#3--Civil War (part two)
Location: Dreamscape, Hell
The dream started out the way it always did…
Diana was flying on the back of a white winged horse as she traversed the barriers between heaven and hell. She'd been sent there to rescue a penitent soul--someone who was truly sorry for terrible deeds and dedicated the rest of his life to atonement. She flew low over the hoards of people pushing and shoving to reach the ferryman. In life they were in desperate haste to reach a desperate end, and now they were anxious to sink to their eternal punishment. Pathetic.
She flew over the river Acheron and past limbo. As she flew over the second level of hell where furies tormented the lustful and suicides, she shivered with regret and sympathy--Fr. Dominic had once talked her out of taking her life into her own hands, instead of trusting God.
The next levels were reserved for the gluttonous and the hoarders, and their guardians allowed her to pass. The fifth level is reserved for the wrathful, and their unending torment is to fight and feel pain without rest or even the relief that death might bring. She scanned the horizon for one bright light.
There was a fierce battle raging, it almost seemed as if all of hell had aligned itself against a single fighter. Screams of pain, blood and gore, the smell of decay more terrible than any earthly battle prevailed. The masses fell back momentarily, and Diana saw the warrior's soul shining through all the hatred and madness around her.
She drew her sword, the words "Save or Perish" etched into the blade by God himself. She was His emissary to the battlefield; she discerned the souls of true warriors in the midst of carnage, and carried them back to His throne. A true warrior is heroic, compassionate and wise, as well as skilled in warfare. True warriors are rare, and because God cannot look on sin, He made valkyres to deliver these worthy souls to Him.
She circled back and came in low. Reaching out for the warrior's hand she recognized him--Mac! She had to get him out of there, but she was growing weaker by the moment.
Mac looked up, and recognized her. As he reached out for her hand, he was struck from behind. The impact threw him forward. Regaining his footing, he struck out and the hoard fell back. Diana entered the fray from the back of the winged horse. Arcs of gold and white light followed the blade’s movement. Anyone struck by it, recoiled in pain--a burning sensation that would never heal or stop hurting.
She reached down with her free hand, and grabbed him by the wrist. She dug her knees into the horse’s flanks to direct it to fly upward. He reached up for her shoulder to pull himself up, but didn’t make it. She leaned over and caught Mac by the waist with her free hand. “Try again!” she said. “You’ve got to climb up.”
That’s when she saw them. Mac’s father was behind him on the right, and Warner on his left. They reached over and pulled Lee down. “You don’t belong here, Mac,” she cried.
“Oh, but you do son,” his father said.
“You weren’t thinking of leaving us behind, were you?” Warner taunted. “Marines don’t leave their own behind, and you’re one of us, Lee--you’re just as bad as the rest of us.”
“Don’t listen, Mac!” Diana looked into his eyes, but found only doubt and self-loathing there. She turned and tried to pull him up next to her. Even under the weight of two unsteady riders, the winged horse was flying higher. With no one pulling him down, Lee should have been able to climb on behind her. She looked over and smiled, “We’re almost out of here, Mac. You and I get to be together. Everything’s going to be alright.”
There were tears in his eyes. “No, it’s not,” he said. “This is where I belong.” He let go of her arm, and fell from the sky. She watched his body tumble end over end on the way down. She saw the twisted smiles of his father and Warner, as Lee’s body broke against the barren and bloody ground. She saw him struggle to stand again, his face contorted with pain.
“No!” she screamed in horror. She tried to go back for him, but felt angels pulling her away. She felt rather than heard the voice of her creator inside her head, “He has decided. Come home.”
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Location: Chetzia, Sickbay
Fr. Dominic looked over to see the comatose patient had tears falling from her eyes. He checked the readout over the bio-bed, and called for the nurse.
“She’s coming to,” the priest said excitedly. “These brain waves show that she’s dreaming--she’s thinking about something!”
The RN prepared a hypo-spray, and applied it directly to the young woman’s neck. After which, the lines on the monitor went back to being nearly flat--basic respiratory, heart and brain function only.
“Why did you do that?” he asked.
“Captain Forrest’s orders,” she replied.
“What?” the priest couldn’t believe that their captain wanted Diana to stay like this.
“She should have been sent to Devu,” the woman said testily. “If there was any way to save your friend, that would be the place to go. As it is, the earthquakes and storms destroyed most of this base, and we’re still in the process of rebuilding the hospital. This patient is terminally ill, and it was Captain Forrest’s instructions that she be kept as comfortable as possible until she passed on. That’s all we can do for her here. I’m sorry.”
As the nurse turned to go, Fr. Dom said, “The patient’s name is Diana, and she wouldn’t want to be comfortable, she’d want to be awake.”
The nurse kept walking, and the priest wondered again, what had Diana done to deserve this?
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Location: SBPHX, Bar (not a very nice one)
Most planets and bases have nice places for respectable people to meet. This was not one of those places. For every nice place, there’s usually a darker, seedier place with less discriminating clientele. These places are located as far away from nice places as possible, and conveniently close to docks used by darker, seedier people. Klag alternately walked and took turbo-lifts on his way here. At one point, he made three left-hand turns to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He walked with his chest out, occasionally flexing his bi-ceps by clenching and unclenching his fists. His was the purposeful and determined stride of a true Klingon warrior. He scanned the people he passed for any potential threat, and when he did make eye contact, had that ‘f*** you and get off of my planet’ kind of glare. Klag ducked into the rundown and dirty establishment, ordered blood wine, and took a small box containing a set of darts from inside his padded armor.
He paid the waitress for his drink, and let it sit untouched on the table behind him. He’d chosen a spot directly below a stereo speaker. The ‘music’ was probably Tellerite--it was like whining set to music. Someone said that it was ‘Country Western.’ [If someone took his woman, vehicle or dog, and all he had left was a guitar, he’d use it to beat the offending party to death,] Klag thought.
Klag adjusted the points on his first steel dart. [Johnson, Harry. PFC, DFA Marine 3rd Squadron, Bravo Company. Human, male. Age 23. 5’10” 180 lbs. Blond hair, brown eyes.] Klag imagined the man’s face imposed on the battered dart board. Harry Johnson’s eye over the 15 in the lower right hand side of the board. He aimed and nailed it.
[Long, Dick. Private, DFA Marine 4th Squadron, Charlie Company. Human, male. Age 22. 6’0” 185 lbs. Brown hair and eyes.] Klag aimed for the 16 on the lower left of the dart board, and got it.
[Strong, Rod. Private, DFA Marine 4th Squadron, Charlie Company. Human, male. Age 21. 5’8” 160 lbs. Black hair and dark brown eyes.] Klag nailed the 17 at the bottom of the board.
Klag walked over to the red, white, green and black board, and pulled out the darts--all placed within the board’s inner most circle. He went back behind the line painted on the floor, and thought about his next target. [Taylor, Eric Sean. Lance Corporal, DFA Marine 3rd Squadron, Bravo Company. Human, male. Age 24. 6’2” 190 lbs. Red hair and green eyes. The ‘brains’ of this pathetic group.] The 18 was on the upper right side--no problem.
These guys were dead men, Klag would see to that. He’d hunt them down one by one, if he had to, but they would pay for assaulting a Klingon head of house. Warner was untouchable. The coward could hide on board the Cromwell indefinitely. Klag imagined the MCO sitting in front of the board, his forehead squarely over the 19, also at the bottom of the board. The dart struck so hard, that the board cracked.
The 20 was at the very top, and Klag imagined Lee there. Lee stole Diana from him. Lee failed to protect her. Lee didn’t check on her. He never tried to save her. And, he’s not avenging her. He’s not even here! Klag’s eyes felt hot, his jaw ached from holding everything he felt inside. His teeth ground together, and his stomach muscles tightened. His entire body tensed, and he desperately wanted to beat the crap out of somebody. Warner was an ass, but Lee swore he loved her, and then abandoned her. She gave herself to him, and he betrayed her. Klag had trusted Lee, and Diana loved him, but where was he now? Where was he then? Klag had no trouble making the 20.
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Location: Sickbay
Selvani awoke with a start, he couldn’t remember the dream he had been having. He sat up for a moment attempting to feel what was different and eventually he placed it, all the myriad voices had stopped speaking and had settled into his own. He knew this was how it was supposed to be, but it felt unusual. He decided just in case to get a checkup from the medical bay, just in case something was going on with the Torr symbiont.
He stepped off the lift and entered the medical bay. He stood and waited to be noticed as the feeling persisted that something was different, he hoped it was all in his head given the recent changes.
It was the middle of the night, but Kim had taken to staying in the infirmary rather than returning to the girl’s dorm. The EMH was even more meticulous than Doc, and before training her, insisted that the entire area be sterilized. While she worked, the hologram reviewed her knowledge of basic first aid, and started teaching her medical terminology.
She was a light sleeper and noticed immediately when someone new entered the room.
“Hi, I am Selvani Torr the new Helmsman on board.” He held his hand out to the medic in an old earth sign of greeting. “I am a recently joined Trill who is just here to get a checkup to make sure everything is alright.”
Kim hesitatingly extended her hand and shook his. “I’m Kim,” she replied. “I’ve never met a Trill before. Aren’t you awfully young to be joined?”
Selvani laughed, “Typically yes, but it is more uncommon that I am here. Trill do not usually leave the homeworld. I stole this symbiont.” He smiled knowing everyone here had a story.
“I like the markings around your face. It’s like God decorated you with ivy or confetti--something happy like that,” Kim told him. He was handsome, and seemed pleasant enough. Kim hoped they could be friends, she could use a friend.
He stood uncomfortably for a moment, before he could find something to say she continued.
“I’m sorry, that’s probably very insensitive of me,” the young, Vietnamese girl apologized. “I’ll get Ernie for you, he’s our doctor.” Kim went over to a console, tapped a few keys, and said, “Ernie, we need you.”
The balding middle-aged hologram poked his head out of his corner (which he'd set up several crates to block off from the rest of sickbay), irate as usual. "The bloody devil....can't I get some....oh...." He got up and walked over to the patient, irritantly reaching for a tricorder, then grumbling as soon as his hand went right through it.
Ernie closed his eyes and took a frustrated breath. "Miss Lee." He said tersely.
“Yes, sir,” she said, as she walked over to where the Trill and EMH were standing.
"Perhaps you would care to assist me in this physical?" The EMH put on a strained smile, gesturing towards the tricorder.
“Of course,” Kim replied.
"Mr...." Ernie said, turning towards Selvani. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've met."
Selvani smiled, “Selvani Torr, the new helmsman.”
"Ah....Mr. Torr.... if you would please stand still for a second...." Ernie turned back to Kim. "Open the tricorder..." He instructed.
Kim picked the device up carefully. Ernie hadn’t instructed her in how to use it, yet, and now they needed it. She opened the box and removed the wand portion of the device, then flipped the ‘ON’ switch.
"Good....now, go the the 'functions' menu....that's it....find the 'ortho diagnostic' option, select 'confirm'." The EMH said, peeking over Kim's shoulder.
Kim looked over the menu, and made the proper selections. “Ready,” she told the EMH.
"Alright, now run the scanner portion of the tricorder over Mr. Torr's body here, making sure to pass over all the major organs, heart, kidney, liver, brain...." The EMH patiently instructed.
Kim moved the wand from the top of Selvani’s head down to his chest, then abdomen where she thought the liver, kidneys and symbiont should be.
Selvani watched as she moved the tricorder over him, “Please make sure to catch the symbiont in the scan.” He suggested hoping there would be nothing wrong with it.
Kim paused over the symbiont, and turned to Ernie, “I’m picking up another heartbeat.”
"Perfectly normal." Ernie commented, clasping his hands behind his back. "The symbiote has a separate circulatory system. Since it's location in the host is a place where there is little blood flow, it takes in water from the surrounding interstitial fluid, converting it to oxygen within it's gill-like organs. Allows the symbiote to survive in aqueous environments outside the host as well."
Selvani smiled as he heard the symbiont protest at the over simplification of it all. He almost laughed out loud when he realized a few of them were trying to explain to the rest why the EMH was over simplifying it.
Kim looked down at the handheld diagnostic device. The indicator light at the top had changed from red to green. She turned the tricorder so that Ernie could see it. “What now?” she asked.
"Well, these panels...." Ernie pointed out the antibody and corticohormone panels. They were all out of range, with the tricorder flashing red. "These are unnecessary for your routine physical. They are to be expected in a newly joined subject, and we are not qualified to interpret the results in this....facility...." The EMH said the last word with clear disdain. "However, take a look at these blood chemistry panels. Glucose levels are down, he's not producing any electrolytes, and his respiration rate is down overall. What condition would you associate with these findings?"
Ernie was quizzing her. She hesitantly answered, “That would mean he’s still making the adjustment to being a joined Trill. Also, his system was depleted of electrolytes when the life support functions on his ship broke down.”
Selvani jumped a little, apparently he had passed that comment without getting it. “Wait, is there something I should know about these facilities?” he was new on board and tired, he hoped that was where the paranoia was coming from. He knew the voices in his head were real but they helped very little when half of them aren’t paying attention.
“It’s a small ship,” Kim told the newcomer.
"This is consistent with dehydration followed by rapid re-hydration." Ernie interjected. "Mr. Torr here was most likely dehydrated to the point of near-death and then as soon as he came aboard, began drinking like a fish. Am I correct, Mr Torr?"
Selvani nodded a little, “I was thirsty and I know the symbiont dies if I get too dehydrated.”
"Very well, that being the case, what course of treatment would you recommend, Miss Kim?" The Doctor spoke evenly and patiently, every inch the medical professional that Starfleet engineers designed him to be.
Kim thought hard, but wasn’t sure of her answer, “Rest, hypo-spray of vitamins B-12 and C, and a good meal with some sort of protein?”
"Very good, Miss Kim. Choose salt-heavy foods, Mr. Torr. You need to get the electrolyte balance in your body back to normal. Something high in salt and potassium should do nicely." The hologram said with a smile. "Also, from now on, I advise you increase your caloric intake permanently. You're eating for two now."
Selvani laughed a little at the comment so commonly used on pregnant women. “Thank you Ernie, I will certainly endeavor to make future visits here less business.” He smiled a friendly smile to both of them.
"Have a very nice day, Mr. Torr. You've been an excellent guinea pig for Miss Kim here." The EMH proceeded to interface with the onboard medical database to input Torr's profile.
Selvani walked up right next to Kim where the EMH may not hear (but he never knew, him being artificial). “You did a wonderful job, you will make an awesome doctor in the future.”
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Location: seedy bar
Toq was big, even for a Klingon. People saw him, and turned away like ostriches, as if ignoring him meant that he wouldn’t notice or hurt them. Growing up, the other Klingon children rarely picked fights with him. He had a few good friends, and was usually on the winning team—no matter what the game. He was as strong as he was big, and as long as he kept his mouth shut, no one knew that he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the weapons locker.
Due to his size, people always assumed that he was older. A Klingon boy becomes a man the day he can hold a bat’leth. Toq could swing a bat’leth as long as he was tall, when he was just 8 years old. He was only 17 when he signed on to the Cromwell. It was just before the liberation of Starbase Phoenix. They were desperate for fighters, and he certainly looked like one.
Klag was big too, but Klag was smart. Klag moved Toq to Security with him. Klag taught him things, and watched out for him. Klag was his friend, and Klag said to obey Diana. Diana was nice. She was nice, and she might die soon, because nice people are easy to betray and kill. Klingons should be careful, not nice. Still, he liked Diana. Klag would find the men who hurt her, and Toq would help him.
Toq looked around. He was in an older part of the station, near where the merchant ships docked. The people here were dirtier, more exotic, less…nice. He saw a bar, and went inside.
Toq stepped inside and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.
Klag was throwing small metal javelins at a white, red and green target. The older Klingon was obviously upset. Klag had alternated between being sullen and beating the crap out of gym equipment for the past week. As much as he’d like to kill Warner with his bare hands, he was the only one who stood a chance of contacting Diana’s family, and getting her the medical care she needed. Warner was a worthy opponent, but so close to Sickbay that he’d probably survive somehow. Wouldn’t that be ironic—Diana dies while Warner continues spouting anti-Klingon rhetoric. Warner would have to wait, but one day, one day…Klag's lips curled up over sharp, crooked teeth. [Yes, one day,] he thought to himself, and smiled.
Klag took note of the younger Klingon’s presence, and continued throwing the darts so hard that they pinned the board to the wall behind it. As he was yanking the last dart out, the cracked and beat up board fell to the floor. Klag let out a suppressed growl, and kicked the dartboard across the bar.
“Hey,” the barkeep said. “You’re gonna have ta pay for that.” The Andorian was probably a match for most customers, but this time he took a step closer to the disruptor he kept stashed below the bar.
Klag’s crooked smile looked positively demonic. He was spoiling for a fight, he wanted to pummel someone, he could almost taste the man’s blood.
“Klag?” Toq wondered why his mentor would get into a fight with a stranger, when all week long, the older Klingon had stressed the importance of restraint. Diana’s life depended on it.
The rage Klag had felt just moments before, was passing. “How much for the board then?” he asked.
“50 credits,” the Andorian answered.
“Seems pretty steep for something that falls apart the first time a Klingon warrior throws a dart at it,” Klag said, as he walked towards the bar.
The Andorian’s hand was on his disruptor. He’d dealt with plenty of Klingons in his time, but this one was different. The warrior’s voice practically purred with civility, but his eyes were maniacal.
Klag reached for his wallet, pulled out 220 credits, and pushed them across the counter. “I want to buy the other three as well,” he explained. “Maybe now you can afford equipment worthy of a Klingon warrior. I would also like another bloodwine.” Klag smiled so the Andorian got the full effect of his Klingon charm. It was a smile that said, ‘Give me an excuse, and I’ll happily yank those antenna off, and make you eat them.
Toq watched the Andorian accept payment. Klag went back to destroying dartboards, but he was calmer and more focused than before. “What did you find out?” the older Klingon asked.
Toq had gone to the bar, the way Klag told him to. He had ordered six bloodwine, but only took a sip or two out of each glass. He poured the rest of the bloodwine into a planter behind his booth. That was Klag’s idea too, and Toq did what Klag told him to, even when it didn’t make sense. It was a waste of good bloodwine, to his way of thinking, but Klag had his reasons. Then Toq put his head down on the table. He was careful when he raised his head to take quick looks around the bar. Klag said that, if anyone caught him doing this, he should make snoring noises and change his position.
Toq could hear everything that was going on around him, and no one was foolish enough to disturb a sleeping Klingon warrior. He saw the four men come in. Toq appeared to be another drunken Klingon passed out on the table amidst a bunch of empty glasses, but he was alert and listening.
Their leader told them to split up—Klag wouldn’t like that. Toq had instructions from Klag. When Toq saw the former corporal head for the exit at the back of the bar, he slipped out from the booth he was sitting in, and walked out the front door. He had to go through the Ferengi restaurant next door. The kitchen stank, and there were pots of bubbling goo. The proprietor was naturally upset, but Toq turned on the little man, and growled until he cowered and held his hands over his big ears. Toq was waiting when the one with red hair walked out the bar’s back door.
Eric looked to his right, then to his left. That’s when Toq’s fist hit the former lance corporal’s face so hard, the man’s head spun almost all the way around. Eric could taste blood, and his teeth felt loose. He reached up to touch his chin. It hurt like hell. His jaw was definitely broken. He looked over at Toq, “What the hell?”
Klag told him how to keep them together. Even though they’d nearly killed Diana, they would never face charges in Federation space—maybe not even in the DFA, disturbing the peace and assault and battery would only get them a court martial. Who cared, if they lost a stripe, when the head of a Klingon house lay dying! But, if he or Klag killed even one of them while on Phoenix, they would spend the rest of their lives in a Starfleet work camp.
Klag had told the younger Klingon how to keep all four of the men who attacked Diana together. This one was the leader. Toq could hit him as hard as he wanted, as many times as he could. He felt absolutely no remorse as he beat the man, in fact, after waiting so long to finally do something Klingon—avenge Diana, and beat on someone who truly deserved to have their face rearranged—Toq was having trouble holding back. He remembered that Klag was counting on him, took a deep breath and a step back.
“You would have been better off, sticking together,” Toq taunted the man. “The four of you together might have been a match for a true Klingon warrior. Alone, you are as good as dead.”
Not realizing that he was playing into the Klingon’s hand, Eric held his side, (at least three ribs were broken), and cried out for his friends. “ROD, HARRY get out here!”
Toq kept his back to the door, and pretended that he didn’t know his accomplices where inside. “You honestly don’t expect me to fall for that old trick, do you?” he asked, as he lifted the red-haired man by the front of his clothes, and held him up against the adjoining wall.
“DICK,” he screamed, “I need help NOW!”
Toq pulled back his fist, as if to finish the guy off, when two more emerged from the bar and attacked from behind. Klag had told him what to do. He dropped the leader, and turned on the newcomers. He hit them both hard, several times. Then, he took one of their clumsy punches, and staggered backward. The marines went on the offensive. They hit Toq repeatedly, and while the Klingon swung on them, his blows either missed or were ineffective.
Their leader managed to get to his feet. Eric looked around the corridor. Deliveries were made in back, and employees took their breaks out here. It didn’t look like the cleaning bots had come by for quite some time, so the marine didn’t have to look long for a weapon. He found a heavy wine bottle under some packing materials and other trash. While the other two held Toq in place, Eric returned slapping the bottle against his hand. Thinking about where to hit the 17-year-old Klingon first, he realizes how heavily padded the boy’s uniform is. He motions for Harry and Dick to force the kid to his knees. Eric smiles, and lines up his shot like he’s playing cricket.
Eric hits Toq back and forth across the face and head, until the bottle breaks. Frustrated and tired, the leader looks at the bottle as if it betrayed him by breaking. He grinds his teeth, but cannot suppress a growl as he brings down the jagged glass on Toq’s forehead and crest. Toq pretends to be knocked out, and the other men drop him.
Eric is panting, his side aches like a rake is scraping across his insides. “Where’s Rod?” he wanted to know.
“Dunno,” Dick answered, “he went off by himself like you told us to.”
“Yeah, well, it appears I may have been wrong about that,” Eric said.
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Location: corridor behind bar
“Hey, what are you guys doing back here?”
Eric, Harry and Dick turned to see who was talking. A young man in a DFA security uniform was running towards them. “Aw, shit,” Eric said, as he looked in the other direction. There was no telling where the corridor ended, and he was in no shape to run, even if it was only a few feet away. He lifted his hands over his head, and dropped to his knees. The other men watched their leader give up, and followed his example.
“Wait! You don’t understand,” the guard said, as he came to a stop in front of the three men. “Who do you think let you out? I want to join you.
Eric looked up to see one of his former jailors. “What?”
The guard started to explain, as the other men got to their feet. “Warner only said what we all felt. How do you think I felt taking orders from that Klag, or, that retard, Toq?” He turned and pointed at Toq’s body, “That him?” When Eric nodded in the affirmative, the guard kicked the Klingon hard in the ribs. Toq moaned, but did not open his eyes. Toq lay still, and listened to what was being said.
“Name’s Peter,” the guard said. “Sorry, if I had to be a bit rough with you back there; back on the ship, I mean.”
Eric merely grunted as they started walking toward the entrance, but Peter continued. “There’s a freighter leaving in a few hours. The Nautilus pays well, and is headed back to earth. They’re looking for a few fighters to protect the ship in case of any … trouble.”
Toq heard all of this, but remained still until he could no longer hear or see them. Then, he got up, and headed to a different bar to report to Klag.
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Location: Promenade/Wherever Klag's staying
They weren't there.
Lee had checked the constable's office, the DFA consulate, even the brigs of several DFA ships. They weren't there.
As Lee walked the promenade in tortured confusion, he couldn't get this feeling out of his chest. It was a festering hole that tore at him with every step he took. A resurgence occurred within his soul, a half of him he had prayed that he'd left buried for good. Not since his days playing as his father's attack dog had he felt such rage, such murderous desire to end life.
He thought as he walked the promenade, thought about what he could do. And then he saw them. Four men whom he'd pledged his life to lead, to protect. Then they'd gone and taken the only thing he held dear in his life. They walked with the step of the hunted, people who knew they'd done something wrong, and were doing their best to get away. They were right to think that. They were in more trouble than they could possibly imagine.
Lee's hand rested on the hilt of his combat knife. His stride was purposeful, every step sure and certain. He'd draw his blade, slash that one's throat, gut the one in the middle-left, trip the next one then embed the knife in the last one's throat before bringing his foot down on the fallen one's face. It was all so perfect, so scripted.
And then the big oaf went and jostled him from his thoughts. Lee looked up to see none other than Klag, pushing through the crowd. Lee observed the Klingon for a bit, noticing how he was tagging the four ex-marines' movements, following them, even. Another plan formed in Lee's mind, one that involved a bit more subtlety, and a much more personal confrontation. He stayed at a distance this time, following Klag instead.
---Klag's residence, later that night---
There was a ring of the chime.
Klag wasn’t on duty with the DFA or Defense Forces, so carrying anything more than a dagger and bat’leth would only cause suspicion, and slow him down. He wasn’t expecting company--at least not in the usual sense--so, his hand naturally went to the d’k tang at his side. He motioned for Jax to take up a position behind him. The Tellerite had cleverly concealed a phaser under his robes, and managed to get it through inspection. (Some things were best left unknown when it came to Jax’s smuggling abilities). Then, Klag went to the door. He couldn’t see anyone through the peephole, which only confirmed his suspicions. Lee was out there.
Lee was hiding beside the door, just out of sight. He came in low, taking Klag's legs out. He quickly disarmed the Klingon and pressed a knife to his throat before the doors even shut. Lee held a dominant position, keeping his weight on Klag's chest, hand with a phaser pointed at his face with a knife in the other, pressed against the Klingon's windpipe.
Klag relaxed, and even managed to laugh. “How nice to see you again, Captain,” he said affably. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
"I know what you have in mind, Klag. Why you're following those men." Lee said simply. "Tell me where they're going, and which transit they're using. I'LL be the one to exact vengeance, not YOU."
“Put away your weapon,” Klag instructed.
"I'm not asking again. WHERE ARE THEY??!" Lee roared into Klag's face.
Klag turned to look behind him, “Jax!”
The Tellerite was scared, but determined. The phaser shook as he pointed it, but he was standing only four feet away--who needs to aim? “I think I should tell you that he hardly ever misses at this range,” Klag told Lee.
"Safety's on." Lee pointed out as he grabbed the weapon out of Jax's hand.
Jax looked down at the weapon in his hands. As he did so, it was snatched away from him. He instinctively backed up against the wall, and raised his hands in surrender. That was all the distraction Klag needed to roll out from under Lee’s grip. The marine still had all the firepower, but he’d also tipped his hand. Klag’s haste was to find a cure for the female head of house To’var. The men who attacked her could be dealt with at a later date. Lee didn’t know how to save Diana, so he resorted to what he knew best. In a way, Klag envied him. He’d wanted to kill those men, wanted it desperately. Still, with Lee out of the way, he could marry Diana, and eventually make it to the Klingon high council.
“So, you finally want to do something for Diana,” Klag glared as he practically spat out the words. “Where were you when Warner humiliated her? Where were you on his ‘mandatory fun nights’ that packed the bar beyond capacity? Did you confront Warner--at all? Or, were you too busy worshiping the ground he walks on to defend her? It’s pathetic that you should want to help her now! She loved you, and you failed to protect her. You are unworthy of the task.”
“I have to admit,” Jax stammered, “he has a point there.” One look from Lee and the little man went back to hiding behind a lamp.
"Warner and I have fought together for years. We've both risked our asses for each other, walked the field of battle before you even set FOOT on the Cromwell." Lee said coldly.
"And Diana is the woman I love, the woman who I was HOPING to spend the rest of my life with. The woman who showed me what else there was in life besides KILLING...." He sheathed his blade, but still kept both phasers on target. "Tell me, do you honestly expect me to take sides? I was trying to END the bullshit! If it were not for my intervention, you Klingons would've been branded as the black sheep on the Cromwell! I was trying to keep the PEACE!!"
“Why should I believe you?” Klag said contemptuously. “If she had been mine, this never would have happened.”
"Because I'm not the one trying to marry her for her HOUSE!" Lee's trigger finger twitched slightly. "I'm not the one always talking about her like a used shuttle to be bought at an auction! Between you and me, my motives seem a bit more sincere, don't you agree?"
Holding in his rage over the last few days, trying to perform his duties while Diana was near death was taking it’s toll. “You have ‘sincerely’ contradicted yourself twice since entering this room, Captain,” Klag said.
“Ah, Klag,” Jax’sun said, “I think he got promoted before we left.”
Klag paused, and raised one eye brow. “Is that so? Well, in all fairness, I have to admit that it was long overdue, but it doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t love Diana enough. I’ve fought with many warriors, some as close to me as brothers, but I never would have stood aside and allowed any one of those men to harass or verbally abuse my woman!”
The Klingon was pacing now, and growing louder. “You say Diana taught you that there was more to life than killing, and yet, here you are, ready to kill for her. Diana is serious, funny, strong, weak, smart, skilled and extremely complicated. Why she loves you, and not me, I’ll never know. But, given the chance, I would wipe every memory of you away, and defend her--not only when it’s convenient, but always. The people I call ‘friends’ would treat her better.” Klag put special emphasis on the word, ‘friends.’ “On Quo’nos,” Klag continued, “‘friends’ respect you, and the people you love by extension.”
“You didn’t love her enough,” Klag said finally, “and I mean that ‘sincerely.’”
"You're standing in the same room as a mass murderer, Klag. Do you think it bothers me if you die? If I die?" Lee said matter-of-factly. "I'll find them with or without your help. The only difference is that one option will let you live, and the other option will result in two BODIES left in this room for the Feds to scrape up, so I'm asking you again. Where. Are. They?"
“Ah, Klag,” Jax stammered, “a little help here?”
“Relax, Jax,” Klag said. “If he meant to kill us, he would have done it, by now.” The Klingon went over to the desk and wrote down something. Tearing the top sheet of paper off the pad, he handed it to Lee. “Diana showed me that there was more to being a Klingon than vengeance. Do what you think you have to. I’m going to be by her side, and if there’s any way at all to save her, I’ll find it--NOT YOU!”
"That's just lovely, Klag. I didn't know you had a heart." Lee said sarcastically. "Or is that the one you tore out of some poor Targ's chest so that you could show off in your puerile attempts to impress Diana?"
“There’s nothing silly or childlike about honor,” Klag said. “From the moment she set foot on Cromwell, I wanted to be the kind of warrior she deserved. Fighting is easy, but Diana demanded more. She called on all of us to do what’s right, and to use restraint, so that others might have the opportunity to do what’s right, as well. Those men deserve to die, but is killing them the right thing to do?”
"I've spent my entire adult life committing atrocities in the name of honor and peace, Klag." Lee spat as he turned to leave. "I thought- for a moment- that I'd be able to escape that. But now I see that's not gonna happen. Perhaps it is my destiny...." He shook his head as he crossed the threshold. Lee was now speaking more to himself than he was to Klag or Jax.
“I contacted her house, and they in turn, are contacting her human family,” Klag said. “There’s a ship headed here now. Jax and I will go with them to Chetzia.”
"Tell Diana I love her. Tell her....I'll be joining her soon." Lee said as the doors closed behind him. 'If I don't burn in hell, that is......' He thought to himself.
“Tell her yourself,” Klag said flatly.
“Is he really going to kill them?” Jax asked.
“Oh yeah,” Klag said. “You can bet on it.”
---------------------------------------------------------
Location: Runabout en route to Alpha Quadrant
“No, no, no,” Peter Harden, the newest member of Eric Sean’s ‘Klan,’ held a reefer between the index and middle fingers of his right hand, while attempting to signal ‘No Way’ with his arms. But, in his mellow state, the gesture was exaggerated and looked more like a baseball official making the call, ‘Safe.’ “I’m just saying…,” he stopped mid-sentence, his point already forgotten. “What was the question again?”
“Commodore Anara Lessa, or Stacy?” Dick repeated the question.
“Oh yeah,” Peter stared into space for a moment. “Definitely, the Commodore,” he said, nodding his head and passing the joint on to the next man.
“The bitch has got to be three times older than you,” Harry said.
“No way?” Peter had no idea how old his former boss was. “I’d still do her,” he said, “if only to give her orders for a change.”
The four men laughed, and Harry kept the game going, “The Commodore, or the new Wing Commander?”
“The WCO,” the all said in unison. “She is SWEET!” Harry added.
“But, she doesn’t think you’re her type,” Eric took a deep drag off the marijuana cigarette, and held it.
“One hour; that’s all I ask,” Harry argued. “I’d show her what she’s been missing, and then, she’ll be begging me for it.”
The other men laughed, but Eric choked on the smoke he’d been holding in, and started to cough uncontrollably. As the coughing subsided, Eric felt the world slow down. They’d all gotten jobs aboard a space freighter, then stolen the runabout and changed course, to throw anyone who might be looking for them off the trail. The drug was making him feel good--relaxed and in control, once more.
It was then, that Dick got up from his seat, and started walking toward the back of the small ship. “I gotta go to the head,” he said, as he left the bridge area.
The door opened to reveal Lee, eyes bloodshot, hair a mess, completely unshaven with several weeks' growth on his face. He had a knife in one hand and two phasers holstered on his waist.
“Captain?” was all Dick managed to say.
"Good afternoon." Lee croaked. His voice was scratched, shaking, like someone who'd been in the desert without water. Without warning, the knife was swiftly impaled into the marine's skull. Even the man's battle-hardened reflexes couldn't save him. So deep was Lee in his killers' mental state.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Lee plucked the blade out of the dead man's skull just before he crumpled to the ground. The sight of their former CO, the image of death itself, advancing upon them caused the remaining marines to freeze in a panic.
"WHAT'S THE MATTER?!" Lee roared, his voice now an echo of the burning rage that coursed through his veins. "NOT HAPPY TO SEE YOUR CO?!! NOT EVEN A SALUTE?!!"
The blade sailed through the air, embedding itself into the throat of one of the hapless men. He stumbled backward, showering his comrades with bright cherry-red arterial bleed. He seized as the last vestiges of life poured out of the severed blood vessels in his neck, stumbling into the control console and collapsing at the foot of the pilot's seat, spilling blood all over the floor, forming a sickening pool of ichor.
Lee's phasers were out before the blade even struck it's target. He opened fire on the third man, vaporizing him on the spot and causing the shoddy third-rate phaser to overheat and short out. The dying man's screams could be heard echoing in the tight confines of the modified runabout, it was a symphony of pure anguish coming from the burning vocal chords of a being that just realized he was being burned alive....cell by cell.
Lee tossed the useless weapon aside and advanced upon his final victim.
“Look, Captain,” Eric looked around for anything he could use as a weapon, but the bridge was clean. “I can see you’re upset--and, who could blame you? But, I have some money stashed away, …” He tried to stall, but the former MXO was beyond reason, or compassion.
"You took her from me." Lee told the man as he grabbed the front of his shirt and jammed him into a corner, phaser digging into the man's right cheek. "The only person in this UNIVERSE who could bring me back, bring me happiness, love me even with the blood on my hands, and you KILLED HER!!!" He roared into the hapless marine's face.
Eric’s toes just barely touched the ground. He remembered Diana being held up off the floor, so he could make his punches count. [Little bitch.] And, now he was afraid. “What are you going to do to me?” he asked.
"I'm gonna hurt you." that was all that the tortured mind of MacArthur Lee could come up with. "And when I'm done hurting you, I'll hurt you some more! AND THEN I'M GONNA TEAR YOU APART WITH MY BARE HANDS!! AND THEN I'LL TEAR THOSE PIECES APART UNTIL YOU CAN'T SCREAM ANYMORE!! AND THEN I'M GONNA KILL YOU!!! I'M GONNA KILL YOU WORSE THAN YOU KILLED HER!! I SWEAR TO GOD!! I SWEAR!!" As Lee shouted, he struck the man over and over again, aiming his blows at all the pressure points, then the easy-injury areas: the nose, the kneecaps, ribs, ears, and kidney areas. "I'LL KILL YOU!!! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!! I'LL KILL YOU!!!" Lee's mindless rant went on for some time as he rained abuse down upon the hapless former marine.
It was only after Lee reached near muscle failure that he stopped. He stepped back, phaser still pointed at the fallen man. He soon realized that it was a pointless exercise. The man's face had literally caved in, with some of his cerebral matter oozing out of the shattered remnants of his skull. The rest of him was dripping with blood, clothes completely stained and unrecognizable. Lee had beaten the former marine's torso so hard that several ribs were jutting out through his chest.
Lee tore his gaze away from the dead man, sick to his stomach. He dropped the phaser, stumbled backward from the scene of the killings, and sank to his knees.
He then let out a bloodcurling yell that tore through the eerie silence in the runabout. He didn't stop screaming until all that came out of his throat were a series of shrill whistles and empty gasps.
Those gasps turned to sobs as he bowed his head down to the ground. To an observer (should anyone have had the misfortune of being there to witness it) it was almost as if Lee were prostrating himself before the grisly shrine of gore and death.
He stayed like that for almost an hour, sobbing into the cold, unfeeling deck, hands gripping his hair in a corpselike deathgrip. His whole body shook, trembled with grief and agony.
It was in that pivotal moment that Lee realized the only thing he'd done was open the floodgates for his grief. The vengeance he'd exacted felt as empty as the bunt-out embers of his heart. The loss of Diana tore through him like nothing he'd ever known before. He couldn't go on, couldn't bear it. He seized the nearby phaser and jammed it in his mouth.
He pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. The phaser had run out of battery from being powered on for so long.
In a rage, Lee hurled the second phaser towards the back of the runabout. It shattered as it hit the wall, pieces dropping one by one onto the deck. Lee crumpled onto the floor once again, exhausted. He lay there, sobbing, curled up in the pool blood that was slowly creeping back toward the rear of the runabout....
------------
'Wake up sleeping beauty....' A voice said mockingly in Lee's mind. He stirred, opening his eyes and lifting his head slightly from the clotted pool of blood that he'd been laying in....
There was no one in the runabout.....save for him. He sat up, hands scrambling to find a weapon of some sort.
'No need for that....' The voice said mockingly. 'I'm only here to observe your art, Mr. Lee....'
"Who are you?" Lee croaked, eyes darting around the room.
'My...I do believe you plunged this blade 5 inches into the poor man's skull.' The voice said, drawing Lee's attention to the corpse laying by the bathroom. 'The blade severed several key neural junctions, hit the hypothalamus, among other things.... I would say he died in exactly 32 milliseconds. Most efficient....'
The voice moved on and drew Lee's attention to the scorch mark on the floor. 'Brilliant display of marksmanship! Total incineration with 98% efficiency!' It exclaimed with sick excitement. 'Impact was exactly 3 mm above the heart, almost perfect center of mass! A credit to your training, marine!' The voice laughed, a cruel echo that bounced off the walls of the runabout, hammering Lee like a thousand mocking blows.
Lee sat up and clapped his hands over his ears. "SHUT UP." He barked. "GO. AWAY. SHUT. UP!!!"
'This poor fellow had his carotid artery severed by the knife you threw....' The voice was now describing the third victim. 'Severed several stabilizing muscles and shattered his spinal cartilage. You put some hatred into that throw! And I do believe the pressure from the arterial spray knocked his head over like a PEZ dispenser! Most amusing, Mr. Lee! I never figured you for the humorous type!'
Lee got up, leaning heavily upon the wall for support. "Wh-who are you??!!" He shouted into the empty confines of the runabout.
'And finally, the coup de grace....' The voice said, dripping with eager anticipation. 'Shattered sternum, cranium's been split in half, massive internal bleeding, complete dislocation of the jaw, I think it's laying by the secondary EPS evacuation console, don't forget that when you're cleaning up....'
Lee fought with all his might to avoid looking at the mess that was his fourth victim. "What do you want?" He breathed.
'I want you to realize your full potential....' The voice whispered into his tortured mind. 'I want you to know your purpose in this universe, and that is to take lives!'
"No, I won't....." Lee whimpered. "I- that can't be...."
'Oh but it is...' The voice whispered. Lee felt a cold presence behind him. A void, sucking at the very life within him. 'Every path has taken you here. To this perfect, complete, epiphany. You are a murderer. A brilliant murderer. An artist whose canvas is the universe, whose brush is the sleek killing edge of a knife, whose colors consist of the blood of every sentient being in the galaxy! You sir, are a genius in this calling! Do not deny it!'
"NOOO!" Lee shouted, curling into a ball, sitting in the middle of the floor.
A cold, bony hand gripped his shoulder. He cried out in pain. The hand jerked him backward and Lee found himself staring into the skeletal face of his dead friend, Alex. The warmth had fled his friend's face, now only a death's mask stared back at him.
The gruesome figure opened it's mouth and an incessant beeping issued forth, shattering Lee's body to pieces.....
--------
Lee awoke with a start. The bodies were still there, the runabout was still there, the beeping was still there, but he was still in one piece. What just happened?
Glancing at the blood-spattered nav console, Lee saw that the proximity alarm had been beeping for an hour or so. A ship was approaching on an intercept course-a Federation Marine Fighter.
Lee quickly pulled out the onboard phasers from the weapons locker. Grimacing, he vaporized the bodies of the dead men and set to work scrubbing the deck with an ionic particle remover. The interior of the runabout now looked more or less brand new, with no evidence of the deaths that had taken place here. Lee glanced over under EPS evacuation console, making sure that he picked up the piece of the man's jaw.
Once that was done, he ran to the bathroom and scrubbed his face down. Blood had caked onto his scraggly beard, and his whole face looked like the underside of a Pakled garbage scow. He hastily cleaned it off and returned to the cockpit, making sure to recycle the air inside the runabout before opening a channel with the Fed fighter craft.
----------------------------------------------------------
Location:
Qo’Nos; the Grand Imperial Hall of the House of Dk’tahg, General Vos’Tok Dk’tahg’s war room
General Vos’toK Dk’tahg sat silently behind his massive blackwood desk, watching the double-blast doors of his war room close. After the meter-thick titanium slabs clicked together, he turned around in his chair and brought up the floating holo-screen and virtual keyboard he used earlier.
He leaned forward, and then paused at the muffled – yet unmistakable – sound of Calvin Daylek-Sloan’s voice just outside the walls of his office. “D’eVo wouldn’t be carrying on like that unless he WANTS to be heard” he reasoned, before switching on his private eavesdropping circuit (gladly obliging the young man’s apparent death-wish).
The floating display indicated Calvin was contacting an orbiting ship: the tactical sub-display showing a modified Carlotti style transport with a few modest, modern enhancements. Nothing he couldn’t blow out of the sky from the comfort of his office chair … then again, he knew all-too-well just who he was dealing with. Shooting down an undergunned star hopper – in homeworld airspace, no less – would draw attention from all the wrong parties. They needed to maintain complete secrecy, at least for the next few hours. The operation needed to move as smoothly as possible, and the arrival of Cal and Daius was enough to compromise everything. The group’s grand, glorious plans for the Empire were, for now, a set of blood-secrets. “At least until we can take proper credit, of course” he thought.
Was the ship’s relative weak offensive capability some sort of ploy? “The boy and his Romulan know their way around a sensor circuit …” he thought, strangely proud and concerned all at once. Vos’toK briefly considered cutting the subspace signal between his nephew and his ship, but decided against it – far more interested in what the young man and woman had to say (“and of course, what they DON’T say” the General remembered).
Adjusting the virtual sliders and dials on the communications monitor for median interference levels, General Vos’toK eavesdropped on the conversation. He heard Cal mentioning something about a credit chip to what Vos’toK assumed was his nephew’s commanding officer. He then overheard the barge’s – “Captain?” – scold Calvin (D’eVo) about some tardiness and … =/\= “What the HELL are you doing outside a Klingon general’s office?!” =/\= The General showed no sign of relief or surprise at the man’s – real or exaggerated – ignorance … covert operatives of all sorts have been using civilian and merchant covers for centuries. Vos’toK knew that between the two, there was enough engineering expertise and outright viciousness to hide weaponry aboard a trading barge, delivery shuttle or unmanned probe … and people who were just smart and sneaky enough to hide any trace of those weapons from all but the most thorough security scans.
“Besides” he thought “the remaining fleet will be here soon enough. Even my Warbird can’t defeat all of them.” The time to act was now: no last-minute interference from any intergalactic third-parties – or help from their Romulan allies – and there certainly wouldn’t be any ‘meddling’ from “distant relatives not worthy of glory!”
Bringing his Klingon blood to a boil, General Vos’toK Dk’tahg then heard the unmistakably smooth, whispery Romulan accent of Thedaius Ch’deMara speaking over the eavesdropped channel. =/\= AS my partner said, Ma'am. It seems the family has a few bad how do the humans say? Oh yes ... bad eggs. =/\=
The General almost stormed out of his office to drag the two interlopers in by their scruffy, meddling necks, but regained his composure enough to listen to the rest of the interchange. The fact that ‘Serval’ (“Oh yes, ‘Daius’, I know who you really are” Vos’toK thought darkly) either suspected family involvement or knew it for a fact was more than unsettling.
=/\= If you want us to watch your back you damn well better tell us what's going on first! =/\= was the next response from Calvin’s ship (again, in the same, strangely accented feminine voice he heard before). It appeared that the vessel’s radio controls were being adjusted to block or minimize the enhanced interference from General Vos’toK’s own subspace comm. controls. =/\= We don't have all millennium to sit around waiting for you to solve your daddy issues on an empty promise of a profit! Our ship, our rules. Tough shit … If you're in legit trouble and there's something in it for us, we'll be glad to help. But I'm gonna need some details, no arguments. =/\=
In a matter of seconds, the brilliant, calculating military mind of General Vos’toK Dk’tahg was entirely made up. The movement of troops, land assault vehicles and artillery pieces would commence immediately. The empty House Halls will be surrounded and overtaken. Any additional troops will be used to eradicate any and all potential threats along the way. The [IKV] Honor Blade will drop out of warp and neutralize any remaining ground forces, besides providing a proper welcome for any returning enemy ships. As far as his ‘guests’ were concerned …
The General then called up a hailing signal to his security chief’s station: “An armed detail to my office – NOW.”
The senior Klingon commander sat back in his chair, serenely contemplating his current military strategy, all the while stroking his beard with a far-off look in his eyes. The sound of someone yelling over the comm. channel snapped him out of his reverie, and he bolted forward in his chair. Sliding back the time index and turning up the volume, General Vos’toK heard the man – who must have been D’eVo’s captain – screaming; "D'evo, you'd better come the FRAG in!!"
General Vos’toK Dk’tahg smiled in response, and then reached back out to his own comm. system controls. “Security: belay that last order.” He then called up a general hailing frequency to the merchant ship.
=/\= Civilian vessel SEIKLON AXEL: This is General Vos’tok Dk’tahg of the Grand Imperial House of Dk’tahg. Respond immediately. =/\=
Korav read the message and turned to Selvine. "Our cue to go, Sel?"
"Looks like," replied Selvine with a raised eyebrow. Rising from the arm of her chair, she stood and paced in front of the large main monitor, reading the message again. After all of her whining about the boredom of the past several weeks, she definitely hadn't thought that the excitement would be incited by one of their very own crew members. She wasn't sure it was to her liking.
=/\= Civilian vessel SEIKLON AXEL: This is General Vos'tok Dk'tahg of the Grand Imperial House of Dk'tahg. Respond immediately. =/\=
That was interesting. Korav raised an eyebrow. "Can you verify that, Sel?"
Sliding quickly back into her console, the Ornaran woman tapped in her command sequence followed by a quick set of cyphers, double- and triple-checking the transmission. "Seems accurate, Cap."
"This is Captain Korav. I guess you've been intercepting our transmissions?" Korav responded, patching the Valkyrie into the transmission.
“A necessary precaution in such troubling times, Captain.” General Vos’toK’s gruff response was certainly normal for a Klingon commander in his position, but the words came out very fast, with a twinge in his voice that almost sounded like nervous apprehension.
The General continued without pause; “The temporary absence of the homeworld’s fleet requires the use of, uh, certain disinterested parties.” The fact that a Klingon general was asking for help with what seemed like an internal Klinzhai political matter was unusual enough. General Dk’tahg hoped that his unusual request would be met with the same enthusiasm that any merc would show … for the right price. “I can offer a handsome sum for any assistance you can provide. Respond immediately, Axel.”
"Axel can lend her guns for a price, General." Korav replied. "House To'Var....I don't know what their terms are, but they've got a B'rel-class destroyer up here with us. Between the two of us, we've got all the air support you need."
Reggie sensed that something was wrong. As a child, the mining outpost they lived on was attacked and almost everyone killed. Prior to the massacre, all Federation and allied ships were called away for various, and ultimately fabricated reasons--a traitor in their midst. Now an almost identical circumstances on the Klingon home world? No, Klingons were as paranoid as they were warlike. Only someone very high up could have ordered such an evacuation, but for what purpose, he wondered.
Reggie’s face remained stoic, but he indicated with a simple glance, and nod of his head, that Kira should pull up any and all data on General Vos’toK.
Grateful for the voice-only communication, Vos’toK felt himself snarling at the mention of the House To’Var. He knew they would have no part of his current plans for the Empire … if they knew what those plans were. He decided to engage the enemy House’s warship for his own ‘dirty work’ … and they could keep an eye on the band of honor-less thieves and hired guns his human nephew called his friends.
=/\= Seiklon Axel. You will standby for targeting coordinates. What is your price? =/\=
"Our price is the market fare for standard mercenary work." Korav began, sitting back, relishing the moment. "Add on an imminent danger fee and the Klingon Government's special incentive for freelance doing government work, total comes out to 200 bars, or 10,237 credits if you do the conversion. And right now, all I see on my sensors are civilian ships hightailing it out of here, so I don't see you getting a better offer, General." A blip on the sensors showed a massive explosion on the ground. The fighting had just begun, and the rebels were going all-out with military-grade weaponry.
“We are loyal Klingons,” Reggie answered. “It is an honor to defend our planet, and our way of life. We await your orders, General.”
The General looked down at the floating holo-monitor on his desk. A single red blip was flashing intermittently, silently signaling the start of the attack. The rest of the screen was filled with video images and text-only battle reports, filing in as rapidly as phaser bursts.
Vos’toK Dk’tahg returned to negotiating with his newfound paid friends and comrades. =/\= Seiklon Axel. I will agree to your terms, and an additional 10,000 credits for your discretion and silence in this private Klingon matter. Soon, the Klingon fleet will return in force to deal with these traitors, and your assistance will be unnecessary. Respond immediately, Seiklon Axel. =/\=
General Vos’toK then sent an additional data-stream to the Axel’s subspace frequency. It was a logistical map of Cam’Chee, showing current troop movements and ‘enemy’ advancements, as well as potential and locked targets. To anyone who had even the most basic military knowledge or experience, it was obvious that this was a interactive map of bombing raid targets.
Reggie needed to confer with his crew, and the Axel without the General’s interference. Standing at ease next to the empty captain’s chair, he said, “Your orders will be carried out, Sir. We will either drink blood wine with you in the Hall of Heroes tonight, or celebrate and fight by your side in Sto’Vo’Kor one day. We fight for the defense and glory the Klingon people. If these rebels have gods, let them look to them for mercy, because they’ll find none here.” Reggie raised his right fist to his chest, and bowed slightly, before ending the transmission.
Turning back to Kira, he said, “What did you find out?”
“Just the usual,” the Klingon woman answered. “Dates of service, promotions, medals--if the General’s got any secrets, House D’k tang has kept them well.”
“This isn’t right,” Reggie shook his head and mumbled. Arms crossed in front of him, he turned to his brother, “Who do we know in the military?”
“Everyone we know was called away to fight,” Max told the acting head of House To’var. “We do have a friend in the Chancellor’s office, though.”
Reggie groaned inwardly. The Chancellor’s elderly secretary and personal assistant, was a long-time friend of Diana’s. Grim’ble had deep ridges in his crest, long white hair and any number of scars from injuries too numerous to mention. He alternately blamed, or praised, Diana for these signs of ‘premature’ aging, depending on the circumstances. When the stubborn child refused to leave until she’d spoken to the Chancellor, or the time she defended her claim to House To’var, or the many times she disturbed him for no other reason than she wanted to discuss Klingon Literature, Klingon History, Klingon Opera or play Klingon Chess. Grim’ble’s family had died honorable deaths, and he felt no need to start another. The impertinent child adopted him without his permission. She baited him into answering questions. She was respectful, and cared about him. How can you hate someone like that? She wore him down, and he loved her like his own daughter.
“Send a copy of that last conversation with the General to Grim’ble,” Reggie directed.
“Encode, and use family frequency delta, then bounce it off house communications satellite rather than sending direct.”
“Aye, aye,” Max replied, already scrambling the message before relaying it to the last friend they had still on Quo’nos.
--------------------------------------------------------
Location: Klingon Chancellor’s Office, Quo’nos
Members of the High Council had, of course, been warned by reliable sources that House D’k tang might come under attack by their combined enemies. General Vos’tok was not only aware that his house had enemies; he had wisely placed spies in positions of trust within those houses. He and his house were prepared.
Grim’ble had served this Chancellor for many years. He was assistant, advisor, valet, and friend. He had been present when several members of the General Council informed the Chancellor of the building tension and inevitable conflict between House D’k tang and a number of smaller houses with ancient grudges. There would also be a number of adventurers, ass kissers and power brokers--both involved, and on the sidelines. Blood, wealth and power would spill into the streets, if a major house were to fall. So, while the government was supposed to remain neutral, the Chancellor was naturally concerned.
“It is merely a dispute between houses,” they assured him.
“The Council must not be seen to take sides, and besides,” the older one grinned maliciously, “it will be over within minutes.”
[That was then, and this is now], Grim’ble thought as he checked one last time to make sure he’d packed everything. The Chancellor’s bodyguards were, even now, trying to persuade their leader to teleport to a more secure location before that was no longer an option. Another explosion, this one much closer to the Capital building, caused the walls to shake, and plaster dust to rain down. Grim’ble grabbed hold of the edge of his desk to steady himself.
The elderly Klingon was ready to go, but a blue light caught his attention. They’d lost all communications a few minutes ago, and that was the reason for taking the precaution of moving the Chancellor to a fortified location. Grim’ble checked the entry for time and sender. It was a private line—House To’var, and received just before the battle began. [Diana?], he sighed, [Kahless bless her, that girl had always been trouble]. He decided that there was time to review the message, and pressed ‘Play.’
-----------------------------------------------------------
CONFIDENTIAL STATUS REPORT: EYES ONLY CLEARANCE: CLASSIFIED: PRIORITY
------------------------------------------------------------
TO: Admiral Leonard C. Daylek; acting captain of the U.S.S. Katana, 00-00-01-A
FROM: Commander SaVok, U.S.S. Orwell, 00-00-02-B
SUBJECT: General Vos’tok DuVet Dk’tahg – re; Klingon civil war? Status report …
General Ves’tai G’rok Du’Vet Dk’tahg, son of X’akk, House of Dk’tahg, is one of the most brilliant military minds to ever serve the House, or the Empire itself. Although he began his service in the Imperial Navy as a lowly torpedo gunner, he advanced through the ranks quickly, commanding his own Bird-of-Prey by the time he was 25 years old.
During his initial, 5-year contract, Captain Vos’toK Dk’tahg successfully battled in numerous border skirmishes, mostly with the Cardassian Union and the Ferengi Trade Alliance. These battles were marked by a number of brilliant strategies, most notably the use of ‘baiting’ an opponent with long-range fire, then using the element of surprise – a combination of advanced, mid-late 24th century Klingon cloaking technology and rapid impulse maneuvers –to launch devastating close-range attacks on his enemies with multiple warships.
During his second, 5-year tour-of-duty – this time at the advanced rank of Commander – he was responsible for the oversight of several Klingon colonies, most notably the New Qo’Nos city-states on Situ IV. In this dual position as acting Admiral for the outlying Imperial fleet, AND as a Provisional Governor of several far-flung star systems, he handled various local insurrections during his tenure. Most of these were resolved with a unique, modern mixture of almost-Federation-level diplomacy, Romulan strategy, and – when all else failed – swift, blinding, Klingon justice.
Although many of his contemporaries viewed Cmdr. Dk’tahg as weak and ineffectual - at the very least - many others were suspicious of his apparent tolerance of Imperial subjects and their divergent cultures. In all fairness, while Vos’toK Dk’tahg allowed colonial serfs in his jurisdiction previously unheard-of freedoms and autonomy, he did not tolerate any open defiance to his, and by extension the Klingon Empire’s, rule. And this doesn’t include the open assaults and assassinations – with government equipment and implicit sanction – of his most vocal detractors (in true Klingon management style).
As far as his methods of planetary leadership are concerned, the crushing slaughter on Situ IV is the most famous example. This incident amounted to cultural genocide for the fledging colonial society. By his own admission, witnessing the holocaust of the ‘new Klingon’ colony - caused by his own actions - is probably one of the primary motivations to protect the Empire at any cost. “I saw the sad faces of the refugees, watching their cities burn in exchange for their defiance. I resolved that day to never again rob any people of their culture – it was far better to murder them all: at least they could die fighting, with some sense of honor. The murder of a people’s way of life was like killing them again and again: an honorless crime that no true Klingon warrior should ever inflict on another – even our most hated enemies.”
Some background information on this conflict may be necessary here …
The rapid advancement of the ‘new Klingon’ colony was a source of pride for the Empire, but a troubling development for Starfleet Intelligence, the Tal Sh’iar, and any other galactic intelligence service who possessed even the slightest scrap of intel about the secret Klingon project. The planet was designed to be a ‘backup’ homeworld, in case Qo’Nos underwent some sort of cataclysmic natural disaster or total ruin at the hands of its enemies. While the long-term goals of the project were a ‘seeding’ of remote sections of the galaxy (similar sites were either abandoned early on, or never ‘officially developed’ by the Klingon state, or anyone else). The settlement on Situ IV soon developed into a full fledged, almost completely independent society with it’s own culture and planetary identity. The planet’s distant and difficult location, along with early investment by the Empire in infrastructure and defense, made it a thorn in the Empire’s side, increasingly and often, during it’s roughly 100 years of advancement and development.
After a protracted – and escalating – series of official protests and other demonstrations by the planet’s adopted population, an isolated military attack on one of the Empire’s military outposts finally forced the Klingons to take decisive action. Although his orders were only to quell the local rebellion and execute it’s leaders, Vos’toK took the opportunity to functionally destroy the society, turning it’s denizens (and their ancestors) into yet another refugee race.
After officially retiring from the Imperial Navy (after 10 years of service), at the rank of Admiral, he immediately joined the House service, this time at the rank of General, or Ves’tai. Although initially responsible for coordinating Dk’tahg ground forces, both in Imperial and private House matters, for the past few decades General Dk’tahg has been increasingly tasked with less-flattering political, economic, diplomatic and administrative duties.
What was has been largely unknown for some time – at least to the proper authorities on Qo’Nos - is that the Councilman / General was funneling resources, equipment and personnel into massive covert planet-building missions and weapons research on his own. The use of massive private armies by private Klingon Houses, common in the Empire ever since the late 23rd century’s Reformation, have led to certain abuses of the system, but the General managed to build one of the most amazing pieces of technology and a professional army of very dedicated soldiers.
Although a confirmed atheist, the General has formed a loose alliance with a fringe cult of orthodox Klingon believers, the Eternal Sons of Kahless (ESK). General Dk’tahg has also given behind-the-scenes support to a rogue Klingon House; the House of Rag’naRok. The Rag’naRok clan is largely responsible for the Klingon Liberation Front (KLF), along with a loose assortment of minor Houses, black marketers, mercenary firms and other parties with a vested interest in the total disintegration of the current Klingon political system. Both the Sons of Kahless and the KLF are suspected of terrorist activities on several Klingon worlds and other properties. Even more alarming, there have been a number of verified reports of activity by both groups in non-Klingon space in the past few months.
It appears that the General and his forces have finally launched a military strike on Qo’Nos soil, although the endgame is left to unfounded theories and conspiracy plots. However, the combination of the Rag’naRok’ / KLF public designs on ‘reclaiming’ non-Klingon territories, and the ESK’s racist ideology, may prove too powerful for even General Vos’toK Dk’tahg to effectively control.
While this matter may be viewed as an internal House conflict by the Federation’s standards, it could very well turn into an intergalactic incident, with little or no outside provocation. Therefore, it may be necessary for a concerned third-party to intervene, with or without Starfleet knowledge or permission.
DELETE MESSAGE IMMEDIATELY * * END * DELETE MESSAGE IMMEDIATELY *END*
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Location: Cam'Chee Regional Spaceport Outskirts
Timeline: Between the the Taxi meeting and the Departure
Roquel struggled to keep up with the taller woman's pace. How'd she know her way around the city so well? "Dai.....Dai" wait up!
Stoping so that the smaller woman could catch up she responded apologized. "Sorry we just need to get to the spaceport as fast as we can."
"I know, sorry. I keep tripping on this damn cloak, it's too long. And, I haven't eaten much lately that's agreed with me in that detention center. Klingon food...yech!
Daius waved her finger accusingly, "You my dear are spoiled."
No denying it. Roquel thought. "True" Being the daughter of Maxim Atrell, Risa's premier Hospitalities Magnate had it's advantages. Almost a shame that was over, but she and daddy didn't quite see eye to eye anymore.
"As you know some of us grew up with out rich daddys! Yes my family is wealthy BUT the government sent them to a backwater world with nothing and the family decided that their position with in the Empire ment more than blood."
Roqi could see and hear the distaste in Daius' voice and had seen it a few times when they bumped into Romulian officers. She stumbled over how to respond. Besides this was distracting from their purpose. Awkward seconds passed until Daius turned and continued onward.
Taking out a homemade portable scan she'd aquired fro De'Vo the woman set it on the homing setting to locate specific lifesigns in hopes of locating De'Vo's friend. "Come on Mama needs a new spanner."
Daius pulled up abruptly as she saw the scanner showing a set of Klingon life signs "Ok whose are those?" Daius mumbled as she looked around, the scans indicated a nearby salvage lot held someone De'Vo had thought important enough to track. She had a feeling and quickly grabbed Roqi and dragged her off to an out building. "Now if you value your neck you'll do as I tell you. Stay here I need to see who we are dealing with. I mean it, Roqi. STAY PUT!"
"What?....You're gonna leave me here?" Roquel asked worriedly.
"Will you stop worrying. I'll bean you aboard when I get there. I need to see who's out there first ok?"
Roquel watched as Daius strode purposefully away. Looking around she picked the darkest corner of the building and walked to it. Ducking down behind a barrel, she pulled the cloak fully around her so that it's dark color would completely hide her light skin. Nothing to do, but wait.
----------
Once the transporter effect subsided, Roquel instantly knew she was in a safer place. She had been on the floor, in a fetal position, wrapped in her borrowed cloak while hiding in the small outbuilding. Now, she pulled the hood back and smiled at her surroundings. She was back aboard her ship. Seeing Daius looking down at her, she felt embarrassed by her appearance. She stood and shrugged off the feeling and instantly assumed an heir of ownership over her shuttle. “I never thought I would actually see her again.” She said both to herself and Thedaius. Patting the walls, she said, “It'll be o.k. now, Bee, mama's home.” Turning to Daius her attitude shifted to one a little more accusatory. 'What took you so long?'
Daius didn't look up she just felt her hands grip the console as she spoke, her voice beyond calm, "Don't start with me Ms. Atrell. I just saved your neck for the umpteenth time. I don't care how long you think I took … or how long the cloak is. Just get this bucket of bolts flying and let’s get out of here. I need to get a fix on D'eVo so we can beam him up and get the hell out of here."
Roquel's eyebrows rose in shock. “ ... Okaaay. Well, we need to get a move on; I don't want to hang around here much longer.” She took on an all business attitude as she turned back to the cockpit area. “Computer: status report.” “N'vok cha qo'vek” The computer returned in a husky male voice. “Oh no they didn't! Damn!” She seethed; slamming the back of the seat for emphasis. 'They've reprogrammed her language base to Klingon!”
Roquel stood thinking for a moment, and then smiled as she recalled her planning of a month ago. “Wait, it responded to me, when I asked for the report” she said to Thedaius. “Computer; initiate Code J-7 restore.” Suddenly all the systems shut down simultaneously.
“What did you do?” Thedaius asked, moving forward to look over her shoulder; a bit of concern crossing her face. “Wait for it.” Roquel responded. The lights came back up. After a few tense seconds the female voice of the Bee's computer responded. “Emergency back-up retrieval initialized. Working ...”
“Yes!” Roqi pumped her arm in success. “Computer: status report.” “Propulsion systems, functional at 80%. Computer system, functional ... 12 percent of data has been accessed and removed. Tactical systems are offline. Sensors are at 20% capability. Navigation is functional, but currently offline due to sensor requirements. All other systems are at 100% capability.”
"How long were you here? They seem to have been busy if they reprogrammed the voice."
'Well they've had it a month.' Roquel said now both a little deflated and pissed at the Klingons handiwork. 'I guess I couldn't expect to get her back in pristine condition. Would've been nice though … Can you help me get those sensors up, I'd hate to fly into an oncoming ship or, HELL be able to find your ship, when we get out there.'
"If you haven't changed anything it shouldn't take long."
“Alright then, let’s get to work.”
Having previously helped Roquel get her ship back up and running almost a year and a half ago, following one of Roquel's oft frequent run-ins with Cardassian patrols, the two had set into an easy working rhythm. Isolinear chips were pulled, inspected, and replaced; although, not always in the same place. The two made checks numerous times to see if they were getting any closer. Thedaius’ engineering skills twice saved Roqi from making a critical mistake, until finally they got an answer they could live with. “Sensors are at 60%. Navigational system is functional at 52% due to sensor deficiency, use extreme caution.”
“Good enough.” Roqi pulled herself up from the floor, closing the panel she had been working in. “Let's get this thing out of here.”
Roquel wiped some of the components that had been tossed into the pilot’s seat onto the deck. Thedaius moved into the adjacent seat. She initiated startup sequence. Sounds of alarm came from outside the ship as Klingon guards realized that an unofficial launch was about to take place.
"We've got Company!"
“I see them! I see them!” A small Klingon patrol ship descended off the port side. Judging by the bulky appearance the other ship was obviously not designed with maneuverability in high regard. “That's one thing in my favor” Roquel thought. As the shuttle rose off the ground it was rocked by disruptor fire from the craft. 'Well ... at least the shields work properly!” Now where is that boyfriend of yours?"
Daius tapped the screen and located D'eVo, "He's....."
As if in response, the distinct voice of D’eVo Dk’tahg could be heard over the shuttle’s radio. “This is D’eVo. I need a pickup from the impound lot about two blocks west of your location. And make it snappy!” he ordered, while the faint clamor of a loud, violent commotion could be heard in the background.
“Okay, that was timely.” I'm heading that way now. Roquel worked the controls to avoid the fire from the patrol ship weaving leaving left, then right, then turning a wide arc and flying back over the top of the attacking vessel. "Ok, we're out of the line of fire. Nothing like that contraption is going to corner me for long. I could fly circles around it in my sleep! Daius prepare to beam him aboard, when I drop shields."
"On it: Ready when you are."
As the first few warriors started streaming through the rough hole in the blast doors, D’eVo gripped his last photon grenade in one hand; ready for an all-or-nothing last stand. As he felt the familiar tingle of a low-powered transporter lock, D’eVo pressed down on the center ‘ignite’ button and let the ball-shaped explosive drop, and watched as it rolled towards his oncoming attackers. The last thing he saw, planetside, was the rebel troops and various street-thugs reeling back from the fully-armed and ready atomic device, before the whole scene faded from view …
The first thing he saw again, through the transporter fog, was the lovely, slightly worried face of Thedaius Che'DeMara. As soon as he was 'fully himself' again, he ran to her - as she herself was unbuckling and getting out of her seat to do the same - and embraced her fully, lifting her off the floor in a sweeping bear hug. In spite of it everything, it was all he wanted to do at the moment - the only place he wanted to be ... was in her arms. “It’s over, Arr’hea … General Vos’toK Dk’tahg is dead.” He broke the news quietly and softly, almost as if the General was an adored, passed relative, instead of the backstabbing traitorous, scum he spent his final years becoming.
Roqi turned to see the unlikely couple embrace. “Hang on you two. Someone wanna tell me what ship I'm looking for now? According to these sensor readings (‘for what they're worth’) there's plenty of ‘em up there. Oh ... Daius, send them a message not to shoot at us. At least that'll be one I don't have to worry about ... won't it?” A look of concern crossed her face, but then the need for focus brought her back to the task of piloting the ship that was now weaving its way to through the upper atmosphere. “Oh crap, buckle up you two this could be a bumpy ride.”
She held Calvin in her arms her hands tangled in his hair, "You! Never scare me again! OK damn it! Don't go getting yourself killed without me. Did you ... give that filth what he deserved?" She kissed him and then let go as the ship shook. She got to her seat and buckled in as did Calvin. She shot him a look she wanted to be the one to kill the General. But she understood. Quickly her hands danced across the console as she readied a link to the Axel.
"Axel this Is Thedaius Cha'deMara. We are in a small shuttle craft of Risian registry. I have D'eVo with me and a friend who helped us get a lift off planet. I have news of the General ... Repeat. This is Thedaius Cha'deMara ... do you read?" She waited looking over at Calvin hoping the Axel was getting the message ...
After only a few seconds of waiting for a reply, Calvin (D’eVo) growled “Fuck this …” under his breath, before announcing: “Hey, uh, Roquel … could you boost a signal from my station? I SHOULD be able to hail them from here, if you can’t cut through the interference …”
Without waiting for a reply, D’eVo picked up the data-comm. unit in the backpack at his feet. After the device powered on and unfolded itself in his lap, he selected the communications subroutine he plotted out earlier. After the comm. link was established – indicated by a short series of beeps from the device in his lap – he opened the channel.
After clearing his throat, and turning the gain all the way up, he announced: “Attention: All military and civilian vessels, loyal Klingons, and any allies of the Klinzhai people; this D'eVo, son of Zox, House of Dk'tahg. General Vos'toK Dk'tahg is dead, killed by my own hand ('Sorry, Daius' he thought '...ah well, if anybody would understand, it'd be her...') for crimes against the Empire and to restore honor to the House ... He perished like a groveling, sniveling pe'tahQ, and is now rotting in Gre'thor (allowing himself a breif smile at the last-second insult to the KLF, and 'ice-breaker' for the rest of his Klingon brothers and sisters; 'Man, the locals will LOVE that.' he thought).” He paused to shoot Daius a mischievous grin …
After a few seconds of nervous silence - making sure his Klingon brethren heard the message first - he continued. This time, he opted to type in something on the virtual keyboard, selected ALL for the language base, and sent the message. While D’eVo watched the reception stats and other data on the tiny monitor, he hoped that the ancient, long-neglected, subspace satellites were capable of sending the voice AND data messages without crashing (“...digitally OR literally!” he thought). The data-stream being received, translated and displayed on the receiving ships showed a simple schematic of the Honor Blade, with a single line of firing coordinates, highlighted over the digital blueprints. The emphasized area looked like a simple series of interlinked power conduits; routed to unessential secondary and backup systems only. Calvin (D'eVo) hoped that any of the ship commanders listening were military-minded enough to realize what the seemingly-innocuous engineering cluster for what it really was: a crucial Achilles heel to the massive, seemingly indestructible, warship.
While they all waited together, in the desperate silence, D’eVo broke the tension with a bit of well-timed gallows humor; “Well, that will either save the day OR doom us all. I love it when a mission comes together!”
-------------
"A freighter?....A friggin freighter!! Roquel shouted at her passengers. "There is a ship the size of a small moon out here and we are flying towards a freighter for protection? It couldn't be a fully armed battleship...no! Or even something with a cloaking device...no! We'll be lucky to get out of here alive. I'm almost safer in here!"
Roquel reigned herself in. Focus...focus...she thought. And ignore that last statement. First off stay out of range of that behemoth. Second, keep the flying erratic. Third make contact. "This is the personal shuttlecraft Bee...can you read me?" She said after opening a comm channel. "...I repeat this is the personal shuttlecraft Bee...Axel can you hear me? I need you to open your shuttlebay doors. I am on approach and...Oh hell! Debris!"
The Risan pilot shoved the control stick forward sending the shuttle into a dive below a mass of starship hull that careened across space before her. Calvin and Daius were thrown to the floor. Clutching the controls Roquel watched in horror as the lifeless hulk tumbled slowly and silently above her blocking out her view of her intended destination, the massive Klingon vessel, and even QoNos' sun. Once it had passed she reoriented on the Seiklon Axel. "What in hell's name is going on up here? I thought it was bad enough down there! Guys, I think in all the comotion you left out a few details."
Calvin smirked at her discomfort but said nothing directed towards her. Instead he reached over and hit the button to open the comm channel again. This time getting a confirmation beep to indicate that contact was established."
[Calvin's message to Axel]
"O.K. I got that. I see the bay doors opening now. "I'm going for it." The doors to the shuttle/ cargo bay aboard the Axel slid open enough for a small vessel to enter. As she set her approach, Roquel slid underneath the port attitude thruster of the Axel and turned to put her ship in line with the slitted opening allowed for her entrance. "What? Are they afraid someone else was gonna come in? Oh well, plenty of room." She fired her own thrusters and the shuttle rose into the bay of the ship. A tractor beam came out of somewhere she could not see and pulled the ship over into a berthing position. The doors below began to close.
The ship took only a moment to settle comfortably in the nook. Roquel keyed a command on the control panel and the rear door began to lower, its surface becoming a ramp to walk down and exit the craft. "Calvin, you'd better get going. We'll shut down systems here. Dai...it sounds like we're not needed. Can you direct me towards a shower once we're done here? Might as well get the smell of Klingons off of me before I meet your captain....or die....whichever comes first."
Calvin grabbed up his guns and walked down the ramp tossing a loving glance back at Daius. He looked for all the world like he was ready to go shoot someone again. 'Does this guy ever stop?' Roquel wondered.
Roquel hit a couple of touch sensors on the side of her pilots seat and a secret compartment popped open abover her. She reached up and pulled down her Risian Type 7 phaser. You never know, she thought. Could come in handy. You never know what brand of people you're gonna meet on a non-aligned vessel like this. Cutthroats and thieves perhaps. She thought entertaining her worst fears.
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Location: Axel Bridge
If Korav were a dog, he would have salivated at that moment. Twenty thousand to play death from above, it was almost too good to be true.
Selvine glanced at his self-satisfied smirk with trepidation. "Dare I ask?" she prodded sarcastically.
"Fortune smiles on the Ferengi-like." Korav grinned, doing the math about how much of the money would be left over after the repairs that were to come. All scenarios short of buying a new ship were extremely tantalizing.
"I dunno," she countered warily, glancing around the bridge. Lightning crackled uneasily between her fingers as she paced. "It seems a little too easy."
It was at that moment that the ship was shaken by an energy blast. "What was that?" He said, looking to Selvine at tactical.
Jumping back to her station, Selvine barked, "We're under attack!"
Korav punched the intercom. =/\= All hands... =/\= He announced. =/\= If you haven't noticed already, we're getting shot at. BATTLESTATIONS!! =/\=
Kim alerted Ernie, and started putting things away in drawers, so they wouldn’t get broken. [Here we go again,] she thought.
It was then that the latest addition to the crew stepped onto the bridge. The helmsman rushed over to the helm console and lurched the ship forward. “Sorry I took so long, I figured by the shaking that you could use a bit of help.” "Nice to see you showed up to work, Mr. Torr. Just....remember this isn't a fighter craft." Korav said, gripping the arms of his chair somewhat nervously.
Selvani smiled and ran his hands across the panel before him. It had been a while since he had flown something this big, and with Trill freighters doing anything like what he was about to do would be cause for dismissal. “Don’t worry Captain I’ll keep her in one piece or we’ll die trying.” He smirked at his panel appreciating his own joke as he continued to put her through her paces.
"Keep us out of the atmosphere, Torr." Korav said, eyeing the viewscreen. "I'm sure the rebs have some ground-based anti-air somewhere down there."
Selvani nodded and his fingers began flying across the surface of the console swinging the ship to avoid the bulk of the fire and deflect what he couldn’t from the stronger portions of the Axel’s shielding. He began to sweat knowing there was only so long he could dodge like this before something happened. He just sincerely hoped he could keep the ship doing her paces just that long.
"Selvine, can you get a fix on exactly where that fire's coming from?" Korav asked the XO.
"Rebel ships! A whole fleet of them! Can you evade, Selvani?!" she replied.
“Already on it Selvine,” he called back to the XO, “I’ll do you one better, I’ll get you a clear shot at the left flank as I swing past.” He began rotating the ship on all axis’ keeping her just within the green of her inertial dampeners. He was determined that if escaping Trill in a shuttle didn’t kill him, he sure as hell wasn’t going to die in some property war he had no stock in.
Korav always wondered why tactical and ops were separate stations onboard a ship, but Selvine seemed to be working well together with the new helmsman. Times like these Korav *almost* missed Nick Weaver. There was a certain art to the man's flying that this new pilot lacked, but the new guy was doing alright, even showing some stuff of his own.
---------Meanwhile, back on the Valkyre--------
“Reggie,” Kira looked worried. “We’ve lost communication with the Axel, in fact, we’ve lost all communications.”
“That’s not possible,” the XO insisted. “Check for commercial and military traffic.”
Kira looked down at the console in front of her, and tried several different combinations of frequencies and passwords, but it was a total communications blackout. All transmissions both public and private were being jammed from the surface. [But, that means…] “Reggie!”
“What is it?” he asked.
“We’ve been betrayed,” Kira told him. “Vos’tok is doing this. He’s trying to take over the government.”
Reggie looked out the view screen. The Axel was already being shot at, but by who? He turned back to Kira, “Were you able to send that message to Grim’ble?”
The female warrior looked down at the computer display. The message showed up under items ‘Sent,’ but no confirmation or delivery specified. “I believe so, but I can’t be certain,” she answered.
“Hold your fire. Evasive action only, at this point,” Reggie ordered. “The bad guys will tip their hand soon enough, and I’d rather take a hit, than shoot down one of our own ships.”
Klingons and humans alike exchanged looks at this most conservative approach to battle, but once Kira said, “Aye, aye, Sir,” a chorus of voices joined in agreement.
------------------------------------------------------------
Location: System's edge; IKV Honor Blade
Timeline: The arrival of the Honor Blade in the Qo’Nos system
The Honor Blade dropped out of warp directly into the homeworld’s orbit.
The massive vessel actually cast its own shadow; eclipsing city-states, rural farming communes and large sections of the raw, Klingon wilderness. Countless millions looked skyward that pleasant summer afternoon: Whether they ran for cover, snapped into service, or spat defiance at the apocalyptic vision floating in the sky… all would remember that moment to their final days.
Without the planetary defense grid, or orbiting ships to defend the homeworld, Qo’Nos lay open before the Honor Blade; raw and delectable like a rare breed of ga’gh. Thanks to the actions of one Vos’toK Dk’tahg (and his tech. strike teams) the ship’s boasted ability to ‘read’ and disable a planet’s automated defenses from above … would not need to be tested today. The massive warbird – hovering just outside of Qo’Nos’ slightly stronger gravity well - could, theoretically, destroy the entire planet all by itself. All while it was safely in orbit over the notoriously bloody skies of Qo’Nos. What galactic fleet could possibly stand against that?!
Even considering the cosmetic hull damage, and a less-than perfect shield, the majestic battleship was in superior shape to handle any resistance from the planet below. It had already eliminated over forty of the Empire’s finest battleship’s with minimal risk to ship or crew. The ship was capable of burning entire cities off the globe, much less handling a handful of Birds-of-Prey. Its many armaments could target different continents across the harsh planet at once. It would even the playing field in a way that no amount of diplomacy, in-House squabbling or endless council debate ever could.
The time was at hand … those who would stand in the future must now bow to the KLF’s superiority. Those that wouldn’t, well they would die and their Houses would fall … forgotten and lost to history’s unwritten, unremembered past.
Once the homeworld was properly ‘united’; the ship would carve a long, bloody, trail through the Galaxy. With the opening of the Delta quadrant, the Empire could once again rule the Galaxy, from two separate, supremely defensive, fronts.
The ship had already bested the Empire’s finest, on two separate occasions … anything else was sure to be just as easy.
--------
"Bombing orders coming in, Captain," Selvine reported sharply. "Targeting rebel bases on the ground. Go ahead?"
"Rebel bases?" Korav looked at the sensor monitor. Didn't seem right, too much firepower over too wide an area. Looked more like a military target than a surgical attack on a small infantry position. "Hang on, lemmme check with the old man. Keep some fire on those ships and anti-orbital satellites in the meantime." Korav ordered.
"Check..?" she sputtered. What the hell was he wasting time for? Their orders had come in quite clearly with the general's approval stamped on them. "Hurry it the fuck up Korav, 'cause in case you haven't noticed we're being fucking SHOT AT!!!" she snapped, firing off a few rounds and being rewarded with a satisfying explosion.
Korav typed General Vos'Tok's command frequency into his command chair comm unit, calling the General on audio only. "General Dk'tahg, this is the Axel, Korav here, do you read?"
=/\= “This is Vos’tok Dk’tahg, leader of the Klingon defense forces.” After uttering this bald-faced lie (hoping that he did so convincingly enough to fool the “gullible” freighter captain – and hoping against hope that the merchant ship wasn’t carrying any telepaths); “What do you want?!” he barked; getting caught in yet another of his – exponentially multiplying – lies was the least of his worries right now.
The General conferred with the Axel while he watched the battle reports streaming in from all over the city on his data monitors. The situation was already turning grim: A number of the shock troops were discovered en-route, and many of these were currently pinned down by a combination of civilian and official government forces. “One of the most brilliant military strategies of the age is falling apart due to the actions of fools and blind, cursed luck!” he sulked, watching his well-laid plans falling apart in front of his very eyes.
"Tell me if I'm seeing this right, your troops want us to bomb grid coordinates niner alpha by thirty-eight tango, and you want us to take out the whole grid?" Korav was sure that it was an error of some sort. That was almost an entire city block that was about to be leveled. A bombing path that large could only mean that the target was a structure or weapons depot of some sort. Scans of the area showed that it was clearly a military target, no civilians around.
The General responded so quickly, he almost cut Korav off, mid sentence: “Yes, yes, those are the correct coordinates – the rebel forces have acquired a large military installation on-world … is your ‘ship’ capable of doing the job?!” he inquired, emphasizing the word “ship” with more than a twinge of sarcastic disgust.
General Vos’toK needed the area vaporized as quickly as possible, and the Captain’s pointless questions were only giving his enemies time to mount a counterattack. In his mind, he saw Imperial pilots and their pit-crews loading into their star-fighters, ready to blast out of their concealed hangar under the city street and bring the fight to his forces’ – already limited – orbital air support. “I will remind you that you and your crew were paid to do a job.” He threatened, although he was well aware of just how limited his options were. What’s left of the rebel fleet in the Situ system was currently en-route, but many had been lost or seriously damaged in battle. The rest were engaged in a running firefight with the Imperial Government’s own, somewhat superior, forces. He had entrusted temporary control of his Warbird to a loose cannon, and his Starfleet-friendly Terran nephew and his (Star-Empire friendly) Romulan girlfriend were loose in the city, doing gods know what.
"Of course Axel has the firepower to do it!" Korav rolled his eyes. "One torpedo and a few passes with our railguns will do it, but what about collateral damage?"
“I assure you, dear ‘Captain’, there are no innocents in that location. Is there anything else I can assist you with, please? I’m a very busy man, but I’m sure I have time to chat with the commander of a third-rate cargo scow.” =/\= After the string of insults, courtesy, and insulting courtesy, the General said nothing more, but left the comm. channel, open – monitoring the troubling situation over the skies, along with the – equally troubling – one on the ground …
Korav closed the channel with a growl. “I swear, if he wasn’t paying us….”
"Asshole," Selvine agreed vehemently. Irritated though she'd been at the delay, she was starting to share a twinge of Korav's doubt herself. She shot him a mildly apologetic look, lightning crackling irritatedly between her fingers. "You trust that shit....?" she led.
“Open fire on the bases, but take it easy on the torpedoes.” The captain sat back in his chair. “We only have about twenty left if I’m not mistaken.”
"You got it, White Eyes," she agreed. As Torr circled evasively, she took careful aim with the railguns and landed a few shots dead center in their target. Something still didn't feel right, though.
"Mr. Torr, what about those ships? Are they still chasing us?" Korav checked the situation on the ground, monitoring the flow of the battle. The situation for the Dk'tahg troops wasn't looking good.
Selvani waited for nearly a full minute before answering to make sure that they wouldn't be hit while he spoke. "I think I may have lost them for a moment, but they tell me that this area isn't easy to lose anyone for long. We may want to make this fast or I can't promise I can keep you accurate."
"Some warning would be nice if we're gonna be swerving all over the place," Selvine pointed out in irritation as one of her shots went wide. Luckily, it only skimmed the atmosphere, not harming any civilian sectors. With the way they were flying, though, next time they might not be so lucky. For the moment, she held her fire.
“Sorry Selvine.” Torr said through teeth clenched in concentration. He had 8 voices yelling differing plans of action in his head and what he didn’t need right now was an angry gunman. “Banking left than staying straight until shot at.” He waited 3 seconds for her to comprehend and followed his plan, continuing this trend as best he could given the inconsistency of battle.
She hadn't literally needed directions, but kept shooting nonetheless.
This whole situation wasn't adding up, though it nagged the back of Selvine's mind as to why that was. A thought occurred to her. "When's the last time we heard from the Valkyre?" she asked with growing trepidation.
"Good question. Let's get on the line with our To'Var friends." Korav ordered. "See if they can help us with some of those ground targets."
"Hailing them now," she reported. Waiting a minute, she cussed loudly.
"No reply. Fuck! Any thoughts, Korav?"
Korav tapped his comm panel, scanning the local frequencies. Dead silence. "Seems like there's a broad-spectrum jammer in place, coming from the planet surface."
The Ornaran woman literally glowed with pent up energy for a moment as the pieces finally fell into place. Looking Korav straight in his mutant eyes, she growled, "We've been played!!!"
"Yeah...." Korav said through gritted teeth. "Even the government frequencies are jammed. Only someone in a high-level position knows the codes to pull that sort of thing off."
"Like who?" she asked rhetorically. There was really only one person it could be....
Almost as if in response, a text-only message popped up on Korav and Selvine's monitors. It was a separate set of bombing coordinates, this time for General Dk'tahg's executive offices! A separate line of text contained the following tense message: =/\= Belay ALL previous orders and strategic data!!! General Vos'toK Dk'tahg, and all forces under his command are to be considered enemies of the Klingon state. Proceed immediately. This mission is to be carried out with EXTREME prejudice! =/\= The message carried Calvin Daylek Sloan's unique alphanumeric 'signature' and was on the same linked frequency as his earlier communication.
"So it WAS him!!" Korav said, growing angrier by the minute.
"Sonofabitch!" Selvine swore again, growing more agitated by the minute. Not only were they being made pawns of, but now they probably weren't even going to get paid. "What now?"
"We blow Vos'Tok's headquarters to pieces." Korav said, bringing up the coordinates to the General's HQ. "Everything we've got. She's no warship, but Axel should have enough firepower to turn that building into a crater. Make sure we don't hit the Dk'tahg part of the compound!"
She began to comply, but the moment their scanners locked on the new target, a Vos'Tok's fleet swarmed in on them. "Not sure these guys will let me do that, Korav!" she snapped in exasperation as she blew a fighter out of the sky.
"Just my luck...." Korav growled, staring at the general's residence, then looking towards the fleet of ships giving chase to the Axel.
"Hold on, though," Selvine cautioned. She was doing about 9 things at once, but she finally got a good look at their sensors. "We've got a Klingon warship incoming... Vos'Tok's troops are backing off!" Triumphantly, she fired a few more shots at the retreating fighters.
The enemy fleet had indeed broken off, and were attacking the newcomer. "Excellent!" Korav said, sending some firing coordinates to Selvine's terminal. "Lock all weapons on the General's headquarters! Fire!"
In the last moments, General Vos’toK Dk’tahg actually saw the billowing, mind-shattering ripple of an ionized plasma explosion spreading out all around him. He watched as countless points of crystalline white light flew towards him like a spray of shattered glass. The brave, foolish architect of ‘New Qo’Nos’ doomed future actually felt himself started to pull back, in ‘surprise’, just before he dissolved into nothingness.
The explosion was as gratifying as it was beautiful. The Axel had leveled roughly a three-hundred square meter area, ensuring no escape for the traitorous general.
As the General’s flesh and blood body was transformed into a coherent stream of raw energy (traveling through space on a secured, pre-paid transporter circuit), the General’s own, grand plans for the Klinzhai people’s glorious future lay in burning scraps, along with the instruments of the failed revolution itself.
Korav didn't have time to celebrate. He opened up a channel with the Valkyrie.
"Reggie.....Reggie, this is the Axel. Do you read?"
“This is the Valkyre,” Reggie replied calmly. “We are presently under cloak, and covering your starboard side.”
The ship rocked as the shields deflected yet another phaser blast, and Max took evasive action before their attackers noticed the distortion. He then re-positioned the Klingon ship between the newcomers and the Axel.
Reggie had wanted to attack the massive ship that three b’reel class cruisers had sacrificed themselves to weaken, ramming it’s shields and engineering systems, but their Science officer informed him that the space between was mined with “anti-orbital crap.” So, he ordered Kira below, to form up boarding parties, and waited for an opening.
"What the frag is going on out there? We've been dodging phaser fire for the past hour!" Korav said urgently. He took a look at the sensor screen, and then came to the grim realization that they had been shooting at government ships the entire time, and that they were now breaking off to engage the larger vessel.
Reggie sighed, “Your friend, General Vos’tok…”
"Yeah I know....we just found out about the General...." Korav said, still angry that they'd been used like that. "Look, he's not gonna be a problem anymore. Why were the government ships attacking us, and where in the hells did that behemoth ship come from?"
“That’s been know to happen when a ship fires on the Klingon capital,” Reggie answered, “and as for that ship, Captain, it came straight from hell. It’s one of those things no one is supposed to know about, so of course everyone does, except they think it’s impractical, improbable and completely impossible. On Quo’nos, a dismissive and/or contemptuous attitude is cheaper, and usually more effective than actual secrecy.”
As the Honor Blade shot down another fighter, the shock wave rocked the Valkyre, but Reggie hardly seemed to notice. “It was meant to replace an entire attack fleet, defend the empire, destroy the strongholds of our enemies and conquer new worlds. Her weapons and shields would be state-of-the-art, and her hull almost impenetrable.”
Korav leaned back in the command chair- irritated at the whole situation. "Look, let's just get back to what we were doing-helping your friends fight off those rebels. The government ships should be taking care of that bigger vessel, and I for one am not in the mood to commit suicide today. Could you call the ground forces and ask them for targets?"
“As a matter of fact, I’m expecting a call to come through any time now,” Reggie said with wicked and slightly lop-sided grin.
-------- Meanwhile ---------
General Vos’toK Dk’tahg materialized inside the empty, ‘spaceport’ area of the Gwarr salvage and impound lot; breathing a deep sigh of relief. His life – as he knew it – was effectively over. However, his dream of the new Empire would not die; “as long as there’s still breath in this battered old body …” he mused, definitely bloodied but FAR from beaten!