Star Trek Day of Honor 02 Armageddon Sky

ARMAGEDDON SKY

To all you bonobos, wherever you are.

CHAPTER 1

KIRA ARCHED PERILOUSLY backward to dodge

her opponent's bat'leth, scraping her

heel on the edge of one carved bone step. She

stumbled and felt her way up the irregular steps with

one hand thrust out behind her. From both above and below, the

ancient Klingon courtyard echoed with the sounds of

fierce and bloody combat metallic crashes,

ground-shaking thuds, and occasional curses spat out

in the dozen languages Dax spoke fluently.

At least one of those had been Bajoran, and from its

breathless invocation of Prophetic aid, Kira

gathered the battle on the courtyard's floor

wasn't going well at all. Neither was the battle

on the shivering balcony above her--the thunder of booted

footsteps across it exploded abruptly into shattered

bone balustrade and splintered crystal floor

tiles. The cascade of debris startled Kira so

much that she almost missed the spectacle of Odo

whirling to the courtyard floor in a splash of

effluvium. In retrospect, she realized she should

have expected it. The constable had been all but forced

into joining Dax's holographic "defense of

honor"; during the preliminary arming ceremonies

he'd grumbled nonstop that the Trill's insistence

on authentic medieval Klingon armor was going

to exhaust his shape-changing abilities before his duty

shift even began that night. Odo might not have

been able to withstand Dax's wheedling any more than

Kira, but since he'd only agreed to participate

if he wasn't forced to use a bat'leth, he was

too pragmatic not to avail himself of the first

opportunity to remove himself from the combat.

Unfortunately, flinging herself into glorious, bloody

death was not exactly an option for Kira. Tearing

her eyes away from the still-rippling evidence of

Odo's demise, she refocused her attention on

the battle just in time to catch an armored elbow in the

face. The holographic Klingon warrior who had

backed her up the stairs might have been carefully

programmed by Worf to match her fighting skills,

but it hadn't been given her ability to be distracted

--or her underlying impatience with this ridiculous

ritual challenge. It wasn't a full-force blow

--Kira could have avoided it if she'd been paying

attention--but it was enough to stagger her off the stairs and

back down into the courtyard. She chased her balance

with two backward steps, then felt her heel come

down in something slick and rubbery. She realized

what-- who--it was an instant before her foot whisked

out from under her. Odo's gelatinous flinch had to have

been more from sympathy than any need on his part.

Kira pinwheeled to land without use of her

hands, worried for one absurd moment that she might

crush him. The jolt of discomfort that thumped up her

spine was enough to inspire a curse of her own, this time so

vile that even the Klingon looming over her blinked in

surprise. "That's it." She heaved her bat'leth

toward the open courtyard and called out, "Program

delete "Kira,"" just to watch the weapon

evaporate before it could hit the ground. "I quit."

Dax, chestnut hair loose and wild about her

armor-plated shoulders, threw Kira an

irritated scowl as she whirled to avoid a downward

lunge from Odo's former opponent, nimbly kicking

him in the teeth as she did so. "You can't quit!"

she complained, to both Kira and her own former

adversary, now leaning down to help Kira to her

feet. "What about the insult to my honor?" Odo

rippled with what might have been a snort if he'd

had the nose and lungs to produce it. He

extruded a rudimentary head big enough to remark,

"Either it doesn't require as much defense as you

thought, or you've picked the wrong warriors to help

defend it." The platter of gel under Kira's hand

twitched testily. "Major, if you don't

mind..." "Oh... sorry." Kira shifted her

weight as best she could, ignoring the clench of

indignant muscles across the small of her back.

Odo oozed out from under one hand, then the other. The

bulge at the top of the gelatin pool glided

smoothly into a humanoid outline, then sketched in

its own details of color, texture, and form.

"Come on, you guys." Dax's bat'leth struck

holographic sparks off holographic armor as

she swung around to confront Kira's former

attacker. Deprived by the holo-suite computer of

their programmed targets, both of Worf's

seconds were now closing in on the Trill. She

seemed more exasperated than intimidated by this

development. "You can't just walk away from our

Suv'batlh" Worf fastened a huge hand around

Kira's elbow. "It is not our Suv'batlh,"

he rumbled. His expression, always somewhat grim

by Bajoran standards, all but smoldered beneath the

shadows of his lacquered face-mask. Kira fitted

her hand between a seam in his armor's vainbrace, and

tried to take at least some of her own weight as the

big Klingon heaved her to her feet. "This is not

any Suv'batlh at all." If Dax

appreciated the thunder on Worf's dark face,

Kira saw no sign of it. "Speak for yourself," she

countered, knocking the second holographic

Klingon onto his back with a fierce swing of her

bat'leth, then thumping Worf in the small of his

back with the rounded edge of her weapon. "I'm not going

to stand by while you tell me where I can and can't go, like

I was one of your courtesans." Worf spun on

her, growling with all the fury of a ghar-wolf as he

seized her bat'leth in both hands. In that instant,

Kira appreciated how much of his Kling-on

nature he hid from them every moment of every day.

"Computer End program!" A polite,

nonintrusive chime wafted through the burning air of the

Dulloil desert, rippling the edges of meo

trees and Klingon-hewn stone until it seemed the

whole world was melting in the heat. By the time the computer

informed them, "Program ended," their slice of

ancient Klingon history had dissolved

down to four black walls and a gridwork of

intersecting lines. Kira felt the same startling

press of claustrophobia that always swarmed over her

when the holo-suite's illusion of openness was over.

"You make a mockery of an honorable tradition."

His words were accusatory, but Worf's tone sounded more

disappointed than angry. He released Dax's

weapon with a snarl. "I should not have accepted your

challenge." Dax shook her hair back from

her face, exposing the very unklingonlike spattering

of freckles at each temple. "I'm not trying

to mock anything." She looked tall and lanky in

her exoskeleton of Klingon armor; the intricate

structure of both rantou lacquer and bat'leth

stood out in even greater relief now that the

holo-suite's walls were all that surrounded them.

"You knew that going with the Victoria Adams was

important to me." Kira had heard this argument in

every permutation ever since the Terran science vessel

left the station two days ago, but the indignation in

Dax's voice still sounded freshly minted. "Do you have

any idea how many thousands of years it's going to be

until I get another chance to witness a cometary

deluge like this one?" "The rarity of an

astronomical event does not make it imperative

that every science officer in Starfleet view it,"

Worf informed her bluntly. "As station tactical

officer, I determined that your primary duty is

here. On DS9." Sighing, Kira wearily

popped the straps at the knee joints of her armor

and settled to the floor to wait out the debate. Dax

grounded her bat'leth with a thump that rang painful

echoes off the bare holo-suite walls. "On

DS9,

Commander Worf, my duty is to document all

scientific phenomena in and around this region of

space." "Not when a Starfleet research vessel

has already been dispatched expressly for the purpose

of observing that phenomenon," Worf snarled back.

"In that case, your duty consists "I know, I

know." The Trill's voice sizzled with a level of

annoyance that didn't quite match the wry glint in her

grey eyes. "Making sure the station is prepared for

all the possible scientific emergencies that might

arise. Emergencies that you felt the need

to enumerate in a four-page report that convinced

Benjamin he couldn't afford to let me go!" "It is

important for a commanding officer to know all the

strategic considerations that might influence his

decision. And the current situation with the Klingons--"

"No matter how many Klingons may or may not be

violating the Neutral Zone, the Victoria

Adams is no less likely to be attacked just

because I'm not on board." A hint of youthful

petulance crept into Dax's voice. "And I

wanted to watch the comets fall." Worf scowled, not

yielding. "The danger to the Victoria Adams is

beside the point. As a senior science officer, you are

too valuable to this station to risk yourself on

frivolous scientific tourist excursions." "How

about frivolous Honor Combats?" Dax

retorted, giving her bat'leth a twirl. The

tactical officer grunted, and Kira almost thought

she saw him flush. "Precisely why I should not have

accepted your challenge." That gruff admission was

apparently retreat enough for Dax. Her resilient,

puckish humor returned with a fierce smile.

"Admit it," she cajoled, dancing forward a step

to chuck his arm with the side of her bat'leth. "With the

Day of Honor coming up, you thought a little

Suv'batlh might be a fun way to celebrate the

holiday." Worf stiffened, but didn't pull

away. "Honor is not meant to be fun. And the

Batlh Jaj is not a holiday. It is the occasion

on which true Klingons re-affirm their own sense of

honor and commemorate the honor of their most

esteemed enemies." "Like Captain James T.

Kirk of the first Enterprise," Dax said, with a

mischievous smile. "My old friend Kor used

to demonstrate the esteem he felt for Kirk

by drinking an extra keg of blood wine on every

Batlh Jaj." "That," said Worf

repressively, "is not the correct way

to celebrate the Day of Honor." "Neither

is increasing the number of provocative intrusions

into the Klingon-Cardassian Neutral Zone, if

you ask me." Odo folded his hands atop updrawn

knees in unconscious mimicry of Kira. "It

makes me wonder if your people still believe in

celebrating the honor of their enemies, Commander."

"Not all enemies have honor," Worf growled.

"To those that do not, the Klingons owe no commemoration of

Batlh Jaj." Odo snorted. "From the

response we've been getting to this holiday of

yours, I'd say the Humans feel exactly the

same way about the Klingons." Kira found herself

forced to agree with that. While she thought the observance of

any Klingon holiday within the Federation a dubious

practice, considering

the recent tensions that had flared between the two former

enemies, she certainly hadn't expected the

violent antipathy that had ignited throughout the

Alpha Quadrant as preparations for the Day of

Honor drew near. On DS9--WHICH had

acknowledged the holiday for as long as the Federation had

kept a presence theretothere'd been a distinct

increase in racist grumbling. As the grumbling

increased, they'd gradually phased out plans for a

display of locally owned Klingon art, then the

Klingon food festival, and finally even the

re-enactment of the Klingons' traditional Honor

Combat--Suv'batlh--for fear of how station

personnel would respond to the Klingon costumes and

weapons. Worf shoved off his lacquered

battle-mask to reveal a grim face streaked with

rivulets of sweat. Dax might not have been winning

their face-to-face combat, but she'd certainly

managed to press the Klingon warrior to his

limits. "I advised Captain Sisko that

to commemorate the Day of Honor so soon after the

invasion of Cardassia might be unwise."

"I don't think it's the

Cardassians who are the problem," Kira said

soberly. "No," Dax agreed. "The problem is

that the Day of Honor is supposed to celebrate a

time when Humans and Klingons united against a common

enemy, even while they were fighting each other. And

now, when we're facing a common enemy greater than

any we've encountered before--"

"My people," Odo

interjected, with the bitter resignation that always soured

his voice when he spoke those words.

"--the Klingons have endangered the entire Alpha

Quadrant by dividing it rather than uniting it.

It makes the Day of Honor--" She broke off

again, this time slanting Worf a wary look. However,

the Klingon tactical oficer finished the thought for her

with the ruthless lack of self-pity Kira found so

characteristic of his race. "--a mockery of what it is

supposed to represent." His dark eyes slitted

down to angry lines of frustration. "Which is why I

cannot even challenge those who spit upon my honor with

their signs and their curses!" Kira winced at the

snarling tone of repressed fury, and wondered if,

all along, this holographic combat hadn't just been

Dax's Trill-clever way to give Worf's

bottled rage a safe place to erupt. The fact

that this possibility had just occurred to her now, she

thought wryly, was a testimony to her own naivete

about the conflict brewing between the Klingons and the

Federation. Kira hadn't known any Humans

until after the Cardassian Occupation ended,

didn't even really know what a Klingon was except

for having heard their name and practices invoked in

Cardassian threats. When she'd first been forced

to work with Humans in the rebuilding years after the

Occupation, she'd found them incomprehensibly

diplomatic, in-furiatingly even-tempered, and

maddeningly dense. The first Klingons she

encountered--staunch allies of the Federation for what had

seemed, at the time, an eternity--had struck her as

being even less understandable, despite their refreshingly

straightforward

lack of Human manners. They'd comprised

different facets of her indoctrination into galactic

culture. And, after four years' immersion on board

Deep Space Nine, she'd learned

to appreciate--even like-- Humans, if still not

completely understand them. The Klingons, however, still

completely eluded her. They were a hard people, in many

ways more complicated than the simplicity of their

behavior suggested. Their separation from the Federation and

all its friendship meant had seemed irrational

to Kira She saw their sudden, aggressive

expansion into every border star system that couldn't drive

them off as being no more forgivable than anything the

Cardassians had ever done. In the months that

followed, she heard the Humans around her speak in

ways she'd never expected. Of populations

battered to extinction, starbases brutalized,

grandparents or uncles or even older siblings

tortured to death by an enemy too different, too

barbaric to ever trust or understand. They'd sounded like they

were talking about demonic creatures of such

supernatural evil that they threatened the very existence

of the universe. Instead, they were talking about the

Klingons. That was how Kira found out about the world before

the Khitomer Accords. Venerable Human

politeness had prevented the Federation from lingering over

the fact that they'd been mortal enemies with the

Klingons for generations longer than they'd ever been

friends. They'd graciously granted the Klingons their

cultural differences, learned not to take offense at

the aggressiveness Klingons tended to fling around them like

spittle, 10 prided themselves on their respect for

Klingon history and tradition. In return, the

Klingons endeavored to be less obvious in their

disdain for Federation bureaucracy, and stopped bullying

Starfleet officers. Apparently, everyone had thought

this great progress at the time. But from Kira's

point of view it had seemed to be progress

built more on tolerance than respect, and doomed

to fail because of that. For a comparatively short period

of time, it had looked like the Klingons and the Federation

needed each other--two vast giants coming to grips

with the fact that even the greatest behemoth needed someone

to guard its farthest edges. Maybe if their peace had

lasted longer they would have eased into a more lasting

symbiosis. As it was, their fledgling

romance hadn't lasted past the first cultural spat.

Borders slammed, families remembered all the

atrocities and fears passed down from beloved

grandfolk and historical texts, and the comfortable

shackles of hatred slipped back into place, as

though no one had ever loosened them. "It's not you."

She hadn't really meant to say anything. if there was

one thing she'd come to understand about Worf since he

joined the crew, it was that he was proud, and intensely

private. But the words popped out as though tumbling

directly off her thoughts. She knew when he

turned his frown on her that she'd trapped herself

in!completing her observation, whether Worf would

appreciate it or not. "The people here--they're not even

seeing you. They're seeing political battles that

are keeping them from getting letters to their loved ones, or

spare parts for

the atmospheric propagators." She lifted

one shoulder in a somewhat apologetic shrug, even

though she wasn't sure what she herself had

to apologize for. "Don't take it personally."

Worf differences, learned not to take offense at the

aggressiveness Klingons tended to fling around them like

spittle, 10 prided themselves on their respect for

Klingon history and tradition. In

return, the Klingons endeavored to be less

obvious in their disdain for Federation bureaucracy, and

stopped bullying Starfleet officers. Apparently,

everyone had thought this great progress at the time. But

from Kira's point of view it had seemed to be

progress built more on tolerance than respect,

and doomed to fail because of that. For a comparatively

short period of time, it had looked like the Klingons

and the Federation needed each other--two vast giants

coming to grips with the fact that even the greatest behemoth

needed someone to guard its farthest edges. Maybe if

their peace had lasted longer they would have eased into a more

lasting symbiosis. As it was, their fledgling

romance hadn't lasted past the first cultural spat.

Borders slammed, families remembered all the

atrocities and fears passed down from beloved

grandfolk and historical texts, and the comfortable

shackles of hatred slipped back into place, as

though no one had ever loosened them. "It's not you."

She hadn't really meant to say anything. if there was

one thing she'd come to understand about Worf since he

joined the crew, it was that he was proud, and intensely

private. But the words popped out as though tumbling

directly off her thoughts. She knew when he

turned his frown on her that she'd trapped

herself in!completing her observation, whether Worf would

appreciate it or not. "The people here--they're not even

seeing you. They're seeing political battles that

are keeping them from getting letters to their loved ones, or

spare parts for

the atmospheric propagators." She lifted

one shoulder in a somewhat apologetic shrug, even

though she wasn't sure what she herself had

to apologize for. "Don't take it personally."

Worf gave her a sharp frown, as if her words had

translated into a threat rather than the friendly advice

she'd intended. More proof that Kira still didn't

understand Klingons. "Hatred is always personal,"

he told her bleakly. "It is only the face of

your enemy that changes." There didn't seem to be

anything she could say in response to that; Kira was

glad when her comm badge chirped and gave her an

excuse to look away. "Sisko to Kira." She

fumbled with latches on her armor with one hand as she

answered, anticipating. "Kira here."

"Major--" Sisko's deep voice was hard

to

read, colored over by the busy sounds of Ops in

his background. "I believe you're with Commander Dax

and the Constable." Kira glanced reflexively

at the officers surrounding her. "And Commander

Wo rf," she said, rolling carefully to her knees.

Then, in response to the tension in his tone, "Is there

a problem?"

"Why don't we discuss that here in

Ops?" The captain had an unnerving way of

sounding his most calm when things were approaching their most

perilous. "Right now, we're facing either a

delicate rescue operation or a full-scale

Klingon war. I thought I'd collect a few

second opinions before I decide."

Benjamin Sisko could still remember precisely

what he'd felt three months ago, in the moment

he'd heard about the breaking of the Khitomer

Accords. A single icy spike of disbelief, then

an explosion of frustrated anger at the success

of the Dominion's divide-and-conquer tactics.

Despite all the later emotions that had knitted

themselves into the tangled tapestry of his feelings toward

the Klingons--betrayal, annoyance, even

unexpected sympathy for Worf's impossible

position in Starfleet--the sharp memory of that

initial reaction had never faded. Great moments in

history did that to the people who lived through them--

crystallized a single day's events inside

the shifting smoke of memory the way a supernova

hammered a permanent singularity through the fabric of

space and time. Sisko sometimes wondered if those

shock-carved memories weren't the truest imprint

of history, more real and indelible than any

datachip's video record. Unfortunately, not

enough time had passed since that day for his deep-seated

rage to be relegated entirely to memory. The

embers of it still smoldered, banked beneath the

accumulated worries and stress of the hundred

intervening days. And the disrupted emergency

transmission he had just watched flicker across the

main screen of Ops hadn't done a thing to quench it.

The turbolift platform hissed into sight, rising

far too slowly, as it always seemed to do in tense

situations like these. When it finally arrived, what

looked like a medieval Klingon melee poured out

into Ops, making one of the junior officers gasp and

another stifle a laugh. Sisko lifted an

eyebrow as he recognized

the senior officers who made up the core of his

tactical analysis team beneath the sweat and jangle

of lacquered armor. Kira shot him a rueful

glance of apology, while Worfjust looked

stoic. Dax went to her science console as

if reporting for duty in ancient Klingon fighting

garb were something she'd done a dozen times before. Knowing

Curzon, that might even be true. "We got a

report in from the Victoria Adams already?" she

asked, reading the signature frequency of the

transmission on her display before Sisko could even

open his mouth to brief them. "But they can't have had time

to gather much data on the cometary event. They were

only scheduled to arrive in the KDZ-E25From

system a few hours ago."

"It's

not a scientific report." Sisko crossed

Ops to join her in front of the panel, frowning at

the digital gibberish that scrolled across her screen.

"Unfortunately, right now that's all I'm sure

of. The message was so badly disrupted that all we

could make out was that Captain Marsters encountered

Klingons and an emergency situation had developed.

Can you sift through the interference and clean the signal

up, old man?" "I can try." Dax handed him her

bat'leth and pulled back her unruly mane of

hair, then focused on her data display with the kind

of instant intensity that only a joined Trill

symbiont and host could summon. Sisko took a

step back and reined his simmering impatience

in with an effort. Badgering Dax for results right

now would only slow her down. Instead, he wrapped

his fingers tight around the 14

traditional Klingon weapon he'd been given,

feeling the deep warmth of the metal blade radiating

through its sweaty leather grip. Whatever archaic

Klingon ritual his senior officers had been

re-creating down in Quark's holo-suite, their

battle gear hadn't just been donned for

authenticity. Only a long and hard-fought battle

could have soaked so much of Dax's body heat into her

weapon. Sisko raised an eyebrow at Kira,

and saw his first officer drop her hand almost guiltily

from the sore shoulder she'd been massaging. "Could you

reconstruct the Victoria Adams's

coordinates at the time of transmission?" the

major asked, clearly determined to ward off any

questions about her fitness for duty. "If they veered off

course toward one of the areas the Klingons have claimed

as theirs--" Sisko shook his head. "The signal

tracked right back to the E25From system. That's

nowhere near any of the disputed territory." Worf

frowned over his armored shoulder. "Still, there has been

a significant increase in Klingon incursions

throughout the entire demilitarized zone in the

last few months," he reminded Sisko. "If you

recall my warnings on the possible dangers of this

Star Trek Day of Honor 02 Armageddon Sky

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