On a ship as mighty as the Suv’chu, they were not received in General Brok’tan’s quarters or office, but his private halls. That was the term for what on Endeavour would be Valance’s private dining room, a small space to host a half-dozen guests just off the Safe House lounge. On a Klingon warship, it was far more impressive, a mighty chamber where a score of warriors could sit with the general to eat, drink, talk, and sing. He himself could sit in state atop the mighty central chair and receive those who wanted to brief him, bring issues to him. Here, he was not merely a starship commander, a warrior. He was a lord.

General Brok’tan had cleared the room, so when the warriors who met Valance and Logan at the transporter had escorted them to the private halls, they waited at the door. That gave Valance some small comfort; that Brok’tan had no concerns about her bringing her guard with her, while he left hers outside, only reinforced the civility of the meeting. He either did not expect trouble or was not concerned by it.

The hall was shrouded, as she’d expect in a Klingon’s sanctum. Blazing braziers lining the wall cast everything in golden silhouettes, with Brok’tan himself a towering, brooding figure in his throne-like chair. The metallic twang of her footsteps as she approached felt incongruous; in a place like this, she expected the sound of stone, as if they were in the hallowed halls of an ancient household.

Rather than make her cross the distance like a supplicant, Brok’tan stood at her approach and stepped down to the deck. ‘Captain Valance. Daughter of the House of A’trok. You honour me with your visit.’ He was a large, husky figure, going soft around the middle and greying in the beard but still moving with power and confidence.

‘General Brok’tan. I thank you for your hospitality. This is my Chief of Security, Commander Logan.’

Brok’tan’s dark eyes dragged over the figure of Logan, a half-step behind and beside her. ‘Commander. Battle-scarred, I see.’ He extended a hand to the long table, where platters had been laid out. ‘Come, both of you. Sit. Eat.’

Valance gave Logan a pointed look as they approached the table. ‘Do it,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Eating and drinking -’

‘Gives us rights and protection as guests; I know,’ came the quiet, confident drawl back. ‘Ain’t my first Klingon rodeo.’

They sat. Up close, Brok’tan’s chair was not so looming or so tall; up close, he could sit alongside those at his table, first among equals rather than towering and lordly. He enthusiastically pushed platters towards them, and Valance was dimly relieved to see a varied spread: gagh and targ meat, but an effort at food palatable to his guests. Even if it looked like plain-boiled rice and some fowl roasted in what smelled like spices more comfortable to a Klingon tongue.

As ever, she hesitated, torn as to whether reaching for the gagh would make her look performative. Logan spared her the challenge, grabbing a fistful which he shoved in his mouth without batting an eyelid, and Brok’tan laughed.

‘It’s fresh!’ he assured them with some delight. ‘I am not here to test if you can stomach it.’ As Valance settled on a leg of targ, Brok’tan served himself before planting his elbows on the table. ‘I see your ship is bloodied. But not, I am told, by your encounter with Captain Ledera or the Morinar.’

Kharth hadn’t been wrong about one thing, Valance thought ruefully. Klingons would insist themselves not duplicitous, but their standards of honour and respect could shift, the rules changing as it suited them. In this case, the question was how in how much she wanted to admit to her ship’s weakness, and how Brok’tan would perceive that.

‘My ship was damaged in the Mesea Storm,’ she said carefully. Simple truths were the best starting point. ‘As we approached Rencaris, looking for safe harbour to conduct repairs, we encountered the Morinar. She winged us, yes, but the USS Scylla winged her when they arrived.’

Brok’tan watched her for a moment, leaning back in his chair. ‘A simple exchange of blows,’ he surmised, lifting his hands. Then he sighed and shook his head. ‘I have seen the reports. You have my apologies, Captain. Ledera is young, hungry, eager to prove herself. It was beneath one of my warriors to strike at a weakened target for no reason.’

‘Should Starfleet and Klingon ships consider each other targets at all?’

Brok’tan scoffed, and she tensed. ‘What should and what is are not the same in these years,’ he said, but shook his head. ‘I have not come here to fight the Federation. And I have certainly not come here to prey on damaged ships. You, your crew, your vessels, are all safe from me and my warriors should our paths cross, Captain. I have made that abundantly clear to Ledera. And here, we are both under the hospitality of Rencaris, and I would never abuse that.’

He had given her assurances, she thought, while giving away nothing of his own intentions. ‘I am glad to hear it. I once counted the warriors of the House of K’Var as friends. Lord Torkath has done us great service before.’

‘The dispute between Lord Torkath and Commodore Rourke,’ said Brok’tan, more carefully, ‘is not our dispute, Captain. I knew Dakor since he was a child. Trained him. And yet, there are many warriors I once trained who are now dead. He sought battle and glory, and found both before his end. So the story goes, he and Rourke fought hand-to-hand, and Dakor was slain. Avenging him is not my duty, and even if it were, it has nothing to do with you, Captain Valance.’

‘We both have duties out here that are best not muddied by the personal affairs of Commodore Rourke and Lord Torkath,’ Valance agreed with a flash of relief. Brok’tan was keeping his cards close to his chest, but she thought she heard a certain air of disapproval in the mention of involving her and Endeavour. If Brok’tan was a man of honour and sense, he would likely not think well of Torkath’s attack on Endeavour in imperial territory, a strike whose sole purpose was to try to hurt Rourke and set him and Torkath on a collision course. Torkath was a man grieving – grieving the death of his brother, and the perceived betrayal of Rourke for killing Dakor. Brok’tan did not have to share that clouded judgement.

‘Indeed. That was why I wanted to speak with you, Captain: to give you these assurances. Ledera may have thought she would please Torkath by striking at you, or simply thought your ship and reputation made you a worthy target. I have put a stop to that. I and my warriors are not here to strike at Starfleet. You are not my enemy.’

‘Who is?’ Valance watched him intently. ‘Forgive me for being brazen, General. But you have scouts flying the area willing to strike at passing starships, and you come here in a mighty vessel. You come in honour, but also strength.’

Brok’tan didn’t hesitate, per se, but he did linger over his gagh. ‘Chancellor Toral has made it plain that it is time to turn our eye on our old enemy.’

‘The Star Empire? That doesn’t exist. Romulans? Then what brings you so civilly to Rencaris? Or is this merely scoping it out as a weak target?’

It was an intentionally provocative blow, and Valance did not have to study closely to see Brok’tan’s reaction. The general’s lip curled. ‘They are a brave people seeking their self-determination and we are here to ensure that…’

‘To make sure they don’t join the Republic. You’ll guarantee their independence?’ Valance cocked her head, watching him. ‘In exchange for, I assume, something along the lines of resupply for your ships as the House of K’Var makes a bid for this border of the Republic.’

Brok’tan’s expression was sliding towards a glower. ‘You have heard from Governor Vhiemm. He would have Rencaris be a friend to all who will treat with them well. We need be no different.’

‘Perhaps not. But Governor Vhiemm has not allowed Endeavour to use Rencaris’s dockyards or repair facilities. Not without negotiating a better price. Is the protection of the House of K’Var a price worthy of that access?’

‘As I say,’ said Brok’tan, slowly regaining some control over his frustration at how she had slipped a dagger between his defences, ‘Chancellor Toral has said we should turn to our old enemy. But that means you are not my enemy, Captain.’ He reached to a pitcher and filled her tankard, and Valance was relieved that the bloodwine was well watered down when she drank. ‘I fought alongside your grandsire in the Dominion War, you know. I hope he is well.’

‘You would likely know better than I,’ Valance admitted. ‘We do not talk often. I have heard little from my brother, so I assume no news is good news.’ She wondered if Brok’tan knew that her brother Gov’taj had marshalled ships of the House of A’trok in defence of Endeavour when Torkath, son of K’Var, had tried to kill them in the Empire months ago. But there was an opportunity here. ‘I hope your lord K’Var is in better health, also.’

Brok’tan straightened slowly. The ill health of K’Var himself, father of Torkath and Dakor and their siblings, was not widely known. Torkath had admitted it to Rourke before Dakor’s death, and intel had suggested the house was not undivided in its ambitions or organisation. ‘It has been some time since he and I last spoke,’ Brok’tan said after a moment’s consideration. ‘But I will pass on your wishes.’ He reached for another platter. ‘More gagh?’

The rest of the lunch passed swiftly. For a Klingon warrior, Brok’tan was quite adept at keeping conversations neutral, turning discussion to old campaigns that had nothing to do with the current political situation. Valance engaged politely, but kept her counsel with Logan until they had returned to the transporter room and beamed back aboard Endeavour.

‘A pact to guarantee Rencaris’s independence,’ Logan growled the moment he stepped down from the pad. ‘And in exchange, they get… what? A place to resupply so they can invade the Republic?’

‘Rencaris stands a lot to gain. And a lot to lose.’ Valance grimaced as she joined him. ‘No wonder these negotiations aren’t fast. It only really suits them if the Klingons are in the ascendance in the region.’

‘If they really hate the Republic, though… or fear the Republic…’

‘That might make Rencaris more rash, yes.’ She shook her head. ‘Brok’tan seems like he’ll treat with us fairly, at least.’

‘He were pissed when you wriggled his mission out of him. An’ pissed you knew about old man K’Var. I’d be careful trusting his word,’ said Logan, eyes narrowing.

‘You sound like Kharth. Besides, here at Rencaris -’

‘He can’t do anything against us openly. You caught that he shifted how he spoke to you, though, right? When he were wrong-footed, you were more Starfleet. When he liked you, you were more Klingon. Amazing what a Klingon warrior can justify if they don’t view their enemy as worthy of respect.’

Valance had noticed, on some level. She was always so uncomfortable with how Klingon she should act around other Klingons, though, that she hadn’t felt capable of taking advantage of it; had been too busy second-guessing herself and her behaviour. This was one reason she’d brought the astute Logan, who was a master at fading into the background on the rare occasions it suited him.

‘I’ve been told I over-think situations and borrow trouble,’ Valance said with a hint of wryness. ‘Let’s not assume Brok’tan is an enemy yet. For now, it suits him to be civil.’

‘We oughta keep it that way as long as we can.’

‘And in the meantime,’ she agreed, ‘find out exactly what this deal is they’re trying to make with Rencaris, and how close they are.’