SUNRISE on Qo’noS.

Since arriving on the homeworld as the Federation’s ambassador to the Klingon Empire, Worf had yet to tire of the magnificent view afforded by the trio of large windows forming his office’s back wall. Beyond the transparasteel barriers, the sun was just beginning to highlight the skyline, burning a fiery red and bathing everything in its harsh crimson hue.

Before his current position brought him here as a matter of course, he had visited Qo’noS only sporadically since leaving with his parents for Khitomer at the age of six. Most of those visits had not been under pleasant circumstances, so it was with no small amount of comfort that he was able to sit here, as he did most mornings before beginning his official duties, simply to relax and take in the vast metropolis before him. Worf had decided long ago that the First City was at its most peaceful during this time of day.

It was also one of the few occasions where he felt a true connection to the capital. Just as the robes he now wore as a symbol of diplomacy shrouded the beating heart of a warrior, a blanket of tranquility covered this, the very cradle of the Klingon Empire and the countless soldiers who had served it over the centuries. How easy would it be to simply sit here, ignoring the numerous appointments and responsibilities conspiring to drown him in a sea of bureaucratic chaos, and just watch the city come alive for the start of a glorious new day?

“They’re calling for rain later this morning,” a voice said from behind him.

Perhaps I will try again tomorrow, Worf amended silently, sighing in amused resignation as he turned from the windows to see Giancarlo Wu standing in the doorway leading from his office.

As always, his chief aide was impeccably dressed, his black trousers and shoes accentuated by a dark blue shirt and maroon vest. Wu affected an aristocratic air that in Worf’s eyes was ideal for the types of diplomatic and social situations the ambassador found himself navigating, which was a good thing.

Having served at the embassy for nearly a decade, Wu’s seemingly unmatched familiarity with the political minutiae that consumed so much of Worf’s time, to say nothing of his superior patience for it, had proven invaluable time and again. In fact, the ambassador even had sent his aide on various missions of his own, comfortable in the knowledge that Wu’s consummate skill and experience were more than enough to handle whatever was required.

“Good morning,” Worf said, knowing that Wu already had been in his own office for at least an hour. As was the human’s habit, he was here before sunrise each day and did not depart until the evening hours. It was normal for him to leave Worf to work alone upon his own arrival, his entry to the ambassador’s office signaling the official start of the day.

“And to you, Ambassador,” Wu replied before glancing down at the omnipresent padd in his right hand. Studying the device, he affected an amused expression. “I have good news and bad news. Which would you prefer to hear first?”

They both knew it was a rhetorical question. Within moments of their first meeting two years earlier, Worf had directed Wu never to withhold any information or soften it in any way, no matter how unpleasant it might be to hear. He had expected his aide to resist those instructions at first, as it had probably been Wu’s habit to dissemble out of concern for the sensitivities of human diplomats. The man had instead embraced Worf’s preference for direct dialogue in true Klingon fashion.

Tapping commands into his padd with such speed that Worf thought the melodic tones generated by the individual keystrokes might actually blur into a single extended whine, Wu said, “The emperor sends his regrets at having to cancel the audience you requested with him next week. He has urgent business offworld and will have your meeting rescheduled upon his return.”

Worf nodded. “Notify his office that I will submit a new request through official channels and appreciate any assistance they can offer in selecting an alternative appointment.” There were protocols to be observed, after all, and His Excellency was free to honor or dismiss such requests at his discretion. As it was, Worf considered it a personal honor that any sort of explanation for the cancellation of their meeting had been offered.

Of course, he did enjoy a closer relationship with Kahless than most Klingons, including those currently serving on the High Council. After the revelation that clerics at the monastery on Boreth had created a clone of the original emperor in a scheme to provide what they perceived as sorely needed leadership to the troubled Klingon Empire nearly a decade ago, Worf had been the first outsider to meet with him. Later, he had convinced Gowron, chancellor of the High Council at the time, to install the cloned version of the empire’s greatest and most storied warrior as ceremonial emperor to the Klingon people. And two years ago, Kahless was instrumental in aiding Gowron’s successor, Martok, in surviving a coup d’état. With honorable warriors such as Chancellor Martok—Worf’s friend and mentor—leading the way, and Kahless’s guidance, the Empire would regain its former glory.

Though Kahless had expressed his eternal appreciation to Worf, the ambassador had always been careful not to give the appearance of using his friendship to curry favor, particularly after taking on his diplomatic posting. Worf would not dream of circumventing the normal process for an audience with the emperor.

“On a brighter note,” Wu continued, “Chancellor Martok passes on word that he still expects you for dinner this evening, assuming your schedule permits, of course.”

Worf smiled at that. Despite his aide’s straight delivery, there was no mistaking the humor behind the words. After all, even if one were brave enough to casually dismiss an invitation from a chancellor of the High Council, it was sheer foolhardiness to do so when that same person was also the ruler of the House to which one belonged.

“Assuming there are no interstellar incidents in the offing,” he replied, “please advise the chancellor that I will be there.”

Nodding, Wu made another entry into his padd. “Here’s the best news of the day. Your son sent a communiqué that he has been granted leave from the Ya’Vang, and plans to be here in about two weeks. Can I assume your schedule will permit a brief vacation for his benefit?”

Though he knew Wu did not, and could not, mean anything else by asking the question, Worf realized that at another time, he might well have considered not making plans with Alexander. To say that their relationship had been strained from the beginning was an understatement of galactic proportions. After years of struggling to understand one another, father and son had finally reached a point where they enjoyed each other’s company. Alexander’s duties aboard the Ya’Vang coupled with Worf’s own diplomatic responsibilities made those occasions rare, and Worf was thrilled when such opportunities presented themselves.

“Absolutely,” he said to Wu. “See to it that any routine matters that might take place during his time here are rescheduled accordingly.” With luck, Worf’s duties would permit him the brief respite.

After a moment, his aide said, “Ambassador, I’ve also done some checking with a friend of mine at Starfleet Command. Apparently, a decision has been made regarding the Enterprise.”

Worf sat quietly as Wu described the political minefield Captain Picard had left for both the Federation and the Ontailians to traverse, as well as the new “mission” Starfleet had given Picard and his crew. The only outward response he allowed was the tightening of his jaw, his frustration with the situation growing with each second he listened to Wu’s report.

He was already fully aware of the incident with the Juno and the Ontailian vessels that had been destroyed. Colleagues in Starfleet had kept him apprised of the Enterprise crew’s treatment in the aftermath of that tragedy. At the outset of the incident, Worf could understand the need to investigate the matter with utmost care, including the possibility that Jean-Luc Picard could have become mentally unbalanced to the point of willfully murdering innocent people.

The very idea was laughable, of course, a fact later confirmed by Starfleet specialists. What galled Worf even more than Picard’s initial treatment following the incident was how he and the Enterprise crew had been “disposed of,” at least for the time being.

Exhaling in disgust, Worf let his eyes wander to the wall of his office where he kept the small collection of mementos he allowed himself. Awards bestowed from both Starfleet and the Empire hung alongside photographs of Alexander and his son’s mother, K’Ehleyr, as well as a still-humorous image of him and the command staff of Deep Space 9, dressed in the uniforms of the Earth game called “baseball.” His eyes lingered for a moment on his wedding photo with Jadzia Dax, and he paused long enough to send a silent message to her in Sto-Vo-Kor, where she now hunted with the other warriors who had honorably given their lives in combat.

For the first time, Worf realized that among the keepsakes was no overt reminder of his time on the Enterprise. While he would scarcely have given the observation a second thought only a few years ago, he now found the idea troubling for reasons he could not explain, at least not yet.

Was it because of the situation his former shipmates currently faced, and that he was not there to stand with them?

Opportunities to see his friends on the Enterprise had been rare, particularly since he took on his role as ambassador. Other than the time the ship had ferried him to the Klingon border for his first diplomatic assignment on taD, the gateways crisis, and the mission involving the mysterious Malkus artifact, the opportunities had been few and far between. While he knew he was carrying out important duties here on behalf of both the Federation and the Empire, there were times he wished he were still serving in Starfleet, doing his part to look after his comrades. He wanted to help them now, but what could he do from here?

As if reading his mind, Wu said, “You know, with your travel schedule being what it is in coming months, it would not be unusual to request a Starfleet vessel be detailed for courier duty. I’m sure that special consideration would be given if you were to ask for a specific vessel for that purpose, assuming that ship’s mission priorities permitted it.”

It was an interesting notion, Worf decided, and a tempting one. Such an assignment normally was viewed as an honor by Starfleet brass, even if individual ship crews and their captains regarded the duty as only slightly less glamorous than replacing navigational buoys. Being specifically requested for such a mission was further considered to be a singular privilege. Worf also realized that by having the Enterprise as his courier vessel, he would be able to call upon Picard’s own formidable diplomatic skills. If nothing else, it would surely be a better assignment than being “banished” to some faraway corner of the galaxy.

For that reason alone, Worf discarded the idea.

Shaking his head, he replied, “No. That could be perceived as using my position to come to Captain Picard’s aid.” While he did not care how such a move might reflect on him personally, Worf did not want to add further unfavorable light to Picard or the Enterprise. Besides, he knew his shipmates would find a way to weather this controversy without his help, and they would do so beginning with this odd assignment Starfleet had seen fit to give them.

“Where is this Dokaal system?” he asked.

Checking his padd, Wu replied, “Beyond the limits of explored space, it seems, out past Cardassian and Tholian territory. Ordinarily it would be a plum assignment, especially for such a passionate explorer as Captain Picard. Under the circumstances, however, anyone with even cursory knowledge of the situation will see this tasking for what it truly is.”

Worf agreed. Not actually a punishment, so far as the legal or technical definition of the term was concerned, the Enterprise’s assignment to investigate the origin of a distress signal sent more than two centuries ago was a slap in the face to a man of Picard’s stature and accomplishments, to say nothing of the rest of his crew.

While the complete details of the so-called Ontailian Incident had been classified, Worf knew that there were those in Starfleet who had called for Picard’s dismissal from service in the wake of the Juno’s loss. Despite his exoneration, political schemers who had lost face during the incident would be looking for restitution. Publicly reprimanding the Enterprise crew, particularly Picard, would not sit well with the numerous allies the captain had garnered over the years. Therefore, all they could do was send him on a mundane assignment and get him out of the way. Perhaps they would dispatch him on another such mission once he had completed this one, and another after that, and keep doing so until Picard finally resigned in frustration.

That was unlikely, Worf decided. Admiral Nechayev was far too shrewd an officer to allow the captain to leave under such circumstances. As she had with other officers on different occasions, she would find a way to protect Picard until the current situation subsided.

As for Picard himself, he was as adept at playing the “political game” as anyone he had ever encountered. His brinksmanship skills were on par with his command abilities, rivaling even the very talented individuals Worf had come across since becoming an ambassador. The big difference between Picard and career politicians, of course, was how and why he put those skills into play, and a key advantage he held over those who would see him removed from command of the Enterprise was his seemingly limitless reserves of patience.

Worf smiled at that as his gaze moved to the corner of his desk and to the small leather-bound book he had deliberately placed there. A gift from Picard, it was a reproduction of an ancient Earth text, The Art of War.

He had read the book while a student at Starfleet Academy, of course. However, it was not until revisiting it, this time benefiting from many more years of experience, that he realized the volume’s multilayered message and just how appropriate a gift his former captain had offered. Despite the book’s obvious title, the words of wisdom recorded by the human warrior Sun Tzu centuries ago were not only a timeless guide for battle, but were also applicable to a great many other situations, including politics.

There was yet one more message carried within the pages of the book, Worf realized, one even Picard had not anticipated when he had sent it: No matter how long this “game” went on between him and Starfleet, Worf was certain that his former captain would emerge victorious.

While he knew that Picard would appear confident in any public setting, a pillar of strength to those who looked to him for leadership, what toll would this struggle exact on the man himself? How would it affect him during those moments of solitude he cherished? Though Worf was concerned for his former captain’s well-being, both physical and mental, he knew that if asked directly, even in a private conversation, Picard would almost certainly conceal his true feelings.

To obtain the information he sought, Worf decided he would have to go about getting it another way.