The moment he and his men spotted Tyr lurking in the shadowed corner, their expressions darkened. Given the history between the Klingons and the Breen, I understood the reaction.
“A Breen?” Martok barked, his voice laced with both surprise and distaste, his hand instinctively going to his weapon. His men reacted even faster, reaching for their disruptor sidearms—only to freeze mid-motion as Tyr’s rifle snapped up, already primed to fire. The weapon’s deadly whine filled the silence, a stark reminder that if this had been a real fight, the Klingons would already be dead.
Martok’s eyes narrowed, fully aware of what had just happened.
“What is a Breen doing here?!” he demanded.
“Peace, General,” Picard interjected, raising his hands in a calming gesture. His tone was urgent, trying to defuse the moment before it escalated.
Moss and I, on the other hand, merely exchanged amused glances.
“The Breen Confederacy is not a formal observer in these tests,” Picard continued. “Tyr is Admiral Gothic’s bodyguard, nothing more. He has no ties to their military or government and will not be participating in these discussions beyond his protective role.”