Embedded Files
Location: Axel Bridge
A beep on his bridge console shook Korav out of his drowsy stupor. It was the proximity alert showing a ship approaching. The middle-aged Captain rubbed his pupil-less milky white eyes and stretched.
"That them?" He groaned, clutching his head.
Torr looked over at the panel after making a few adjustments to course so as not to meet them in person quite yet. “I believe so. Looks like them”
"Oooookay..." The Captain sat up a bit straighter. "Open a channel and such...."
Selvani nodded and began patching through, he wondered how this rendezvous was going to go wrong. They always seemed to.
While Selvani was establishing a channel, Korav made an announcement over the ship comm systems.
=/\= Kirshov, your customers are in range. Get your tail up here! =/\=
The bridge doors slid open, as Bendano stepped in only a second after Korav had made his announcement. He'd donned a fresh suit in expectation of the new customers, and had already been informed at what time the two ships would meet - which is why he didn't need the call in the first place.
“Ready whenever you are Korav, Kirshov.” Selvani sat back and hoped this wouldn’t turn into a fire fight.
"Gallant Wing, this is Captain Korav of the Seiklon Axel." Korav began. "As soon as our Siridon rep gets up here, we're ready to negotiate the purchase."
Bendano chuckled as he realized Korav was oblivious of the fact that he'd just entered. Running a hand through his hair, he smiled at the viewscreen and nodded to the man on it.
Lang nodded at Qual who opened the channel on their end. "Understood Captain. We've come a long way, a few moments more will present no problem."
*********************
Location: Axel bridge
Bendano introduced himself. "Bendano Kirshov, of Siridon Arms Incorporated. Mr. Kartz sends his regards, and I'd like to begin by thanking you for the trust you've already placed in our company by traveling out this far to meet us."
"That decision was my employer's, Mister Kirshov." Lang replied, "As were the initial arrangements. We are merely here to close the deal."
Bendano smiled. "I do hope you weren't expecting Klingons. We operate from Qo'Nos, of course, but I assure you that there are particularly few Klingons aboard this ship."
Lang grinned, "We were prepared for any eventuality." and paused "I have dealt with a great many races and nearly as many languages and cultures. It is generally a matter of less importance than the deal itself. Our representatives are ready to conduct business. I hope you don't mind that they're both attractive human females." The Orion said, returning the jest.
"Pleasant company, sir, is always appreciated." he replied.
"Naturally we would like to meet with you, and have a chance to inspect the merchandise." Lang wondered how organized the situation was.
"You are welcome aboard our vessel. We have some samples aboard our vessel that one of our armed personnel will be happy to demonstrate."
Lang folded his arms across his chest. "Certain items are still subject to negotiation of course, along with a baseline of purchases more certain. Now then,... how do you wish to proceed?"
"Your negotiators may transport aboard this vessel. I shall meet them in the transporter room." Lang was approached and handed a PADD, taking a moment he looked up again, "Make that One representative." he nodded and handed the PADD back.
"Splendid. Kirshov out." The screen went black, and Bendano turned around. "Ship-wide channel, please." A beep indicated he could speak. =/\= This is Kirshov. The ship is about to receive two important individuals for negotiations. Please, please, PLEASE don't do anything whacky or sabotage anything. They're nice people. It's fair business. And if it screws up, Kartz is going to be pissed, which is bad for me, and, as a consequence, even worse for you. Rifleman Ali, please report to the transporter room. And rush it. That is all. =/\
=/\= Aye, aye.=/\= [What does that pompous idiot want now?] Ali wondered.
********************
Location: Transporter room
Bendano turned as the Arab rifleman entered the transporter room.
"Ah, mr. Ali. You're in time."
“Yes, Sir!” Ali replied. [The bigger the a**hole, the louder and shorter you needed to make your answers,] Ali thought. [Long, or original, responses meant you could think for yourself. It almost seemed as if the less one of these rich guys knew, the more they wanted to be in charge--as long as it wasn’t their butt on the line. And, loud meant you were going to follow their orders. It was easier to let them think that, and then rely on your team, and your training, once you got into the field. Shopkeepers should not dictate strategy!]
"Very good, very good." Kirshov said. "Now, listen carefully. I want you to do only one thing: be quiet. Think of yourself as a nameless bodyguard."
Ali merely smiled, and nodded his head in the affirmative. Kirshov probably thought the smile meant that Ali understood his place, but Ali was fighting back an even wider grin--Bendano was an even bigger ass than the rifleman had originally thought.
"Once the negotiations get running, it will be your job to demonstrate the samples we have. Do some flourishes with a phaser rifle, that kind of thing. But, whatever you do, keep quiet, and don't move unless I ask you to."
“I’ve been practicing opening beer bottles using the retractable stand--think they’d be impressed?” Ali said sarcastically.
The blue shimmer of the transporters engulfed the room, and Bendano turned to face the reforming, well, forms of two Terran women. The Orion had not been lying when he'd said they were attractive.
"Welcome aboard the starship Seiklon Axel. My name is Bendano Kirshov, I'm with Siridon Arms, and look forward to a good meeting."
Ms. Tsykisi may be along later, Bethany said," stepping down from the transporter pad, "but for now lets see the merchandise and get that out of the way." she raised her wrist allowing them to see the holographic imaging unit, a sensible precaution on her part, they knew her comrades were watching the negotiations from the comfort of their vessel.
Kirshov turned and gestured to a few crates positioned in the room. "We've got a few samples here. All of the same quality grade that you will be receiving if you sign the contract."
Bethany nodded. she had every expectation that the samples would be genuine.. In fact she didn't doubt that the rest would be either. the company had a reputation to uphold, after all, and a first deal was not the usual place to start with cutting corners, not with large-pocketed corporations that had a potential for future business.
"No doubt you have an idea of which of our instruments you'd like to see displayed first? Perhaps our disruptors?" Kirshov said.
"Yes lets start with the disruptors." Beth said, "and their power packs, recharge units etc." she looked Kirshov in the eye. "The people we're supplying will need to be taught from the basics, but they're not ignorant, They are currently supplied with a small number of Orion knock-offs of Federation technology. But their opponents are much better organized with Romulan disruptors of better quality and range. At first," Bethany said as she inspected the disruptor she was shown, "these knock offs were deemed sufficient, as the Rova'Sahn was reluctant to use their weapons. Not due to a compulsion to be merciful, but because they had no ability to recharge the power packs."
"Any purchase agreement automatically includes a few training sessions with some of our highly trained weapons experts. Eh, mr. Ali?"
Ali handled the weapon like he was on trick drill, or a commercial for Starfleet marines. Taking the disruptor from port arms to present arms, he said, “This is SAI’s latest in a long line of peacekeeping weapons.” With a touch of a button, the power pack dropped out, and Ali deftly caught it in one hand. The merc held the cartridge in his right hand, while holding the rifle in his left. He showed his audience how compact the power pack was, then flipped it like a poker chip, and re-inserted it into the weapon with a resounding click. “Each cartridge will power this weapon, on it’s highest setting, for 100 hours of continuous use, without over-heating.”
"They've since learned, by back-engineering, how to recharge the packs on their own. They now present a very credible threat to the rebels. They are also making strides in research for ship based weapons, which will explain the need for some of the items we're willing to negotiate for later." Beth said.
Satisfied with the hand weapons she set her tricorder down and made a notation on her PADD. "I'd also like to see one of the Federation Phaser rifles. These are the primary weapons they will need to defend themselves and protect them from extinction."
"Of course." Bendano said, smiling. "Mr. Ali, if you would care to demonstrate?"
“I would love to, Sir,” Ali said with a smile. “This here is my personal favorite. It’s the perfect all-around weapon. Set for fully automatic, you can set up a defensible perimeter. Set for single action, it is a sniper’s weapon of choice. The targeting mechanism is nothing short of perfection. It’s lightweight, sturdy and easy to clean. Why, I can assemble this thing blindfolded in less than three minutes. Would anyone care to see?”
Ali's showmanship was impressive, but she doubted the Johvan would realistically gain such skill overnight. "And you can train anyone to do this overnight?" she asked, smiling at Kirshov now and not Ali."
“Depends on the individuals that need training, and how long the night is,” Ali said. “In all seriousness, this rifle is so user-friendly, that a monkey could be trained to use it overnight.”
"Mr. Ali exaggerates somewhat, but our training personnel is of high class, madame."
"In that case, let's just have a look at it. I'm not here to be sold on it. I'm here to inspect these two basic weapons." Her no nonsense approach was better understood in that light. After all if Copernicus had already decided to buy, it wouldn't be necessary to waste time selling.
After a scan and another notation on her PADD she nodded to Kirshov. "How you get the rest of the shipment to the Sphere is your business." she said, "This will be enough for now. Mister Lang would like to speak to you on the Wing to discuss those items needing negotiations. Would you be willing to transport over now?" she asked.
"Of course. Our transporter only has a limited capacity, though, so I shall transport you back and will follow immediately."
Beth smiled, "That would be fine. You boys follow me when you can." and she stepped up ontothe transporter pad wit a seductive grace.
Bendano manned the terminal, and slid his fingers across the controls, as the woman dematerialized and was sucked into the transporter buffer. He turned to Ali.
"Right. So do you feel like a trip to this ship or not? I just needed you to demonstrate the weapons, but if you're interested, you're still welcome to come along."
Ali shrugged his shoulders, “Sure, why not?”
Materializing
in transporter room one, on the Wing. Beth headed for Subuki's private Holosuite and rang the chime.
Subuki never missed a step in the dance, the dance of the blades, the dance of Death. She simply said "Enter. " as if she where having tea before a state dinner. As the door slid open the eighth holographic body hit the floor with a resounding thud..
Beth entered, seeing Subuki in the middle of some combat program. "So where the hell were you? You missed the inspection already, you know,..."
"As my Father would have said, Miss Helton, If one cannot trust their subordinates to take care of certain task why have subordinates. I trust everything was in order, or was there a glitch?" Subuki placed a foot in the middle of the back of the dead Klingon and grunted as she removed the blades one after the other. "You know their bone structure and density makes placing the death blow challenging. " She smiled
Beth ignored the remark. The Princess of Copernicus, she thought. "Well, see if you can't find time in your busy schedule to make it across the corridor to Conference Room #1. Your father may actually be impressed if you do something here." and Beth hit the manual door closure and stomped off towards the galley to let Lang know the Siridon Reps would be on their way soon.
Subuki was beginning to really appreciate the Bio-Gen outfit. There was no need to shower, whatever this thing was made of used her body excretions as nutrients, make-up was a simple thought, as was whatever outfit she wanted to wear. The second augmentation to the thing had boosted all the resistances and shortened the recovery time. She thought of her favorite outfit, Belly Tee, and spandex pants with knee high stelleto's, hair in the Princess girl, in that space opera holovid she liked, buns red lipstick and eyeliner and within a second the suit responded and she was ready for the meeting across the hall. "With bells on" she giggled as Liberty bell earrings appeared on her ear lobes.
********************
Location: OSV Gallant Wing, The Galley (Crew's Mess)
Lang received word that Ms. Helton was back on board from Captain Sherav, and made his way to the galley which was near Transporter Room 2. Finding the ships physician M'rrina Vefores and Tanest from the Wing's Orion Guard Unit enjoying their dinner together, he dismissed his thoughts.
Lang pulled up a chair at the adjacent table where Qualtathereah Aprahnaxar was seated on her own. The Rigelian smiled, always disconcerting with her shark-like teeth. and his thoughts ran to her race as he adjusted the chair. She was only one of five of her unusual race who lived off her homeworld. Amphibious humanoids of long life spans with grey green scales and long wispy white hair (which were actually specialized scales), and pure black pools for eyes, the stuff of nightmares to be sure. Her meal choice today was some sort of mollusk Lang had no wish to identify. "Hello Qual." he said as he seated himself.
"Things are going well?" she asked in a knowing way, adding at the last moment with a disingenuous look - "sir."
Lang shrugged, shook his head no, and said "Of course." grinned at her barely and asked "Want a list?"
Qual lifted a finger up in the air as if to start counting off points, and said "No." She chortled to herself, mostly, and said "I have my own, thanks."
"Well Beth should drop by soon, she's back now."
Qual stared up from dismembering her meal. "Be careful about calling her by her first name."
"Yes, yes, I know,... Ms. Helton. She doesn't much like me you know?" Lang offered.
Qual stopped cold, giving time for M'rrina's Caitian laugh to die down from the next table. "Oh it's not you." Qual said, "It's what you represent."
Lang might have been offended. but regardless of others, he was quite comfortable with who he was. "I do not regret what I represent to her." he said squarely.
Qual shook her head. "That is actually why she doesn't much like you, yes." the remark was made with a school teacher's charm. "You are so perceptive."
This time Tanest's large shoulders were rising and falling in time with M'rrina's laugh, although no sound emanated from the man. Qual simply stared at Lang, her teeth flashing momentarily, "At least you're consistent." she said.
"What do you make of the Axel and their crew Tanest, from what we saw earlier?" he said to the Captain of the Guard.
Tanest straightened up a bit. "Oh as long as they don't let the color green interfere I think we'll get along fine. Don't let their apparent lack of discipline fool you, they're mercs, and I'm guessing damned sharp ones, otherwise they'd be out of business, dead, or on the captain's leash. There's an implicit trust involved in that sort of set-up that doesn't grow on trees. Don't underestimate them.
Lang nodded. "I agree. Doctor?"
"A work hard play hard ethic. Keep it in mind. She wagged a finger at him, "You could learn from that."
Lang smiled grimly, not amused, although he valued their insight.
Qual rose. "If you'll excuse me sir, I need to go somewhere and Laugh." and left the ship's galley, clapping the incoming Beth on the shoulder as she walked out.
Bethany walked in and caught M'rrina's gaze, "What?" she asked, taking a seat across from Lang.
M'rrina's lips snarled back into a delighted look, as far as feline looks went, and she shook her head and stared into her soup, "Nothing Beth, nothing." and began to wheeze a slight laugh which she tried to cover as best as she could.
"Well it's certainly good to see we're all so amused. Anyone have anything constructive to offer?"
"Constructive?" Beth asked, "You mean like pertinent to your agenda? Arm both sides and make a profit?"
"It makes good business sense." Lang offered.
"It makes no sense at all." M'rrina offered. "It is reckless, endangers the lives of innocents and is completely callous."
"No." Lang smiled, "without this intervention the Dissidents will all be slaughtered before they can achieve their goals, and their cause is too noble, too just to let die."
"Oh look who instructs us in Justice?!" M'rrina offered. "One without a conscience. A Lord of magnanimous, pompous, bullshit is all I see."
Lang regarded M'rrina for a scant moment, and nodded. "Yet in this case my points are valid."
"Hrrmph,..." M'rrina let out. "I hate it when that happens."
Beth smiled "They are in danger of extinction without help, true. I don't have a better plan. All of mine would involve more time. Time the dissidents don't have. Otherwise I would not be here now, working with you. What about Subuki? Have you asked her opinion?
"Ms. Tsykisi is the owner's daughter. She may do as she wishes,... she has that luxury." Lang spread his arms out, "it's her prerogative."
"You need guidance from someone." M'rrina spat. "You have a tendency to make some of the most asinine decisions at times, based on a disregard for the feelings of others. Beware of that. It will come back and be your demise one of these days."
"I'll keep it in mind Doctor." Lang bit back, "But if you have something constructive to add, this is your opportunity."
Beth moved between the two, pushing M'rrina back into the seat she was rising from, and eying Lang. "For now we'll trust your judgment Lang." she said. "Tanest?"
Tanest smiled at Lang, one Orion to another, "It's not easy being green." and he smiled some more, "M'rrina, Beth sit your asses down. We'll never accomplish anything if we argue amongst ourselves."
"Indeed." Lang agreed.
=*= "Sherav to Lang." =*= the announcement on Lang's communicator came, interrupting the proceedings, =*= "Our guests will be arriving in Transporter Room 2 in just a moment sir. You'll need to go there now if you wish to welcome them sir." =*=
=*= "Noted Captain. We're on our way." =*= "Ms. Helton, if you would please?"
And the two headed across the corridor to Transporter Room #2
------------
Lang nodded to Kirshov as he materialized in Transporter Room #2 on the Gallant Wing. "Well met Mister Kirshov, If you would accompany mr to the ships nearest conference room we will begin. Ms. Helton will await any of your comrades.
As you wish Mister Lang" Beth replied, and then to Bendano "I will bring any and all. just as soon as they arrive."
Lang and Kirshov entered the conference room. Mister Kirshov." Lang said, "Allow me to introduce Ms. Subuki Tsykisi, Thasin Al'Rasgal's daughter." Lang paused "Mister Al'Rasgal's views can be ascertained by asking her directly. Miss Tyskisi this is mister Kirshov, lead representative of Siridon Arms Inc.
"Greetings Mister Kirshov. I am to understand that the shipment is being processed. There are of course are a few minute details which myself and my father would like to ascertain before finalization of the agreement." She didn't smile simply moved to the head of the table and awaited the response.
"The minute details will appear at the proper time Mr Kirshov not to worry. Dealing with mercenaries is sometimes the lesser of two evils. Which of the two, has yet to be determined in this case. However, my Father assures me that things will proceed within the parameters he set forth. Drink?" she asked waving a hand nonchalantly towards the table with refreshments.
"Thank you." Bendano moved, and poured himself a double shot of whisky from the table after carefully sniffing the contents of the bottle. "Yourself?"
"No thank you. Alcohol, real or synthesized is a drink I do not partake of Mr. Kirshov." she stated plainly the disgust for people who drank not reaching the surface.
"Social lubrication is a pleasant side-effect during tense negotiation, miss Tsykisi." He took a sip. Not bad. "I can see the value, of course, in alcohol prohibitions on certain worlds."
"Vices Mr. Kirshov, whether real or imagined, are the failure of discipline, teaching, and a general lack of morality." She did smile at that.
Sharp wit. This should prove an interesting meeting. Bendano returned the smile, and took another sip of whisky.
Lang grinned and seated himself, obviously amused, "Please, please, be seated Ms. Helton is on her way as we speak. Lang spoke to the two seated before him now. "We need to expedite our tranaction, Mister Kirshov, I will assume you will have no trouble meeting the order where standard weapons are concerned?'
Bendano put his glass down on the table - none too softly for effect, and sat down. "Your assumption is well-made, mr. Lang."
"Excellent." Lang replied, and as for the training, it is the reason I selected your corporation. Your insistance on training the end-user suits my needs as well. However, I do not wish for you to train them in any sort of full-scale offensive tactics. Please concentrate on training of a defensive nature. If they are eliminated, I will lose my employer's respect and you will lose a potentially valuable customer.
"Mr Kirshov, the minute detail which I mentioned briefly a moment ago. The time has come to speak of it. There are several, shall we say special items that my Father has determined are necessary to complete the process he began." It was a statement not an advisement.
Yes, the extras. This was always the part that made or broke a deal. Everyone wanted extras. For cheap, or for free. Not normal price. What would be the point in that? Of course, a good deal meant a sweet balance - too many free extras runs a loss on the financial side, but too few runs a loss on the customer trust side.
Bendano's strategy was simple.
Step 1: Always start skeptically. "...-Special- items?"
"Nothing that I believe would be beyond your capability to provide, I hope. Five Vehicle Mounted portable Shield Generators, in the Hornet class. Those if I remember the specifications correctly will be capable of generating a square kilometer of coverage. Two Field Portable Fusion Powerspheres, Omega III specs with the self contained maintenance bays. Technicians will however not be required." She waited for the shoe to drop. Before Kirshov could answer the hatchway opened.
Lang smiled as Ms. Helton entered.
"The additional items are for your Johvan customers to be able to conduct their "recruiting campaigns" outside of their 'safe locations' they are doing so now at their own peril. We would like the vehicles to include Current Hover-only technology, nothing A-Grav, just nap of earth travel fro all-terrain. So the first question is whether or not you can acquire such field units and if you require assistance transporting anything to the site. Payment can be made on a moment's notice.
Step 2: After demands are made, give away nothing. "Well, now, you can be assured that Siridon is well capable to provide what you request; manufactured at our factories, highest quality, of course. But we cannot expect you to pay any less than the full price."
"No Mr Kirshov, Copernicus will not. The amount of compensation for items that are three generations removed from actual deployment do not bring such prices. You may reconsider your base line offer and approach from another front. I can assure you I have a very hard head." she leaned forward elbows on the table resting her head on her hands.
Step 3: Feign outrage. Always feign outrage. A very important step. Bendano took a gulp of whisky. "It is none of Siridon's concern if Copernicus decides to toss our supplies into a depot or take them into use immediately. We're not going to take less money just because you want your disruptors to fire jets of smoldering dust as well as an energy beam."
"I propose, Mr Kirshov, a lesser amount by 17.19% to be paid in three installments. The first here and now, the second upon arrival Copernicus station. The third and final to be paid after a final field exercise to ascertain the exact nature and validity of your training techniques. The first two payments will be non negotiable on Copernicus's part. In other words, you get your credits. The third and final payment will be delivered when I am personally satisfied that the johvan Dissidents aren't going to be cannon fodder for prime Minister's little Storm Troopers."
Step 4: A reluctant step forward while they come a bit closer as well. Toss in a slightly biting remark if you have the chance - you're still not happy. "I suppose you people enjoy making up deals that put everyone at a disadvantage."
"Personally Mr Kirshov. It has always been the nature of Copernicus to enjoy business dealings, no matter how they develop. Not being Orion, I believe you fail to see the wisdom in that philosophy. Take a minute to consult with whomever it is you must or if you are the final arbitor of compensation, mull it over, I think you will find a bird in hand is worth two in the bush"
"I personally see no reason to agree to the terms for the third payment. Your 'personal satisfaction' over a man's ability to wield a weapon has particularly little objective value and should have no place in a business agreement."
"I don't doubt the abilities of your "men" Mr. Kirshov. Copernicus in not in the habit of paying for items or training that are not delivered in premium condition, unless otherwise notified previously. Should you be stating that your training will be less than adequate, then please advise us of that situation now so that other arrangements can be provided."
Step 5: Keep pulling until they start moving away again. "Other arrangements? You mean to say that you have another arms company standing ready to load up weapons and fly over here for you?"
"Such as The Darnassian Establishment. While they do not run willy nilly around the cosmos as you yourself, they are a well respected and well funded organization that would be more than willing to either provide the equipment and/or the training. So your's is not the only game in town Mr. Kirshov."
Lang sat back to enjoy the show, as did Ms. Helton. It was clear why Thasin had wanted his daughter included on this negotiation, as a welcome to the family business. He hoped she was a quick a learner as her father had predicted, (It wouldn't hurt that Thasin was prepared to be particularly generous in this transaction, considering the Johvan Dissidents at a "pet-project").
Step 6: Feign desperation. The key to the entire strategy. Risky, of course. Once you feign desperation, you can take the best deal they made you and they'll think they've won. So you get a good deal, and they think they'll have made you turn their way, but they're still paying the most they would have been willing to pay anywhere. Of course, the big trick here was to be convincing. If they even smelled the faintest hint that you were faking everything (or were just generally dirty traders), the best offer would be gone. Heck, the entire deal might be gone. But that was the risk. And risk was what made business fun.
In the real world, Bendano was silently laughing at the notion of taking the deal to the Darnassians. Of course the Darnassians were a fine establishment, but they were, well, expensive. Very expensive. It was the whole thing that made Siridon such a great company. The service was excellent, and the prices were excellent, the company had great people to face it - but just about everyone behind the scenes was either a hopeless mercenary that worked for cheap, or someone bound to the company in a way that was not very financial in nature. It was kind of like a new Klingon starship. On the outside, everything still looked shiny, but inside, well, it was a Klingon ship.
Bendano tapped a few buttons on a PADD and pretended to crunch the numbers. He proceeded, in a gloomy voice: "17.19 percent turns out to just fall within our projected budget."
"Interesting rebuttle. Corpurnicus thanks you for your time Mr. Kirshov. Mr Lang will conclude the arrangements. Mr Lang pay the man."
"Of course." Lang said tapping the Comm-Link, "Qual, please have the appropriate amount transacted immediately.
"Very well then," Lang said, "As soon as the agreed upon arrangement can be made, let us both head for the Gerosh Wormhole and transit to Hope One Dyson Sphere. Our destination will be The 3rd Sphere door and Copernicus Station I shall have Captain Sherav contact Captain Korav with the precise coordinates. Ms Helton If you would be so kind as to see our guests to the transporter room so they can make their arrangements.
"Yes." Beth smiled, "Gentlemen? If you would follow me"
********************
Location: The IKV Bloodline (Iwr’Qrdu) - a K’Vort class battleship; Captain’s war-room
“My name is J’oK, son of Kr’ok, House of Rag’naRok!” The overenthusiastically aggressive young warrior barked. “How are you?! I AM PLEASED TO MAKE YOUR AQUANTAINCE!” He then attempted a clumsy handshake, lunging at the much shorter and slighter Klingon female, grasping for a hand that was slipped away rapidly, as it’s owner recoiled in defensive shock … then spun forward, planting a firm, open-palmed slap against the advancing Lieutenant’s face.
“YEEAAARRRGGH!” The spurned brute screamed out in blind rage. He started to go after the smaller female – who was, even now, withdrawing into a defensive martial arts stance (and more than ready – and able - to put the charging bully into his proper place) – and was stopped by a single, shouted word: “HOLD.”
Both warriors turned to stare at Captain TK’toK Rag’naRok, as he strolled forward (the deep, rich bass of his commanding voice still echoing in the air).
Captain Rag’naRok stomped forward, fuming. The training was not going well … (and he was beginning to suspect his information wasn’t exactly up-to-date, either)
J’ok stopped in his tracks, pausing his attack to stare at the senior commander with a confused look. Likewise, Lt. Cmdr. Lurra Dk’tahg stood down, dropping her fists to her sides as she turned to regard her Captain with cool attention.
“Human women are very frail and delicate. One must treat them like the most gentle flowers of the forest.” In spite of J’ok’s pained, perplexed expression, Tk’tok continued; “You do not jostle, threaten or otherwise confront them physically.” Ignoring J’ok’s confusion (not to mention the obvious smile Lurra was trying to hide from him), he finished the lesion: “You must offer them gifts, and many kind words. Now, try again!”
The captain watched as the awkward ‘couple’ tried to act out the bizarre alien mating ritual. He knew that their human quarry was raised in a Klingon House, but had assumed that she shared the typical Terran ‘weaknesses’, in spite of her upbringing. He had no idea, yet, of just how wrong he was …
*********************
Name:
Tk’toK Rag’naRok
Occupation:
Starship Captain [House Functionary]
Age:
72
Gender:
Male
Race:
Klingon
Eyes:
Hazel
Hair:
White
Unusual features and distinguishing characteristics:
The subject is roughly the average height for a Klingon male, albeit slightly overweight. His ‘middle-age paunch’ is offset by his physical strength, giving him a (somewhat misleading) jolly, effect. This individual bears a minimal amount of the bruises and scars usually accompanying his rank. The notable, visible exceptions to this rule would be a deep gouge over his left eye as well as visible burn tissue around his neck. His thinning, silver-white hair reaches to his shoulders, and he carries himself with no small degree of ‘Imperial’ bearing.
Personality:
Strong Leader
Social Level:
Authoritarian
Emotional Aptitude:
Manic depressive, with strong antisocial tendencies
Political Affiliation:
Klingon fascist
Religious Beliefs:
Orthodox Kahless worshipper
Overall Psychological Profile
Tk’toK is capable of maintaining an even tone to his temperament, even under the most trying circumstances … an ability which has led him to many career victories, both in the battlefields of deep space, as well as in the cutthroat [often, literally] world of Klingon military protocol. As a career military officer and politician, this ability has been exploited to its fullest degree, and in endlessly diverse social situations. His calculating, cold logic is usually employed in tandem with his guiltless lack of empathy … his emotional control allowing for greater leverage in any difficult scenario – much more so than superior armaments or modern technology (two advantages in seriously short supply among the rusted warbirds and small attack cruisers in the House fleet).
Intelligence Index:
A higher-than-average IQ and cognitive reasoning abilities: Tk’oK Rag’naRok is the type of individual who is a born leader, and just insensitive enough to the suffering of others, to thrive in a Klinhzhai military career. His overbearing bravado and supreme overconfidence in his abilities, however, has been his undoing, on more than one occasion. Whether or not this character trait has clouded his judgment, or whether his intellect does not match his opinion of such, is still open for debate.
Sexual Orientation/Development:
Heterosexual: without the inclination towards undue violence or domination observed in his nephew J’oK. He still shares in some of the familial ‘low opinion’ of the opposite sex, but tends to view females as pleasant distractions, at best. In recent years, his old-fashioned views on gender relations have mellowed somewhat, and he has even gone so far as to ‘allow’ female warriors to serve aboard his battleships. The captain is currently seconded by a female commander, in fact, whom he seems to have taken under his wing – Lurra Dk’tahg – who he has promoted, rapidly, and usually over the heads of (sometimes) much more qualified male applicants. While, on the surface, it appears that this decision was based on his professional evaluation of her abilities, there may be more going on than that. A less ‘professional’, although less sinister motive at play, perhaps displaced familial feelings, even paternal in nature. A more commonplace, if not less ‘friendly’ (and definitely more KLINGON) would be that the junior officer is in possession of some incriminating evidence, or leveraged threat of such, against the Captain, and that is why she has gained such forward momentum through the ranks. IN any case, the earlier assumption that she was ‘the captain’s woman’ is now to be considered incorrect – until proven otherwise.
Personal Background:
Tk’toK has spent a lifetime displaying impressive ‘leadership’ (i.e. bullying, manipulation, etc.) qualities from the start. While other Klingon families can manage to share the occasional kind word with one another, the Rag’naRoK’s have observed a stone-age, Kling family dynamic, pushed to an additional barbaric degree. And Tk’toK fit right in, and actually thrived, in such an environment.
Career Summay:
The subject has had an impressive military career, commanding several successful battles, often on the front lines, and usually through sheer will. His prowess in the killing fields of space is apparently the product of equal parts bravery and foolish luck. His treatment of captives or his defeated foes is infamously cruel, yet never forgetful of galactic politics and career opportunities.
A few noticeable weaknesses in Captain Rag’naRok’s military strategy have been a historical lack of reconnaissance, and a tendency to dive right into questionable situations without consideration for their long-term consequences. While he may be able to formulate brilliantly treacherous and decisive stratagems – both on and off the battlefield – he seems to be lacking in the ability to adapt those plans and plots on short notice, in response to changes or obstacles to their success. Whether this is due to overconfidence, poor planning, or a slavish devotion to the ‘classic’ Klingon SOP [Standard Operating Procedure] is a matter of some debate, however.
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Recent events in Imperial politics – namely, the attempted military coup of the High Council (often referred to, somewhat inacurately, as “The Klingon Civil War” by the galactic press), have highlighted the need for a closer eye on the internal affairs of the Klingon state. The Rag’naRok’s have proven themselves to be ‘useful’ in the past, but they appear to be somewhat of a wild card, as of late. Some evidence even suggests the House played a strong hand in the recent events on Qo’Nos, although our sources cannot verify this information. It is my recommendation that our forces sever all communication and contact with this House, pending further investigation.
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Location: Qo’Nos; airspace [shuttlecraft]
The flight to the surface was surprisingly calm and quiet. No turbulence or mechanical problems to interfere with the smooth ride; no uncomfortably loud or angry conversation to disturb the calm. Just a few scattered, quiet words and the low, almost whispered sound of the shuttle’s machinery filled the air. The peaceful, almost eerie, quiet was strangely foreboding as it was calming. Occasionally, the still would be broken by the sights or sounds of weapons being cleaned, checked and loaded, or even last-minute mission prep, but otherwise the passage was completely clear.
Captain Tk’toK Rag’naRoK lazily peered out the viewport, daydreaming deep into the fluffy white clouds broken up by patches of dark blue and the green and brown patches of land below them. So far, the mission was going off without a bump, and he was allowing himself a brief moment of respite. However, even as he stared off into the widening Qo’Nos horizon, his hands kept sliding aimlessly over the shuttle’s (temporarily deactivated) weapons controls – causing a few, nervous, sidelong glances from the pilot. “I wonder … will we be able to obtain a Great Hall in the Capitol? Or do we just TAKE one?” he mused, idly pressing the deactivated torpedo launch button in front of him.
J’oK Rag’naRok shifted uncomfortably in his seat, uncomfortable and dreading the upcoming ‘family obligation.’ He generally regarded the High Council as a useless and weak democratic obstacle, and wasn’t looking forward to begging the old fools in charge for their ‘permission.’ “Survival only belongs to those fit to rule by only those worthy of such power.” He thought, repeating the mantra; and trying to calm himself with happy thoughts about the upcoming Rag’naRok ‘House Call.’ J’ok’s hand repeatedly, (unconsciously) traced a pattern over the circular scar on his chest, as he sat, fuming …
The relative stillness was broken by the sound of the shuttle’s intercom, as the pilot announced the upcoming landing (along with a drift of the usual military chatter breaking through).
Lurra Dk’tahg looked up at the sound of the pilot’s voice, hitting a few buttons on the handheld electronic device in her lap, before turning it off and pocketing it. For all the drab, sullen energy of the crowd of conspirators in the tiny space, she was a spark of positive, contained motion. Try as she might; hoping that her nervous, hopeful ‘enthusiasm’ wouldn’t betray her … she actually perked up at the announcement. “Finally” she announced, clearly “A chance to show those old pe’tahqs what a real Klingon looks like!” Lurra smiled at the expected chorus of laughter and battle cheers, as she sat back, confidently. “This is going to be to be FAR easier than I thought!” she reflected, still sitting comfortably, and still smiling …
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“You are cleared for landing, Rag’naRok shuttle. Proceed to the following coordinates, and stand by for security clearance.”
The shuttle-pilot banked the tiny craft to the left, and then began to descend, in a long downward spiral, to a landing pad cut out of the mountain rock below. Lurra Dk’tahg noticed that the pilots rarely spoke (except to deliver flight-related information) and kept their crash helmets on the entire time – obscuring their features, their looks, even their gender, from the rest of the crew. While she allowed herself a few seconds of speculation about the pilot’s true identity, she was far more concerned with their qualifications: her job was to make sure that the scheming plans of the Rag’naRok’s didn’t start another planetary incident. To that end, she reasoned “As long as they know how to land and take off – I’ll worry about their allegiance when I need an emergency pickup!” The joke did nothing to lighten her mood (in part, because she knew just how real the possibility of such a necessity really was) …
The trio of black-armored, Klingon stormtroopers each pressed a button on the side of their disruptor rifles, and watched as the weapons dematerialized in their hands. They then repeated this process with their side-arms, waiting for them to similarly disappear, with the same faint, greenish glow. After the energy weapons were transported out of the third dimension, they each sat by patiently, waiting while the objects now materializing at their feet took shape. Finally, an ornate box appeared in front of each warrior, and each, in turn, reached forward to scoop up the packages. Inside each container was a set of ‘ceremonial’, bladed hand weapons; bat’tleths, short swords (mek’leths), and dk’thags (the tri-blade daggers that were their enemies’ namesake), along with a disassembled pain-stick in each box. The warriors began to quickly and carefully reassemble the electric staffs, hanging them on an overhead rack when they were finished. They each then proceeded to ‘arm’ themselves with their blades; hanging the honor swords at their back, and holstering the daggers and mek’leths at their waists. After equipping their ‘display-only’ weaponry, the soldiers then proceeded to tug on a short length of cord at the neck-plate of their body armor, which released a long, flowing black cape, emblazoned with silver and white old-Klinzhai characters sewn into the borders. Finally, each soldier removed their helmet – revealing three generic looking Klingon males – honoring the time-honored tradition of looking a potential enemy in the eye at all times. After this brief flurry of activity, the honor guards returned to their stoic watchfulness, and sat, silent and ready, without any further movement or noise.
Lurra Dk’tahg turned back around in her seat after watching the Honor Guard’s pre-landing ritual. She simply stared, dead-ahead at the – partially blocked – viewport, watching as the mountainside filled the window, and as the landing dock and hangar bay beyond, came into full view. Her wicked smile had long since faded (along with her enthusiasm about the upcoming mission’s ease of success), and she sat, fidgeting, in her jump-seat, wishing with everything that the dirty, confusing business ahead of them could finally get underway. “I can only IMAGINE how long the wait will be!” she fussed, fully aware of how ‘thorough’ a Klingon security check can be, and not quite sure of how she was going to take care of her many, and conflicting, responsibilities - now that they were actually on-world.
In contrast, J’ok Rag’naRok was the perfect portrait of serenity; his cleaned and pressed, Klinzhai dress robe tucked neatly around the shiny black leather and gleaming metal of his ceremonial armor. He looked forward without a trace of expression, hands neatly folded in his lap … and not a twinge of Klingon snarl or bravado to detect. “The House WILL take care of the High Council, one way or another … and I WILL rule the House … by whatever means necessary” he thought; the mental images of violence, cruelty and domination calming him like a cool breeze on a searing summer day.
J’ok’s distant uncle, the Captain Tk’toK Rag’naRok, for his part, balanced out the scene (while the shuttle-pilot sitting next to him busied himself / herself with adjusting for the high rock ceiling and tractor guides of the massive, yet busy, cavernous landing dock). Tk’toK nervously fidgeted with his cloak a few times, smoothing out wrinkles and compensating for his protruding belly. Tk’toK then caught himself, mid-fidget, and stopped to re-examine the antique disruptor pistol at his side, making sure (once again) that it was ‘off.’ Even in the newly pacified areas of the Klingon capital, it wasn’t uncommon for starship captains (or even their first officers) to be seen carrying ‘ceremonial’ sidearms; as a privilege of their rank, if nothing else. “Just in case” he joked the pilot next to him (who gave no sign of recognition or response to the comment, as he/she was now preoccupied with easing the shuttle through the hangar bay’s massive, open blast doors), before holstering the weapon and returning to stare out the window in front of him …
Next, the shuttle landed, with a slight thump, on the stryocete floor of the dry-dock facility. While the shuttle’s automated systems re-pressurized the cabin, and ticked off the seconds until it was safe to exit the vehicle, everybody onboard sat by quietly – if not somewhat anxiously. Next the pilot announced the all-clear, and several airlocks began to disengage and open at once, filling the ear with the hissing of atmosphere and the slight, quiet hums and clicks of electricity and machinery. While the doors and hatches of the all-purpose transport began to open automatically, the entire vehicle began to empty of its passengers.
Stepping out from the relatively calm, sterile atmosphere of the shuttle into the noisy, busy spaceport, the group was greeted by an armed escort of the port’s security personnel. After making the necessary introductions, and after a check of the passenger’s credentials and clearance codes, the group was then routed to a transporter array several meters behind their present location. Several members of the welcome wagon stayed behind as the rest of the group proceeded down the runway, and began to thoroughly scan the shuttle with handheld EM ‘corders, looking for any biological contaminants, hidden weapon caches, or anything else the primary scans might have missed.
The walk to the transporter pad was completely uneventful; the Rag’naRok’s marched forward silently, without any attempt at conversation … and surrounded by the scattered, busy swirl of activity around them. There were no other new arrivals to block their passage, but that didn’t seem to affect the high-activity level of the busy installation. Various spaceship components were being repaired, checked, and laser-welded, while assorted groups of technicians, mechanics and engineers conferred with each other, barking questions, answers and directives at each other. The bay was filled with an assortment of 1-to-2 pilot fixed-wing starfighters, small shuttles and orbital craft, as well as the massive skeleton of a vintage Bird-of-Prey – apparently being retrofitted for another tour of duty.
By the time they made it to the transporter station, they were kept waiting, yet again, while the transporter op ran a series of last minute ‘diagnostics.’ While the Rag’naRok’s waited, they killed time by watching techs walk through the open decks of the gutted Warbird in the middle of the bay, or stared directly at the transporter chief - flashing glares of impatient annoyance - or listened to the pilot make professional small-talk with one of the repair crew chiefs. The transporter officer, meanwhile, ignored the dirty looks he was getting, instead focusing on the task at hand. He had received a triple-checked, authorized message from an anonymous source (while his ‘cargo’ were still in orbit) about dangerous biotech and possible weapons violations among the new arrivals. He needed to make one final check; making sure that they posed no threat to his homeworld, his facility, or his pending promotion. Looking down at the console, he noticed that each of the honor guards was carrying a live transporter circuit, which he immediately deactivated. “All matter/anti-matter transports must be cleared through the Imperial provisionary government. You are free to use any government or public facility to beam back to your ship, but all site-to-ship transports are now illegal, without proper clearance.” With that, he looked back down and prepared to beam the group directly to the Imperial High Council complex in the city below. Before hitting the engage switch, he noticed a warning light flashing on one of the secondary security monitors. Bringing up an expanded view, the display showed an unknown device hooked into the chest cavity of one of his passengers. He looked up from his console, staring directly at the ‘armed’ Klingon in question, and then back to the display. The transporter op (lacking the full view of the device afforded to him by a medical scanner, “or even an up-to-date transporter system”), simply forwarded the information to the Council security staff, before announcing, blandly; “Enjoy your time on the homeworld. Q’apla!” and beamed the group out of the spaceport.
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