“Try it now, Commander.”

Kohr’s brow furrowed intently at the information scintillating across the surface of his PaDD, a gravely hum echoing in his throat. There was a hush of movement behind him and a vexed noise from his shoulder, but it did not distract the Klingon from his reading. He could see Doctor Hofmann shake her head disappointingly from the corner of his vision, and he gave a long-suffering sigh. The preparations for his part in the away mission were taking decidedly longer than he’d anticipated, but it was too late to turn back now. The commander’s body ached from—ironically enough—tip to tail as the genetic reprogramming struggled against the defunct nanoprobes in his system, but Kohr focused on the progress that was being made rather than the hurdles that very process evoked.

“How much longer is this due to take?” he groused in a surly baritone, flicking a curved claw across the surface of his PaDD. It took two more attempts before the system could properly process his gesture to restart the information. “Every moment spent in delay is a moment our trail grows colder.”

Hofmann shot him a hazel glare, the stylus twitching in her hand with the urge to no doubt thump him with it. “These biomodifications are not easy, sir, and the more often you distract me from my work, the longer this is going to take.”

Kohr smiled faintly and nodded, lowering his eyes back to the PaDD. He had found his transition to the Chimera difficult considering the disaster of his last posting, and the way certain crew members gave him deference had grated on him. Having a familiar face like Hofmann had helped, as had her no-nonsense method. It was not a common trait shared by Starfleet, that level of candor, but that was the way Kohr preferred it. That, and he had discovered that prodding her once in a while jarred her into a new—and often more productive—line of thinking.

“It doesn’t look like the Beta-Seven protein sequence is going to work,” she sighed finally. He swallowed the satisfied smile crackling along his jaw. “Let’s increase the Delta-Two variant and modify the guanine pairing another point-eight percent. That should improve nerve conductivity and bolster the response to—”

Kohr shook his head and returned to his reading while Hofmann prattled on, conversing as much with her staff as herself. He had done what needed doing to help her move along, and he still had much left to consider of their situation. After a few moments of hard consideration, he paused the flow of information and lifted his gaze.

“O’Neil,” he rumbled. A grizzled security officer stepped around the biobed. “Have you prepared my belongings as I have instructed?”

The man nodded, referring to his own PaDD as he spoke. “Aye, sir. We’ve modified yer mek’leth an’ its sheath to be more fittin’ of the culture; it’ll be easy enough to get to but ain’t gonna draw attention from the casual eye. Sub-dermal comm implants are ready for the next phase o’ yer operation, and an emergency transponder’s been disassembled an’ sewn inta yer trappin’s as requested. Ye’ll have enough junk packed that the altered tricorder an’ whatnot’ll be overlooked in a quick search. Only so much we can do given what little information we’ve been given, so don’t get arrested or nothin’.”

Kohr frowned at the jest. “That is not something I intend to occur, I assure you.”

“Away team’s made contact,” the lieutenant noted with a smirk. “Just waitin’ fer them ta check in, let us know the lay o’ th’ land so we can beam ya down once yer done with yer makeup.”

Hofmann made a rude noise in the back of her throat, grumbling something rather unflattering about O’Neil’s mother in a Ferengi dialect before administering another hypospray. Kohr winced as it burned its way through his veins, then glanced at his PaDD again. “Very well. I will meet you in Transporter Room Two once preparations are complete for beam-down.”

“Aye, sir.”

“What of our sensor sweep of the planet,” the Klingon mused absently. “Can we not detect their biosigns from orbit?”

Lieutenant Walker took the security officer’s place nearby, flicking the relevant information into the air from his personal device. A ghostly image of the planet in question floated between them, tendrils of data arcing lazily away from certain points in red lines. “Oddly enough, sir, we can’t detect much at all. We’re not sure if it’s the planet’s natural ionic or magnetic radiation that’s obscuring our sensors or some other form of active interference, but by all accounts she’s a lifeless ball of mud. Engineering and science are trying to work out a way to cut through the haze, but for now we’re limited to what we can see visually.”

“I see.” The Klingon’s brow furrowed even more, and he tapped one claw thoughtfully on the PaDD’s polished surface. “Prepare several Class Two probes for geosynchronous positioning, and disperse them in high orbit to reduce the likelihood of their detection. I want as much surface area covered as we can manage, and filter the data through the computer for any image recognition of the observation team. We do not know if they are injured or being held against their will, but if they surface anywhere for any reason I wish command to be notified at once. Understood?”

Walker nodded with a strange, almost appreciative expression on his face. “I’m beginning to see why they chose you for this mission, sir, though I’d never thought I’d actually see a Klingon performing actual infiltration.”

Kohr’s brow raised slightly. “How do you mean?”

“Well, Klingons are all about honor and…” Walker made an obscure gesture with his hand. “I guess some would consider throwing on a disguise, sneaking around, and pretending to be someone you’re not dishonorable.”

“‘Some’?”

The science officer flinched from the edge in Kohr’s tone. “S-Sorry, sir. I was just curious, is all.”

The Klingon grunted as Hofmann blithely prodded him with her hypospray and scanned him. Ice trickled down his bones in gelid rivulets. “I am executing my position as required by Starfleet Command in service to my captain and crew. It is for those gone missing that I do this, as a warrior does not leave a comrade to face death alone. And as I do not do this as a Klingon, my honor is intact.”

“Try again, Commander,” Hofmann interjected with a grave expression on her face. There was a thump from behind him, and she nearly beamed. “Finally! Now you’ll have to take it easy so you don’t break the furniture or clobber someone with it, but I think we’re ready to move on. Objections? No? Excellent! Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

After she had bustled off with her team to prepare the next procedure, Lieutenant Walker let out a heavy sigh. “Sometimes I think that woman only hears what she wants to hear when she wants to hear it.”

Kohr only shook his head gently and resumed the review of his mission parameters. It was hard to stifle the amusement in his voice, but the Klingon managed. Somehow. “Inform me once the probes are in position, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”

Kohr lumbered down the corridor at a brisk pace, trailed closely by a pair of security officers struggling with something between them. He repeated several native phrases to himself as he strode past several confused looking crewmen, trying very hard to ignore them. Checking the straps of his leather gauntlet and sleeve for the dozenth time since leaving Sickbay, the commander nevertheless felt as if it were somehow unsettled and twitched with the urge to correct the phantom issue. Working his jaw against the ache of the most recent of his implants, Kohr decided to shift his focus to the hallway ahead. Thankfully most of the sections leading to the turbolift were clear of personnel as he’d requested, but as the turbolift door hissed open he found himself lingering just outside. Turning to one of the security officers, he raised a brow in silent question; it did not ease the sense of disquiet gnawing at the base of his skull to receive a nonchalant shrug in reply.

“We’ll make it work, Commander.”

Muttering dejectedly to himself, Kohr stepped carefully into the turbolift and glared at the rear wall of the compartment. A vaguely saurian face glowered back in a polished panel, challenging his disapproval with a firm set to its jaw. The medical team had done well to mimic his braided mane and beard with the thin tendrils the aliens maintained; it would help him fight the effects of the genetic modification swimming in his skull. The last thing he needed was to slip into the grips of personality fragmentation. Slow breaths kept him focused and calm, and his eyes picked out the subtle details of the medical handiwork—the speckling of turquoise at the corners of his eyes, the way his eyes slanted just a bit where they met the broad, flat snout. Those details—those very alien details—would keep him anchored, remind him that his heart still beat Klingon. That he would be Klingon once this was all over.

That he would be Kohr.

He heard the two men grunt and wrestle with their burden, tried to ignore the jostling and difficulty. Fingers curled into careful fists at his side, the Klingon was almost relieved when the turbolift got underway. An awkward silence filled the cramped space to bursting, but the door hushed open once more before it chewed through his nerve. Another struggle ensued behind him before Kohr was given the all-clear to carefully exit the lift and resume his march to the transporter room. Thankfully there were no curious encounters or awkward run-ins before they reached their destination. Ensign O’Neil stood just inside the door next to a small pile of various-sized leather satchels and pouches, a polished and gnarled walking stick in one hand.

“Commander,” he nodded with a thin smirk. “I see the proceedure went well. How are you feeling?”

Kohr swayed to a stop, carefully knelt to inspect his supplies. “Awkward. But I will manage.”

“Ye want I should call Sickbay, sir?”

“Why?” The Klingon glanced up, confused. Realization quickly soured it into chagrin. “I speak of the physical oddity of the form, Ensign—the slight disorientation of altered perception, the shifting of varied weight, momentary confusion when glancing at polished surfaces. I have engaged in dozens of missions very similar to this; as such, I am mentally and emotionally prepared.”

“Apologies, sir. I din’t—”

“This is sufficient, Ensign.” Kohr growled, standing and carefully situating each container about his person. Finally, he took the walking stick in his gloved hand and straightened; the pack perched precariously across his shoulders nearly toppled him over backward in the process, but he managed to catch himself in time. “Let us begin.”

Though it vexed him greatly, it took a bit of help for Kohr to make it onto the transporter pad without listing too heavily one way or the other. For a kindness, the crewmen on-duty were patient with him as he adjusted his load and made a few adjustments to the various straps helping contain his bulk. Having the carved walking stick—as much a lengthy bludgeon as support, he reminded himself—would help greatly as he acclimated to the biomodifications, as would his cover. He only hoped that Kahless would smile upon their hunt for the missing team and return them to the Chimera quickly.

“Once yer down there, remember that yer on yer own,” O’Neil added, stepping up on the pad to give the commander a once-over. “At least until we’ve managed ta tweak the sensors, or ye give us a sign what can be seen from orbit. Transponder’s a bit of a Hail Mary, but aside from giving ye a flare gun—”

“A… what?” Kohr’s face was stone.

“Ne’ermind. Now, who are ye?”

“Koma’dur, traveling scholar, philosopher, and seeker of all things ancient and wonderous.”

“An’ where are ye from?”

“The southern shores of Ki’mai’oui, though I have not been in such a time.”

O’Neil nodded, stepped back. “And where have ye been recently?”

“A bit of here, a bit of there. I go where my feet take me.”

“Well, yer about as set as we can make ye, sir.” O’Neil gestured to the crewman manning the transporter’s controls. “Just keep things just as cryptic, act like the eccentric yer like ta be, and… Well, ye know. We’ve managed to sniff out a quiet enough beam-down site a stone’s throw from where the away team is now. Could take us a tick ta get the all-clear from Tactical, but we’ll have yer boots on the ground soon. Oh! An’ before I forget…”

The security officer stepped out for a moment before returning with an earthenware jug wrapped in a colored cord. Kohr took it dubiously, turning it over in his clawed hands as if it might explode at any moment. Knowing Ensign O’Neil, it just might. The man had a knack for munitions.

“I’s just bloodwyne,” he commented flatly, “An’ no’ th’ good stuff, either. Something t’ swill fer the aroma, in case yer accent inn’t up t’ par.”

A cough from the transpoter officer brought their attention back around. “We’re ready, sir. They’ve entered a building; I’m going to put you down in a nearby alley. Good luck!”
—Kohr, Executive Officer—