- PART II -
Chapter X: An Appointment
Semil awoke, bolting upright in the unfamiliar bunk. He immediately took notice of the smooth, ashen skin on his exposed shoulders. Someone had clearly bathed him after going over him with a dermal regenerator. He swiveled his left shoulder in place; full range of motion, if not a vague, faint soreness. Someone had taken care of that, too.
He looked around the small, darkened room, recognizing nothing. As he stood, the hum of the deckplates gave notice he was clearly on some kind of ship. The high, tinny whine of the subharmonics that only his Vorta ears could pick up indicated it was a smaller vessel, at that. A Bird-of-Prey, perhaps?
There was a mirror over a wash basin, which he stepped towards. The vanity light activated itself, glaring harshly. His pupils contracted painfully, before accomodating - when he could see he had been given a change of clothes, and a haircut. He wore some sort of armored collar, and a sleeveless tunic over fitted leather pants. His hair had been neatly combed to the side.
He turned towards the door. Surely, it must be locked, he thought. As he stepped towards it - it opened, unbidden.
Strange.
Stepping out into the corridor, it became clear he was on a Klingon ship. He recognized the dull brown and orange palette from the intelligence files. How all that reading had seemed limetimes ago -- if only that weren't so literal.
He turned his head both ways, no sign of life or activity in either. His ears could tell one direction was the source of the hum, probably towards the engines. He started down the corridor in the opposite - which had to have been towards the bridge.
More blast doors opened for him. It was clear to Semil that he was not a focus of security on whatever ship this was. Though cautious, he had to admit that he had not felt the adrenaline surge, the white-hot clarity of his recent escape attempt. If they were returning him to imprisonment, they were doing a piss-poor job of it. Some other agenda must be afoot.
One last, heavier set of blast doors gave passage, and he recognized the cramped, utilitarian bridge, which he stepped onto.
The Klingons at their duty stations gave him no notice, paid him no heed. From the command chair barked an order, which Semil could understand despite being in Klingon. "Drop the cloak. Signal command for a landing approach."
"Good. You've awoken." K'vot addressed him from the command chair without swiveling around.
Beyond him, on the viewscreen, the crescent of a backlit emerald green orb grew in size. "You're bringing me to Qo'nos. What for?"
"Very good." K'vot smiled to himself that the Vorta's mental faculties were undiminished. "You have an appointment. We mustn't be late." A punctual Klingon - this must be important. "Perhaps you're hungry? You've been asleep for some days. The mess hall has been ordered to stock rippleberries and kava nuts. I trust you can find your way there."
Semil's ears perked slightly at the mention of familiar comforts. "I don't suppose you're inclined to inform me as to what appointment you speak of? Or what I'm doing here at all? Or...?"
K'vot interrupted the Vorta with a raised hand. "All your questions will be answered in due time. Sooner than you suspect, perhaps." The Klingon turned to Semil to address him. "For now, eat. Rest. You're going to need to be your best for the General."