Embedded Files
Location: Axel Bridge
Selvine picked up a PADD and checked on the schedule of things to be done. The Ornanan woman, XO of the Axel, checked off several items before arriving at a particularly interesting business deal that Capt. Korav had entered.
It read: "Have accepted package from Diana Hunter to be delivered to the To'Var house on Qo'Nos. Package is being held in cabinet C in the docking bay. Accepted payment of...."
Selvine nearly jumped when she saw the amount that Hunter had given him. She'd always wondered where Korav had gotten that money, but she'd never asked for fear of finding out. That big oaf! Did he intentionally leave this on the backburner, or did he just forget??!
She walked over to the comm screen and summoned up a local registry. She brought up the To'Var house and keyed in their contact frequency.
------
Kira was glad to be monitoring communications aboard the Valkyre and away from the constant bickering that had been going on ever since Diana left. She noted that an incoming message came from a frequency used by House To’var, it’s friends and family--not completely secure, but trusted.
"House To'Var, this is Selvine, first officer of the Seiklon Axel. We are carrying a package from Diana Hunter to be delivered to you." Selvine said as evenly as she could manage. Were there any stipulations? Was the package all that Hunter had given Korav?
“Axel,” the Klingon woman responded, “I am Kira Hunter, Second Officer aboard the Valkyre. We are most anxious to receive package. We wish to express our gratitude as well. Is there some secure location where we may accept package and speak with your captain? We will of course compensate you for your time.”
"Captain Korav is currently on the surface, and is due back in thirty minutes." Selvine responded. "Perhaps we could meet at your family's....estate?" Selvine hoped that's what the Klingons called their homes.
This was unbelievable. It had been almost five months since Diana stormed out without explanation or bodyguards. She made a promise to the Klingon High Council, and she damn well better come through on it, or House To’var would be turned over to whoever the Chancellor favored--and he didn’t exactly hold the half human house in high regard.
“Anyone my sister-in-law trusts, is welcome in our house,” Kira said.
"Very well. I'll relay your message to him and have him deliver it personally." Selvine said, hoping that Korav had his comm unit on.
“My family would like to meet with whoever Diana entrusted the package to,” Kira told the Ornaran woman. “Whatever she paid you, we‘ll pay double for information regarding her health and happiness.”
That sounded odd, even to Kira, but you just didn’t go around advertising that the head of your house has run away from home.
Selvine's ears tingled at the sound of cash. The Axel's accounts hadn't been in the best of condition since they disconnected from the Investors. "Thank you very much, Ms. Hunter. He will be there shortly. Please send us your transporter room coordinates and I'll beam the lunk- er, captain over."
Kira might have signed off with a curt ‘acknowledged,’ but they needed any information the Axel’s captain had regarding Diana. The girl was one of only a very few female heads of house, and the only human to have served in that capacity for more than a year.
Diana had been moody and distant prior to disappearing, and they were afraid that she’d been kidnapped or killed. They’d manage to cover for her absence so far, but the council was getting suspicious. The foolish girl had promised to marry a full-bloodied Klingon male, or die, within one year’s time, and as the deadline grew closer, selfish and vengeful Klingon men were coming forward.
"Very well Miss Hunter. Axel out." Selvine said, closing the channel. However did they manage to get mixed up with these types? She keyed in Korav's comm frequency.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Location: House To’var
House To’var had always been a minor house. It’s reputation waxed and waned with it’s leadership. Most of it’s disputes were with it’s neighbors, and most of it’s problems were financial. Ta’rok had left home because he disagreed with his father, and his brothers squandered their inheritance shortly after their father died. When Ta’rok learned that he’d been chosen for an important mission, one vital to the empire, but from which he’d, in all probability, never return, he sought out a 16-year-old earth girl named Diana.
He’d met her in a hospital emergency room. She’d helped save the life of a Klingon warrior; a warrior he was to escort back to the embassy until a hearing could be arranged. She looked up at him, and asked, “Are you married?” When he replied, “No,” she asked, “Would you like to be?” Even as he was thinking up an appropriate response, she quickly added, “It’s not a hypothetical question. I’m proposing.”
Their paths kept crossing as he gained rank within the Defense Forces, and her father within Star Fleet. Oddly enough, the girl was also growing in notoriety within both organizations. She kept her distance, but he always felt her presence nearby. It was strange--only a child’s crush? Both of them were teased due to her devotion, but it was just a crush and nothing more. Then things changed. He needed help, her help. That’s when he learned that she was much more than a child, and probably the only one who could save his ancestral home.
Diana exchanged services, and settled bets, with Star Fleet and it’s officers with latium and repairs to an old b’reel class bird of prey. The military no longer uses such small ships, but they’re perfect for pirates, smugglers and even a legitimate businessman. Diana never told anyone how she came by her fortune, but let them think the worst--afterall, who picks fights with pirates and smugglers?
Diana had the will, intellect, strength and funds to put his house back in order. It took over a year for the embassy to recognize her as Ta’rok’s lawful wife, even though they were married by his captain on the bridge of his ship. It took another six months to get a visa, and that was given only when certain Klingon officials thought they’d cut her off from every form of transport to Quo’Nos. They didn’t realize she had her own bird of prey, even though it was properly registered with them. The Feds weren’t happy losing such a valuable piece of property, or someone they’d trusted with so much information. (The ship is also listed as stolen by Star Fleet.)
When Diana showed up, quite unexpectedly, at House To’var, Ta’rok’s oldest brother and acting head of house, was already half drunk. The estate was nearly bankrupt, and only the most loyal retainers had stayed on. Creditors and enemies were circling like vultures, and the most anyone dared hope for was to die with a bat’leth in their hand, even if it was only fighting off repossession.
She was legally the head of house until she gave it up, or died fighting to keep it. She arranged to meet her brother-in-law, Kor’Nan, in personal combat at dawn--that gave her a few hours to make some changes, including making all faithful retainers full house members. She also paid them back wages, and gave each a personal message that Ta’rok had entrusted her with, to give them. She now held the majority of members, but still had to prove that she was tough enough. She did.
The first thing she did, was to pay off, or arrange to pay off, all debts. The second thing was much more difficult--make peace with her neighbors. She was generally successful in this area as well. The few individuals and houses that refused her, were generally considered to be petaQs anyway. The friendships became alliances, and now the council was truly concerned about her increasing influence.
And, then she disappeared.
--------
Korav materialized on a cobblestone walkway leading up to what he assumed to be house To'var. Package clutched under his arm, he suddenly felt a bit of apprehension about his decision to come here alone. Nonetheless, Klingons were supposed to be honorable, right? His first thought when he appeared was to why Kira had given them coordinates so far from the mansion. He decided not to mention anything, since pissing off a Klingon House wasn't on the list of smartest things ever done.
The house itself is more like a feudal keep--thick stone walls, a few narrow windows, towers at the cardinal points. Inside there are banners hanging on the walls, mounted weapons, artwork of famous battles and portraits. The furniture is all sturdy and uncomfortable--massive wooden and stone tables, uncushioned chairs. In the offices, only the owner had a chair--others stood, took orders and did not waste time. There were modern lights, communications and weapons, but there was no mistaking it’s medieval origins.
A servant answered the door promptly, and said, “Welcome, Captain. You are expected, if you would follow me.”
Shrugging, Korav followed the servant, making sure to kick the grime off his boots before he entered.
The house was clean, well-ordered and secure. The precautions might not have been noticeable to the untrained eye, but Korav was hardly untrained in this field. The servant stopped, opened a door and stepped aside to allow the captain entry. Following Korav inside, the servant announced, “Captain Korav of the Axel Seiklon.”
There are two Klingon males, two human men with white/blond hair like Diana, and a Klingon woman in the room. One of the humans steps forward and extends his hand to Korav in greeting. “You’re most welcome here, Captain. I’m Reggie Hunter, this is my brother Max, his wife Kira and Diana’s brothers-in-law, Rodek and Kor’Nan.”
Slightly taken aback by the peculiar mix of Human and Klingon, Korav proceeded with the best manners that he knew. The grandeur of the place was nauseating. "Pleasure." Korav said gruffly as he took the hand. "This is the package as promised." He offered the wrapped bundle with his free hand.
“How long has it been since this package was entrusted to you?’ Reggie asked.
"I apologize for the delay." Korav said, careful to keep his tone neutral. "We took onboard some rather.....disagreeable passengers."
Reggie dismissed the man’s concern with a wave of his hand. “How long ago?” he asked again.
"Two weeks." Yeah, that was about the time it took to get from Devu to the Wormhole.
Reggie turned to his brother Max before addressing Korav again. “I believe my sister-in-law promised additional payment for you to deliver this in person,” he said as he tapped the package against the palm of his hand.
"Ten bars." Korav said simply. The look on Reggie's face gave away his opinion on the matter. "I have a PADD with Diana's thumbprint and voiceprint authorizing the payment. We didn't risk a jump through the wormhole for nothing, Mr. Hunter."
It was a ridiculous sum. Either the good captain was padding his expenses a bit, or Diana…well, knowing Diana, she had her reasons. Reggie nodded at his brother. Max nodded in acknowledgement, and left the room. Turning to Korav, Reggie said, “Max will return shortly with your money. In the meantime, can I offer you a drink?”
"Of course." Korav said, remembering something about the Klingon proverb: 'Drink not with thine enemy' and decided that drinking with these people would be a show of good faith. After all, who knows when these kinds of meetings could turn into business contracts.
Reggie turned to Rodek and Kor’Nan, “Have the servants prepare something for all of us. We’ll be dining in the great hall this evening. I want you to oversee everything, personally, Rodek. The four of us will join you shortly.”
“Is this your first trip to Quo’nos?” Reggie asked, as he wrote THEY CAN’T HEAR US OUTSIDE on a padd and held it up for the Captain to read.
Korav was instantly on alert. House intrigue. Just great. He gave a subtle, knowing nod as he replied. "No, I've been here before. Some 'business'....trips." Korav didn't want to give away his previous profession as of yet.
“You really should see the garden, flowers native to our home on earth. At the end of this small path,” Reggie pointed out the door, “there’s a koi pond with brilliantly colored, hardy fish.”
All Korav could see was the outlines of the fish swimming through the water. Half human, half no one knew what, his glowing white eyes everything look multicolored. He could faintly make out the vibrant pulses of each fish's heartbeat, the slow steady flow of electrodes firing through their bodies. Sometimes, one would appear to glow for no reason that Korav could find. He'd often wondered why he saw the things he saw, but now was not the time for it.
Reggie signaled Kira to stand guard. The last thing they needed was for Rodek and Kor’Nan to interfere. She took up a position at the door, as the two men walked down the path.
The small garden was very beautiful. It was a luxury that most Klingons wouldn’t understand--none of the plants were good for eating. In addition, it was expensive and time consuming to keep the indigenous weeds from choking out the irises, poppies, columbine, peonies, and other perennials.
Life. What was so special about it? Korav had never seen such fantastic mixing of light and color. The garden appeared to be a glimpse of an entirely new dimension to him. Korav had seen crowds undulate across the spectrum as people walked all around, exchanging neurons, glimpses, words...
Korav saw life like no other being, and he knew it. He kept his awe and wonderment to himself though. He snapped out of his reverie when Reggie spoke.
“My sister disappeared almost five months ago. We’ve had no word from her in all that time, and she has never done anything like this before.”
"Consider this a freebie to ensure future working relations." Korav said simply. "Normally, I'd charge, but this time it's free. She's onboard the Cromwell."
“You mean the old Warchief?” Reggie couldn’t believe it, but then again, his sister was a rebel at heart. He stopped pacing, put his right hand to his temple, then ran his hand over his hair--a crew cut like his dad’s. Sighing, he put both fists on his hips, and turning back to Korav, asked, “You better tell me the rest, Captain. I’m about as braced for bad news as I’ll ever be.”
"She took up with some DFA Marine Officer." Korav said with disgust. "I swear on my life, it's the truth. I know it may sound ludicrous, but last I saw, she was....having relations with a marine....a Captain by his rank. Don't remember his name."
Reggie shook his head. “She used to stand in front of Ta’rok’s portrait like it could talk, and tell her what to do next. She moped around here and took chances like she couldn’t wait to die. I can’t say that I’m distressed to hear that she finally found someone. A captain in any army is usually a man of honor.”
"Honorable?" Korav chuckled. "You know how those DFA types are....deserters, ex-criminals, smugglers.... No better than the damned Feds if you ask me, but we're not here to discuss politics. All I know is that I've seen this man's face before, and it was most likely on a wanted poster."
“How is it exactly, that you and my sister met?” Reggie asked.
"My ship was docked at Chetzia undergoing resupply." Korav said, recounting the meeting. "I was contacted by Miss Hunter. She was in need of quick transport off of the station. I agreed, and a fee was agreed upon, but before we left, that marine came and begged her to come back with him. She left the ship, and gave me the package to take back to you."
“Did she,” Reggie hesitated, “Did she seem…happy?”
"She was a bit distressed when she first came aboard..." Korav said. On second thought, a 'bit' distressed was understating it. "But once that marine showed up, she was a lot happier....I've never been good reading women, but she was being pretty open about her emotions at the time. I think something shook her up before the marine came along."
Reggie looked over the grounds of the To‘var estate. Diana put everything she had into this place. She wouldn’t leave it, he thought. There had to be an explanation. In the six weeks before her disappearance, she acted like she was on the rag all the time--indecisive, tired, bitchy and she ran into her room and cried a lot. It wasn‘t like her. Diana wasn‘t that bad, even when it was that time of the month. Reggie allowed himself to smirk, but then we’ve always had her outnumbered--she wouldn’t dare go all moody on us. We’d stop taking orders, and start teasing her. Something was wrong. He and Kira had tried to retrace his sister’s steps, but no one was talking. At the same time, the high council seemed to be closing in.
“A woman head of house is rare, but a human is almost unheard of. There are members of the high council who would like to see that change, and Rodek and Kor’Nan are too obtuse to realize it’s not going to be them,” Reggie explained to Korav. “Before my sister left, she swore an oath to marry a full-blooded Klingon male, or die, within one year’s time. If she couldn’t find someone to marry, the council would choose someone for her. She didn’t seem to care either way. It’s only been five months, but the council is becoming impatient. I need to bring her back home, Captain.”
"You speak to me as if I needed to be convinced, Mr. Hunter." Korav said with a bit of a smile. "When really, you should be trying to buy me."
“Are you planning on returning to the Delta Quadrant any time soon?”
"My definition of soon depends on how much latinum you'll be willing to put forward to my troubles." Korav wanted to slap himself for sounding so much like a Ferengi, but he had to show these people that he wouldn't be bogged down by Klingon notions of 'honor'. Money is a chain easily forged and easily severed...a convenient alliance signed in watercolor.
“Excellent,” Reggie replied, “then, you won’t mind escorting us to the Cromwell. You get the second half of that ten bars of latinum, when I see my sister again.”
Ten bars was rapidly becoming a hefty sum. Latinum was the one thing going good on the markets nowadays. Inflation in the galactic economy- brought about by a boom following the war- had watered down the value of the credits in the Axel accounts somewhat. Those ten bars would go a long way towards retrofitting the ship....however, perhaps this was an opportunity for the Axel once again. Having a Klingon house as a long-term employer....
"How about this, Mr. Hunter?" Korav said, turning toward Reggie. "My ship recently had a run-in with a Delta Quadrant crime syndicate called the investors. Heard of them?"
“Can’t say that I have,” Reggie said, “but then, we don’t have any business interests in the DQ at this time. Not that we didn’t kick the idea around a bit, but then Diana…”
"We need a new employer....and we need protection. Most importantly, we need your contacts within the Klingon Shipbuilding industry to help us get our ship an overhaul." Korav knew he tread a fine line, but they needed this. The ship needed this.
Reggie laughed, “Klingon technology is still what my brother Max would call ‘bass-awkward’ and there are people on Quo’nos who don’t like humans, or any other races, for that matter. So, it just made sense to use our own facilities. Fewer questions, less chance of sabotage, that way. If it will bring my sister back any faster, I’ll have Kira accompany you back to the Axel and show you everything you need to know to access what we have to offer.
"We're all skilled mercenaries, Mr. Hunter." Korav decided to take a risk. "I served in the Colonial Militia for several years. I've participated in operations ranging from search and rescue to seek and destroy. I've clashed with pirates, mercenaries, terrorists, and aliens. After the militia, I was a contract killer for the better part of two decades. My XO, she was once one of the finest tactical minds at the Vulcan Institute of Military Science. Each member of my crew can match a Fleeter and surpass him in some way. You're looking at one of the most highly talented and trained mercenary crews in the DQ. Now....how can you turn down such an offer?" Korav turned to the side a bit, observing the wildlife in the distant forest. "I know you use mercenaries, Mr. Hunter. I know the council's giving your house trouble. I know that other houses are most likely encroaching on your interests. I know that you need things done that....no 'honorable' Klingon would do. You need a left hand. We are that left hand." He turned back to Reggie. "So what's it to be?"
Reggie shook his head, “You misunderstand, Captain. Diana trusted you, and you’ve been very forthright with us. She used to say that any problem that could be solved with latium, wasn’t really a problem, and that as long as you have friends, you’re really and truly rich. Our friends have pulled us out of scrapes that no amount of latium ever could, and no matter how bad things got, we never felt poor while we could still laugh.”
“As for that other,” Reggie shrugged his shoulders, “I wouldn’t ask anyone to do something I wouldn’t. Not because it’s somehow noble, or safe, but there’s not that much that I wouldn’t do for the people I care about.” The younger man smiled. “My sister is one of the most complicated creatures God ever made, but I never went wrong trusting her, and she trusted you. I’m sure we can work something out.”
<<Korav>>
“I don’t know,” Reggie said. “Sounds like we might be boring by comparison. You can tell us a little bit more ship and crew over dinner. Feel free to add liberal amounts of blood and gore into your tales, Rodek and Kor’Nan love that sort of thing.”
<<Korav>>
“They’re not so bad, once you get to know them,” Reggie assured the Captain. “The staff is absolutely devoted to Diana, and Ta’rok’s mother gave her blessing to Diana on her death bed a few years back.”
<<Korav>>
Kira walked down the path to meet them, nodding to both men in turn, “Captain, Reggie, they’re ready for you inside.”
“Thank you, Kira,” Reggie said. “I want you and Max …”
Kira raised one closed fist to her lips and interrupted with a soft, forced coughing sound. “Max is indisposed, and I think that I should tend to him.”
“Indisposed,” Reggie arched one eyebrow.
“Yes, he is not…himself this evening,” Kira replied.
“What…?” Reggie started to ask.
“He opened the package Diana sent,” Kira answered.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Location: House To’var
Reggie hurried back to the house. He could hear raised voices, and glass breaking, even before he got through the door. Kira and Korav were close behind. When he rounded the corner, he saw Rodek trying to break up some kind of fight between Max and Kor’Nan by holding his younger brother’s arms behind his back, but Max leaned into the hold, using his opponent for leverage, he brought up both feet, kicking the other Klingon squarely on the chin.
Kor’Nan fell back, but remained standing. He rubbed his jaw; it would be tender for a few days. Angry now, he clenched his fists, and prepared to deliver a punch to Max’s face, but Reggie caught his arm before he could connect, and demanded to know, “What’s going on here?”
“He started it,” Kor’Nan said.
“Is this true?” Reggie turned to his younger brother.
“He was watching her,” Max said. “He’s always watching her. And, I know what he’s thinking, but she’s mine. Kira’s mine, Reggie.” The last sentence came out like a child’s plea to an older brother when a much larger child tries to take away a favorite toy. Rodek was still holding Max back, and shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he had no idea what was going on. Max looked back at his brother, and the look was angry and desperate. “She’s my wife. My wife!” Max insisted, but it still sounded like he had let out his insecure inner child, and was throwing a tantrum.
Kira turned to Reggie, “I swear, he wasn’t like this when I left. He was excessively attentive. He wouldn’t take his hands off me, and talked as if under a spell. He was…” Kira looked confused, and was at a loss for words. Earlier, Max swore over and over again that he loved and needed her, but he also seemed unsure of something.
Max struggled with Rodek to let him go, and Reggie motioned for him to do so. Rodek let go and Max ran to Kira. He held her like a runaway child returned by police after many hours of worry, but the cause of his concern was the possibility of losing his wife. “I love you, Kira,” Max murmured, as he held her tightly.
Kira didn’t return the embrace. She simply looked down, and said, “Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?”
Kira wasn’t quite sure what to do with Max. He was holding her as if his very life depending on maintaining contact. She hesitantly patted him on the back, and said, “I love you more?”
Max seemed oblivious to everyone else in the room. “From the moment, I first laid eyes on you, I wanted you and only you. No other woman in all the universe is like you. I’m not faint of heart, and I have fought in battles since I was very young, but when you first spoke to me, I knew real fear. I was in the presence of a goddess, and felt I would die if you disapproved of me. I…”
“Ah, … that’s okay, Honey,” Kira said to her husband, but while his head rested on her shoulder, she turned to Reggie. Shaking her head, and gesturing with upturned hands, Kira indicated that she was awaiting further instruction.
“Why don’t you take Max back to your room,” Reggie suggested.
Kira was attracted to Max’s skill, strength and wit. She was not amused by this new development. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Reggie said. “I’m positive.”
“Wait a second, aren’t you forgetting something?” Kor’Nan asked. “He hit me!”
“I didn’t forget,” Reggie replied. “When Max wakes up tomorrow, I want him to get in some training time. I was thinking along the lines of hand-to-hand combat. Think you can handle that?”
Kor’Nan’s angry visage melted into a grinch-like smile. “Of course,” he replied, and, “It would be an honor.” But, he didn’t sound entirely sincere.
Reggie had both Rodek and Kor’Nan go on ahead.
"You sure that's a good idea?" Korav asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Max can take care of myself,” Reggie assured him. “By this time tomorrow, they’ll be covered in sweat and blood, laughing and drinking together, swapping stories, and Kira will have to drag him off to the bedroom.”
Suddenly, there was a loud thump, strong enough to rattle the pictures on the wall, followed by the sound of breaking glass.
Instinctively, Korav's hand flew to his holstered knife. "What was that?!" He started.
Reggie exhaled slowly, his breath coming out in a soft hiss, “That would be Kira throwing heavy objects.” Looking Korav straight in his white eyes, he said, “We better get to the dining room, before they start making noises that will ruin your appetite.”
"Ah....alright then." Korav could almost hear the poetry being recited. What was Klingon poetry about, anyway? Blood guts? The said female's breasts? Korav puit it to the back of his mind as he followed Reggie.
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Location: House To’var
Phelm, House To’Var’s CFO and accountant, was going over the books, when Reggie asked him to join them for dinner. He’d worked for Diana from the time she was a teenager. She started by taking wagers--her team of Klingon trained children against Starfleet recruits in field training exercises. Later, she was hired as a consultant. She kept her ties to the Empire intact, while providing Starfleet with translations, training, analysis and eventually, the occasional ‘errand.’ What she wanted most was to marry Ta’rok, but if she had a second love, it was the Valkyre.
When Diana learned that the ship and crew that had rescued her and her friends, had crash landed, she went in search of them. The crew was long dead, but needed burying. She saved something personal from each man, and sent it home to their families. She wrote letters describing each warrior’s bravery, strength and skill in battle. Every house she wrote to was appreciative of this.
The ship had crashed almost intact. The Brel’ class bird of prey was broken and twisted of course. The left wing had been shorn off, but a good engineer wouldn’t have any trouble bringing auxiliary power back on line. The absence of any torpedos, and scorch marks on the ship’s hull, were proof that they’d gone down fighting. The matter/anti-matter chamber, as well as the cloaking device were badly damaged. The radiation levels caused by the damage to these units was enough to discourage most scavengers.
As Diana walked around the deserted bridge, she was overwhelmed by memories. She stroked the well-worn leather of the captain’s armrest from back to front, where several hard, broken pieces of bone stuck out. Realizing that the captain would have gripped the chair tightly, as he watched the ship fall closer to the surface and certain death, she wrapped her own hand over the pieces. This captain had risked his life for hers. He had treated her like a daughter. She tried to remember what it was like to hold his hand and hear his voice. And, as her eyes grew moist, she did. “Klingons do not cry,” he said. Diana didn’t allow a single teardrop to fall. From that moment on, she had one purpose--restore the ship. She and her friends managed to cover it up, until they had the means to do this.
That’s where Phelm came in. His family was certainly not the richest on Ferenginar. He had an entry-level position as a stock analysis specialist, as well as a background in business administration. He also had high blood pressure, acid reflux and no chance of getting ahead. His boss had just taken credit for his work, again, and he needed a drink. That night, he drank too much, complained too much, and when word got back to his employer, (as it often will when you drink with co-workers), he was terminated.
He was humiliated by having his clothes torn, and the personal possessions from his desk were broken before his eyes, and in front of everyone, before being tossed into a box for him to carry out. He’d made hundreds of thousands of bars of gold-pressed latium for his employers, and they docked him a portion of his pay for the crappy box he carried his things out in. He was shoved into the street. Someone threw the name plate from his desk, and hit him in the back with it. He’d seen this done to other people, and knew his former employee had already made several calls to ruin his reputation and chance for another job.
As he wandered out onto the sidewalk, clutching a box filled with pieces of a broken coffee mug, a jammed stapler, torn pages from a desk calendar; a man across the street put a communicator away and walked towards him. Handing Phelm a card, he said, “Be at that address, three o’clock this afternoon,” and then just walked away.
Phelm wondered, if this was yet another cruel joke arranged by his last employer. He stared down at the card, and decided that he had nothing to lose.
He changed clothes, and arrived promptly at three. He double-checked the address, and was now certain that he’d been set up. The bar was a known Klingon establishment. The marines referred to it as the DMZ because they sustained fewer injuries, and maintained better relations, when they just stayed out of the place. Even so, Shore Patrol frequently had to break up brawls, and escort the combatants back to their respective ships, where they were turned over to their respective captains for discipline. It was rumored that Klingons received no punishment for fighting, but there were severe penalties for letting anyone in a Starfleet uniform get stasis cuffs on a Klingon warrior.
As Phelm was standing outside, the door swung open. Two warriors with their hands locked around their opponent’s throat, pushed and shoved each other against the side of the building and into the street. They spit and cursed through gritted teeth, as their faces turned red and purple due to lack of oxygen. With no other prospects in sight, Phelm had to take the chance. Even as more Klingons came out of the bar, glasses of bloodwine in hand, arguing or encouraging the two fighters, Phelm tried to skirt around behind the crowd and get to the door. He was almost to the door, when he was slammed against the building by the two men, still trying to choke the life out of one another.
“Excuse me,” Phelm managed to say, as he was being crushed against the wall.
Just when Phelm thought he’d suffocate under the weight of two Klingon warriors, they moved off again. He inhaled deeply, and touched the side of his face. The embossed street numbers posted next to the door, were imprinted on his face. He started to go through the front door, but it was blocked by an even fiercer looking Klingon—if that were possible.
Phelm was a man who believed in finding a need, and meeting it—for the right price. He was used to looking at situations through other people’s eyes, and this talent kept him alive. “So sorry, Sir,” the Ferengi said, “Let me get out of your way,” and he stepped aside. The warrior snarled, but allowed Phelm to pass.
The inside of the bar was dimly lit, overly warm and reeked of body odor. Most of the bar’s patrons were outside watching the fight, so Phelm had no trouble getting the owner’s attention. “I’m looking for…,” his voice cracked a bit, but he cleared his throat and managed to say, “a job?”
The large, balding, unshaven man in the dirty apron, looked at Phelm like he’d dragged dog poop in on the bottoms of his shoes. Then, he nodded toward a second door, and said, “In back. You’re expected.”
Phelm went through the door to find a young girl doing her homework. She had long, white/blond hair and green eyes. She must have been a bit of a tom-boy. Wearing pants was totally inappropriate, still… Looking around the room, Phelm couldn’t see anyone else.
“Little girl,” he said, and she looked up, although she must have noticed him enter the room. “Is your father here?”
And that was how he first met his new employer.
[It’s amazing what you’ll stoop to, when you’re desperate,] Phelm thought. Two Klingon warriors entered the private room, and went over to the girl. One leaned down, and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, and turning toward Phelm, said, “Would you care for something to drink?”
One of the warriors walked over to the door and stood guard, while the other covered her back.
“No, that’s quite all right,” he replied. “When do you think your daddy will get here?”
“That’s difficult to say,” she replied without any trace of emotion. “He’s presently missing in action and presumed dead. I disagree with Starfleet on this, however.”
“I’m sorry,” Phelm stammered, “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” she said simply.
“Then who will I be meeting with?” he asked, “An uncle, or guardian, perhaps?”
“Mr. Phelm,” she began, “this job requires not only fiscal responsibility, but the ability to think on your feet, and a certain degree of tolerance for other cultures.”
“I’ve managed accounts for beings from all across the galaxy,” Phelm told her. [Why am I explaining this to a child?] he wondered.
“Please sit down, Mr. Phelm,” she instructed. “The interview has already begun.”
This was not good news, as far as the Ferengi was concerned, but he’d come this far and he didn’t have a lot of options. He walked slowly up to the table, and took a seat across from this most unusual girl.
“Your former employer is a complete jerk,” she said.
Phelm nodded.
“You’re not the first, or worst, person they’ve ever kicked to the curb,” she assured the little man. “You were let go because you’re either incompetent, a thief, or a decent hard-working employee who got fed up with poor treatment.” Diana took a sip of milk. “Your former employer has already spread the word that it’s a combination of the first two, and even those companies that know different, have been discouraged from contacting you.”
“How do you know this?” Phelm asked.
“It happens more often than you think,” she answered, “and usually, first thing in the morning. I have friends who pass through the business district at that time every day. I simply asked them to keep an eye out. Lucky you.”
“Lucky me,” Phelm muttered, then looked up to face her, “but, you’re a child!”
The Klingon standing guard over the girl, let out a low growl and glared at the Ferengi.
“I’m a child with assets,” she replied.
“They must be considerable, if you can afford Klingon bodyguards,” Phelm noted.
Diana smiled, this is my brother, Bal’ron, and his friend, Lor’tek.
“Must be interesting around your house at Christmas time,” Phelm said somewhat sarcastically.
“Oh, it is,” she assured him, “and, if you accept the position, I hope you’ll join us in celebrating that holiday with us.”
Phelm smiled. [This can’t be happening,] he thought. [There must be a hidden camera somewhere. This has to be some kind of elaborate practical joke.] As he started to get up from his chair, he said, “You’re human, you’re female, you wear clothes and you’re related to Klingons. I really don’t see how…”
She cut him off, “I’ll match your former salary, plus give you three percent of the capital gains on investments, and an additional three percent of the profits from any business or service provided by myself or my people.”
Phelm turned around, “Of course, these are all mere details, we can work out. Although I would like an additional ten percent.”
“Five percent, and we’ll renegotiate this agreement after you either double my assets or one year’s time--whichever comes first,” Diana countered.
“Why not?” Phelm found himself saying, and he extended his hand to shake on the deal, which he understood to be the accepted earth custom.
“There’s just one thing,” Diana said in all seriousness. “Steal from me, and I will hunt you down, cut you open, tie your intestines around a sapling, and beat you with whips, compelling you to walk and wrap your own guts around that small tree until you are dead. Do you understand?”
There was something about her stance, her tone, the look in her eyes; but Phelm knew she’d do it. He didn’t doubt it for a second. “Yes, ma’am.”
After he left, Bal’ron said (in Klingon), “Impressive, I hadn’t heard that one before.”
“I saw it on the history channel,” she replied in Klingon.
“Still, it does no good to threaten someone with something that you would never do,” her Klingon brother by blood oath reminded her.
“I know,” she said matter-of-factly. And, turning to look him in the eyes said, “This is something I feel very strongly about.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Location: House To’var
Gril’ka was very old. She was tidying up when she first noticed the small vial of clear liquid sitting on the desk. Curious, she uncapped it, and sniffed at it’s contents--odorless. She carefully tipped the bottle, and put one finger inside, just enough to barely touch the fluid within. She touched her finger to the tip of her tongue--no taste or burning sensation. She recapped the vial and set it back where she found it, then continued to clean the room.
It would soon be time to serve dinner, and there was a guest in the house this evening. When she finished, she freshened up a bit, and went to the kitchen. She made certain that everything was in order, and when everyone was seated, brought in the first course.
She set the dish down, and Reggie said, ‘Thank you’ which wasn’t necessary and not very Klingon, so she assumed he was using his earth manners for the visitor’s sake. Didn’t see why though, the guy was sorta scruffy looking--probably a pirate, or a smuggler.
Phelm was coming in as she was leaving. She’d always liked the funny little Ferengi, he’d always treated her decently. Tonite, he smelled different, in fact, he smelled wonderful.
Reggie was introducing Phelm to the vistor. They shook hands, and took their seats. Phelm was saying something, when Gril’ka came up behind him and began to stroke his ears. She tenderly stroked his lobes, then squeezed hard and pulled him out of his chair. She held him up against her, and he was at eye level with her breasts. She started to nibble on his left ear, and he was nearly smothered. When she paused, Phelm was gasping for breath, and in a squeaky, terrified voice said, “Please don’t kill me!”
Kor’Nan and Rodek were on their feet in a heartbeat, pulling the old woman off their Ferengi accountant. “What is going on here?” Reggie demanded.
Gril’ka was reciting love poems, while Phelm hid under the table.
Reggie looked to Korav, “It’s not usually like this around here,” he said. The trouble had started shortly after the captain arrived. Reggie tried to retrace his brother’s steps to see where his brother, and their elderly retainer, had both gone, and more importantly, why they were acting this way.
Back in the office, the package Diana sent was sitting open on the desk. Reggie saw a vial of clear liquid, and two unopened letters addressed to him in his sister’s handwriting.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Location: House To’var
Reggie:
The enclosed vial contains a food additive with special properties. It’s odorless, colorless and almost completely tasteless—most foods taste slightly sweeter, but this is hardly noticeable.
It’s a powerful aphrodisiac /anti-depressant. In small amounts, it produces feelings of euphoria with intense longing for intimacy and approval from another person. This sounds incredible, I know, but it’s a love potion—a really strong one. In larger doses, it produces paranoia, jealousy and depression.
So, for moral and legal reasons, we will not be adding it to candy, drinks or any other food, for that matter. I will not tolerate the To’var name being used in the same sentence as date rapists. We will not manufacture chocolate panty remover.
That having been said, I have no objections to adding trace amounts to edible underwear and flavored lubricants. People who are already in a relationship, would benefit both immediately and in the long term. Married people, especially, deserve a little romance, excitement and devotion.
I’ve also found inexpensive fabric on Chetzia. It looks like silk, but rips like paper.
While Klingons usually like to see what they’re getting, lingerie that emphasizes assets and hides flaws, sexy outfits that can be ripped off as part of foreplay, would be accepted all over the galaxy—maybe even on Quo’Nos!
“Secrets of the most passionate people in the universe can now be yours. Yadda-yadda.” Get marketing to work on this.
This is a little more controversial than a line of condiments, or a chain of Klingon fast food restaurants. Before going into production, present to the whole house, and take a vote on this. I think we both know it’ll work out, but it’s important that no one feels left out. (We don’t want anyone under our own roof saying negative things about our new product line.)
I like and trust the captain of the Axel, and he can deliver product more efficiently than we can in the Valkyre.
Sorry to be so brief, but I need to return to ship, and the captain is ready to leave.
There’s another letter, of a more personal nature, inside the package. Thank you for keeping everything together in my absence.
Diana
--------
The second letter said,
Reggie:
I’m hurt, and I’m not going to get better. I’ve made out my will, and I think I’ve been fair, but the house has to go to Barth. I want you to be executor of the estate, rather than his father or uncle. See to his training. Help him become…great.
I didn’t want to die in bed. I couldn’t bear to have anyone in my house see me like that. I know that I was pretty moody before I left, but I’m okay now. There are a lot of opportunities for battle and for death. I’m going to find something that’s worth fighting for, and eventually...well, you know.
Don’t be sad. I think we all knew that, one day, it would come to this. I’ve had a chance, these past few months, to do the things I always said I’d get around to. Can you believe it, I wore a skirt and makeup to a party recently? That’s right, I said party. And, that’s not all—I’ve fallen in love, and he loves me back.
I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my whole life, so even if I didn’t live long, I lived and fought well. Tell the others that I love them, and not to worry—we’ll meet again, one day.
Diana
---------
Reggie crumbled the second note, as he reached out for the table for support. He had to return to the other room, but he legs felt like they’d buckle beneath his weight. His eyes were hot, and he fought back tears. He felt his jaw tighten, and could taste something bitter in the back of his throat.
Having a famous sister, puts a lot of pressure on a guy. Usually, it got him beat up. She embarrassed the local constable when she hand-cuffed herself to a Klingon prisoner. Dad had to give up command, and start all over in a different sector, when the whole family joined a Klingon house by blood oath. Wearing that stupid symbol of a Klingon house everywhere she went. She even wore it on her pajamas.
She was wearing a nightgown when the Cardassians attacked. No Starfleet ships were docked, which was a bit unusual, but several had been called away due to a disturbance on a nearby planet, and one was being repaired. The claxons didn’t go off. When they snuck on to the base later to use Starfleet’s communications array, they found about half of the crewmen murdered in their beds. Their mother had been taken for the invaders’ pleasure, their baby brother’s skull broken when he was thrown against the wall, and Diana had been strangled--but, she didn’t die. Diana always got back up.
Diana lead them to the tunnels. Left over from when the mining installation was still working in spacesuits, while terra-farming to change the atmosphere. The tunnels still had food, blankets and medicine. Diana showed them how to misdirect the Cardassians’ attention, to pull off small missions--getting a message to Starfleet was the most important. The Cardassians couldn’t leave any witnesses, so they hunted the children for sport.
Clarissa was only a few years older than Diana. When they captured her, they brought her to the school yard where those children had played just days before. They promised not to hurt her, or anyone else, if we just came out. They lied. Clarissa was raped repeatedly, beaten, and tortured to death, her body left tied to the swing set. The Cardassians wanted to scare and divide them, so they played the whole thing over internal monitors. Diana snapped. Something about her was cold, calculating and fearless. She was ready to fight back, and everyone followed her.
Starfleet never came. Klingons answered their distress signal. Diana collapsed from exhaustion, but that house emblem on her nightgown kept them alive long enough to talk with the captain. Diana talked, and they followed her. Diana the invincible.
After so many close calls, they’d come to think of Diana as lucky, but she worked her butt off. From the moment she set eyes on Ta’rok, everything she did was calculated to bring her closer to him. Diana, mistress and head of house To’var.
And now, he was holding a letter, in her handwriting, saying that she wasn’t long for this world? It didn’t seem possible. If he’d known how fragile she actually was, would he have done anything differently? It was time to join the others in the dining hall.
When Reggie re-entered the dining hall, Phelm had escaped, then managed to lock himself in his room, while Rodek and Kor’Nan held Gril’ka back. She was now sitting down, sobbing, as if her heart was truly breaking. Every so often, she reached out and tried to hit Kor’Nan.
“This explains a lot,” Reggie said, and he slid Diana’s first letter over to Korav first. “You must have made quite an impression, Captain. You’re mentioned here.”
Korav raised an eyebrow. "Really? I'm touched.”
Turning to his Klingon in-laws, Reggie said, “I need you to read this.”
When he finished, Rodek looked up, and said, “Sort of selfish of her to find something worth fighting for, and then not invite us to come along.” It was a very Klingon sentiment. Bravado camouflaged a Klingon’s true feelings. Right now, Rodek’s blood ran hot, and he desperately wanted to take out some of the aggravation he was feeling on someone who truly needed their butt kicked, but there was no one around.
“When do we leave?” Kor’Nan asked.
“Then, we’re agreed?” Reggie looked at the two Klingon men intently.
“No one in my family dies alone, if I can help it,” Rodek said without betraying the depth of emotion that was tearing him up inside.
Reggie turned to Korav, “I offered you the services of our docking bay and mechanics. Phelm is a good accountant, and he has a few connections, if you have difficulty finding parts. Get me to my sister, before she dies at some disputed barricade, and the Axel will always be able to dock here and there will always be some legitimate cargo in her hold.”
"Sounds like a plan." Korav nodded. "I'm your man."
“We’re very good to our friends,” Reggie said, “I should warn you, however, there are extreme penalties for stealing from this house or betraying our trust.”
"Oh, Mr. Hunter...." Korav said in a mock-wounded voice. "Our last boss tried to use our heads as collateral on a business deal. My crew and I know all about betrayal."
“The Valkyre has been used as a merchant vessel for the past few years,” Reggie said, “so, we’ll have to make her battle ready, again. The Axel can follow us in. Diana borrowed money to build docks close to manufacturing plants. We have one for our exclusive use, there are two others where ships pay rent by the hour, and the rest are leased to other businesses. The thing was paid off way ahead of schedule.”
“What’s the expression Max uses?” Kor’Nan asked. “Oh yeah, making lemonade out of lemons.” He laughed a little at this. “If you knew even half of the things that girl dreams up…”
"Lots of praise considering your attitude before." Korav offered.
“You thought I was mad at her,” Kor’Nan observed. “I could have handed Diana her own ass any time I wanted to, I just don’t want to.”
"Blood wine thicker than water?" The captain inquired.
“It’s true, Captain,” Reggie said. “We may fight amongst ourselves, and usually do, but we’re a united front against the outside world. These guys love Diana as much as I do.”
"Charming." Korav pulled out a PADD. "These are the specs on the Axel. We'll need a structural shore-up, an upgrade on several force field systems, and a re-stocking of the torpedo tubes. We're a small vessel, and the technology's outdated for the most part, so it won't cost more than a thousand credits and two hours total."
Reggie let out a low whistle, “Looks like the ship’s been through hell, and back.”
"Tell me about it." Korav sighed. "Trip through the wormhole almost tore us apart. Not to mention we've been on the run for the longest time."
Reggie looked at the captain, raised one eyebrow, and said, “Anything I should know?”
"It's a long story, and we're losing time." Korav picked up the PADD. "From my sources, and from the news nets, I can safely say that she's going to be on Starbase Phoenix. The DFA Cromwell is headed there to be handed over to the Federation. If we hurry, we can catch them as they arrive."
“Then, we’d better hurry,” Reggie said.
Korav smiled. "Good luck-er, what the hell do you guys say again... Qa'Plah!" He shook Reggie's hand.
Qapla’
-----------------------------------------------------------
Ship Specs
The Valkyre, once known as the IKS Havoc, is a b’rel class bird of prey. Once used extensively as scout and/or raider ships, they are no longer in use by the Klingon Defense Forces. The Empire having opted for battle cruisers capable of exploration, scientific research and conquest. This ship is capable of atmospheric flight and planetary landings, as well as space travel.
The Valkyre has forward-firing, wing-mounted disruptors and a forward-firing torpedo tube mounted in the nose portion of ship. Its firing range is 2000 and 4000 kilometers, respectively. The ship is outfitted with eight photon torpedoes, standard. (Total firepower = 1/10 of Constitution class ship favored by Starfleet at about this same time.)
This ship utilizes a modified cloaking device, which allows it to fire while under cloak. It does not have an energy surge while cloaking or de-cloaking, but does give off neutron radiation. These high-energy plasma emissions are different for every ship, and records of these “signatures” are maintained by military, and port of origin, authorities.
The Valkyre has three decks. All decks have built-in gravity and anti-radiation shielding. Her overall length is 157 meters, width or beam is 181 meters, and height is 98 meters. Her total mass is 236,000 metric tons. She has one matter/anti-matter warp system, two impulse systems. (Fusion reactors main impulse power and one auxiliary.) Her top speed is Warp 9.6
The bridge: Captain’s chair faces viewscreen, while all other work stations are located behind the CO. A Klingon captain demands excellence and loyalty, but discipline is usually tempered with understanding. Afterall, he has his back to his crew most of the time. Typically 12 crew members, including captain. Can accommodate an additional 12 people.
Contents of each weapons locker: 12 phasers, 4 disruptors, 156 power packs for these weapons, 1 grenade launcher, 24 grenades, 2 rocket launchers, 1 agonizer. There is a weapons locker in transporter room, (located behind bridge on B deck), and next to air lock/boarding ramp, (C deck).
----------------------------------------------------------
Location: IKS Valkyre
When the automatic doors leading to the bridge opened, the crew turned and acknowledged the XO, before returning to their stations. Reggie took his place at the helm, but the captain’s chair remained empty. No one sat there but the captain, and theirs had been missing for several months. Missing, but never forgotten or disrespected.
Reggie looked around, there was no one on the bridge that he didn’t know by first name. Everyone was performing system checks, making needed repairs, loading weapons and stowing their gear away. “Anyone want to tell me who all these warriors are?” Reggie asked. A lot of glances are exchanged, but no one is particularly anxious to tell him. It falls to Kira, as next in the chain of command, to explain.
“When word got out that Diana had found something worth fighting for, a number of extended family and loyal retainers insisted on coming. When word reached our neighbors, some of their best warriors volunteered, and they sent additional fighters to help protect our home while we’re away.”
It was quiet for a moment. Reggie knew that something important had been left out. “Okay, now give me the bad news.”
Kira stood at ease, and looked straight ahead as she delivered the news. “Diana promised the high council that she would marry a Klingon male within one year’s time. All the men who volunteered are single, and they have ambition.”
“That’s just great,” Reggie said, as he leaned against the console in front of him. “Take us through launch sequence, Kira. It’s time to get going.”
“Yes, Sir,” Kira replied. “All crew stand by for vertical takeoff.” That was the signal for everyone to strap themselves in. Even with inertia dampers, the g-forces associated with leaving a planet’s atmosphere were intense.
“Activate inertia dampers. Signal ground personnel to release docking clamps, on my mark.” Kira paused to give them a moment to acknowledge. A green light came on, and she began the countdown. “5…4...3...2...1--docking clamps away.”
Kira took her own seat and strapped herself in. “Thrusters engaged. 1/8th impulse power. Shields up.” The bird of prey began to rise straight up, hovered, and then, Kira announced, “Ready to leave planet’s atmosphere, Sir.” .
Reggie turned to Max, and handed him a slip of paper, “Set a course for these coordinates. We rendezvous with the Axel in two hours.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
Location: Quo’Nos; spaceport
"Yes. Yes, Captain, I do." Kim was a little distracted, looking around the busy spaceport. It was warm, humid and dimly lit. She ducked out of the way, as a warrior in black body armor nearly crashed into her. She felt like a mouse among elephants. She turned to watch the man continue walking away, completely oblivious to her - or, was he? She saw him turn around, and half smile/half sneer in her direction. She quickly fell in step behind her captain.
G’rok marched through the spaceport in full armor, trying to maintain a regal bearing while surrounded by the galaxy’s refuse. He spotted a crowd of mixed humanoids in his path, (even worse, most of them appeared to actually be … human). In his mind, the motley assortment of bipeds –and this group, in particular – scattered around the spaceport represented all of the Empire’s problems, past or present.
He nonchalantly aimed himself for the pack of curs, ‘accidentally’ bumping into one of them, trying to provoke a confrontation. As he looked back menacingly, he noticed it was only a young girl, her Earth-Asian features displaying her accursed Terran status for all to see! G’rok turned back to glare scornfully at the girl – who quickly ducked behind a larger, adult male in response to his glare (“Typical behavior - for a Terran …” he thought, disgusted by the sight of her and pleased beyond all belief by her delightfully fearful reaction).
He noticed that the smile pulling at his lips was competing with his intimidating scowl (and appeared to be winning). As he stood on the plated metal floor with a bizarre, half-sneering, half-scowling expression, his heart filled with false Klingon pride as his mind’s eye pondered glorious visions. “Get off my homeworld, galactic filth!” he thought, before turning back into the crowd, fighting against a very unwarrior-like smile. “They will all be gone soon” he thought, the idea soothing and calming him while he marched amongst the vermin.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Location: Axel, Corridors to Doc's cabin
Kim made sure all of the supplies were put away. She even managed to have a conversation with Phemeril's without cowering--she was not going to be the only sentient being in the known universe afraid of Ferengis!
After wards, she took the EMH program from her pocket, and thought about installing it. It was a version 1, and possibly contained a virus, so she didn't want to attempt activating it alone.
Korav had instructed her to report to Doc, and learn everything she could from him. Doc seemed alright, a little irritable, maybe, but alright.
It was strange being so much younger than everyone else, and having no secrets from them. The absolute worst things that had ever happened to her, happened on this ship, the place she now thought of as home. She could tell that bad things had happened to the others as well, but their lives were private.
She was still deciding whether or not to turn a slide with human blood on it, over to Cal. She didn't want to spook him--he was a little erratic, after all. But, Daius was having a soothing effect on him. Why ruin it?
Korav, wow! Everything she learned about him seemed fantastic, and only a very small part of a larger story. (Maybe, she should consider becoming a writer? There was certainly a lot to write about aboard the Axel, but who would believe it. They'd just had a run in with vampires, somehow even Klingons didn't seem so scary anymore.)
She absently turned the program over for more information, as she headed for Doc's cabin. She was pretty sure she knew what his secret was, something to do with his wife. The man tenses up and snarls whenever family is mentioned. Whether she was being held hostage or ran off with another man, she couldn't say. Once riled, Doc became snappish, and she was trying to avoid confrontation--especially with heavily armed mercenaries. Besides, she thought he was an okay guy, and was even thinking about asking him to teach her how to defend himself. Whatever happened to his wife, he was decent enough that he didn't like seeing anyone else hurt, so grouchy as he was, she still liked him.
She stopped outside the man's cabin and rang the chime.
Doc looked up from his data padd. He didn't want to stop looking at the current picture of his wife. "Who is it!" he yelled, not intending to sound angry.
"It's just me, Doc," Kim replied. "Captain picked up an EMH program, and I was hoping you'd help me install it."
"I'm a little busy at the moment!" he yelled through the door.
"Suit yourself," Kim said with feigned nonchalance. "Just thought you'd like to do something besides babysit me, for a change. This program could free you up to do important stuff. And besides, some of the other mercenaries are starting to make rude remarks about your abilities, now that you hang out in the infirmary all day."
He walked over and opened the door. "They don't say that." he said looking her in the eyes. He hated rumors on a ship. They always get out of hand.
Kim smiled mischievously, "No, I made that part up, but I could use some help."
Doc smiled slightly. It was time to get back to work anyway. He thought better while working. "Ok, lets go do this."
-----------------------------------------------------------
Location: Sickbay
The program looked worn, even singed about the edges. It was possible that it had been salvaged from some fed friendly wreck. Kim turned the program over to Doc.
Doc turned the program card around in his hands. "I don't know if it will work. It looks like it was in the Dominion War." he said with some disgust.
“You’re probably right,” Kim said, “but just think what it would mean, if you could get it to work. Cutting yourself shaving would no longer be a problem--that is what’s holding you back isn’t it?” she teased.
Doc smiled at the joke, "Oh yeah," he replied sarcastically. "That and male pattern baldness are my two greatest fears."
“Maybe we should try it on an independent work station first,” Kim suggested. “That way, if there’s a problem, we won’t infect the rest of the ship’s systems.”
"Thats what I was thinking," he said walking to a desk and pulling out a small portable hologram projector used normally for temporary organ bypass during surgery. "Lets use this, it should work." Doc slid the card into the slot and powered the old box up.
The hologram was almost transparent and distorted by static. Kim looked at Doc, “I’ll get Mandy.” Going over to the intercom, she pressed the button, and said, “Mandy, we need your help in Sickbay.” Looking back at the EMH being pulled and stretched by waves of interference, she added, “Right away.”
Doc shrugged his shoulders, "Well, it's not my fault."
“The Captain was able to get an EMH for the ship, but it’s … well, you’ll see.” Kim thought the program looked confused, maybe angry, and could holograms feel pain? “Please hurry, Mandy.”
The holograms lips were moving, but no sound was coming out. It looked like he was yelling--he was definitely on about something! “Mandy, thank God!” Kim greeted her friend. “Maybe, if you could get the audio on line, the program could tell us what to do next.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
Location: Sickbay
“Mandy’s not answering,” Kim told Doc.
Doc shruged his sholders, "Don't worry about it, theres no hurry."
“How can you say that,” Kim said. “He’s obviously in pain.” The 16-year-old, former slave, knew something about pain. Having been abused by her previous owner, she was sensitive to the suffering of others. Just watching the hologram distort in waves and static was upsetting her.
“There has to be an audio input,” she said. “It may not be hooked up, because this unit was intended to be passive--visual only--during surgery.” Searching all over the machine with both her eyes and her fingertips, Kim found the empty port. Checking carefully, she looked through drawers and cabinets until she found a cable that would work. Handing one end to Doc, she connected the other end to the projector.
Doc plugged his end to the reader, and muttered to himself, "In pain, its a computer program."
Kim held her breath and hoped. The awful part was watching the holo-man get twisted one way and then the next, over and over again. “Can you hear me?” she asked.
"F-" the EMH stuttered as he flickered in and out of existence. "OF COURSE!!!" he managed in a brief spurt.
“Tell us how to help you,” Kim instructed.
"F.f.f.f.for chrissake! The.....th....the emergency restart.....p-p-protocol!!!!" The man was panicking as his noncorporeal form blinked and flickered. "You f-f-f-forgot to....initialize the synchronization program!!
D-d-d-do that first!!!"
"Don't look at me, just do it." Doc said to the kid.
“I’m on it,” Kim replied, as she rebooted the system.
The EMH appeared once again, a hundred times more composed. He was a middle-aged balding man wearing a Starfleet Medical uniform, hands held in a relaxed at ease position behind his back. Every inch a medical professional. "Please state the nature of the medical emergency." He intoned, voice calm and professional.
"Well, looks like its working now." Doc said.
“Welcome to the Axel,” Kim said.
"What???" The doctor said, hands suddenly coming down to his sides in disbelief. "Wh- this is the USS Enterprise, right? NCC 1701-D?"
"D? The Enterprise D never had a EMH, The Galaxy class never had the systems for it. The earliest Enterprise with an EMH was the E. Sorry there, but your not on either." Doc broke to the hologram.
“Look at this way,” Kim tried to cheer the obviously disappointed hologram up, “you’re on a ship that both needs and appreciates you.”
"I....I need to sit down...." The bewildered hologram said, seeking out a nearby bio-bed. He sought to take a seat, but instead falling right through the bio-bed, landing on the floor with his body half-embedded in the bio-bed.
“Are you alright?” Kim asked, genuinely concerned.
Doc started laughing, "Now thats funny."
"What??? What kind of third-rate sodding trash-ridden sickbay is this??!!" The incensed EMH got up and began kicking at the bio-bed. "Your holo-projectors won't even let me SIT DOWN?!!"
“This is just a portable unit,” Kim told him, “but I’ve been looking at your specifications, and you’re a very complex program. In order to make you fully operational, we’d have to divert power from every part of the ship--including life support.”
"Well, there could be some parts of the Axel that don't need it." Doc joked with a smile.
“No, that isn’t likely,” Kim agreed. Turning to the EMH, “I’m Kim, and this is Doc. That’s just a nickname though. Which is why we really need you.”
"You've got to be joking...." The hologram folded his arms, turning his eyes upward, huffing grumpily.
“Do you have a name?” Kim asked.
Leaning against the doorframe, Selvine had watched as the hologram was first unable to speak, then unable to manifest in any sort of corporeal way. Closing her eyes partway, she shook her head slowly. Kim was trying valiantly, but Selvine had a sinking feeling that this was going to be a failed venture. Staying silent, she continued to watch.
"Well, I can't really help you there, can I?" The EMH replied, angrily passing his hand through the wall. "I can't TREAT what I can't TOUCH!!" He held his grasping fists out towards Kim.
"Kim," Selvine interjected softly. "This is still using up a lot of ship power. If he can't treat patients..."
“No!” Kim pleaded. “He still knows everything a Starfleet doctor knows, and he can still access Starfleet’s medical database. I can be his hands. Please don’t throw him out.”
"Kim, you're not a doctor," the older woman pointed out as gently as she could.
“We don’t have a doctor, and if the ship doesn’t generate enough power for a -1 version, then we’re not going to get a better hologram--ever. I can do this. I want to do this; it’s what I would have chosen for myself, if I hadn’t been sold into slavery. Please let me try,” Kim begged the Axel’s executive officer.
Oh dear lord. Selvine could tell that the girl was going to cry, and of course the slavery card worked every time. She remembered when that horrid Ferengi had first brought Kim aboard, how she, Mandy, and Alina had detested the state in which Kim had been kept. The girl deserved a chance. Sighing, Selvine looked briefly at the corrugated metal ceiling for inspiration before taking a deep breath and conceding, "We give it a month, Kim. If things have been going well by then we'll keep him around and see what we can't do to improve his functioning. But if not, Korav and I reserve the right to turn him off."
"That’s fine." Doc said. He understood the information the EMH could bring, but never liked the Mark 1's attitude.
"PLEASE!! End my misery!" The EMH exclaimed. He sat down on the floor (which apparently, he didn't sink through), hands clasped around his knees. "I seem to be made to suffer- it's my lot in life."
Kim could hardly believe it. She ran over, and threw her arms around the XO. “Thank you! Thank you, Selvine. You won’t be sorry. I promise,” she told the usually cynical and stoic woman. Kim always respected the Ornaran woman, but at times like these, she absolutely loved her.
Selvine couldn't help but smile as the girl threw her arms around her, patting her gently on the back. "This is still just a trial," she warned, not wanting Kim to get overly excited. "Capiche?"
Kim sat down next to the hologram, and tried to pat him on the back. Her hand went right through him, so she settled for just pretending to pat him on the back. “It’s not that bad,” she told him. “This isn’t what I thought my life would be like either, but now, I’m really glad I’m here. Give this place a chance.”
"Well then, he needs a name for now. Any ideas?" asked the XO.
“I guess ‘Doc’ is already taken,” Kim said.
"How about something with the initials EMH?" Selvine suggested wryly.
Kim started to say something, then stopped, “I got nothing.”
A name popped into Selvine's head from her primary studies long ago. "How about Ernest M. Hemingway?" she asked. Laughing, she added, "We could call him Ernie."
“The Importance of Being Ernest,” Kim recalled another literary reference apropos to the hologram’s situation.
The EMH rolled his eyes. "Ernie?!" He got up, arms folded, absolutely incensed. "State of the art Starfleet technology, developed by some of the finest technical and medical minds the Federation had to offer, programmed with 5 million treatments, information from over 2,000 medical references, equipped with the medical experiences from the careers of 47 senior medical officers, to include Admiral Beverly Crusher herself- and you're calling me.....ERNIE!!??"
Selvine smirked and intoned, "Yeah, pretty much."
“Look at it this way,” Kim told the balding, middle-aged hologram, “we wouldn’t bother giving you a name, if we didn’t like you.”
"I don't like you, and I don't want to give you a name. But I am out voted. Just do your job and don't bother me and things will be fine between us." Doc turned and walked away. "At least the Mark 2 had people skills."
The EMH threw up his hands in despair. "Of COURSE I'll treat whoever you have! It's the only thing I'm programmed to DO!! 'Into whatever patient setting I enter, I will go for the benefit of the sick!' Sound familiar? Oh wait- you've probably never even HEARD of the oath! I've probably ended up on some ship full of cutthroats and ruffians out to-"
"If we were out to kill people, we wouldn't very well be trying to get YOU up and operational, now would we?" snapped Selvine. She was already regretting her decision to let Kim give this a try - maybe she could get Mandy to fix the hologram's attitude.
'Ernie' sighed, "Fine. What do you have for me?"
“You have the knowledge, and I’ve got hands,” Kim started to explain. “No one expects you to turn me into a doctor, but a nurse that can perform surgery under the direction of a really good doctor--like yourself--is what we’re hoping for.”
Rolling her eyes, Selvine left.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Location: Starbase Phoenix
Klag growled and threw his bag on the table for Starfleet security to examine its contents. They were looking for any technology or equipment that belonged on the ship he’d just stepped off of. He feigned an interest in the map of the station they’d provided him with. Looking up to check on their progress, Klag said, “No monogrammed towels, bible or little bottles of shampoo.”
An ensign standing by with a padd checked something off, then sniffed, and said, “No kidding.”
Klag’s upper lip curled up to reveal sharp, uneven teeth when he snarled. The female officer going through his underwear discovered a program: The Mistress of Oz. Where the Tin Man gets massage oil, the Scarecrow gets some head, the Cowardly Lion gets something to roar about, and the Wicked Witch gets spanked. The Klingon looked at the woman, raising a single eyebrow, practically daring her to say anything.
The woman quickly pushed the porn program away, without looking inside. Her discomfort was obvious. She looked like she wanted antiseptic wipes to remove any residue from her fingertips. She settled for wiping her hands on the sides of her uniform. Klag smiled and went back to studying the map.
The case belonged to one of the marines that had attacked Diana. He’d confiscated it after the four men had been thrown in the brig. The right thing would have been to turn them over to the Klingon consulate. The empire and the DFA were supposed to be allies, and Diana was head of a minor house. (Or, port-o-shitter, if you listened to LTC Warner.) That was the problem, the new MCO had taken an instant dislike to the Lounge Manager, and didn’t particularly care for Klingons, in general. Lee had done such a good job regimenting the men and women who volunteered prior to liberating Phoenix, that Warner didn’t think his remarks would be taken seriously. Instead, it was like throwing gasoline on a smoldering fire. Not everyone likes Klingons, and it doesn’t take much to unify people who already hate.
The program inside the case contained a sentient hologram, modeled after Diana’s late husband, Ta’rok To’var. The hologram had all the information Dr. T’Paun had gathered on gene therapy using Borg nanoprobes—a procedure that might save Diana’s life. It also contained a message for the Klingon consulate, but that could wait.
No one had contacted her family in Starfleet or on Quo’nos. He looked for a communications kiosk nearby. There was no time to find a secure line, and he really didn’t care who was listening anyway. Diana needed help.
Klag went directly to the nearest access point to the station’s communications array. Several channels were available for crew to contact family, and visitors could use one of these lines for a modest fee. It may not have been private, but it was reliable.
He transferred credits when requested to do so, and entered the long strand of numbers that would route the call directly to her Klingon family.
Kor’Nan answered. “What do you want?” he yelled. (Klingon etiquette dictates that the caller should know, and appreciate, that you have taken time away from your busy schedule to listen to his, or her, stupid ass problem.) Kor’Nan’s expression was half bored, and half pissed.
“Diana’s in trouble,” Klag said confidently.
Rodek’s expression changed to one of concern. “You have my attention,” he said.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Location: Starbase Phoenix, Promenade
Jax’sun saw Klag, and came running up to meet the Klingon. The Tellerite bartender was struggling with several long metal cylinders under one arm, and a heavy bag slung over his other shoulder. He was already winded, and he had to take two steps for every one the Klingon took. “Damn Feds,” he panted. “Two lockers full of delicacies…that I was lucky enough to find, …and even used some of my own credits to purchase; …I could have sold them for top dollar, …once we reached Devu. …Had to leave it…all behind. …Some Starfleet brass…will probably be stuffing their faces with Ktarian chocolate puffs…and swilling it down…with Vulcan mocha port. …Could you please slow down!”
They were a strange pair, the top of Jax’sun’s bald head only came up to Klags belt buckle. Maybe it was because he was tired, maybe he’d grown used to the little man during his stay on the Cromwell, but for whatever reason, he slowed down--not even caring, if other Klingons could see, or not.
“I would have gotten here sooner, but they made me open everything up, asked where I got it, yadda yadda yadda,” the little man complained. “Not very gracious winners, are they?”
Klag grunted. He hadn’t really been paying attention, since the Tellerite was always complaining about something. According to Diana’s family, a merchant vessel and a bird of prey were already on route to the Delta Quadrant to meet up with her. Apparently, the bird of prey was listed as stolen on Starfleet’s lists, and therefore, he would meet with and board the Seiklon Axel. He hoped it had decent medical facilities. There was still a chance to save Diana’s life. He had T’Pawn’s notes. Horizon had a doctor that specialized in genetics and, according to news reports, a Borg in captivity. It was just a matter of time, and time was running out.
“Are you listening to me?” Jax asked indignantly.
“Huh? I was thinking,” Klag started to say.
“You were thinking about saving her, weren’t you?” Jax said.
“My thoughts are none of your concern,” Klag growled.
“Whatever you’re planning, I want in,” the Tellerite glowered at the Klingon and would not give ground.
“It’s too dangerous,” Klag said dismissively, as he started to walk away.
“Have I ever said ‘Klingons are stupid’?” Jax asked, as he ran after Klag. “No, I never did. You think because I’m a Tellerite, that I’m a coward? Well, I’m not.”
[I thought he was annoying when he complained, but this is worse,] Klag thought. [At least when Jax was whining, the Klingon could nod his head or ignore the bartender completely. This required a response, and an honest answer would only upset the bald, bearded, porcine, little man further.]
“Her family is sending a ship,” Klag told him. “A bird of prey, with many Klingon warriors aboard. You’d be squashed.”
“Half the ship was in mourning over Diana,” Jax’sun said. “The other half may not have been as biased as Warner, but they thought they were special because they were tough. I was pushed and shoved, and insulted. I’ll take my chances with a ship full of honorable warriors over a bunch of marines who think picking on someone half their size is funny.”
Klag had to smile. The bartender had chosen his words well. The Klingon remembered visiting the Lounge after Diana had gone. He tried to find her scent, and recapture memories of her -- the fluid way she moved, the white/blond hair, bright green eyes, slender waist, long legs, and the sound of her laughter. It seemed like he was almost able to bring her back, when some rowdy, half-drunk marine would cause a disruption, and the dream was gone.
“Very well,” the Klingon said. “We have 12 to 14 hours before they arrive. There’s some things I have to take care of. Your first job, is to provide me with an alibi.”
------------------------------------------------------------
Location: Starbase Phoenix
John Good waited in line to go through inspection. He didn’t have anything technical, per se, but he was carrying seedlings and biological samples for the new ship’s hydroponics lab. An inspector became available and he walked over to her table. Setting the case full of metal and glass vials down, he first presented the young woman with ID. She verified this against the information in her computer, and asked, “Do you have anything to declare.”
Strange word ‘declare.’ He would have liked to declare that he hated having to turn over the ship he called home. He would have liked to have shouted that none of this was fair. He would have liked to have told her that everything that didn’t suck in his life had been taken away, or changed somehow, and he didn’t see how anyone could possibly be really, and truly happy, when at any moment the things they love could be taken from them; but, instead he shook his head ‘no.’
The redhead went through his personal items first: uniforms, boxers, toothbrush, comb. The cologne was unmarked, so she uncapped it and sniffed. “Whoa,” she said, quickly turning her head away and putting the bottle an arms length away from her. She took a fresh breath of air, and recapped the bottle. “Why are you carrying paint thinner around this way?”
“That’s my after shave,” John told her.
“Either stop shaving, or get your girlfriend to pick out something nice,” she said. “A nice guy like you would go from an 8 to a 10 with the right fragrance.” She smiled, and as lousy as John felt, he found himself smiling back at her.
“What’s your favorite?” he asked.
“Royal Copenhagen,” she replied. “There’s a store that sells it on the promenade.”
John was wondering, if maybe she liked him; then dismissed the thought. She was only being nice. She’s obviously a decent human being, just trying to do her job. Being a little flirtatious probably makes the day go faster.
“I go on break in fifteen minutes. I can take you there, if you like. There are some nice places to eat too,” she added.
John was confused, elated and suspicious all at once. It happened whenever a girl talked to him, and this girl was pretty. “Uh,…sure. It’ll probably take that long to go through all the plants in my other bag. I’m a biologist. I’m in charge of the hydroponics department aboard the Cromwell, or Warchief, or whatever.” He blushed. His attempt to impress the girl was lost in politics.
“I noticed that you play Wizards and Warriors,” she said.
John’s heart sank. Only nerds played that game. It was like wearing a pocket protector or white socks. “Yeah,” he
replied hesitantly.
“My character is an elf cleric/ranger,” she said.
“No way!” John couldn’t believe it. “I started out as a squire, and worked my way up to Price of the Caspian Kingdom.”
---------------------------------------------
Location: Starbase Phoenix
Stacy saw Candy walking away from Customs toward the Promenade. “Wait up!” she called.
Candy turned around, and saw her friend running toward her. “Aren’t you supposed to be taking it easy?”
“Not for a long time yet,” Stacy replied. Nodding in the direction of Candy’s small suitcase, she added, “Speaking of which, why not just set that down at Inspection to be transported to your assigned quarters.
Candy patted her tummy, and said, “My cabin’s kinda small. I think it would be best, if I left now.”
“Don’t say that,” Stacy said. “You and Anara got pregnant at about the same time. Now that I’m pregnant as well, we’re going to need nursery staff, and I’m pretty sure that position comes with nice adjoining quarters.”
Candy laughed, “It would be like having triplets.” She appreciated that Stacy was trying to help her, but there were things her friend hadn’t considered. “My child is going to be half Klingon—a real handful, believe me. What happens when he’s stronger and more aggressive than the other children?”
“They’re children, Candy, our children,” she insisted. “They’ll grow up the way we teach them. Everything’s going to be fine. Let me talk to the Commodore, I’m sure she’ll love the idea.”
“Klag is going to help Diana,” she confided. “When he returns, I’m going with him to her house. I’ll get the help I need to make him a noble warrior. He has a place is Klingon society, and if he ever goes to Earth, he’ll kick ass and take names.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
Location: Bar on Starbase Phoenix
All four men were human, between the ages of 20 and 25, and had joined the DFA just prior to liberating Starbase Phoenix from the Cardassians. Richard Long and his long time friend, Rodney Strong, had both belonged to the DFA’s Marine 4thSquadron, Charlie Company. Harold Johnson had been promoted to PFC, and Eric Sean Taylor made Lance Corporal. Both of them had served in the DFA’s Marine 3rd Squadron, Bravo Company. All four men had been in a little trouble before, and saw the DFA has a place to make a new start. Now wearing civilian clothes, they slipped into the inspection line, and said ‘good-bye’ to the DFA, the Marines and the Cromwell forever.
Taylor nodded in the direction of the nearest bar, and they followed him inside. They found a table in back, and after their beers arrived, got down to discussing what to do next.
“Can you believe that WCO?” Johnson asked. “Saying that we should be turned over to Klingon authorities.”
Strong took a long drag off his beer, licked his lips, and set the mug back down on the table. “I didn’t know she was sick. She dies, and we’ll be charged with murder--no matter where we are.”
“That’s not necessary true,” Taylor said calmly. “Not everyone likes Klingons, and we’ve got skills now. We’ll be okay, but I think it best that we split up.”
“Why?” Long wanted to know. They’d been avoiding the Lounge after their little fight with the Manager, and he’d nearly finished his first beer.
“First,” Taylor explained, “they’ll be looking for four guys. How often do you see four guys traveling together? Not very.” He paused for a moment to sip from his glass, “Second, if one of us is caught, blame the others. Even if they catch us all, as long as we’re tried separately, there’ll be reasonable doubt. And third, I don’t want you guys to know where I’m going, and I don’t want to know where you’re headed either. Got that?”
The younger men looked uncertain, but nodded their heads in agreement.
Taylor looked over to the front door. Hartley and Oliver were walking in, with some more engineers and science types in tow. Turning back to the others, he told them, “This place is too close to our former friends. Finish your drinks. Take the back way out, and scatter. You see me again, don’t stop, don’t look, don’t try to talk to me. Just keep moving.” With that, he left a decent tip on the table, and headed out the back door.
Waitresses remembered people who tipped too little, or too much, he thought. They have trouble recalling the ordinary events, the average looking guy, the person who doesn’t flirt or talk too much. He’d get some hair dye, and cover his bright red hair later today. From now on, he was Joe Average.
There was just one thing that worried him: What if the Klingons got him first? They never found out how or why the doors in the brig opened when they did. Could have been a malfunction during the last battle. Could have been someone who hated Klingons as much as he did. Was that even possible? he wondered. Klingons had killed his dad when he was only a boy. And then there was Klag, the Klingon who worked in Security--could it be a setup?
--------------------------------------------------
Location: Dreamscape, Texas 1877
Diana was riding a caramel colored palomino with a blond mane and tail. She held the reins in her calf skin gloves, then reached up to the white Stetson hat with silver conches to keep the sunlight out of her eyes.
A million years ago, give or take, a river ran through here with such incredible fury that the rock split in half, creating a deep gulch. The three-story high rock looked to be painted with watercolors--streaks of red, yellow, blue and black where minerals like sulfur, copper and coal had deposited themselves along the canyon walls over hundreds of years as the water level went down. It was a dry creek bed now. There were a few small stones with the imprints of ferns on them. There were tumbleweeds and sagebrush. A few lizards came out to sun themselves on the rocks, but most of the wildlife hunted in the early morning, and was taking refuge from the heat until it was cool enough to risk getting a drink.
“Where are we headed,” she asked the man leading the way.
He rode a black mustang with black mane and tail. The mustang was a fast, intelligent animal. The Indians had caught, and broken them for their own use. White people had other ideas. After the Civil War, a law had to be passed to protect them before they died out completely. This horse had been a gift from an Indian friend, someone falsely accused and befriended by Sherman Hunter. He had the Hunter’s white/blond hair--a little more yellow maybe for smoking cigars. His skin was sun burnt, and he looked older than his 46 years. His nose was crooked, for having been broken a couple of times, but his eyes were still bright as the blue glass bottles the pharmacist used for cough syrup.
“We gotta talk, you and I, about this Warner guy. Else, you‘re gonna make a big mistake with that man of yours,” Sherman Hunter told his great, great, (many times over great), grand-daughter Diana.
“He’s an asshole,” Diana said. “Nothing more to say.”
“Ever think that God must love assholes, after all, He made a lot of ‘em,” Sherman smirked.
Diana rolled her eyes skyward, sighed and said, “What did I do wrong, this time?”
“Not a thing, darling,” he said, as he pulled up on the reins to ride beside her. “Jesus told his disciples that the poor would be with us always, but he shoulda warned us that assholes would vex us until the day he returns. The difference between believing in God and being a Christian is the ability to suffer fools gladly—and that Warner fella is about as big a horse’s behind as any I’ve ever met.”
Diana smiled and began to relax. She’d gone over the events of the last two weeks over and over again, but even though she might have done some things differently, all her choices would have resulted in her being beaten down and beaten up. “What does this have to do with Mac?” she asked.
“Even assholes serve a purpose,” Sherman said. “Just like your man, Lee, I had to answer to somebody who had a reputation for greatness, but day in/day out was a major asshole.”
He pointed to the badge on his black leather vest—a shiny star mounted on a metal ring, on which the words ‘TEXAS RANGERS’ had been stamped. “The Rangers disbanded during the Civil War, and law enforcement during the so-called Reconstruction, was more concerned with enacting taxes and reforms the North saw fit to put on us, than protecting ordinary folks from Indian attack or Mexican bandits. It wasn’t until Richard Cooke was elected Governor in 1874 that the Rangers were recommissioned, and a special task force under the leadership of Major John B. Jones created to deal with both ordinary law breakers and problems specific to the frontier. It really was the Wild West back then, angel; and the Frontier Battalion, consisting of four companies of 75 men each, became the heroes that legends are made of. Hand-picked and specially trained, these 300 men usually worked alone, and were responsible for maintaining law and order to an area as big as any other five states put together.”
Diana rocked back and forth in the saddle as her grandfather recalled his own glory days. “They used ta say, ‘One Riot, One Ranger.’ We relied on common sense more than anything else back then, and that includes guns. Most of the disputes were between farmers and ranchers, Indians and settlers, just regular folks trying to eke out a living for themselves and their kin. Course we got our fair share of desperados—bank robbers like Sam Bass, and gunslingers like John Wesley Hardin. They were fast, sharp and mean. You had to out think them too. We were dead good shots, but shooting is a last resort, even when you’re dealing with Apache.”
“I know you know this,” her grandfather went on. “It might not be very Klingon,” the old man paused to wink at his grand-daughter, “but you don’t fight unless you have to, and I’m proud of you for that. People say, ‘it takes all kinds’ to make a world--even assholes. Well, there was a division of the Rangers known as the Special Force. It was made up of forty soldiers under the leadership of one Capt. Leander H. McNelly. It was their job to patrol the border between the Nueces and Rio Grande. Gangs of bandits terrorized the people living in that area—robbery, rape, murder, arson in ways too awful to mention. McNelly moved hard and fast against the bandits, and a few Mexicans who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. He used torture, summary executions, and was famous for disobeying orders. The guy was a major asshole, but the bandits were virtually eradicated in less than two years.”
“So, what you’re saying is what?” Diana asked.
“Even assholes serve a purpose,” he answered. “As I recall, there were a few people at Starfleet and a whole planet full of Cardassians who still think you’re a bit of an asshole yourself.”
Diana smiled, “I’m sorta proud of that.”
“Same way Warner feels about a few old enemies too, I’ll wager,” he said.
“What should I have done differently? Why is it that Warner and I couldn’t get along? I honestly don’t think it was me, Grandpa. I went to him because I was too weak to handle any kind of trouble in the bar, and he was hell bent on some kind of confrontation. I even apologized for spiking his drinks and any misunderstanding, but he never let up. Why?” Diana wanted to know.
Sherman smiled, “Cause he’s an asshole. He’s a man without family or ties. He has his reputation, and you tarnished it. He won’t take responsibility for being an ass, even under torture. Your good reputation threw his in doubt, and he was pissed!”
“Should I have ignored his behavior that night?” Diana asked.
“Don’t see how you could,” he said. “You were responsible for what went on there. People getting drunk enough to be sick, get into fights, do poorly at work the next day, or even go home with the wrong person. His behavior set a new high in lows.”
“Fr. Dominic and Mac seem to think Warner and I have a lot in common,” Diana said. “Why couldn’t we find that common ground?”
“You did,” her grandfather laughed. “You’re both assholes.”
“I’m serious,” Diana said.
“So am I,” he told her.
The sun was setting between the two sides of the broken mountain. The sun was a bright yellow ball on the horizon. The sky was orange, red, pink, lavender and blue. “What’s this got to do with Mac, Grandpa?”
“It‘s not exactly easy for him,” Sherman Hunter said. “He loves you, but he has to report to Warner.”
“I didn’t drag him into this,” Diana insisted. “I never told him all the details. I never asked him to defend me.”
“But, you expected him to be on your side, didn’t you? Be honest,” the old man told her.
“I was right,” Diana said simply.
“It’s a no win situation,” he said. “All I’m asking, is that you be a little understanding. He’s going to come for you. It’s not a case of forgiving him. He’s done nothing wrong. He’s trying the best he can. Just keep that in mind.”
Diana looked around. “You were shot in the back by someone you thought was a friend. Some people might think that’s a quick and easy death, but betrayal hurts doesn’t it?” She turned back to her grand-father, and said,
“What I want to know, is how my grand-mother Molly died.”
The crows feet by the old man’s eyes deepened as he stared into the distance. The lazy clip-clop of the horses hooves on the river rock echoed in the early evening air. “What happened, grandpa?” she asked again.
When he still wouldn’t answer her, she said, “You weren’t there when she needed help, were you? You were doing your duty protecting the innocent, and the woman you loved was murdered. Isn’t that so?”
“A man can’t be in two places at once,” Sherman Hunter replied.
“I need Mac now, grandpa,” Diana said quietly.
Sherman smiled and looked back at his grand-daughter. “That’s not very Klingon of you,” he said.
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