#4--Civil War (part three)

Location: Bridge, IKS Molor's Bane, Vor'Cha class government attack cruiser somewhere on the systems' edge

Captain K'Vara monitored the ground battle with growing unease. He watched as riots started breaking out, with confusion rampant throughout the populace. Civilians were attacking random patrols, old house feuds were reigniting once again, and the rebels were, for the moment, winning. It could have been much worse, but several blunders on the rebels' part had largely reduced their tactical advantage, for that K'Vara was grateful.

The IKS Molor's Bane was currently the flagship for the homeworld garrison fleet, and K'Vara had been hastily made the acting commander of the fleet. General Mekh'Tar had personally selected and groomed K'Vara for years, trusting in the younger warrior's strategic prowess and leadership skills.

Now, K'Vara was facing a moral crisis. Should he defy orders from command and intervene in the chaos in Cam Chee? Or should he sit by and watch the pandemonium continue to engulf the capital? He'd contacted the military command on the planet surface, but he only received orders not to intervene, and he'd been told that this was strictly a house matter.

"Sir!" A warrior called out from his station.

The voice broke into K'Vara's thoughts, bringing him back to the present. He turned to face the warrior at the communications station, a new transfer from planetside. The warrior had several minor battles under his belt as a ground trooper, but no real fleet experience. K'Vara wondered whether or not he too was being considered for naval command. "What?" K'Vara growled.

"More information on the situation." The warrior reported. "It seems the rebel forces are pushing towards the House Dk'tahg main compound, as well as the government offices. Dk'tahg ground troops are taking heavy losses, and there's even more bloodshed in the streets."

K'Vara thought for a moment. "Patch me through to the Dk'tahg main compound. I want to speak to their head of house."

"Yes sir." The warrior said as he tapped the commands in. "Onscreen, sir."

Vos’tok glared suspiciously at the Klingon Captain on his monitor. The worsening situation on the ground, as well as the lateness of his air support, was giving every free gun hand in the city (“And there are far too many of THOSE on the street!” he thought) an opportunity – or excuse – to add their own two-cents to the situation.

The presence of an official Klingon battleship – and a House flagship, no less - only further clouded the situation. The question was: friend or foe? Or, more accurately, could this new player be manipulated to serve the cause? If the Imperial Navy was aware of what was really going on, he knew they wouldn’t bother with the pleasantries of two-way communication; instead opting to shoot first and scan the wreckage later. Deciding that any action was better than none, he switched on his two-way communication, and responded with an abrupt “Q’pla (What do you want)?!”

"General, this is Captain K'Vara of the homeworld fleet. We are seeing rebel forces approaching your compound. Do you need assistance?"

K'Vara noted the general's face, seeing the strain, the worry, the weariness. Not uncommon for a commander to be experiencing during combat. He'd seen it many times on the face of his mentor, General Mekh'Tar's face as well, but there was something underneath Dk'Tahg's face. Something that smelled of treachery and deceit.

When Captain K’Vara offered his help, Vos’tok had to actually bite down on his lower lip to keep himself from smiling. The assistance of a fleet-worthy Bird of Prey was an unexpected gift: Would he be able to use the Imperial support long enough to turn the battle (before he needed to eliminate them all)?

Still pondering the situation – and still just as unsure of how to proceed – General Vos’toK only said “Stand by for your orders, Molor’s Bane”, and went back to his fact-checking.

Incoming tactical data showed that, indeed, the Imperial battleship meant him no obvious harm. He detected no activity such as raised shields or charging weapons systems. Even better, the readout didn’t display any other warships approaching to assist the lonely Molor’s Bane. Sure, a handful of system defenders were still on patrol, but they were either unaware of the situation on Qo’Nos, or were on standby alerts, awaiting their marching orders. If his face, at first, betrayed any sign of wicked glee at the unexpected present of an additional ship or three, it was brief and fleeting. The next piece of news wasn’t quite so uplifting …

"General, with due respect, the capital is in a state of panic." K'Vara leaned forward and gripped the handrails in front of the viewscreen. "There's a chance the rebels might have aims to take over government offices, and possibly try and seize control of the council by force. If we don't intervene-"

The newsfeeds scrolling across the top and bottom of the General’s monitors were chock full of unpleasant information. It appeared that a disorderly mob was, indeed, heading straight for him. Comprised of rebel foot-soldiers and actual Dk’tahg troops, Government ‘peacekeepers’, and random civilians – The General wasn’t sure if any of the other Klingon factions had decided to grab a piece of the action yet, and it may be impossible to discern friend from foe in the confusion of urban warfare and a good old-fashioned street riot.

He would use the Molor’s Bane to take care of the raging mob en-route to the Dk’tahg compound – knowing full well that his own troops would be ‘eliminated’ along with the rabble and government forces. He rationalized the decision, remembering the words of a famous leader from Earth history; “To make an omelet, you need to crack a few eggs.”

Almost to underscore the urgency of his decision, General Dk’tahg heard the clunking of heavy boots running past his office, probably to fortify any weak entrance points into the massive cluster of buildings. Cursing his lack of planning (not to mention the lack of enough able troops to defend the base), he reached out to switch on his channel to Captain K’Vara. At that same moment, he saw that the Honor Blade was within warp-reach of the home system. Breathing a sigh of relief, he merely turned the comm. channel completely off, letting the cold silence speak to his true intentions. “It appears that your services are no longer needed, IKV Molor’s Bane” he muttered to himself …

K'Vara cursed a blue streak as the screen went dead. Apparently, the general was not in the mood for talking, or listening for that matter. "GET HIM BACK ONSCREEN!" K'Vara shouted.

"No good, sir. He's not responding." A warrior called out from tactical. "Something on the surface is jamming our transmissions as well. We can't call for help, or talk to any civilian vessels."

"Is the fleet panic channel intact?" K'Vara asked, his heart skipping a beat. That was all he needed, to be unable to coordinate with the fleet.

"Yes sir, we can talk to ships that have our special transceivers installed, but no one else." The warrior replied.

Something snapped in K'Vara's mind. He knew that there was no other choice. The council could have his head, but he was not about to allow this travesty to take place on the homeworld. "Alright, everyone LISTEN!" K'Vara shouted to the bridge crew. All heads immediately turned to him. "I am about to commit a direct violation of orders from high command! We are going to stop the madness in the capital and blast any ships that get in our way! If any of you think that I am in error, speak now!"

There was only silence. "Good." K'Vara said with a feral grin. "Because I don't have time to kill any of you right now." That drew a few laughs. "Set a course for the homeworld! Contact the fleet and have them pull all ships back to the planet! Shoot to disable any vessels that get in our way!"

There was a loud roar of assent from the crew as they flung themselves to their battlestations. K'Vara's instinct had been correct. The crew wanted to put an end to the insurrection, but more importantly, they were itching for a fight.

--------

"What is that scrap heap still doing here?" K'Vara said, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the lone Carlotti vessel still in orbit above the planet. "Registry shows it's a vessel by the name of the Seiklon Axel." said the XO, Commander Trael. "It's not alone either. There's the house flagship for the To'Vars, the IKV Valkyrie."

"The To'Vars have nothing to do with the Dk'tahgs." K'Vara said, a look of puzzlement crossing his face. "There's no reason why they should be here.... unless they're in league with the rebels." K'Vara looked to his XO. "Who can say? With the honorless politics going on these days?"

Trael shook his head. "The Axel's wanted by authorities on a Delta Quadrant planet called Mendas. Apparently, they were involved in some terrorist incident involving a local crime cartel."

"That settles it, then." K'Vara said, turning to tactical. "Send in red group, have them fire warning shots at the Valkyrie and the Axel. If they don't leave, destroy them both."

"Yes sir." The new warrior replied.

"By the way...warrior, what is your name?" K'Vara asked. "It's Thaeus, sir. Thaeus, son of Tarn, house Dk'tahg." The warrior replied.

The captain's eyebrows raised a bit at that. "Really? Then what can you tell me of Vos'Tok? Why's he refusing the government's help?"

"I do not know, sir." Thaeus shook his head. "He's always been an honorable leader and a wise tactician. This is unlike him."

K'Vara's reply was interrupted by the tactical station. "Sir! The Axel has returned fire on red group! One of the ships is reporting heavy damage!"

"WHAT?! Do they not know who we are?!" K'Vara shouted, outraged.

"Jamming device must be scrambling our transponders as well." Commander Trael interjected. "To them, we appear as unmarked ships, and we're too far for them to get a visual read."

K'Vara slammed his fist on the guardrail. "That is nonsense! Only someone with knowledge of the government transponder encoding frequencies can...." The captain stopped and looked to his XO. It all made sense now, the General's erratic behavior, the convenient absence of the main fleet, the lack of coordinated government response....

"We've been betrayed, sir." Commander Trael spoke after a pause.

--------

K'Vara knew what had to be done. He momentarily felt an uncharacteristic pang of pity for the poor souls onboard that scrap heap. "Tell red group, lock phasers, destroy them!" K'Vara ordered. "We're going to get to the bottom of this and GUT the worm responsible!"

"Sir! We're picking up.....something massive." The warrior Thaeus reported. "One of our listening posts on the edge of the system.....says they're....sir, you better have a look. Tactical, can you upload the image onto the viewscreen?"

Immediately, a picture of a massive Klingon warship came into view. It bristled with weapons and armaments of all kinds, and dwarfed even a mighty Negh'Var class ship. "It can't be....." K'Vara said with a grin. "The dogs actually BUILT it!"

"Sir?" Trael asked, puzzled. "I heard about it during a classified briefing...." K'Vara approached the screen in wonder. "It's an Honor Blade class ship. A prototype that the top commanders in the Klingon military worked together to design. It's supposed to be the ultimate warship, capable of taking on entire fleets!"

Trael shrugged. "Perhaps we should contact them?" the wily older Klingon had been in his fair share of battles, and knew that nothing could ever be taken for granted.

"Yes, hail them. Do they have our panic circuits installed?" K'Vara asked tactical.

"Yes sir, our readings show that they have it. We can talk to them through the interference." The warrior confirmed.

"Open a channel." K'Vara waited for the familiar beep. "Honor Blade vessel, this is Captain K'Vara of the homeworld fleet. We could use your assistance!"

G’rok Rag’naRok leaned forward in the captain’s chair, almost salivating at the chance to shed some traitorous blood (and prove his enthusiastic willingness to do so). Ready to respond with a string of threats and curses – before blasting the government vessel into random atoms - he reached for his comm. controls (his other hand resting on the weapon systems control-release for the command station).

Before he had the chance to respond to Captain K’Vara’s plea, his wrist was grabbed by a very slender, yet surprisingly strong, woman’s hand. He turned back to look up at the stern, disapproving face Commander Lla’asha Dk’tahg. “Say nothing, you fool!” she spat. “Look!” she admonished; physically turning his head towards the series of floating tactical holoscreens to his right.

G’rok saw that the Molor’s Bane had some help: 20 additional vessels were also friends of the Negh’Var class battleship … “And nothing this beast can’t crush like a gnat!” he reasoned. He looked back up at the Commander with a ‘so what?!’ expression (holding back every desire to smack the impolite bitch). She, in turn, only responded with a disgusted, annoyed look while silently motioning for him to be quiet and

wait - as one would an unruly child at a grown-up social function.

"Honor Blade, do you read?" K'Vara's elation was quickly dissipating. Something wasn't right here.

Commander Lla’asha Dk’tahg let out an exasperated sigh, and said; “Ignore them. Our orders are to get this ship to Qo’Nos and defend the homeworld.” Pointing towards another tactical display, she added; “The rest of the Imperial Fleet will be here soon. It would be best to engage them all from a defensive position, instead of a running battle.”

"Honor Blade, we know you can hear us. This is Captain K'Vara of the Government Defense Forces. Please respond." K'Vara was getting irritated. What was wrong? Unless....

“Helm!” G’rok barked. “Continue current course - Qo’Nos: full warp. Now!” Sitting back, satisfied with the wisdom of his decision, he heard the faint, affirmative response from the navigation section. He was too deep in his own ego to think beyond the glory of the moment, however. “Imagine it, a lowly battle-trawler captain, commanding the finest ship the Klingon fleet has ever seen!” Seeing the tall, shapely outline of Commander Dk’tahg in his periphery, he thought; “Hmm … this woman isn’t so useless … perhaps her skills can be used in the battle to come. If I don’t kill her first for insubordination …”

Looking down at her temporary replacement with the sort of loathsome pity one reserves for misbehaving, defective children, Lla’asha mused; “Well, so he’s not a COMPLETE idiot …”

"Honor Blade, if you do not respond, we will assume your intentions are hostile and move to engage." K'Vara couldn't quite believe it. Just a split second ago, he'd thought that this behemoth was going to be their savior. Now, he was practically challenging it to a fight. A fight he could not win.

"Sir, they're speeding up." The warrior at tactical reported. "They're ignoring us."

K'Vara looked down at his fleet command console. Twenty ships. No capital ships, no heavy battlecruisers, no artillery vessels, just a small group of destroyers and cruisers left to defend the homeworld against the most powerful ship the Klingons had ever dreamed up. K'Vara stood quiet for a moment..... he weighed his options as his crew gazed on in wonder at the massive juggernaut headed towards the homeworld...... "How long before they get here?" He asked at last.

"One hour, approximately." Tactical reported. "Tell every fleet ship in the system: set intercept course." K'Vara sat down in the command chair, hand running slowly along the contours of the ornate armrests. Mekh'Tar had thought it fit that the command chair be as decorate, but as uncomfortable for the user as possible. 'Command is a burden, leadership is a pain, but it's beauty cannot help but attract you to it. You long to lead your fellow warriors for the honor of victory, to the glory of death.....' K'Vara could still remember the words Mekh'Tar had said to him as he presented the command chair.....K'Vara's first command. 'This chair is a representation of that. Whenever you sit in it, always remember the honor granted, and the obligation that comes with it.'

"Sir..." Commander Trael whispered into his ear. "You're going to lose the entire fleet against that monstrosity. The other ship commanders are questioning the order, sir." "If in doing so, we can allow one ship to escape and warn the rest of the fleet....." K'Vara said, looking into Trael's eyes. "If in doing so, we can buy the homeworld that much precious time, then our blood will have been well spilt."

Trael nodded, unable to speak for a moment. He finally found the words and grasped K'Vara's shoulder firmly. "Well said, Captain." The fire and bitter determination was evident in Trael's eyes. "I'll pass the word along, and remind the commanders of their duty." "We dine in Sto'Vo'Kor tonight, Commander."

K'Vara grasped Trael's hand. "Qaplah!"

---------------------------------------------------------------

Location: System's Edge, IKS Molor's Bane

The crew of the Bane could not help but skip a breath as the Honor Blade dropped out of warp.

She was massive. Easily the size of Shinzon's Scimitar Warbird, and capable of much more. The tactical console immediately began receiving sensor data, and the look on the tac officer's face was grim.

"Sir, she's fully armed, shield output is off the charts, we don't have anything with the firepower to penetrate that." The tactical officer reported.

K'Vara gripped the arms of the command chair, making his decision. "That ship was built by Klingons." He told the crew. "She is manned by Klingons, and therefore is no mystery to us. The commander of that vessel will throw strategy out the window in favor of brute force. We have the advantage."

Opening a visual channel, K'Vara got out of his seat and stood proudly, defiantly presenting the image of a brave fleet commander, not once betraying the tumultuous maelstrom of emotions swirling inside him.

"Honor-Blade vessel, this is Captain K'Vara of the Homeworld Defense Fleet. This is your last chance to power down your shields and turn away." K'Vara played his strength the best he could, fighting to maintain his composure. Apparently, it had worked, because the crew was beginning to take his cue, hiding their fear behind a mask of righteous fury. "If you do not respond, we will be forced to fire upon you, thus bringing down the wrath of the Empire on your heads."

Rising to the challenge with a malicious, bloodthirsty grin, G’rok Rag’naRok leaned forward in his command chair, reaching out to respond to Captain K’Vara’s blatant threat. He stopped, midway, to turn and glare expectantly - as if to say “May I?!!!” - at Commander Lla’ahsa still standing behind him. After she gave him a slight, almost dismissive nod of approval, he opened the channel: “Captain K’Vara, this is General G’rok Rag’naRok of the Klingon Liberation Front.” As he spoke, he failed to notice that Lla’asha Dk’tahg was moving, steadily and quietly, out of viewscreen range, behind him. “Any hostile action against this ship will only earn your crew a pointless death without honor or glory. I give you this chance to join us, to restore the Klingon Empire to it’s rightful place as the Galaxy’s master. You have one minute to respond, before this vessel will be forced to engage the fleet. Join us or die.” before closing the channel, he added; “For the Empire.”

"Your actions are traitorous, worthy of nothing less than the eternal torments of Gre'thor." K'Vara began watching the sensor screen out of the corner of his eye. He needed to buy some more time. "Your houses will forever be stripped of their titles, lands, and most importantly, their honor. Is that what you wish to give up? Can you seriously continue on this path? I am giving you a chance to redeem yourselves, to save your homeworld!"

G’rok laughed openly at the Klingon captain’s empty threats. Re-opening the channel, he countered; “And you, dear Captain, you will die, along with your crew - for nothing. History will remember you and your Houses as traitors to the Empire’s true glory, and your children will suffer the shame of your cowardice and dishonor. Prepare to ‘defend yourself.’ This will … amuse me.” General Rag’naRok muted the comm. link and ordered “Route primary forward disruptor array controls to my station.” As an afterthought, he checked for Commander Lla’asha, surprised he hadn’t heard any of her infernal meddling yet. He was even more surprised – and confidently reassured – by the sight of her taking a seat at the tactical mini-station directly to his right. She began transferring the enemy ship specs to the floating holo-screen in front of G’rok. As his fingers paused over the fire controls, he waited, curious to see if Captain K’Vara really had the courage of his - well-spoken - convictions …

The tactical officer gave K'Vara a nod. The ships were in place.

K'Vara sighed, knowing that the songs of this battle would have to be sung over the graves of him and his warriors. "Then there is nothing more to discuss." He killed the channel. "NOW!" He roared.

Off the starboard bow of the Honor Blade, three B'rel class birds of prey decloaked and made for the engineering section at full impulse. They modulated their shields and were able to slip under the Honor Blade's deflector fields, skimming the surface of the leviathan. The first B'rel exploded right above some junctions powering that deflector field, it's warp core detonating right on target. The second and third flew straight towards the engineering sections, exploding just meters above the surface of the hull.

The effect was not as K'Vara had anticipated, the Honor Blade's starboard shields were down, but the explosions in engineering merely caused some power fluctuations, not the cripple cascade that K'Vara had hoped for.

However, the psychological effect was staggering. The bridge crew immediately stood up, roaring with rage and bloodlust. K'Vara couldn't hear it, but he felt the angry and defiant howls of the entire fleet shaking his soul.

"OPEN FIRE!! EXECUTE ATTACK PATTERN!! GO FOR THE STARBOARD SECTIONS!!!" K'Vara roared over the howls of his enraged crew. The Homeworld Fleet powered up their engines and launched into the jaws of doom.

General Rag’naRok watched as the B’rel ships exploded against the Honor Blade’s powerful rear shields. Amused by their pointless suicide maneuver, he turned his attention to the rest of the fleet still standing between him and his prize. His attention – and his confidence – was shattered by the announcement from his right. “Starboard shields disabled! Regenerating primary metaphasic shield to compensate … the shield should hold, but it won’t be as strong as the primaries, and we’ve got an hour, perhaps two, before the deflector bubble collapses completely. Orders?!” G’rok leaned forward, grinding his teeth with rage, and snarled; “Disruptors: target anything within range, full power, random harmonics! Torpedo crews: lock on to enemy coordinates; full-spread, quantum payload only! Fire at will!”

“Commander!” he ordered. “Leave the ‘Molor’s Bane’ to me … Route manual firing controls to my station now.” The woman – to her credit – responded with an emphatic, enthusiastic “Yes!” - whispered as her fingers danced over multiple control sets at once.

Meanwhile, the forward viewscreen displayed a sample of the massacre to come. Two ships were cut down immediately, flashing out in massive, twin fireballs. A lone Bird-of-Prey tried to evade the oncoming disruptor fire by attempting a direct suicide attack on the Honor Blade. The brave ship swept down and away from the group, and blasted a full-impulse path straight for the floating behemoth. In the attempt, it ran right into the path of a quantum torpedo. The projectile – using cutting edge tracking and shield scrambling technology – sheared straight through the port wing of the battleship. Mere milliseconds later, the entire vessel somehow collapsed on itself and exploded all at once. The last remaining ship in the group was silhouetted – in it’s last few seconds of existence - by the explosion of a direct quantum torpedo explosion just above it’s aft hull. Just as the warship started to fade from view (attempting a last-minute cloak), it was finished off by two point-blank blasts from the planet-eater’s forward disruptor cannons; disintegrating it completely.

K'Vara cursed as the first group was cut down. The fleet for the most part had taken up their positions and were pounding away at the starboard sections of the Honor Blade. The big vessel was too clumsy to react to the lightning-quick attacks of the smaller vessels.

"Tell the ship commanders to begin utilizing their magnetic displacer propulsion devices!" K'Vara ordered. These devices, recently outfitted onto the homeworld fleet, allowed the ships' computer to use the power of magnetism to dodge phaser blasts by locking onto the attacker and using a magnetic pull to shift the ship out of the path of the phaser beam. The Honor Blade's sheer size only made it easier to employ the device, giving the homeworld fleet a huge advantage.

G’rok Rag’naRok felt the disturbing, novel sensations of shock and apprehension smothering him as a flock of Klingon warships scattered away from the Honor Blade’s crisscrossing web of disruptor beams, some actually making it to cloak!

“Commander!” he ordered, tilting his head slightly to his right. “Analysis: NOW!!” The female first Officer responded immediately: “Magnetics!” Without explanation, she continued; “Sir. They are using our own ship against us to avoid our weapons … impressive.” Disgusted, yet supremely confident, G’rok sarcastically responded: “Yes, how charming … Disruptor crews! Torpedo bays! Change firing pattern on my mark; lock on to the nearest ship and throw everything we have at it. Await further orders from my station ONLY.” Commander Lla’asha Dk’tahg, caught herself glancing over at her new Captain, with a growing mixture of respect and jealous admiration, along with a waning sense of loathing and annoyance.

“NOW: Fire at will!!!” G’rok roared. The first ship – apparently still trying to use the element of (now ruined) surprise to try a torpedo run on the Honor Blade’s starboard hull – was blasted by three disruptor cannons: one hammering each side, and one more scorching away at the starboard control section. The ship’s shields flared up once in a defiant bubble – that only lasted mere seconds. Then the disruptor beams cut off as the ship exploded from it’s aft section; the warp core giving out in a flaring mini-nova. Two more Birds of Prey were cut down immediately as they attempted a flanking maneuver; veering off in separate directions as they engaged their cloaking fields. The Honor Blade’s massive sensor array was able to easily track both vessels, and aim a flurry of photon torpedoes at each ship’s last known location. At first, it appeared as if the dozen or so projectiles were flying into empty space. Milliseconds later, the ship’s outlines were eerily lit up by multiple nuclear explosions; blowing both Birds-of-Prey into scattered subatomic particles and floating slag.

Another Bird-of-Prey decloaked off the Honor Blade’s port bow, apparently to come to the aid of a listing, disabled ship that was floating ever closer to the massive warship’s powerful deflector shield. Both ships were immediately cut down by a shower of disruptor fire, making the rescue both ineffective and tragically pointless.

They were still losing ships. K'Vara gazed at the behemoth on his screen, pondering how they could possibly take her down with the firepower available.

Another fleet ship went up in a ball of flames and plasma. Crew and debris scattered in every direction from the wreck. K'Vara's mind raced through the possibilities, fighting the battle over and over again, trying to find a favorable outcome, but he couldn't find any.

"Sir! Two more have gone down! We won't have enough vessels for this formation!" His XO reported. The 'Bane shook once more, causing several panels to explode, showering the bridge crew with sparks.

"Shift formation to formation alpha! Close the gaps and tell everyone to increase fire output!" K'Vara replied.

G’rok leaned forward in his command chair, a deadly serious scowl turning up the corner of his face (in spite of the raucous, excited cheers from his bridge crew). The remaining Imperial ships were breaking off their scattered attacks on the Honor Blade’s weakening (yet still impenetrable) shield bubble. He knew the government battleships weren’t retreating; although it would be practically impossible for them – individually or in a combined assault – to disable or destroy the mighty vessel, he was annoyed by Fleet Captain K’Vara’s and his crews’ tenacity, courage, and outright willingness to simply lay down and die! He saw what they were attempting before his Second even reported the findings being uploaded from the tactical departments. The V’orcha class battlecruisers were most likely going to attempt a combined attack on the ‘Blade’s weakened shields … and he, for one, was not going to take the bait.

“Commander” G’rok announced, calmly; “What is the approximate turning radius of this vessel, with full-shields?” Commander Lla’asha stared out the man with the shock of one witnessing a supreme act of idiocy; “Sir. A full pass, in any direction, at low warp, will tear this ship in half. A slow turn at low impulse, is certainly be possible, but we need to take it slow – especially in such tight quarters. Additionally …” “Very good, then.” G’rok cut her off; “Helm!” take us to position 02.003.4.8, starboard, 10° degree arc.

The homeworld fleet was now in a desperate corner, reduced to scarcely three Vor'cha-class ships. The vessels fought with reckless abandon, straining their hulls and engines to dodge fire from the Honor Blade, using the last of their phasers and quantum torpedoes to try and dent the behemoth's armor and shields.

K'Vara tried to calculate how many of the Honor Blade's crew had died. He knew that they'd hit several critical sections, all should have been heavily crewed. Casualties would have been close to a thousand at the very least.

But it still wasn't enough.

Over the comms, the drone of a thousand Klingon voices could be heard. One of the remaining ships had initiated the auto-play of a Klingon death chant. K'Vara's lips instinctively moved to form the words of the chant, adding own his voice to the chorus. He was joined by the voices of the rest of the crew, bitter in their determination to remain defiant until the end.

Outside, one of the last ships exploded in a brilliant fireball. The chant was interrupted momentarily, but was soon taken up again by the 'Bane and her remaining ally.

G’rok’s plan worked out beautifully … As the gigantic star-destroyer turned, lazily, into a slow right angle, it caught the Imperial defenders unawares, with the three remaining V’orcha-class starships plowing harmlessly over the orbital surface of the planetoid-sized Honor Blade. Midway through the turn, G’rok ordered: “All available power to the forward deflector arrays!” Immediately, the left-flanking Bird-of-Prey exploded spectacularly against the invisible shield in a rippling burst of white light. The right-flanking ship took heavy disruptor grazing along both it’s port and starboard shields, taking them out completely. Meanwhile the ‘Bane sailed past both of it’s doomed comrades - only taking light damage – as it’s command and crew watched the death and destruction of the remaining fleet from their own, battered and outgunned, Imperial warship.

The final ship, out of ammo, shields down, and hull on the verge of collapse, lazily arced past a flurry of disruptor fire and impacted against one of the Honor Blade's torpedo bays. It's warp core detonated just as the ship's main bridge impacted against the side of the Honor Blade's hull. The torpedo bay was destroyed, but the behemoth shook off the blow and continued plowing towards the 'Bane.

General G’rok Rag’naRok looked up at the front viewscreen calmly, as if mildly distracted by an untimely – yet expected - call from a distant relative. “Ah, Captain K’Vara … Would you care to reconsider your decision? As you can see, this vessel is far superior to anything the fleet has to offer. Wouldn’t your Houses, and your honor, be better served by fighting for the winning side? Join us, or be blasted into oblivion - the choice is yours. For the sake of your gallant crew, and the future of your Houses, I think the choice is obvious. You have fought bravely, and the new Empire could certainly use someone of your strong convictions. I make this generous offer with but one condition: time. You have one minute to decide.” The General couldn’t help but notice the contrast between the scenes of both bridge decks. The crackling, choppy images being broadcast from the Molor’s Bane were of a dying crew, and a sinking ship. The ‘Bane’s bridge was filled with smoke, and one could make out sporadic fires raging on the bridge, along with the occasional shower of sparks (under the intermittent, shifting bridge lighting). Several of the ‘Bane’s bridge officers were injured, with many of the stations vacated by the untimely death of their operators. Captain K’Vara’s face was flush, his hair matted with sweat, and there were deep, dark circles under his eyes, making him look exhausted, desperate, and slightly rabid. By contrast, the bridge of the Honor Blade was a scene of quiet, organizational efficiency. While busy with the tasks of war, the crew of the Blade was calm, cool, almost relaxed, and the ship itself was missing the extensive battle-damage signs of the Molor’s Bane chaotically ruined main bridge.

"General Rag'naRok...." K'Vara replied. "Please note in your logs that Captain K'Vara and his crew contemptuously decline your offer. We impatiently await your arrival at the gates of oblivion, for you will be joining us soon. That is a promise." K'Vara cut the channel and nodded to his helmsman.

The helmsman's shaking fingers plotted a collision course and set forth at full impulse. They dodged some of the Honor Blade's disruptor fire and embedded the 'Bane's armored main bridge into the side of the Honor Blade. Dozens of the remaining 'Bane crew used the last of the ship's energy to transport aboard to fight their last battle.

G’rok – even as he was ordering security details to engage the Imperial troops now materializing in different sections of the Honor Blade – couldn’t help but smile. The supremely superior warship eliminated the opposition with unbelievable ease, bearing little, almost no damage to either it’s structural integrity or operating systems. Even as the troops from the KLF cleaned up the troublemakers on-board, the news of the planetary fleet’s crushing losses were, by now, surely being transmitted on secure channels across the entire galactic Klingon comm. net, ‘radio blackout’ or not.

K'Vara pulled himself out from under the wreckage of the bridge, groaning from the pain of at least a dozen broken bones. The bodies of his officers were strewn everywhere. Damaged circuits sparked, and hundreds of small flames lit the dank confines of the bridge. He crawled over to a command console and input the self-destruct sequence.

It was a futile gesture. The 'Bane scarcely had enough energy to sustain life support, much less generate an explosion. The warp core had been deactivated and jettisoned early on in the battle, so they couldn't create as spectacular an explosion like the previous vessels had done.

K'Vara rolled over onto his back, blood seeping from countless wounds, his vision slowly fading to black.

"Forgive.....me......father......" K'Vara whispered as the last spark of life fled his eyes, and the young Captain's body went limp.

The Molor's Bane registered a 1.2 kiloton explosion thirty seconds later as every remaining explosive on the ship was simultaneously detonated. The explosion left no more than a gash on the side of the Honor Blade.

G’rok settled back into his command chair, and asked, somberly; “Status report?” Commander Dk’tahg professionally replied “The entire crew of the Molor’s Bane has been terminated; no life signs, Captain.” After calmly rattling off the good news, she continued on to the bad. “The explosion of their ship has left an approximate kilometer long incision across the forward hull section of Deck 1, subsections 36-41. Overall hull integrity is still at 98.6%: emergency force-fields up and holding: Routing emergency engineering crews to this section … there was some damage to the primary hull, but the secondary hull and crash insulation is still holding; any additional orders?”

G’rok waved her on with a dismissive sweep of his hand, and sat back in his command chair. The monitors surrounding him were blank; having been shut off during the last battle (all action being routed to the main veiwscreen, as per his command). Although the bridge was abuzz with excited chatter from the victorious crew, the Captain felt somehow glum and distant, and too-easy victory felt somewhat hollow. “Will the rest of the Empire fall as quickly?!” he wondered, somewhat disappointed. “Helm: Continue primary course to Qo’Nos” he announced, blankly, as the ship sailed on to glory.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Location: Hospital Ward, Chetzia

Diana was pacing inside her darkness. Nothing to see, no place to go, no one to talk to; or so she thought.

“Hello.”

It was a child’s voice. Diana stopped, looked around, and hesitantly replied, “Hello.”

“Oh good,” the boy’s voice said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want company. A lot of the Incurables don’t.”

“Who are you? Where are you?” Diana asked.

A boy, approximately 8 years old, dressed in hospital garb, and clutching a teddy bear, materialized inside her mind. “My name is Louis, pronounced Loo’wee, like the French. My momma is from New Orleans. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes,” Diana answered the child, “I have family back on earth, too.” The boy had dark hair and eyes, was thin and short for a boy his age, and there was a pallor about him. “How did you get here?” she asked.

“I’m accident prone,” he told Diana, “everybody says so. They tell me to be more careful, and ‘Don’t I know how much my reckless behavior hurts my momma. She’ll die of a broken heart one day, and it will be all my fault.’” He paused in his litany of recriminations, and looked directly into Diana’s eyes. “A boy should never cause his momma such pain. My momma has had to ride in ambulances, and sleep in chairs next to my hospital bed more than I can count.”

Diana sensed that there was something the boy was wasn’t saying. “You’ve had a lot of accidents, have you?” she asked. “Me, too.”

“You couldn’t have as many as me,” Louis tells her. “I was a sickly child, almost dying several times, but my momma got me to the hospital in time. I got better, and I’m stronger than I look, because, as soon as I could crawl, I started to fall and get into things I shouldn’t. I got scalded, drank from a bottle of cleaning chemicals, fell down the stairs; but always, my momma was there with first aid, calling the emergency number, crying so hard that they could barely understand. She would hold me, in shaking arms, and pray for me to get better.”

Diana couldn’t believe that such obvious abuse could go unnoticed by the authorities. Coincidences don’t coincide with that kind of regularity. Louis’ mother obviously enjoyed the attention received as the distraught and loving parent of a child near death, but she heaped all the blame on the child’s weak shoulders. It’s a clever parasite that doesn’t destroy it’s host.

“That is a lot of accidents,” Diana agreed. The boy was obviously devoted to his momma. “How did you get inside my thoughts?” she asked.

“You’re asleep, and so am I,” Louis answered. “As your body grows weaker, your spirit compensates.”

“Do I have to stay here, in the dark?” Diana wanted to know. “Can I see my friends? Is there any way to contact them?”

“You have to relax,” he told her. “Close your eyes. Imagine floating up off the bed, all the way up to the ceiling. The lights are coming on behind you. Reach out and touch the ceiling tiles, then, slowly roll over. You’ll feel the ceiling press against your back, but you won’t float any higher.”

Diana did as Louis instructed. When she opened her eyes, she saw Fr. Dominic sitting next to a bio-bed, but he wasn’t in Sickbay; well he was, but it wasn’t any Sickbay she remembered. There were several extra monitors and pieces of life support equipment next to the bed. Diana looked at the patient, and realized it was her.

“Do you remember what happened?” Louis asked.

Diana looked at the bruising beneath the clear polyvinyl mask. Tubes and wires led from her slender arms to different pieces of equipment. She looked at the extensive internal injuries, and the readings on the monitor above her that showed that she was just barely alive. “Oh yes,” she said with an edge to her voice, “I remember everything.”

She evoked her last memories of life aboard the Cromwell. It was like watching a movie, or walking through a hologram you can’t interact with. Everything was real, and couldn’t be changed--but could it be avenged?

[I was thinking about Stacy and Chris’ wedding. She wanted to get married on Valentine’s Day. We decided to use red, pink and white sweetheart roses from Hydroponics to decorate the cake, and make centerpieces for each table.

I was carrying a full tray of beers to the back table. There was a group of marines waiting there--again. They came in every night, and every night they made my blood pressure go up.

I was deep in thought, when, I was bumped hard from behind.

A blond PFC was grinning at me. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said, as he putting one hand on the tray and the other on my shoulder. To anyone who might have been watching, it looked and sounded like a polite gesture, but his grip on my shoulder was crushing as he forced me against the wall--under the surveillance camera.

His buddies were laughing. At a nod from their corporal, the PFC took some napkins from the table, and pressed them against my chest. “You seem to have got something on you,” he said, as he yanked and twisted her breast. He leaned in close to cover what he was actually doing to her from prying eyes, and whispered, “The Klingon stench just won’t come off of you will it. Always siding with them over your own kind.”

“I’ll give you to the count of five, to take your hands off me,” I warned him.

Playing to the camera and the crowd, he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But softly, so that only she could hear, “You like it rough, don’t you, darling?”

“One.” I didn’t attempt to move away, or push him away either.

“Because, we’re going to show you a real good time,” he leaned up against me.

“Two.“ His lips were less than an inch away from mine.

“FIVE!” I brought my knee up into his groin, then doubling my fists together, I hit him over the head. As his head went down, I got him in the face with my knee. As he started to fall back, I pounced, but never connected. His friends grabbed me, and twisted my arms behind my back.

The corporal took one last sip of ale, and set his glass down. Standing up and turning to face me, he let his eyes go over every inch of me. The first blow to the stomach robbed me of breath. I was sore, panting and bent over. A quick backhand to the face brought me back up again. Before I could recover, he punched me to the face with his other hand. I heard the bones in my nose break. Blood was running off my chin and down my neck. The men holding me pulled me up by my hair and arms so high, my feet barely touched the floor. The next blow was directly over my right kidney. Pain shot through me, and then everything went black.]

Everything was real, and couldn’t be changed. She didn’t have much time left, but what were six months of sex, laughter, kisses, friends, adventure, books, music, hugs, stars, swimming, chocolate, and dreams worth?

What had happened to those four men? Diana knew they’d done a good job of setting her up. Very little, if anything, would show up on camera, and they whispered the insults next to her ear--also hard to pick up. They were surrounded by other marines, and not the ones she’d served with. Did those new recruits believe everything Warner said, as well?

How long has she been here? Where’s Mac? She’d been so sure he loved her. Why isn’t he here? Where are her other friends--Dejah, Stacy, Jax’son? Hadn’t anyone notified her family? Where’s Reggie, Max, Kira and Dad?

No amount of vengeance could restore her health and happiness, but this couldn’t go unpunished either. Who would avenge her? Who was looking out for her, now that she couldn’t speak for herself? Diana felt betrayed, and something else…something like panic. Things seem to be moving very quickly now, and everything was out of her control.

Diana looked around, but didn’t see a little boy anywhere in the room. “How did you get here?” she asked Louis.

“I’m right over there,” he answered.

Diana turned to see an elderly woman reading a book next to the bed of a middle-aged man. The woman had once been a great beauty, but now her dyed hair was too dark, and her blood red lipstick looked garish. Diana could imagine an outpouring of sympathy for the lovely young mother—the initial tragedy, refusing to give up hope, the court battle to keep Louis on life support, the media circus as she delicately wiped away tears without ever smudging her makeup, soaking up the kindness of the doctors and nurses, mild distain for the pain of others, as if she had an exclusive on grief.

“You’re all she has left,” Diana observed.

“She’s all I ever had,” Louis replied. “It’s evil for a momma to turn a child against their papa, I know, but my papa was gone away most of the time, and he was so much stronger than momma. She needed me more.”

“Does your papa ever visit?” Diana asked.

“He did before he left forever,” Louis told her. “He was hurt in the accident, too. He was dressed all in bandages, when he came to see me. He told me not to be afraid.”

“Can we go other places?” Diana wanted to know. “Can we talk to the people we care about?”

Louis thought about this. “Maybe…,” he said. “Maybe, when you leave, time and distance don’t matter. Maybe you can watch over your friends, or haunt houses, or even start over again.”

“I see,” Diana said.

“You’re going to leave soon,” Louis said. “I can always tell.”

Diana turned from the scene below, to look into the child’s deep, brown eyes. “You might be right.”

“Don’t be afraid,” he told her.

“I’m not,” she replied.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Location: IKS Valkyre

“Battle stations, everyone!” Reggie ordered as he paced behind the captain’s chair.

Claxons sounded, and the ship’s interior lights dimmed to a reddish glow. “Stealth mode, Kira,” he said calmly. “Max, take us to the Axel’s starboard side. Helm, power up disruptor arrays and prepare to fire on my command.”

The bridge crew watched the view screen in silence. The Axel was under fire, but even as they turned to engage who was firing on her, another ship de-cloaked. It was massive. Everyone seemed to gasp and hold their breath in unison. It was the size of a small moon. Kira was scanning to find out more about the new ship’s shields and weapons. The shields were different than any she’d encountered before.

Another ship, bearing the markings of the main Klingon fleet showed up, but was dwarfed by the other ship. “Communications, can we hear what they’re saying?” Reggie asked.

“No, Sir,” the warrior answered. “All communications are still being jammed. They must be using panic boxes recently installed on all commissioned Klingon ships.”

“Panic circuits?” Reggie stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Excellent idea. Be sure to add that to our shopping list, won’t you, Max.”

“Yes, Sir,” Max replied. “Milk, bread, eggs, panic circuits—how about new underwear?”

“Suit yourself, but I’m nowhere near that scared,” Reggie answered.

“Actually, I was thinking of Kira,” Max said.

“I’m not that scared, either,” she said.

“I was picturing you in something tight, black, and leather,” Max leered.

Several heads turned in Kira’s direction. “That’s just great, Max. Now, everyone else is, too.”

“What can I say,” Max grinned, “You’re…”

“Can we get back to fighting?” one of the new warriors wanted to know.

Three B'rel class birds of prey de-cloaked, and flew into the belly of the massive ship kamikaze style. It was surprising, awesome and inspiring to behold, but most of all, it was effective.

"That's the signal we've been waiting for," Reggie said. "Kira, modulate shields, and take advantage of damage done to their deflectors. Max, take us in."

"Ah, Reggie," Max was hesitant, "we're not going to, ah, you know?"

"That's not very Klingon of you, Max," Reggie smiled. "Diana would take her own life, follow me down to hell, and rip my dick out through my ass, if I ever destroyed this ship on purpose."

The visual imagery, and his sister’s well-deserved reputation for bIj, (a particularly Klingon kind of punishment that causes both mental and physical anguish, instructs the offender, and deters all others), caused Max to cringe. There were a few smirks and scattered laughter among the new crew members. Max regained his professional, and detached, military demeanor. “Orders, Sir?”

“Get us as close as you can,” Reggie instructed. “We’ll be under cloak on our first pass. I want Science to map out primary targets, and boarding areas.”

-----------------------------------------------------------

Location: Klingon Chancellor’s Office, Quo’nos

Grim’ble caught up with the others in the transporter room. “Excellency,” he addressed the Chancellor. “You need to hear this.” The older Klingon accessed his messages, and re-played the audio transmission.

------------

"This is Captain Korav. I guess you've been intercepting our transmissions?"

“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 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 continued. “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."

---------

Chancellor M'Relkan listened to the recording with apprehension. He looked to Gim'ble with disbelief in his eyes. "Where did this come from?"

The faithful retainer paused the transmission. “It came through a private channel just moments before the communications blackout, your Excellency,” Grim’ble answered.

"That sounded like General Dk'tahg. Do we have the voiceprint matched?" M'Relkan asked.

“It is most definitely General Vos’tok,” Grim’ble agreed. “As for House To’var, Diana’s voice does not appear on the tape, and no one has heard from her for a very long time. Her brother, Reggie, can be heard on the bridge of their house ship, the Valkyre, and appears to be in charge.” He tapped the key to resume the recorded conversation.

---------

=/\= 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."

“We are loyal Klingons,” Reggie answered. “It is an honor to defend our planet, and our way of life. We await your orders, General.”

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. =/\=

Reggie 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.”

---------

M'Relkan smiled in amusement at hearing the words. "Eloquent....just like a Human."

“Yes, the boy expresses himself well,” Grim’ble turned to face the Chancelor. “Klingon words, but Klingon sentiments? I wonder.”

"What of the Hunters and House To'Var?" M'Relkan asked. "Are they an honorable house?

Would they be capable of spilling innocent blood on a whim?"

“None of the Hunters I know are cowards,” Grim’ble went on to explain, “but they are reluctant warriors--spilling blood only when absolutely necessary. The fact that we have a record of this conversation suggests that Reggie doubted the General. The fact that all communications, commercial and military, are being jammed suggests that someone in a place of trust has betrayed us.”

"You aren't saying......" M'Relkan's voice trailed off.

“The General’s service record has but a single blemish--the complete and utter destruction Situ IV,” Grim’ble reminded the Supreme Chancellor. “Vos’tok has said that, ‘The murder of a people’s way of life is like killing them again and again.’ While he’s tolerant of other cultures, adopting their ways makes us less Klingon in his eyes, and that is something he will not tolerate.”

"Vos'tok Dk'tahg has a distinguished service record, and has served a long time with the defense forces. He wouldn't be capable of such a betrayal!" M'Relkan exclaimed, refusing to believe that this was true.

“He has friends in both the Eternal Sons of Kahless, especially House Rag’naRok, which our own intelligence tells us, is the headquarters for the Klingon Liberation Front,” Grim’ble reminded him. “The only way to have the authority and resources to ‘cleanse’ the Klingon race, is to rule the Klingon people. I think the General is coming here to take control of our government.”

"I will not interfere with this matter." M'Relkan said after a pause. "This is a house Dk'tahg fight. The insurgents are fighting against the house alone, and the Klingon government will allow the house to defend their own honor. Once the battle is over, order will be restored. That is the Klingon way. A fight is a fight, not anything more."

Grim’ble brought up a bank statement that he’d been able to access before joining the others in the transporter room. “This shows that General Vos’tok, personally, has been receiving large amounts of credit from thousands of followers, and dispersing the funds among a few trusted arms dealers, weapons manufacturers, mercenaries, and…this.” Grimble pointed at the line item. “Ninety percent of all the monies raised went to a single shipbuilder, and 90% is enough latinum to buy an entire planet!”

There was an urgent beep at the chancellor's door. A security officer was requesting entrance.

"Come in!" M'Relkan called out.

An older, battle-scarred Klingon walked in. Towering over both Grim'ble and the chancellor.

"Your excellency...." The officer said, saluting the chancellor. "Our compound has been breached. Here is the security footage." He tapped a sequence into the chancellor's personal console.

The chancellor watched in shock as a hover tank busted right through the front gates. The security staff were quick to whip out the anti-tank weapons, but they were soon pinned down by a swarm of black-armored soldiers.

"Tanks....?" The chancellor said after a pause. His sentiment was punctuated by an explosion nearby.

The older security officer looked over his shoulder nervously. "Excellency, we're out of options. I'm taking you to the underground bunker. We've managed to get a signal via our panic subspace channel. Our comm techs are calling the IKS Khitomer as we speak."

“Excellency,” Grim’ble interjected, “we need time. The Valkyre is the only ship that we know for certain isn’t firing on our cities or ships. Perhaps, they should be given something to do?”

"Very well...." The chancellor sighed. "Lead the way, Commander."

---------------------------------------------------------

Location: Axel Infirmary

Kim felt the ship make a hard turn to it’s starboard side. They were changing course, but instead of moving away from the action, the Captain was steering them straight for it.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” she said.

The EMH sighed, gazing up at the ceiling as the lights (and his own image) flickered. "You know... there's just something about organic beings.... they're.... just so unappreciative of their own existence, always seeking to endanger themselves for the sake of pleasure or some self-deluding illusion of glory."

Kim turned to face her hologram mentor. [How do you argue with logic like that?] she wondered.

"Sometimes, I think total program deletion would've been a kinder fate to give me....." Ernie snapped for a moment, shocked at what he just said. "My god, I'm beginning to sound like one of my PSYCH patients!!" He threw his hands up in despair. "Why me???" He cried just as a particularly vicious impact made him disappear completely.

The former slave smiled. Ernie had just diagnosed himself, and would, no doubt, heal himself eventually.

A nearby console suddenly beeped, drawing Kim's attention.

=== THERE'S NO NEED TO WORRY, MY DEAR === The console read. === I'M AFRAID THE LESSON WILL HAVE TO BE CONCLUDED AT ANOTHER TIME. THESE IMPACTS ARE COLLAPSING MY HOLO-MATRIX, AND I FEAR THAT BY REMAINING ONLINE I'LL SUSTAIN A SYSTEM CASCADE THROUGH THE HOLO-EMITTERS ====

Kim touched a button, and the console went into sleep mode. Then she paced; and after a while, began to pray.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Location: Klag’s hotel room, Phoenix

Jax’sun packed and repacked the things he’d been able to carry with him, when he left the Cromwell. Still, makes me mad, you know,” he said.

Klag was pacing back and forth by the large picture window, and occasionally stopped and stood at ease in front of it. Down below, people of different races and customs, bought and sold things to each other. They worried about ledger balances, the high price of dilithium crystals, and how difficult it was to find good help. Klag was not amused, and went back to pacing.

Diana’s family should have contacted them by now. He had contacted the priest, and what he heard was not encouraging. They not only had to get her to a decent medical facility, they needed Borg nanoprobes to cure her illness. The nanoprobes, if administered properly, would eradicate and repair damage at a cellular level.

“…two full cargo containers as big as elephants, full of fine wine and delicacies--almost all of it paid for with my own funds! Well, almost all.” Jax’sun continued to fume about the loss of his beloved inventory.

Klag sighed, then realized that Jax had stopped talking. Looking over at the Tellerite, Klag realized that he’d been asked a question, and Jax was waiting for an answer. “If you don’t stop talking about that,” he growled, “I’m going to have to kill you.”

---------

Candy knocked on the door and waited. Just a few days ago, she said ‘good-bye’ to Stacy, and assured her that she would be fine on the Klingon homeworld. Now, she wondered, if she made the right choice.

The door slide open, and she stepped inside. She looked from the Tellerite moving stacks of things around on the bed, to the Klingon warrior standing by the window. Her hand unconsciously moved to her belly, and the child inside kicked. Once again, Candy wondered, if she’d done the right thing by her child. How could she take care of a baby, when she couldn’t take care of herself?

The woman was carrying his cousin’s child. Roq had been in the line of succession, and even if his child never became Head of House, the child deserved a real Klingon family. When he presented the earth woman to them, they would believe. But what if they didn’t? The thought had been nagging at him. There was a lot of talk about the purity of Klingon blood, and the importance of not weakening their race by adopting the customs of other peoples.

“What is it?” Klag asked.

“You better turn on the news,” she told him. “Something’s happening on Quo’nos.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Location: seedy bar, Phoenix

Toq was well into his third cup of blood wine. He had his feet propped up on a chair, throwing dart after dart at the board on the wall. He must have replicated a hundred of them. He didn’t mean to, it just happened, and well, why waste the things. There was ‘country’ music playing. He liked, Take This Job and Shove It, and would sing along with the chorus. Toq sings like a moose in labor, but the other customers didn’t feel like calling him out on it, so they paid their tabs and left.

The bar was nearly empty, when Rod entered. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and looked around. He’d been checking in all the bars on the station all day long. He felt compelled to do it, before he changed his mind. He saw Toq. Keeping his hands where the former Security officer could see them, he went to turn himself in.

Toq saw the former marine out of the corner of his eye, and leapt to his feet, reaching for the d’k tang at his waist. Rod raised his hands higher. “I give up!” he yelled. The bartender turned to see what was going on, then decided that this was a good time to wipe up a small spill on the floor--and after that, crawl as quickly as possible to the back door.

“I want you to take me to Quo’nos,” he told the warrior. “I want to apologize to her family, and whatever happens after that…I’ll do whatever they say.”

Still a little drunk, Toq glanced at the dagger in his hand, then back to the human surrendering to him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to kill you now? It’ll hurt less,” the Klingon offered simply.

---------------------------------------------------------

Location: Chancellor’s Bunker

“General, the situation is dire.” M’Relkan explained. “A tank has just crashed through the front gates of my compound and-”

Mekh’Tar cut the chancellor off mid-sentence. M’Relkan always wondered where the General got the gall to do such a thing. “Your problem’s a lot bigger than that, Chancellor.” The grizzled old warrior said flatly. “Honor Blade…. That name sound familiar to you?”

“Yes, a prototype ship design that we deemed not cost-effective.” The chancellor replied.

“Where are you going with this?”

“Someone built it. Transmission logs indicate that she’s being crewed by Dk’tahg and KLF personnel. She’s under the command of General Rag’Narok.” Mekh’Tar said, reciting the information from a monitor beside the camera. “And she’s on her way to the homeworld right now.”

“KLF…” M’Relkan breathed. “That’s not good….. not good at all. General, you must return immediately! Forget about the insurgents! The homeworld is in danger!”

Mekh’Tar replied with a contemptuous chuckle. “We already are, dear chancellor.” He settled back into his command chair. “An hour ago, we received a message from Captain K’Vara and the homeworld fleet. They moved to engage the Honor Blade and the last transmission came from one of their scout vessels thirty minutes into the engagement. There has been no response since then, and only the Honor Blade is registering on our sensors…… I can only assume that K’Vara and the fleet have been destroyed.”

“The entire FLEET?” The chancellor said with disbelief. “How are you possibly going to take on something that took out the homeworld fleet?”

“I’ve got bigger guns at my disposal than poor K’Vara.” Mekh’Tar shook his head. “And the very reason we deemed the Honor Blade not cost-effective was because it is extremely vulnerable to small-vessel attacks, and a ship mounted with the right weaponry could take it out with relative ease. The Khitomer has such weaponry, and we intend to use it.”

“If you are sure, General….” M’Relkan sighed. “I’ll trust in your judgement.”

“You don’t have much of a choice, chancellor.” Mekh’Tar replied, bitterness evident in his voice. “You have a lot of explaining to do to me and to the 4,000 dead warriors of the homeworld fleet. It was a series of blunders on your part that led to this. I TOLD you Situ was a ploy, and an attempt to lure our forces away and you FELL for it!”

“What was I supposed to do, Mekh'Tar? Honor DEMANDED-"

"So you throw strategic sense to the wind in some mad quest to appease your so-called HONOR?" Mekh'Tar growled. "There is no honor in jeopardizing the homeworld and wasting the Empire's resources! You could have waited ONE DAY for the Kantar fleet to reach Situ, but you sent the KHITOMER FLEET instead! Just to save one day!!"

Mekh'Tar paused, glaring at M'Relkan in disdain. "As far as I'm concerned, Chancellor, this

conversation is over. The Khitomer fleet will destroy the Honor Blade, but you will answer for your mistakes."

The transmission was abruptly cut.

M'Relkan gripped the edge of the communications console, pretending it were Mekh'Tar's throat. "That self-righteous batty old...." The chancellor said through gritted teeth.

Mekh’Tar was right, of course, but the stinging insults and consequences would distract even a Vulcan. “Orders, your Excellency?” Grim’ble tried to bring the Chancellor’s attention back to the situation at hand.

"Bah! Call the Valkyrie! Have her rally what resistance she can. We're going to deploy our planetary transporter scrambling fields so that she can't transport anyone down! Tell the Valkyrie to prevent any troop transports from reaching the surface!" M'Relkan ordered.

“It shall be done,” the faithful retainer responded. “Qapla.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Location: (Quo’Nos) Bridge, IKS Valkyre

“Get us as close as you can,” Reggie instructed. “We’ll be under cloak on our first pass. I want Science to map out primary targets, and boarding areas.”

“Sir,” the communications officer interrupted, “there is an incoming message from the High Chancellor’s office.”

Grim’ble’s visage, both scarred and wrinkled, filled the view screen. “Why aren’t you fighting!” he wanted to know.

“It was a little hard to tell the players without a program, this time,” Reggie snapped back, without being disrespectful. This was how they always talked to each other. Reggie did something good, and the old man told him how he could have done better. Reggie did something wrong, and Grim’ble made him feel worse. The old family friend usually had one arm around the Valkyre’s XO, and a glass of blood wine in his other hand, when he did this, so, Reggie figured Grim’ble was being paternal.

“Bah!” Grim’ble spat. “On Quo’Nos, it always is.” The white-haired warrior began to laugh. He looked at the boy who had been like a son to him. Reggie would either save the Klingon empire, or die trying. No matter which way this went, Grim’ble could not have been more proud of him. “Have you figured it out yet, or do you need more time?” he snarled.

Reggie grinned, “Have a care, old man. I’m about to blow the Klingon equivalent of the Death Star out of space, and when I return, I’m kicking your ass.”

Grim’ble’s lips curled away from his teeth in a wicked, lop-sided smile. “You can try,” he said.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Location: (Quo’Nos) Bridge, IKS Valkyre

Almost immediately after ship-to-ship communications were re-established, the drone of a thousand voices could be heard over the ship‘s comm system--a Klingon death chant. Something about that sound made the hair on Max’s arms stand straight up. It was ominous, reverent and urged him forward. One of the remaining fleet must have initiated it‘s auto-play. The crew of the Valkyre joined in.

Outside, one of the last ships exploded in a brilliant fireball. The chant was interrupted momentarily, but was soon taken up again. The crew outraged at the loss of more Klingon lives, and more determined than ever before to avenge their brothers in arms.

The crew of the Valkyre watched, as the gigantic star-destroyer turned, lazily, into a slow right angle, catching the Imperial defenders off guard. Midway through the turn, the Honor Blade must have diverted all power to the deflector arrays. The three remaining V’orcha-class starships exploded spectacularly against the invisible shield in a rippling burst of white light.

The final ship, Molar’s Bane, (no doubt named for the tyrant of Klingon legend killed by Kahless), looked like a kite made of scrap metal. Kira looked down at the console in front of her. They were out of ammo, no shields, and her hull was on the verge of collapse. Still, her captain managed to sail past a flurry of disruptor fire. It impacted against one of the Honor Blade's torpedo bays, as it continued plowing towards the Bane.

The voice of General G’rok Rag’naRok came over the comm: “Ah, Captain K’Vara … Would you care to reconsider your decision? As you can see, this vessel is far superior to anything the fleet has to offer. Wouldn’t your Houses, and your honor, be better served by fighting for the winning side? Join us, or be blasted into oblivion - the choice is yours. For the sake of your gallant crew, and the future of your Houses, I think the choice is obvious. You have fought bravely, and the new Empire could certainly use someone of your strong convictions. I make this generous offer with but one condition: time. You have one minute to decide.”

It was Reggie that started the angry, mournful death cry that is the Klingon way of showing respect for the fallen. He wanted to scream. He had to let out how frustrated he felt. How he wanted to fight, but had been to far away. No matter, the captain of the Bane, and every true warrior that fought against oppression today, would be avenged. Reggie would see to it.