If he remembered the younger Tir'dainia, he didn't let on. There wasn't even a flicker of recognition.

Just as well, Dan'nor thought. I'm a different person than I was then.

"Not everyone," Fidel'lic went on, "takes your movement as seriously as I do."

"That's very interesting," said Ma'alor. "But it doesn't explain why you're here."

Ralak'kai held up a hand. "Let him finish, Brother. The councillor was good enough to come here-the least we can do is hear him out."

Fidel'lic continued as if he had never been interrupted. "It is obvious," he said, "that there will never be anything like the Conflicts again. And without question, that is for the better. The Conflicts were a relic of our former barbarism-a shameful thing that should have been abolished long ago.

"Our true fulfillment as a people-and as individuals-lies not in petty entertainments." His voice took on a different quality-a sort of measured forcefulness. "Our destiny is something much greater-to regain the stars. First, Trilik'kon Mahk'ti; then those other systems that we once dominated. And when that is done, we can extend the empire beyond even the dreams of our fathers."

He looked around, snaring his listeners now with his eyes as much as his voice.

"We can do that. We are Klah'kimmbri. But it will not be easy. To begin with, we must work together, forgetting our squabbles of the moment. We must redesign our factories to make not shoes, but the components of spacegoing vessels. We must redevelop the engines that propelled us from sun to sun, the armaments that made us masters of every race we encountered. And we must improve on these technologies-so when another Destroyer comes through our home system, we will be ready for him.

"The future is remarkably bright," said Fidel'lic, "if we take hold of it together. You, representing the people. And I, representing the government. We can bring everything to a halt by fighting one another-or heap glory on ourselves by simply reaching out for it."

He leaned forward. "A new day for the Klah'kimmbri-and all I need is your word that you are with me. Do I have it?"

The rebels all looked to Ralak'kai. The smile had never quite faded from his face.

"I don't think so," he told the councillor.

Fidel'lic couldn't mask his exasperation. And what was that other thing Dan'nor saw in his eyes? Fear? After all, Fidel'lic had risked much to come here-including his alliances on the Council.

He shook his head reproachfully, as if they had lost more than they knew. Without another word, he rose from the table-and would have exited, if Trien'nor hadn't stopped him.

"Councillor," said Dan'nor's father.

Fidel'lic turned to look at him.

"A'klah does have a destiny. But it is not the one you conjure. Nor is there room in it for you. If I were a councillor, I would run as far and as fast as I could. For if you try to oppose us, make no mistake-we will bring you down."

Fidel'lic's mouth curled into an expression of disdain. "That remains to be seen," he said. And then he did leave, pulling his entourage along with him.

For a moment after the councillor's departure, all was silent in the room. The enormity of what Trien'nor had said was still sinking in.

Finally, from somewhere-from everywhere-a cheer rose up to fill the silence. And it became so loud, so deafening, that it threatened to shake loose the very rafters and the cobwebs that depended from them.

Dan'nor had no doubt that Fidel'lic could hear it as he made his way out of the tavern.

Only now that the labor of settling the refugees was over, and the ship's crew had settled back into a routine, had Worf taken the time to return to the gym.

He found it full of humans-more so than usual. In fact, there were too many of them for him to concentrate properly on his exercises.

However, Worf did not balk at the situation-not as he might have a few weeks ago. For he had learned that humans were very much like eurakoi.

Both were burdens that needed to be sustained, with one growing stronger for the sustaining of them. And it had taken a stint on A'klah to discover just how strong his burdens had made him.

Worf thought about the Klingon veteran he had confronted in that mountain pass. The poor bastard had succumbed to the dishonor of killing for the marshals' purposes-even when one of the tenets of Klingon warriorhood was to fight solely for one's own causes, and never for anyone else's.

Stripped of his memory, his heritage, the veteran had not had the force of character to resist. Nor had any of the other warriors in the Conflict zones.

But none of them had endured the daily challenges that Worf faced. The never-ending temptation to strangle some bureaucrat with his own proverbial red tape. The insults heaped upon him hour after hour by well-meaning ensigns.

In a very important sense, then, living among humans had made Worf a better Klingon.

Of course, he would never give any of them the satisfaction of telling them so.

Raising the eurakoi to shoulder height, he darted a glance at the digital display.

No minutes and one second... two seconds... three seconds...