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lizbeeTitle: a fountain of blood in the shape of a woman
Author: LizBee
Fandom: Star Trek: Discovery
Wordcount: 3,900 out of about 13,000
Rating: Teen
Characters: Katrina Cornwell; Philippa Georgiou; Chang (ST:VI); assorted familiar Klingons
Pairing(s): Cornwell/Lorca (minor)
Warning(s): For this part: brainwashing, body modification/horror, violence; also: eyeball stuff in part 3.
Notes: The third and final part is just about done, except for the epilogue, so go Team Writing Stuff. (Apologies to my NaNo plans.) Extra thanks tononelvis, who went so far as to research Klingon grammar because she is the best.
AO3 tags I decided not to use: humansplaining; Philippa Georgiou has a metal arm.
Summary: Klingon captivity doesn't quite go how Admiral Cornwell expected. (Part 2: the woman in Philippa Georgiou's body)
2. The dead woman
She remembered dying.
Metal piercing her chest. Blood flooding the back of her throat, the taste of it in her mouth. Michael.
"Well?" Lursa asked when she woke up. "What do you recall?"
"Death. Nothing else."
And Lursa had smiled.
"Good."
For the first days of her existence, she was blank, like an overgrown infant. She floated in her tank and watched Lursa and the others at their work, until the tank was opened and she was permitted to take her first, unsteady steps.
Then Lursa infused her with language, and the tests began. Cognition. Visual acuity. When she passed those, Lursa implanted more information, and the tests were repeated, along with new ones. Logic. Abstract reasoning. Tactics. Weapons. Combat.
She didn't pass all the tests. Her right arm had a deformity. Lursa cursed the degraded tissue samples and had the surgeon replace it with a prosthetic. A training accident claimed her left eye.
"All warriors have scars," Lursa told her.
And there were no more accidents after that.
She trained with the warriors daily, sparring one, two, three at a time. And, sometimes, they sent her to fight human prisoners, although those were small and weak, limp with terror at the sight of her face. There was no honour in those battles, but Lursa said they were necessary.
"We have our duty," she said, drawing a blood sample. "This is yours."
Lursa was not the only scientist, but she was the leader, and the only one who spoke to her as if she were a person. The others called her "it", or sometimes, "the veqlargh".
"Am I a demon?" she asked Lursa.
"Only to the Federation."
She didn't understand, until she did.
Lursa had a brother. A twin, in fact, unusual among Klingons. He visited the laboratory once, the day General Kol expelled House Mo'Kai from the High Council.
They brought her a human that day, and told her to leave him alive. Lursa's brother watched her fight, his face solemn, his eyes unhappy.
He, too, spoke as if she wasn't there.
"Your work," he said to Lursa, "it's wrong."
Lursa smiled a little, as if this was an old debate, and continued testing the reflexes on her prosthetic hand.
"We can't all fight on the front lines, brother."
"You're a skilled warrior."
"I'm a better scientist." She looked up at him. "Or are you ashamed of me?"
"Never. But…" He would not look at them. "This project is … distasteful."
"Is that fear I hear in your voice, brother? A whisper of superstition?" Lursa grinned. "Do you still have nightmares about the veqlargh coming for you in your sleep?"
He scowled, and she realised for the first time that Lursa and her brother were very young.
"The dead should remain that way," he said, but with a hint of bluster which did not quite conceal his real concern.
"We all serve, Mogh," said Lursa. "Even fools like you, who value honour more than victory."
He forced a laugh, and Lursa joined in.
When he was gone, she said, "Am I dead?"
"You are a clone of a Starfleet captain. You were killed in battle by T'Kuvma the Unforgettable himself, the day the war began." Lursa squeezed her shoulder. "You should be honoured."
"Who was I?"
"No one," said Lursa. "It was your death which made you great."
*
The lab deck was a warren of corridors and bleak, sterile rooms. She had no quarters, but slept, when she needed to, in a small room which hummed whenever the cloaking device was active. Her free time was limited, but Lursa encouraged her to spend it in study.
Knowledge came easily to her, and she wondered if that was a legacy of her former life, or if it was a gift from Lursa, along with her physical strength and stamina. She read the history of the Empire going back a thousand years, memorised the chief families of the Great Houses, studied the mining facilities on Praxis.
She did not look up T'Kuvma, or the first day of the war, or the name of the human he killed. She was a weapon for the Empire, and that was enough.
For now.
She was woken from her sleep cycle by voices: Lursa, and a male, stentorian, commanding.
Their words were indistinct, but she sensed they were talking about her. She wanted to slip out of her room and listen, but she had been programmed to obey.
With the greatest of effort, she sat up.
Put her feet on the floor.
It took a long time, and when she finally reached her doorway, the argument had ended. But she returned to bed feeling like she had achieved something.
The next morning she broke her fast with gagh and bahgol, and the stranger returned. He regarded her the same way she looked at a bowl of gagh, and in his presence, even Lursa's gaze seemed to pass through her.
"la'Chang," Lursa said, "this is the project."
"It eats our food?"
"Eats our food, speaks and reads our language. She may appear human, but her heart is Klingon."
"'She'."
"You commanded me to train her. I do not train an object."
She did not relax at those words, but they pleased her.
Commander Chang put her through more tests: bat'leth sparring, mok'bara forms with his honour guard. After that, he put a hood over her face and made her reassemble a disruptor, then put her in the learning bay and made her identify starship types by warp signature.
Then he had her brought back to the training room, and watched from above as she fought and killed a Starfleet prisoner.
"Well done," he said when the Tellarite was dead.
To Lursa he said, "House Mo'Kai is lucky to have a scientist of your skill."
"Sir."
"Ujilli made contact with General Kol yesterday. He and Dennas, Daughter of D'Ghor, have requested Kol's favour."
"He sees sense at last."
"He sees the only alternative to defeat." Chang turned on his heel. "I am ordered to rendezvous with Dennas and Ugilli at Cancri. If they keep their word, I shall return with your next subject. Be ready." He paused in the doorway, looking back at them. "As for this one … I think her power over our prisoners will be increased if she knows who she is."
Lursa's jaw clenched, but she saluted.
"I obey, la'Chang."
*
"Memory implantation is dangerous," said Lursa as she prepared for surgery. "We could lose everything you've learned so far, and for nothing."
"You don't want me to remember."
Lursa hesitated.
"Right now," she said, "you are pure. Your purpose is pure. You know who you are."
Do I?
"la'Chang thinks you're the veqlargh, a tool to scare weak humans. I created you for more than that."
"Then I won't let you down."
Lursa squeezed her hand.
"Good."
3. The woman in Philippa Georgiou's body
When she woke up, it was to the memory of the taste of blood.
Michael.
Who was Michael?
"Well. What do you recall?"
"Death," she said. "Nothing else."
"Good," said Lursa.
It was, at first, true.
Her life came back to her in fragments. Fingers on her neck and the floor rising up to meet her. The twitch of a Kelpien's threat ganglia. Sand beneath her feet. Jasmine tea. Red wine. First contact. A photon torpedo striking a raider's hull on her orders. Incense at a funeral. The smell of her infant son's head. Nasi lemak. Her first ship. Her first journey into space, looking down and seeing the lights of Kuala Lumpur. Her grandmother's telescope and wayang. The sky in monsoon season. Home.
Distant memories. They belonged to someone else.
A woman with brown skin and dark eyes, watching as she died.
Michael. What have you done?
Lursa put her through a fresh battery of cognitive and psychological tests. She answered them as neutrally as she could, and Lursa seemed pleased.
"Well," she said at last, "we haven't lost anything. You remember nothing else?"
My name is Philippa Georgiou. I was the captain of a starship. I had children, once. I spoke five human languages, and I was learning Vulcan. I've killed six of my fellow officers since you woke me up, and maimed four more.
She had a Klingon heart, and a purpose.
"Nothing," she said.
"Good." Lursa stretched. "Go and rest. We'll resume your training tomorrow."
She gave her a rough pat on the arm and left the laboratory.
In her room, she retrieved her PADD and took a deep breath.
"Computer," she said, "access records: T'Kuvma the Unforgettable. Final days."
Klingon, she noted, came automatically. She tried to imagine speaking any other language, but the words died on her tongue. Her prosthetic hand clenched.
The official accounts were detailed. There was even video, which she did not access. T'Kuvma had set out to unite the Empire through war, and in death he had succeeded, and Kahless himself would sing songs of his glory in Sto-Vo-Kor.
His death had come at the hands of a human Starfleet officer named Michael Burnham.
The PADD shattered in her artificial hand.
*
Her perspective changed by the moment. Lursa had seemed almost a mother, but then she looked again, and the Klingon girl couldn't be more than twenty-five. She was being mentored -- or raised -- by a woman young enough to be her daughter.
Philippa had had children once, but there were gaps in her memory. She remembered their births, their funerals. Her daughters were named Amaka and Iyora.
She couldn't remember her son's name. She couldn't remember how her family died.
She threw herself into physical training. Lursa's genetic manipulation made her as strong as any Klingon, and her size made her more agile.
And if she was training, she wasn't thinking.
In the lab deck's mess hall, Lursa said, without looking up from her PADD, "I hear the soldiers enjoy sparring with you. You give them a challenge."
"Some of them." She sucked the flesh from the pipius claw and wiped her mouth. "I took down three this morning. Weak petaQpu. Give me more."
"I'll speak to the sergeant."
"Veterans. Not raw boys from the provinces."
Lursa smiled and made a note of it. Then she said, "All the windows are doors. No door is a wall. Conclusion?"
"No wall is a door. You never gave me a name."
"Would you like me to call you 'veqlargh'? Try this: some boqrats are prey. No prey is a pet. Conclusion: some boqrats are not pets. True or false?"
"True. What is my place in this war?"
"You are to serve the Klingon Empire."
"Am I human?"
"You contain Klingon DNA as well as a human's. My family's DNA. You are my sister." Lursa gave her a penetrating look. "The memory graft worked, then."
"Somewhat." The best lies came from truth. "I recall … pieces." There are pieces missing.
"la'Chang will be pleased."
"You're unhappy."
"A variable has changed." Lursa stood up. "I had a message from my brother this morning. Dennas and Ujilli have a Federation prisoner. An admiral. She is to be your…"
"Replacement." She exhaled. "Am I to die?"
"la'Chang is pleased with you. He will advise General Kol to send you to the front lines. The effect on Federation morale could be … startling. Unless you see yourself as human, now. You may not wish to kill your own kind."
"No," she said. "They're not my kind."
*
Lursa sent the new results to la'Chang as soon as his ship was within range. He arrived on the lab deck within an hour of his return to the flagship.
"Your new subject is in holding, as you requested," he told Lursa. "Pay attention to the feeds. I want this one's personality preserved."
"I obey."
When he turned to her, he looked straight at her, assessing.
"Captain Georgiou," he said in English.
"la'Chang," she replied in Klingon.
"The memory implants were only partially successful," said Lursa, but Chang cut her off before she could say more.
"I will speak to Georgiou alone."
Lursa had no choice but to obey.
"Perhaps, Captain, it's time for a change of scene."
She had spent her life on the lab deck. Above decks, the flagship was ancient and magnificent.
Chang brought her to the great chamber near the bridge, the space reserved for meetings and ceremonial combat.
"Do you remember this place?" he asked.
"I died here."
"You did."
She circled the place where she had fallen.
Chang said, "How much do you really recall of your life?"
She kept her face still.
"Fragments. Moments. Smells." She kept her gaze on the place where she had died, but she was aware of Chang in her peripheral vision. "I … understated the extent of my recollection to Lursa."
"I guessed."
"She worries my loyalty to the Empire will be compromised."
"Is it?"
"I died a human," she said. "I was reborn to serve the Klingon Empire."
Chang smiled.
"You won't have to fight prisoners for much longer," he said. "General Kol has been following your development. You'll be on the front lines as soon as the next project is underway. Lursa is a capable scientist, but her vision is much too small. Any genetically augmented human can beat prisoners -- but you were a decorated Starfleet captain. No one knows the enemy better."
"I'm to lead troops?"
"Eventually. We'll start with boarding parties. The survivors will tell Starfleet what they saw. Rumours will spread. And with them, fear."
"Starfleet's veqlargh."
"Precisely. General Kol has plans for you, Captain Georgiou. You will bring him the head of the woman who killed T'Kuvma."
*
I am Philippa Georgiou. Captain. Serial number SC0025-0128SHN. I commanded the Shenzhou. I was mother to Amaka and Iyora and--
Her son. She remembered brown skin and a solemn little face, and coming out one afternoon to find him asleep in his father's arms while Ami and Iyora played first contact in the garden outside.
She couldn't remember his name.
They're dead. My family are gone.
And she, second officer on the Franklin, had dedicated herself to capturing the raiders who attacked Starbase Forty-Four. She brought them to justice and earned a promotion, and dedicated all her strength to resisting the urge to succumb to bitterness.
The Klingon part of her whispered, You should have ripped out the raiders' hearts and kept their skulls as trophies.
She traced the lines on the palm of her prosthetic hand. Less distinct than on a natural hand, but she had learned to distinguish them. Lursa wanted her to be a weapon. More than a tool, but less than the sum of her parts. A Klingon in a human's body.
Chang … she was an asset to Chang, valuable for now, to be discarded as soon as her usefulness was over.
He wants Michael's head.
Michael Burnham was … an absence. A name. A tilt of the eyebrow, a tone of voice. She remembered feeling great fondness for Michael, respect, even love. But she remembered nothing of the woman herself.
I am not Philippa Georgiou. I wear something like her face, that's all.
She was human, but Klingon, dead but reborn. Programmed to obey, to fight and to kill.
I will serve the Empire. I have a purpose here.
The part of her that was Philippa Georgiou whispered, You are more than programming. You are not the veqlargh.
She did not sleep that night.
*
Chang assigned her to a squad and gave her the freedom of the ship. The squad was commanded by Lursa's brother, Mogh, and his displeasure at her presence was palpable.
"Do you fear me?" she asked as they drilled in the flight simulator.
"I fear only dishonour." He frowned at his scanner. "Federation starship, heading--"
"I see it."
Her photon torpedo disabled its warp drive. The boarding pod was activated.
As they checked their weapons, she said, "Lursa spliced your family's DNA into the human tissue samples. She considers me her sister."
Mogh fumbled with his blade.
"She should not have presumed," he said when he had recovered. "There is no honour in a war fought with corpses."
"That's the only way war is fought," she said, and for a minute, she felt like Philippa Georgiou.
*
She was summoned to kill a Starfleet prisoner.
She told herself that it was her duty to the Empire, nothing more, but he was a scrawny, ragged man, so afraid of her that he practically allowed her to pluck the bat'leth out of his waiting hand.
She killed him quickly and painlessly, and told herself that it was out of pity, not compassion.
Then she looked up at Chang, and met the eyes of the woman beside him.
Human. Grey with exhaustion and pain, braced against the mezzanine railing. The admiral. My replacement.
The admiral eyes were wide with horror. Fear of her. Fear of her future. Fear for the Federation.
"Captain Georgiou," she mouthed, and as her legs gave way beneath her, Philippa remembered.
*
Starbase Yorktown. A backwater outpost just beginning its expansion to become the base of all Federation civilisation in the sector. Commodore Paris hosted a conference attended by -- oh, anyone who was anyone in Starfleet, or Federation colonial government.
Philippa had captained the Shenzhou for three years. Katrina Cornwell was newly promoted, commanding the science vessel Lamarr, but everyone knew she was on a fast track to the admiralty.
They had barely been introduced before they were interrupted by a colonial governor, a lifelong civilian, who had a number of suggestions to improve the running of Starfleet vessels. He was convinced of his genius and cheerfully oblivious to social cues, and as his monologue passed the fifteen minute mark, Philippa and Kat had made eye contact over their empty glasses and--
That was it, really. They were adults, they didn't roll their eyes or pull faces. But they looked at each other and shared the same thought: This has gone on long enough.
They put their glasses down, made excuses and fled, in separate directions, and reconvened five minutes later in the bathroom, where they shook with silent laughter until their sides were aching and concerned ensigns were asking if they were okay.
They never saw enough of each other to become close, but they shared a drink if they found themselves in the same sector, and followed each other's careers. Kat attended the memorial service for the dead of Starbase Forty-Four. Philippa attended Kat's investiture ceremony when she was promoted to rear admiral.
Now she watched her friend collapse, to be carried away to Lursa's laboratory, and she knew where her loyalties lay.
4. Philippa
The first step was waiting. Admiral Cornwell's injuries needed treating, and la'Chang wanted to interrogate his new prisoner at last.
"Use truth serum," growled Lursa. "If you want her personality intact, there's no point altering it with unnecessary trauma."
Chang bristled, but Philippa could see that Lursa would win this battle.
While they were distracted, she slipped out to ready her squad's raider.
"Weapons drill," she told the sentry, but he was used to her by now, and just nodded.
It was a mid-sized raider, with space for up to eighteen -- soldiers and crew -- and heavily armoured enough to ram a starship with only minimal casualties. She could fly it alone, if she had to, but if she had her choice--
"What are you doing?" Mogh asked behind her.
"The Starfleet admiral is being questioned," she said, her voice even. "She might have valuable intelligence. We should be ready to move out."
"You should not have acted alone," said Mogh. "As your squad leader, I will be held responsible for your actions." He sighed, and added, "And as your brother … I should know what you intend."
"My little brother." She smiled, and he shifted.
"Before the war," he said, "you commanded a Federation starship."
"Yes."
"You must have been experienced." At her inquiring look, he added, "You are very old."
You're just very young, Mogh.
"What do you want to know?"
His voice was barely audible. "What did you do when your mission is dishonorable?"
"You mean, sending a veqlargh against the Federation?"
He said nothing.
"Starfleet officers are bound to refuse unlawful orders," she said.
"Do they?"
"It rarely comes up."
Acting in concert, they went below decks to perform visual checks on the weapons lockers.
"la'Gorkon has resigned from General Kol's staff," said Mogh. "He's on his way back to Qo'noS. There are rumours he is starting a movement against Kol."
"That's treason," Philippa whispered.
"Is it treason if it saves the Empire? Gorkon is young, but widely respected. Others will follow him."
Will you?
She did not ask.
*
Chang summoned their squad that night. He was in a jovial mood, drinking blood wine and stalking the observation deck as he looked over star charts and reports.
"T'Kuvma's murderer serves on the USS Discovery," he said. "The so-called ghost ship is the Federation's strongest weapon against us. General Kol wants the ship intact, its captain and navigator alive."
"And Michael Burnham?" she asked.
"Dead is acceptable. Alive is better."
She nodded.
"You will go to the Kortar system with the Third Fleet. Kortar Four is heavily populated and rich in topaline. Starfleet will have to defend it, and the only ship fast enough is Discovery. You leave in six hours."
The squad saluted and left, but Philippa lingered.
"Admiral Cornwell would be a valuable distraction," she said indifferently.
Chang considered it, then said, "No. Lursa's work takes priority. She's administering the first infusion of retrogenes now."
"Very well."
He clasped her shoulder. "Set your teeth, and send darkness to all that stop you."
Philippa blinked, and Chang laughed.
"Shakespeare, Captain. When you return, I will reacquaint you with your culture."
She swallowed her first response and said, "I'm honoured, la'Chang."
*
Her squad would be drinking and carousing until it was time to depart. She returned to their raider and armed herself with a knife and a holster and a couple of hyposprays from its rudimentary medical station.
Then she returned to the crew deck and followed the noise until she found her squad. They had more or less taken over a secondary mess hall, and welcomed her with hot blood wine.
It was the work of a moment to detach the sedative from the hypo and discharge it into the communal jug. Diluted and shared, it wasn't enough to knock them out, but it left them incapacitated, and that was all she needed.
Lursa was the only person working on the lab deck, humming to herself as she examined Kat Cornwell's vital signs. The lights were low, and she didn't sense Philippa in the shadows. The hypospray hissed against her neck, and she collapsed into Philippa's arms.
I'm sorry, little sister.
Kat lay on a biobed, stripped to her standard issue tank top and underwear. Philippa found her pants and boots and looked at her chart. She was stable; the interrogation drugs had left her system and the first infusion of Klingon retrogenes had been a success, and Lursa's notes indicated she was thinking of bringing the next treatment forward.
Philippa found the stimulant and injected it. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then Kat sighed and opened her eyes.
Author: LizBee
Fandom: Star Trek: Discovery
Wordcount: 3,900 out of about 13,000
Rating: Teen
Characters: Katrina Cornwell; Philippa Georgiou; Chang (ST:VI); assorted familiar Klingons
Pairing(s): Cornwell/Lorca (minor)
Warning(s): For this part: brainwashing, body modification/horror, violence; also: eyeball stuff in part 3.
Notes: The third and final part is just about done, except for the epilogue, so go Team Writing Stuff. (Apologies to my NaNo plans.) Extra thanks to
nonelvis, who went so far as to research Klingon grammar because she is the best. AO3 tags I decided not to use: humansplaining; Philippa Georgiou has a metal arm.
Summary: Klingon captivity doesn't quite go how Admiral Cornwell expected. (Part 2: the woman in Philippa Georgiou's body)
2. The dead woman
She remembered dying.
Metal piercing her chest. Blood flooding the back of her throat, the taste of it in her mouth. Michael.
"Well?" Lursa asked when she woke up. "What do you recall?"
"Death. Nothing else."
And Lursa had smiled.
"Good."
For the first days of her existence, she was blank, like an overgrown infant. She floated in her tank and watched Lursa and the others at their work, until the tank was opened and she was permitted to take her first, unsteady steps.
Then Lursa infused her with language, and the tests began. Cognition. Visual acuity. When she passed those, Lursa implanted more information, and the tests were repeated, along with new ones. Logic. Abstract reasoning. Tactics. Weapons. Combat.
She didn't pass all the tests. Her right arm had a deformity. Lursa cursed the degraded tissue samples and had the surgeon replace it with a prosthetic. A training accident claimed her left eye.
"All warriors have scars," Lursa told her.
And there were no more accidents after that.
She trained with the warriors daily, sparring one, two, three at a time. And, sometimes, they sent her to fight human prisoners, although those were small and weak, limp with terror at the sight of her face. There was no honour in those battles, but Lursa said they were necessary.
"We have our duty," she said, drawing a blood sample. "This is yours."
Lursa was not the only scientist, but she was the leader, and the only one who spoke to her as if she were a person. The others called her "it", or sometimes, "the veqlargh".
"Am I a demon?" she asked Lursa.
"Only to the Federation."
She didn't understand, until she did.
Lursa had a brother. A twin, in fact, unusual among Klingons. He visited the laboratory once, the day General Kol expelled House Mo'Kai from the High Council.
They brought her a human that day, and told her to leave him alive. Lursa's brother watched her fight, his face solemn, his eyes unhappy.
He, too, spoke as if she wasn't there.
"Your work," he said to Lursa, "it's wrong."
Lursa smiled a little, as if this was an old debate, and continued testing the reflexes on her prosthetic hand.
"We can't all fight on the front lines, brother."
"You're a skilled warrior."
"I'm a better scientist." She looked up at him. "Or are you ashamed of me?"
"Never. But…" He would not look at them. "This project is … distasteful."
"Is that fear I hear in your voice, brother? A whisper of superstition?" Lursa grinned. "Do you still have nightmares about the veqlargh coming for you in your sleep?"
He scowled, and she realised for the first time that Lursa and her brother were very young.
"The dead should remain that way," he said, but with a hint of bluster which did not quite conceal his real concern.
"We all serve, Mogh," said Lursa. "Even fools like you, who value honour more than victory."
He forced a laugh, and Lursa joined in.
When he was gone, she said, "Am I dead?"
"You are a clone of a Starfleet captain. You were killed in battle by T'Kuvma the Unforgettable himself, the day the war began." Lursa squeezed her shoulder. "You should be honoured."
"Who was I?"
"No one," said Lursa. "It was your death which made you great."
*
The lab deck was a warren of corridors and bleak, sterile rooms. She had no quarters, but slept, when she needed to, in a small room which hummed whenever the cloaking device was active. Her free time was limited, but Lursa encouraged her to spend it in study.
Knowledge came easily to her, and she wondered if that was a legacy of her former life, or if it was a gift from Lursa, along with her physical strength and stamina. She read the history of the Empire going back a thousand years, memorised the chief families of the Great Houses, studied the mining facilities on Praxis.
She did not look up T'Kuvma, or the first day of the war, or the name of the human he killed. She was a weapon for the Empire, and that was enough.
For now.
She was woken from her sleep cycle by voices: Lursa, and a male, stentorian, commanding.
Their words were indistinct, but she sensed they were talking about her. She wanted to slip out of her room and listen, but she had been programmed to obey.
With the greatest of effort, she sat up.
Put her feet on the floor.
It took a long time, and when she finally reached her doorway, the argument had ended. But she returned to bed feeling like she had achieved something.
The next morning she broke her fast with gagh and bahgol, and the stranger returned. He regarded her the same way she looked at a bowl of gagh, and in his presence, even Lursa's gaze seemed to pass through her.
"la'Chang," Lursa said, "this is the project."
"It eats our food?"
"Eats our food, speaks and reads our language. She may appear human, but her heart is Klingon."
"'She'."
"You commanded me to train her. I do not train an object."
She did not relax at those words, but they pleased her.
Commander Chang put her through more tests: bat'leth sparring, mok'bara forms with his honour guard. After that, he put a hood over her face and made her reassemble a disruptor, then put her in the learning bay and made her identify starship types by warp signature.
Then he had her brought back to the training room, and watched from above as she fought and killed a Starfleet prisoner.
"Well done," he said when the Tellarite was dead.
To Lursa he said, "House Mo'Kai is lucky to have a scientist of your skill."
"Sir."
"Ujilli made contact with General Kol yesterday. He and Dennas, Daughter of D'Ghor, have requested Kol's favour."
"He sees sense at last."
"He sees the only alternative to defeat." Chang turned on his heel. "I am ordered to rendezvous with Dennas and Ugilli at Cancri. If they keep their word, I shall return with your next subject. Be ready." He paused in the doorway, looking back at them. "As for this one … I think her power over our prisoners will be increased if she knows who she is."
Lursa's jaw clenched, but she saluted.
"I obey, la'Chang."
*
"Memory implantation is dangerous," said Lursa as she prepared for surgery. "We could lose everything you've learned so far, and for nothing."
"You don't want me to remember."
Lursa hesitated.
"Right now," she said, "you are pure. Your purpose is pure. You know who you are."
Do I?
"la'Chang thinks you're the veqlargh, a tool to scare weak humans. I created you for more than that."
"Then I won't let you down."
Lursa squeezed her hand.
"Good."
3. The woman in Philippa Georgiou's body
When she woke up, it was to the memory of the taste of blood.
Michael.
Who was Michael?
"Well. What do you recall?"
"Death," she said. "Nothing else."
"Good," said Lursa.
It was, at first, true.
Her life came back to her in fragments. Fingers on her neck and the floor rising up to meet her. The twitch of a Kelpien's threat ganglia. Sand beneath her feet. Jasmine tea. Red wine. First contact. A photon torpedo striking a raider's hull on her orders. Incense at a funeral. The smell of her infant son's head. Nasi lemak. Her first ship. Her first journey into space, looking down and seeing the lights of Kuala Lumpur. Her grandmother's telescope and wayang. The sky in monsoon season. Home.
Distant memories. They belonged to someone else.
A woman with brown skin and dark eyes, watching as she died.
Michael. What have you done?
Lursa put her through a fresh battery of cognitive and psychological tests. She answered them as neutrally as she could, and Lursa seemed pleased.
"Well," she said at last, "we haven't lost anything. You remember nothing else?"
My name is Philippa Georgiou. I was the captain of a starship. I had children, once. I spoke five human languages, and I was learning Vulcan. I've killed six of my fellow officers since you woke me up, and maimed four more.
She had a Klingon heart, and a purpose.
"Nothing," she said.
"Good." Lursa stretched. "Go and rest. We'll resume your training tomorrow."
She gave her a rough pat on the arm and left the laboratory.
In her room, she retrieved her PADD and took a deep breath.
"Computer," she said, "access records: T'Kuvma the Unforgettable. Final days."
Klingon, she noted, came automatically. She tried to imagine speaking any other language, but the words died on her tongue. Her prosthetic hand clenched.
The official accounts were detailed. There was even video, which she did not access. T'Kuvma had set out to unite the Empire through war, and in death he had succeeded, and Kahless himself would sing songs of his glory in Sto-Vo-Kor.
His death had come at the hands of a human Starfleet officer named Michael Burnham.
The PADD shattered in her artificial hand.
*
Her perspective changed by the moment. Lursa had seemed almost a mother, but then she looked again, and the Klingon girl couldn't be more than twenty-five. She was being mentored -- or raised -- by a woman young enough to be her daughter.
Philippa had had children once, but there were gaps in her memory. She remembered their births, their funerals. Her daughters were named Amaka and Iyora.
She couldn't remember her son's name. She couldn't remember how her family died.
She threw herself into physical training. Lursa's genetic manipulation made her as strong as any Klingon, and her size made her more agile.
And if she was training, she wasn't thinking.
In the lab deck's mess hall, Lursa said, without looking up from her PADD, "I hear the soldiers enjoy sparring with you. You give them a challenge."
"Some of them." She sucked the flesh from the pipius claw and wiped her mouth. "I took down three this morning. Weak petaQpu. Give me more."
"I'll speak to the sergeant."
"Veterans. Not raw boys from the provinces."
Lursa smiled and made a note of it. Then she said, "All the windows are doors. No door is a wall. Conclusion?"
"No wall is a door. You never gave me a name."
"Would you like me to call you 'veqlargh'? Try this: some boqrats are prey. No prey is a pet. Conclusion: some boqrats are not pets. True or false?"
"True. What is my place in this war?"
"You are to serve the Klingon Empire."
"Am I human?"
"You contain Klingon DNA as well as a human's. My family's DNA. You are my sister." Lursa gave her a penetrating look. "The memory graft worked, then."
"Somewhat." The best lies came from truth. "I recall … pieces." There are pieces missing.
"la'Chang will be pleased."
"You're unhappy."
"A variable has changed." Lursa stood up. "I had a message from my brother this morning. Dennas and Ujilli have a Federation prisoner. An admiral. She is to be your…"
"Replacement." She exhaled. "Am I to die?"
"la'Chang is pleased with you. He will advise General Kol to send you to the front lines. The effect on Federation morale could be … startling. Unless you see yourself as human, now. You may not wish to kill your own kind."
"No," she said. "They're not my kind."
*
Lursa sent the new results to la'Chang as soon as his ship was within range. He arrived on the lab deck within an hour of his return to the flagship.
"Your new subject is in holding, as you requested," he told Lursa. "Pay attention to the feeds. I want this one's personality preserved."
"I obey."
When he turned to her, he looked straight at her, assessing.
"Captain Georgiou," he said in English.
"la'Chang," she replied in Klingon.
"The memory implants were only partially successful," said Lursa, but Chang cut her off before she could say more.
"I will speak to Georgiou alone."
Lursa had no choice but to obey.
"Perhaps, Captain, it's time for a change of scene."
She had spent her life on the lab deck. Above decks, the flagship was ancient and magnificent.
Chang brought her to the great chamber near the bridge, the space reserved for meetings and ceremonial combat.
"Do you remember this place?" he asked.
"I died here."
"You did."
She circled the place where she had fallen.
Chang said, "How much do you really recall of your life?"
She kept her face still.
"Fragments. Moments. Smells." She kept her gaze on the place where she had died, but she was aware of Chang in her peripheral vision. "I … understated the extent of my recollection to Lursa."
"I guessed."
"She worries my loyalty to the Empire will be compromised."
"Is it?"
"I died a human," she said. "I was reborn to serve the Klingon Empire."
Chang smiled.
"You won't have to fight prisoners for much longer," he said. "General Kol has been following your development. You'll be on the front lines as soon as the next project is underway. Lursa is a capable scientist, but her vision is much too small. Any genetically augmented human can beat prisoners -- but you were a decorated Starfleet captain. No one knows the enemy better."
"I'm to lead troops?"
"Eventually. We'll start with boarding parties. The survivors will tell Starfleet what they saw. Rumours will spread. And with them, fear."
"Starfleet's veqlargh."
"Precisely. General Kol has plans for you, Captain Georgiou. You will bring him the head of the woman who killed T'Kuvma."
*
I am Philippa Georgiou. Captain. Serial number SC0025-0128SHN. I commanded the Shenzhou. I was mother to Amaka and Iyora and--
Her son. She remembered brown skin and a solemn little face, and coming out one afternoon to find him asleep in his father's arms while Ami and Iyora played first contact in the garden outside.
She couldn't remember his name.
They're dead. My family are gone.
And she, second officer on the Franklin, had dedicated herself to capturing the raiders who attacked Starbase Forty-Four. She brought them to justice and earned a promotion, and dedicated all her strength to resisting the urge to succumb to bitterness.
The Klingon part of her whispered, You should have ripped out the raiders' hearts and kept their skulls as trophies.
She traced the lines on the palm of her prosthetic hand. Less distinct than on a natural hand, but she had learned to distinguish them. Lursa wanted her to be a weapon. More than a tool, but less than the sum of her parts. A Klingon in a human's body.
Chang … she was an asset to Chang, valuable for now, to be discarded as soon as her usefulness was over.
He wants Michael's head.
Michael Burnham was … an absence. A name. A tilt of the eyebrow, a tone of voice. She remembered feeling great fondness for Michael, respect, even love. But she remembered nothing of the woman herself.
I am not Philippa Georgiou. I wear something like her face, that's all.
She was human, but Klingon, dead but reborn. Programmed to obey, to fight and to kill.
I will serve the Empire. I have a purpose here.
The part of her that was Philippa Georgiou whispered, You are more than programming. You are not the veqlargh.
She did not sleep that night.
*
Chang assigned her to a squad and gave her the freedom of the ship. The squad was commanded by Lursa's brother, Mogh, and his displeasure at her presence was palpable.
"Do you fear me?" she asked as they drilled in the flight simulator.
"I fear only dishonour." He frowned at his scanner. "Federation starship, heading--"
"I see it."
Her photon torpedo disabled its warp drive. The boarding pod was activated.
As they checked their weapons, she said, "Lursa spliced your family's DNA into the human tissue samples. She considers me her sister."
Mogh fumbled with his blade.
"She should not have presumed," he said when he had recovered. "There is no honour in a war fought with corpses."
"That's the only way war is fought," she said, and for a minute, she felt like Philippa Georgiou.
*
She was summoned to kill a Starfleet prisoner.
She told herself that it was her duty to the Empire, nothing more, but he was a scrawny, ragged man, so afraid of her that he practically allowed her to pluck the bat'leth out of his waiting hand.
She killed him quickly and painlessly, and told herself that it was out of pity, not compassion.
Then she looked up at Chang, and met the eyes of the woman beside him.
Human. Grey with exhaustion and pain, braced against the mezzanine railing. The admiral. My replacement.
The admiral eyes were wide with horror. Fear of her. Fear of her future. Fear for the Federation.
"Captain Georgiou," she mouthed, and as her legs gave way beneath her, Philippa remembered.
*
Starbase Yorktown. A backwater outpost just beginning its expansion to become the base of all Federation civilisation in the sector. Commodore Paris hosted a conference attended by -- oh, anyone who was anyone in Starfleet, or Federation colonial government.
Philippa had captained the Shenzhou for three years. Katrina Cornwell was newly promoted, commanding the science vessel Lamarr, but everyone knew she was on a fast track to the admiralty.
They had barely been introduced before they were interrupted by a colonial governor, a lifelong civilian, who had a number of suggestions to improve the running of Starfleet vessels. He was convinced of his genius and cheerfully oblivious to social cues, and as his monologue passed the fifteen minute mark, Philippa and Kat had made eye contact over their empty glasses and--
That was it, really. They were adults, they didn't roll their eyes or pull faces. But they looked at each other and shared the same thought: This has gone on long enough.
They put their glasses down, made excuses and fled, in separate directions, and reconvened five minutes later in the bathroom, where they shook with silent laughter until their sides were aching and concerned ensigns were asking if they were okay.
They never saw enough of each other to become close, but they shared a drink if they found themselves in the same sector, and followed each other's careers. Kat attended the memorial service for the dead of Starbase Forty-Four. Philippa attended Kat's investiture ceremony when she was promoted to rear admiral.
Now she watched her friend collapse, to be carried away to Lursa's laboratory, and she knew where her loyalties lay.
4. Philippa
The first step was waiting. Admiral Cornwell's injuries needed treating, and la'Chang wanted to interrogate his new prisoner at last.
"Use truth serum," growled Lursa. "If you want her personality intact, there's no point altering it with unnecessary trauma."
Chang bristled, but Philippa could see that Lursa would win this battle.
While they were distracted, she slipped out to ready her squad's raider.
"Weapons drill," she told the sentry, but he was used to her by now, and just nodded.
It was a mid-sized raider, with space for up to eighteen -- soldiers and crew -- and heavily armoured enough to ram a starship with only minimal casualties. She could fly it alone, if she had to, but if she had her choice--
"What are you doing?" Mogh asked behind her.
"The Starfleet admiral is being questioned," she said, her voice even. "She might have valuable intelligence. We should be ready to move out."
"You should not have acted alone," said Mogh. "As your squad leader, I will be held responsible for your actions." He sighed, and added, "And as your brother … I should know what you intend."
"My little brother." She smiled, and he shifted.
"Before the war," he said, "you commanded a Federation starship."
"Yes."
"You must have been experienced." At her inquiring look, he added, "You are very old."
You're just very young, Mogh.
"What do you want to know?"
His voice was barely audible. "What did you do when your mission is dishonorable?"
"You mean, sending a veqlargh against the Federation?"
He said nothing.
"Starfleet officers are bound to refuse unlawful orders," she said.
"Do they?"
"It rarely comes up."
Acting in concert, they went below decks to perform visual checks on the weapons lockers.
"la'Gorkon has resigned from General Kol's staff," said Mogh. "He's on his way back to Qo'noS. There are rumours he is starting a movement against Kol."
"That's treason," Philippa whispered.
"Is it treason if it saves the Empire? Gorkon is young, but widely respected. Others will follow him."
Will you?
She did not ask.
*
Chang summoned their squad that night. He was in a jovial mood, drinking blood wine and stalking the observation deck as he looked over star charts and reports.
"T'Kuvma's murderer serves on the USS Discovery," he said. "The so-called ghost ship is the Federation's strongest weapon against us. General Kol wants the ship intact, its captain and navigator alive."
"And Michael Burnham?" she asked.
"Dead is acceptable. Alive is better."
She nodded.
"You will go to the Kortar system with the Third Fleet. Kortar Four is heavily populated and rich in topaline. Starfleet will have to defend it, and the only ship fast enough is Discovery. You leave in six hours."
The squad saluted and left, but Philippa lingered.
"Admiral Cornwell would be a valuable distraction," she said indifferently.
Chang considered it, then said, "No. Lursa's work takes priority. She's administering the first infusion of retrogenes now."
"Very well."
He clasped her shoulder. "Set your teeth, and send darkness to all that stop you."
Philippa blinked, and Chang laughed.
"Shakespeare, Captain. When you return, I will reacquaint you with your culture."
She swallowed her first response and said, "I'm honoured, la'Chang."
*
Her squad would be drinking and carousing until it was time to depart. She returned to their raider and armed herself with a knife and a holster and a couple of hyposprays from its rudimentary medical station.
Then she returned to the crew deck and followed the noise until she found her squad. They had more or less taken over a secondary mess hall, and welcomed her with hot blood wine.
It was the work of a moment to detach the sedative from the hypo and discharge it into the communal jug. Diluted and shared, it wasn't enough to knock them out, but it left them incapacitated, and that was all she needed.
Lursa was the only person working on the lab deck, humming to herself as she examined Kat Cornwell's vital signs. The lights were low, and she didn't sense Philippa in the shadows. The hypospray hissed against her neck, and she collapsed into Philippa's arms.
I'm sorry, little sister.
Kat lay on a biobed, stripped to her standard issue tank top and underwear. Philippa found her pants and boots and looked at her chart. She was stable; the interrogation drugs had left her system and the first infusion of Klingon retrogenes had been a success, and Lursa's notes indicated she was thinking of bringing the next treatment forward.
Philippa found the stimulant and injected it. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then Kat sighed and opened her eyes.
no subject
Date: 2017-11-04 03:41 am (UTC)Metal piercing her chest. Blood flooding the back of her throat, the taste of it in her mouth. Michael.
!!!!!!!
Lord, I love them bonding over being mansplained to.
Also, science vessel Lamarr, yesssss.
Oh, this is sharp and uncompromising and very, very Disco.
no subject
Date: 2017-11-04 04:18 am (UTC)But I'm not the one who keeps creating amazing female characters only to kill them, so who's the real monster here?
PROFESSIONAL RESPECT AND ADMIRATION AMONG WOMEN IS MY AESTHETIC and also laughing at terrible men. ("But, Liz, how could mansplaining persist in a utopian universe like that of Star Trek?" I DON'T KNOW, INNER VOICE, MAYBE YOU SHOULD ASK THE MEN WHO KEEP WRITING MANSPLAINING SCENES IN CANON.)
Every single starship I created for this fic was named after a female scientist, astronaut or engineer.
THE GREATEST PRAISE ANYONE COULD OFFER, I mean, not that people should stop trying, but "uncompromising" is great, especially if it means I'm close to Disco's style of Serious Realism But Also Magic Space Mushrooms.
no subject
Date: 2017-11-04 02:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2017-11-04 08:45 pm (UTC)I had way too much fun figuring out where the future Houses of Mogh and Duras fit into the 2250s!