Diplomatic Implausibility by Keith R. A. DeCandido Page B

commands.”
    With that, he left, his guard following close behind.
    Klag decided that his first impression of Martok needed to be revised somewhat.

    The first time William Riker ever set foot on a Klingon ship, he was ten years old. After years of pestering his father to take him along on one of the assignments that took Kyle Riker away from home for long periods of time, Dad finally acquiesced—on a mission that entailed passage with the Klingons.
    From the moment Will first beamed into the dark, funny-smelling ship full of large, foreboding creatures who seemed to spend all their time growling down at him, he was scared to death. He retreated to the tiny cabin assigned to him and Dad, sat on the metal slab that was supposed to be a bed, and hoped nobody would see him crying.
    He never asked to go along with his father again. When he was older, and more cynical, Will figured that Dad chose the Klingon ship hoping for precisely that result.
    Ten years later, as a cadet at Starfleet Academy, he went on a mission that required him to board a Klingon ship. It had taken all the fortitude his twenty-year-old self could muster not to cower in fear at the very idea.
    Now, of course, he was over forty and beyond such things. He had spent plenty of time on Klingon ships and in Klingon space, ranging from a historic-if-brief tour as the first officer of the
I.K.S. Pagh
(the first time a Starfleet officer formally served as a member of a Klingon Defense Force crew) to more recent visits during the Dominion War.
    But as he materialized alongside Beverly Crusher and Giancarlo Wu in the
Gorkon
transporter room, he couldn’t help but hear his ten-year-old self saying, “Dad, it’s
dark
in here!”
    Waiting for them was Klag, once Riker’s second officer on the
Pagh,
now the captain of this ship. The two had formed a close friendship during Riker’s tenure on the
Pagh,
and they had stayed in sporadic touch ever since. After Riker’s departure, Klag had been made first officer, and had remained at that post for the decade following—an unusually long time for a Klingon to remain at one post.
    Klag had changed over the years. For one thing, as Riker had noted before, he had lost his right arm. His straight, jet-black hair was now twice as long as the shoulder-length cut Riker remembered, and his goatée had grown in fuller. He still had the same eyebrows—upswept, even by Klingon standards—sharp nose, and penetrating black eyes.
    Next to Klag stood a taller, lankier Klingon with a scowl on his face; this man had the insignia of a commander, so Riker figured he was the first officer.
    “Welcome to the
Gorkon,
Commander Riker,” Klag said. He still had the same deep, resonant voice that Riker remembered.
    “Thank you. This is Dr. Beverly Crusher, and the ambassador’s aide, Giancarlo Wu.”
    The commander made a noise, and then muttered something under his breath. Riker didn’t catch all of it, but it sounded like something derogatory about humans.
    In flawless Klingon, Wu said, “I have slept on plenty of metal slabs in my time, Commander. You needn’t worry about my well-being.”
    Klag threw his head back and laughed the hearty laugh that had startled Riker out of ten years’ growth when he first heard it in the
Pagh’s
mess hall. “Well said, Wu.” Klag then turned to Beverly and said, “B’Oraq has been looking forward to seeing you again, Doctor.”
    “Likewise,” Beverly said with a nod.
    Klag said, “Commander Drex will escort you to the medical ward, and the ambassador’s aide to his quarters.”
    Without preamble, Drex moved to the exit without bothering to see if Wu and Beverly followed. In a human, that would have been considered rude, but it was normal for Klingons.
If you don’t have the brains to follow, you
don’t deserve to be escorted in the first place,
Riker thought with a smile. He had to admit to admiring the blunt simplicity.
    Once the door closed behind Beverly, Klag turned to Riker and