All Things Considered
Posted on October 18th, 2009 by Ian Blackthorne and Douglas McKnight

Ian Blackthorne with Douglas McKnight as Rak’nar

He’d known this was coming. From the moment he’d learned his release from the ship’s brig signaled a continuation of his tenure here, a continuation personally approved by Admiral Blackthorne no less, he’d been waiting for the conditions. The other shoe, he privately amended, drawing from his small but growing store of human expressions whose meaning he was clear on. After his bluntness during their last encounter, in which he’d promised the man that the blood spilled would be on his hands, he hardly expected to hear all had been forgiven, that it was no one’s fault and nothing a couple of beers couldn’t fix. Even if Blackthorne had struck him as that type, it appeared that quite a bit of blood had been spilled, on both sides. Any drinking being done this soon afterward most certainly wasn’t intended to mend divisions. No, whatever transpired in the next few moments as Rak’nar, son of K’tan marched silently to his ordered rendezvous at the Flag Office, he suspected it would remind him strongly of the relish shown by the Starfleet officer when he’d bid his Klingon prisoner “enjoy his new quarters.”

To be fair, though it was a self-pitying, perhaps even a cowardly sentiment, part of Rak’nar found itself missing those accomodations. Every surviving member of the Atlantis crew knew by now what he’d done. Some, of course, knew precisely why, and he could hope that they understood his justifications…but he wasn’t counting on it. Regardless, so long as he remained in his cell, the weight of his betrayal seemed somehow lessened. There he stood, his penance plain for all to see. Now, he would have to endure the forced polite nods and the sidelong suspicions stares in the open, just as he was doing now.

But as previously admitted, that was a cowardly sentiment, and the warrior son of K’tan was no coward. He was Klingon. He would endure, and he would excel. So, he kept his head high, and his eyes looking forward…and perhaps he allowed himself the indulgence of baring some teeth if any of those Starfleet officers in question dared make those looks a little too open. And soon enough, he had reached his target destination, and if there was a bit of conscious effort backing the instinct to keep his posture in all ways upright and confident as well as respectful, it was still instinct.

“I have come as you ordained.”

Vice Admiral Blackthorne rose from behind his monolithic desk and walked around to stand in front of the Klingon. Despite the distrustful glances he knew Rak’nar must have had to endure on his walk up here, he stood with dignity, and Blackthorne had to grant him some measure of respect for that. Looking up directly into the Klingon’s eyes, the Admiral began the unfortunate duty ahead of him.

“Captain Rak’nar, you have betrayed the implicit trust granted to you by those with whom you serve. Those captain’s bars mark you as a protector of your crewmates, not an adversary, and you have a long road ahead of you to regain that trust. That will be your struggle over the months to come.

“My struggle has been to decide on how to discipline an act with such complex motives. Normally, an offense this egregious would be met with an immediate court-martial, but you have, shall I say, persuasive friends. Imagine my surprise when Chancellor Martok himself met with me to speak on your behalf.” Blackthorne paused a moment to let that sink in.

For all their many differences, Klingons and humans, particularly those in the service, shared many traditions. Though known for being rowdy and boisterous, for example, there most definitely existed a warrior’s tradition of silent and professional decorum when in the presence of a superior officer. This clearly being a time for such a thing, he thought he’d started off pretty well, but Blackthorne’s news was every bit as powerful as he might have hoped. All at once, he appeared as close to flustered as a Klingon ever got, and he cleared his throat awkwardly while he tried to pick out just what words to start off with.

“Surely, there can be no worthier man for a warrior to serve. If it is worth anything to you, know that I regretted what I had to do, and I regret it now. But I had my sworn duty, my sworn duties, and I did my best to honor those duties, to all parties. I did what I had to, and I am prepared to face the consequences for it, whatever those may be. But…I will confess my hope that if you have seen the character of my Chancellor, it has given you some insight into the weight of those duties.”

“Although I still can not let your actions go unpunished, I do now have some measure of understanding of your motives. And, it’s only because the Chancellor personally assured me that as long as you serve here, you will be utterly loyal to this ship and her crew, that you will not face a court-martial.”

A hint of a smirk danced across Ian’s face, because that understanding of Rak’nar’s position had not come without a cost – he had parted ways with a bottle of his finest scotch.

************

Clad in full dress uniform, Ian Blackthorne sat at his desk in the Flag Office, regarding his guest with a measure of curiousity. Atlantis had rendezvoused with the Klingon cruiser as ordered to transfer their prisoners, which thankfully had proceeded without incident. Not thirty minutes ago, as they were making preparations to leave, the Klingons sent a message indicating that Chancellor Martok himself was aboard their ship and requesting an audience aboard Atlantis. Diplomatic preparations to receive a head-of-state were hurriedly made, and he had met the Chancellor at the transporter pad with T’Kirr at his side. Not seeming to care for the pomp and circumstance, Martok had wanted to discuss a private matter with Ian, so they had made their way to the Flag Office. Now, he sat across from the Klingon, and got right to the point – at least his version of it.

“Chancellor, you’ve come a long way to speak with me, but first may I offer you a drink?” he asked, gesturing to his expansive collection of liquors.

At that, Martok looked up from his study of Blackthorne’s desk, which he had been lightly tapping with his knuckles so as to ascertain just what it was made of. The construction didn’t appear right for it, but the idea of a desk large enough to double as a pavise in an emergency intrigued him. At the mention of drink, however, he followed the Admiral’s gesture, though the subsequent study of his liquor cabinet didn’t yield much. One would be hard pressed to meet the Klingon warrior who didn’t enjoy their blood wine, but he knew next to nothing of Terran drinks, so he simply shrugged.

“Make it two drinks, and I shall accept the offer with gratitude. I never nurse the first round. Whatever’s good.”

Blackthorne chuckled as he rose and crossed to the bar. Selecting his best single-malt scotch, he poured four drinks, not to be outdone by the Klingon. After delivering them to the desk, he sat down and took one of the glasses in both hands, leaning back in his chair. “Now, what brings the Chancellor of the Klingon High Council to visit me?”

It was a fair question, anyone would have to admit, for surely, his presence was hardly required to oversee a prisoner transfer. And yet, he didn’t address the question immediately; whether or not they preferred to stand on them, after all, everyone had their ceremonies. Taking the first glass in hand, he upended it and took a moment to reflect on the experience. While the taste of peat was new for him, there was no denying the drink was strong enough, and he decided it was well worth exploring further. So, draping his cloak of office over the back of the chair provided, he at last sat with the second drink in hand.

“Well, it soundly beats that Synthale so many of you Starfleet officers seem to favor. And I suppose it’s not entirely any one thing that brings me here. For one, I simply wanted to meet the human who saw fit to cause me this much trouble. Whatever I may say to my warriors, it’s not too often I ACTUALLY miss shivering in the mud, waiting for sunrise to give some Romulan plaQta’ a fresh chance to blow my head off. Do you have any idea how many of my councilors were calling for your blood, even if they had to go through every soldier in the Federation for it?”

Ian had suspected something of the sort. When the flagstaff had returned with coordinates provided by the Klingon High Council, he knew that someone influential had to have stepped in. It would seem that he owed Martok more than a drink or two. “All of them, I would imagine. Yet, here we are, sharing drinks.” Ian tipped back his own scotch and exchanged his empty glass with the full one on the desk.

“As long as I’m relating Council business like this, I might as well be honest about all of it.” Martok continued, while slowing down to consume merely a third of the remaining glass. “I was among that number who wished to ensure the man responsible for this arrogant act of aggression paid dearly for the affront. You might wonder, then, why I would not only refrain for my own part, but spend six hours convincing them to let the matter drop, as though I judged myself heir to the spirit of Surak and not Kahless. Wonder what had won you such an advocate as could ensure that continued peace did not require anyone’s head.

“The truth is plain enough. It had little to do with you. The destruction of my ships and the death of my warriors hardly left me sympathetic to your cause, and yet this Directive of yours seemed to ensure that many commanders would have pursued the same course. If you were my enemy, then how many of you would have to be painted with the same brush? So, I pushed as hard as I did simply because I am not a fool, and my memory is long enough to remember why the Klingon Empire stands tall and strong today even though not so long ago, the Dominion tried to drown it in waves of Jem’Hadar. The alliance we share with your Federation saved us both then, and it is the single most important asset either of us hold now. You, I did not know and could have seen drawn and quartered and lost no sleep over it. But that which I DO hold dear, I would never risk for the sake of indulging anyone’s bloodlust, even my own. Which is exactly what I would have been doing if I presented the threat of war for terms I was not sure if your superiors would ever grant. There are those, I know, who but for fear of my skill with a blade, would call my thinking not quite Klingon. What do you think, Admiral?”

Blackthorne took a drink and thought a moment before replying, “I think that the Federation is fortunate to have an ally led by someone with such wisdom and restraint.”

Grinning, Martok then finished off his second drink before returning it to the table, mindful not to return it too hard. Why anyone had ever devised a beverage specifically intended to get you drunk, then thought it was a good idea to place it inside the most fragile material they could think of, he would never understand.

“You do me honor, Blackthorne. Perhaps too much; after all, the Empire didn’t come out of this so badly. Certainly not without leverage. Your superiors are fanatically devoted to keeping the very existence of Omega a secret. We are privy to that secret, and free to do whatever we may wish with that knowledge. Already, this point has been made to good effect with your politicians. If ever you are drawn into this arena again, you may well find things looking far different than you remember. But as I said, it was not one matter which brought me all this way. I also bring a bit of news which may interest you. I am informed that my warriors and their weapons have all been returned. All, that is, save for one. And it is of him I wish to speak.”

“You mean Captain Rak’nar.”

“I do.” the Chancellor confirmed, leaning forward in his seat for the first time, almost as if he wished to impart a matter of some secrecy. “You should know there are those even now pushing for his dishonorable dismissal from the Klingon Fleet. The primary charge is dereliction of duty.”

“I was under the impression that his actions were taken under orders from the Empire?”

“And so they were, the orders drafted and passed along by his legally commissioned superiors within our intelligence division, as an emergency measure once it became known to them that Starbase Vinland had been completed three weeks ahead of schedule, and our chosen testing area was suddenly within range of your ships. But I’ve since been told that his ACTUAL orders were to commit multiple acts of sabotage, concealing his efforts as long as possible. That way, by the time he was discovered, the combat effectiveness of this ship would be effectively crippled and your only choices would be to abort the mission or face inevitable destruction from the first Klingon warship you found.”

Finishing his second drink, Blackthorne completed the train of thought. “So his mission was a failure.”

“His mission was to be secretive. By his own testimony, he instead walked right into main engineering, and activated the warp core in full view of the entire engineering staff. Yes, his mission was a failure. The question I’d put to you is the question my intelligence division immediately asked itself. Is Rak’nar an idiot?”

“No,” came Ian’s quick reply. “He’s just conflicted. He wanted to aid the Empire but was hindered by his loyalty to his new crewmates.”

“And to go on acting as though he was your comrade while engineering your downfall is not Klingon. He said as much when given the order, he said so again when made to account for his failure, and the fact that I agree is why I will see to it that there is no such dismissal. But there are some decisions that even I cannot dictate. So, even though I have done nothing with the intent of earning the right, I must ask you a favor.”

“Regardless of your intent, you’ve earned a favor.”

“Then you should know something else about Rak’nar, something which would not have appeared on the record sent to Starfleet. He has always been an outspoken admirer of the Federation. Perhaps it is simply respect for the strength it has amassed, or perhaps, like myself, he is impressed that a people who do not embrace the art of war are nevertheless so consistently successful at it. The reasons only he knows in their entirety, but what IS widely known is that his service with the Imperial Fleet has not always been easy as a result. On one occasion in particular.”

Just then, Martok grimaced as though he didn’t ever enjoy relating this particular story.

“Perhaps one more drink?”

“Of course.” Curious as to what this occasion might entail that would merit another drink in the telling, Ian obliged by getting the bottle of single malt from the shelf and filling all four glasses. He sat the scotch between them on the desk and looked at the Chancellor expectantly.

Nodding in thanks, Martok took one of the newly filled glasses in hand, and immediately drained it to the halfway point as he picked up his story where it had left off.

“Surely you must recall how in the days before open war with the Dominion began, it was revealed that I had been replaced by one of those blasted shapeshifters. It was by capitalizing on my own personal influence with Gowron that the Empire was led on a disastrous course of dishonor. It was Klingon soldiers who, even once the reason for invasion was proved a lie, drove the Cardassians to desperation until they saw an alliance with those they had once led the fight against as the only way to regain their lost stature and dignity. It was Klingons who, bristling at the Federation Council’s condemnation of this act, forced us both to fritter away strength just when we needed it most. Yet even after all this, perhaps especially after this, once the Empire had found some measure of redemption by standing with the Federation when others would not, no one was willing to remember the responsibility we bore for how close our half of the galaxy was brought to utter ruin.

“Rak’nar remembered. He criticized our withdrawl from the Khitomer Accords loudly and to whoever would listen, even though that was next to no one. And later still in those dark early days of the war, when we stood shoulder to shoulder and still knew nothing but defeat upon defeat? It was then, at a gathering of many angry and influential commanders, that he made the mistake of drinking too much blood wine, and letting them know exactly what was on his mind. I remember it so clearly, even now. ‘Of course the Empire is doomed!’ he cried. ‘And what more do we deserve? What more do traitors deserve? Yes, you heard me! Traitors! What else would you call it, when we take up arms against the true defenders of the Alpha Quadrant? Doctors! Botanists! Anthropologists! They stand up and fight the battles that must be fought, while we, doughty and noble warriors all, simply ignore every oath and obligation we ever took as our own? We earned that black mark, and now it’s time to pay for it!'”

Stopping to catch his breath, Martok sat back fully in his seat, and finished off his scotch. This really WAS good stuff. He’d have to remember to ask what it was called before he left.

“Well, he was lucky then that the one high ranking officer most able to feel the weight of that dishonor was present. Otherwise, I expect he’d have been killed on the spot, before the challenge of a proper duel could even be delivered. As it was, I was able to convince those present we could not afford to lose a soldier, even if he was a halfwit. So Rak’nar survived, he sobered up, and he went to fight with fervor and distinction. But too many of his superiors would never forget his rash words. Barring some utterly suicidal feat of valor, his realistic chances of career advancement all but died that night. It was for this reason that, after years of applying unsuccessfully, I personally approved his placement in the Officer Exchange Program, that his career might once again lead him to some real fulfillment. Service among those reluctant warriors he always admired so.”

Ian looked at his glass and noticed that he’d drained it during the story without realizing it. Switching to the other one, he asked, “So you wish for him to be allowed to remain with us.”

Taking the last glass in hand, Martok drained it utterly.

“Yes, I do. Whatever else I’ve become, I’m an old soldier most of all. I know the bonds that must exist between those in the service, how odious it must seem to have a traitor in your midst. But I know this warrior, and he is no such thing. He is a loyal soldier of the Empire who was ordered to do a despicable thing, and did everything he could to honor conflicting oaths. It is your ship, and your decision, but if you owe me anything, you can best honor that debt by offering the same leniency you have recently benefited from.”

Considering for a moment, Ian sipped at his drink. “The extremely public nature of his apparent betrayal means I can not let him completely off the hook. However, provided his loyalties are clear, I will allow him to continue to serve, albeit with a reduction in rank by one grade.”

Martok appeared to consider this for a moment, but ultimately decided it was as much as he could hope for. So decided, he rose from his seat, and was surprised by the sudden wave of dizziness that assaulted him, and stood there a moment before he was sure his footing was steady. No wonder all of these historians and butterfly catchers were warriors when the need arose, if fortified by such strong stuff as this. Shaking it off, he took back his cloak, and draped it over his shoulders and stood tall, the grizzled but proud head of state once more.

“So long as he serves here, Rak’nar is utterly loyal to this ship and this crew. You may tell him I said that, so that he can pass it along if anyone ever tries to tell him differently.”

Ian also rose, showing no signs of dizziness, quite accustomed to one of his liquors of choice. “Your word is good enough for me, Chancellor. And I will be sure to tell him that, along with a few other things.” He crossed back to the liquor cabinet, remembering how much Martok seemed to enjoy the scotch. “Before you go, let me offer you this, as a gift with my thanks,” he said, taking out a fresh bottle of the same single-malt they had just shared and presenting it to the Chancellor.

He took it readily, perusing the label for a few moments. Not that he could read it, of course, but he’d be sure to run it through a translator at his first opportunity. Then, he looked up with a grin.

“A tactical error, Blackthorne! As soon as I am back on Qo’noS, I shall likely order an entire case. And if we should meet again, I’ll be well prepared to do battle on equal terms. But I thank you, and shall leave you to your voyage. Qapla’, Admiral.”

“Qapla’.” Ian smiled as the Chancellor left. Helluva guy, all things considered.

************

Despite Chancellor Martok’s personal intervention, punishment had to be meted out. Still, lingering thoughts about the hypocrisy of what he’d decided to do came to mind; both Rak’nar and Blackthorne had been doing their duty as they had seen it. Ian had escaped almost certain demotion, and by all rights, probably shouldn’t be a flag officer anymore. The fact that Admiral Rhee had chosen to spare his rank still amazed him, but the classified nature of the mission along with Martok’s influence had apparently been his reprieve. Rak’nar, on the other hand, had quite publicly betrayed their mission, something that no one else aboard had done regardless of the ethical questions that had been raised. Yes, he had to do this, if for no other reason than to restore accountability for assaults on one’s fellow officers.

“Captain Rak’nar, you are hereby reduced in rank to First Lieutenant.” Allowing the Klingon the dignity of detaching his own captain’s bars instead of having them forcibly removed, he added, “Surrender your rank insignia.”

He’d gotten off easy, all things considered, and Rak’nar knew it. But knowing that could never be enough to remove the sting of it. He’d worked damn hard over the years to attain that rank, and though he ALSO knew that his Klingon rank was still intact, it was quite the slap in the face to know its equivalency would no longer be honored. But so long as he remained here, there was hope, and he would cling to it with all the fierceness that was his birthright. He had earned the respect those honorary captain’s bars signified, and dammit, he would would earn it back. And so, though he required a moment to compose himself for it, he nodded and removed said bars from his sash without another word, making sure to deposit them on the desk gently rather than throw them.

“As you command.”

Blackthorne produced a silver lieutenant’s bar from a container on his desk and offered it to Rak’nar. After it had been accepted, Ian picked up the captain’s bars and held them between two fingertips. “The timing of this incident was especially unfortunate, coming right after the mutinous actions of those who followed Harris. The crew of Atlantis must know that they can trust their crewmates with their lives, and given recent events, we’ve lost that atmosphere of trust. When it’s restored, and trust in you is freely given by those with whom you serve, you can have these back.”

Backing away a couple of places, Rak’nar wordlessly looked down, pinning the evidence of his demotion to his sash with what looked like resigned indifference. When he looked back up, however, the look in his eye could never be mistaken for that of a man defeated.

“Then if there is nothing else, I should resume my duties immediately.”

“Yes, you should. Dismissed!” The Klingon had a tough struggle ahead, but Ian had seen that look in his eyes. As the lieutenant turned on his heel to leave, head held high with dignity, Blackthorne had already decided that Rak’nar would be alright.