you the way she loved her sister Cassidy. It is apparent in the way she looks at you. I would not take from her the one thing she could not bear to lose,” she confessed. “And I don’t blame you for wanting to kill me. You had every right,” she said sadly. “Kit, please believe this. I did not know I had injured your mother. I had no idea.”
“Then why did you run away?” Kit asked, wanting to believe her.
“I loved your mother, and I was ruining her life. I knew that. She was unhappy, and we did nothing but fight. And she needed to focus on her family. Her sister was dying. I was homesick, and I wanted to leave school, and it was best for her. I left her a note in her comm account, telling her I was leaving her. I told her some half-truth about wanting to marry a powerful Klingon warrior, not some worthless human. I knew if I didn’t sever the tie harshly, she would follow after me. Or at least, I thought she might.”
“Half-truth?” Kit murmured. She looked at P’Arth’s bare chest, at the base of her throat. “It was what happened, wasn’t it? You blood-bonded with a powerful member of the Klingon high council,” she pointed out.
“No,” P’Arth said. “This is not Mor’dehK’s mark,” she pointed to the scar. “It is your mother’s.”
Kit’s jaw fell. “But—it can’t be. Mor’dehK would not marry a woman who was bonded with someone else,” she protested.
Joely did a quick medical tri-corder reading. “That scar is over twenty years old,” she affirmed for Kit.
“It was a marriage of destiny, not love,” P’Arth explained. “Mor’dehK and I were not blood-bonded. I bore a son for him, and that was the most important thing I ever gave him. Never my heart.” She smiled faintly. “He knew I had only been in love once, and he accepted what I offered him—prestige, fame, position—the same things he offered me. It was no secret among my people that we married for the material reasons. It’s why everyone thinks I killed him, but I didn’t.”
“Who did?” Laren asked, drawn into the tale.
“I don’t know,” P’Arth sighed. “The investigation was flawed, and there were no answers. I didn’t push, either, because I didn’t particularly mind that he was gone, to be honest.”
Kieran Wildman had awakened to find Lenara and Naomi missing, and when she queried the computer, it reported them both in sickbay. The Captain burst into the emergency ward, wild-eyed and frightened. “What the hell is going on? There’s a trail of blood all the way down the corridor?” she demanded, looking around the room. “Lenara, is the baby all right?” she asked. “Are you all right, Be’thal?” she asked fearfully, gathering the Trill into sturdy arms.
“I’m fine, kadicadrejir,” Lenara assured her. “Naomi is fine.” She looked around the room, realizing Kit was about to get in a world of trouble. “I am very, very tired, though. Will you take me home?” she asked, sounding appropriately pitiful.