Embedded Files
Location: Planet Kor’quinn – The town of One-Horse; ‘The Flaming Liver’ Bar & Grill
A lone Klingon warrior was sprawled out on a table in the corner, passed out and snoring loudly. His head was plastered to the table-top under him, which itself was covered in an assortment of spent beer-steins and empty shot glasses. The floor around the young warrior’s feet was littered with more empties, as well as the remnants of the earlier evening’s festivities: various personal items, jewelry, and scraps of clothing; along with clumps of hair, fur, scales and skin - and no small amount of spilled blood, which now swirled in clumps of morbidly beautiful multicolored and textured pools (matching the stains on his boots and hands).
The other patrons in the country tavern had given the Klingon a wide berth: a ring of empty space - several bodies wide - encircled the drunken warrior’s table, while the rest of the crowd stared at the besotted sociopath miscreant.
The tavern’s patrons were pressed up against the bar, opposite the down-for-the-count Klingon, and all eyes were on the bully. A number of the patrons were wounded, and looked on in scorn, hurt and relief. A small humanoid female was rubbing a welt on her cheek, while a motley assortment of aliens tended to their wounds and shattered pride, sipping their liquor and ales in silence - only broken by the hushed conversation and the sounds of drinks being filled and emptied. The bartender appeared to be clandestinely operating some sort of communication device, often peering over his shoulder to see if the Klingon was still out-of-commission …
Suddenly two figures materialized in the center of the bar. After mere nanoseconds, the forms filled out to the shape of two well-armed, body-armored soldiers. The intruders were completely covered in metallic, black – and vaguely insectoid - body armor. The crowd turned, in unison, to watch the menacing pair advance on the slumbering, drooling pile of leather and hair on the table ahead.
Within seconds a pair of armored hands reached down, then yanked and lifted the man to his feet. In a blur, the Klingon woke up with a snarl, whipping his head around (his greasy, matted hair and soiled clothing spilling bits of barroom debris to the floor) to face his captors. He was immediately silenced with a phased energy blast to the face, causing him to limp lifelessly in the arms of the unidentified aggressors. The crowd at the bar watched, in shock, as the comatose warrior and his kidnappers simply beamed out on the spot …
The armored troops, along with their limp, battered captive, materialized on the transporter pad (arms still hooked under the unconscious man’s shoulders). “Hoch je ngoHta'?!” (“Is the brig ready?”) the soldier on the left inquired, with authority (while his comrade on the right simply stood, saying nothing). The transporter op looked up, briefly, from his diagnostic and pointed out of the room with a disinterested grunt.
In response to the - barely-verbal - communication; the two armored warriors lifted up their prey, and half-carried, half-dragged, the unconscious young man off the platform and through the door (the gravimetric lifts in their body-armor barely compensating for the bulky weight of their quarry).
Turning the corner out of the transporter room, the drunken warrior in their arms began to stir … Picking up their pace (and silently cursing the lack of a direct transporter circuit to the makeshift jail cell), the two picked up their pace. They were now trying to run towards the empty storage closet, but were unable to break into a full stride, due to the heavy, uneven load they were carrying. As a result the two hobbled down the corridor, the unconscious, prone body underneath them bouncing along the braised metal flooring as they went.
In a matter of meters, the soldiers arrived at the makeshift brig; which, apparently, was some sort of storage closet that had been retrofitted with a security keypad, forcefield, and a double-duranium door with a thick block of transparent, shockwire-reinforced aluminum in its center. The ‘brig’ led into a smaller, standing-room only, room, to the left, with a small, circular platform on the floor, and what appeared to be a conical ceiling lamp directly overhead. Connecting the two was a loose metal frame, with what appeared to be a series of restraints near the bottom of the framework, and another at the outstretched ‘T-arms’ of the device.
The soldiers heaved the sagging, cataleptic body onto the floor of the cell and stepped back quickly, securing the door in front of them. The armored warriors stood back, watching the body on the floor behind the two-way window begin to stir. He [J’ok Rag’naRok] rolled over – causing each of the well armed, body-armored soldiers to take a step back – and began muttering in his sleep.
“Kill … kill you all …” J’ok grumbled, his eyes still closed, a trail of drool stringing from his mouth. His words trailed off into a jumble of indistinguishable moans and grunts, and were soon replaced by loud, uneven snores.
It was at this point that the smaller of the two soldiers turned to the other and said (his voice sounding very tinny through the helmet’s built-in speakers); “That’s what’s going to save the House? THAT?!”
The other soldier only shrugged in response …
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J’ok Rag’naRok opened his eyes, then immediately clamped them shut. The bright, blinding light in the cell seemed to burn straight through, all the way to the crashing headache roaring in his skull. The inside of his mouth felt like sandpaper, and there was a rumbling growl in his stomach, which was alternately flashing hunger pangs and waves of nausea. His muscles and joints screamed in agony at the slightest movement, and there was a throbbing, dull ache in his lower back.
“Must have been a good night” J’ok thought to himself (the mental exertion causing another wave of pain to flare against his temples). He rolled over with a moaning grunt, and forced himself into a sitting position. Opening his eyes as much as the pain would allow, he surveyed his surroundings.
J’ok appeared to be in a holding cell of some sort, or a Klingon crew cabin, given the sparse furnishings and lack of any modern conveniences or personal luxury items. The floor was cold, bare metal, the walls a dull, battleship-grey, and the only furnishings were a metal bench/bed along one wall with a basic commode and sink on the opposite side. He saw that the room led into another, smaller room – with only a narrow passage in the walls between them – and that there appeared to be some sort of metallic device in there that he couldn’t quite make out from his angle.
Suddenly his nostrils were filled with the unmistakably acrid, smoky scent of roast T’arq (“I’m either on a Klingon ship or my captives are serving a ‘politically correct’ meal! Starfleet?” he thought). J’ok watched, with some small measure of shock, as the meal materialized in front of him. When the beam-in was complete, he dove towards the plate – filled with a furry, undercooked cut of meat and a side of freeze-dried ga’gh.
It was at this point that he noticed the armed guards standing watch outside his holding cell. They were both covered, from head-to-toe, in thick, blue-black suits of cybernetic body armor, and were armed with standard issue Klingon disruptor pistols and mek’leths. “So, I AM on a Klingon vessel!” he thought, as he began gnawing on the cold, fatty lump of animal flesh in his hands. He noticed that the two warriors exchanged a brief glance, followed by a nod from the larger of the two. After a few seconds of no discernible sound, or movement, from the pair, they both turned and left him alone with his breakfast.
A more sober, smarter person may have been very unnerved by this sudden development (not to mention the strange circumstances of their unexpected rescue/capture; i.e. “What the HELL am I doing here?!”) but between J’ok’s mild alcohol poisoning, and his body’s desperate need for protein, he only continued munching, oblivious to the ominous circumstances he found himself in.
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Captain Tk’tok Rag’naRok was busy going through the latest series of scans and technical errata when he was disturbed by the low bloop of his comm. “Q’pla?!” (“What do you want?!”) He barked, annoyed at the disturbance.
“My captain, it’s the prisoner. He’s awake …” was the only reply. “Very good, you are both dismissed, bekk (crewman). Resume normal duties immediately.” The Captain gruffly replied; switching off multiple data feeds as he did so.
Tk’ToK then briskly stood up, gathering a PADD off his busy desktop, and proceeded out the door: As he strolled down the corridor to the ‘lifts at the end of the hallway, the Captain found himself frowning at his sudden ‘good fortune.’ “It would have been much easier to break in a fresh recruit than to have to convince an honorless Tah’qeq like J’oK of his duty to the House.” His reverie was interrupted several times by members of his crew stopping him: to present tactical data, salute, or simply get out of his way. By the time he had marched the short five meters or so to the turbolifts, the Captain found that he had completely lost his train of thought. “Well, I suppose punishing the Kor’quinn people for the murder of a Klingon officer would waste even MORE time!” he thought, as he angrily selected the appropriate deck, floor and section.
Captain Rag’naRok marched down the empty hallway towards the brig, his Imperial robes flowing behind him (an elegant counterpoint to his course, burly exterior), looking every bit like the glorious Klinzhai conquerors of old. He stopped, abruptly, in front of the makeshift brig, and opened a communication channel into the tiny room (staring bluntly at the sullen, drooping young warrior behind the glass).
“So, ‘Lieutenant J’ok Rag’naRok’ … Do you know why you’re here?” As the disheveled youngster grunted in response (his eyes only registering animal distrust, as they darted back and forth from the jail-cell door to the imposing commander just outside it, then returning back to examining the floor beneath him), he continued; “I see you’ve been quite the busy boy, haven’t you?” Referring to the PADD in his hand, the Captain said: “You are wanted by several authorities outside of Klingon space for crimes against their species. You are also in violation of several Klingon military laws regarding the behavior of its officers.”
Noticing the sudden shift in attention from his charge – the young man actually looked up at him directly, with an expression of mixed concern and an implied (yet impotent) threat - he continued, without breaking his monotone or showing any change in expression. “Several of these are capitol crimes, with penalties ranging from light torture (as he said this, he swept one hand towards the ‘medical device’ in the next cell; hoping that the infamous ‘J’ok Rag’naRok’ wasn’t too thick not to realize what the device actually WAS) to public execution.”
Captain Rag’naRok then stepped forward, practically placing his face into the forcefield covering the cell-door. “I think you KNOW who I am, young warrior. And I think you KNOW what I can do.” In response, J’ok foolishly dove towards the safety glass with an anguished scream - and was immediately knocked back by the cell’s interior forcefield. As the young man staggered on his feet (looking like he was going to try another run at the door), Tk’toK pressed a button on the security keypad and watched as a flash of blue-white electricity crackled over the cell’s flooring. The Captain watched, with disinterested patience, as the prisoner stood, quivering, in front of him.
After a few seconds of this necessary-yet-tedious display of authority, Tk’toK released the button, and waited for the ‘loyalty reminder’ to sink in. He watched – with equal measures of disgust and disappointment – as J’oK retreated to the corner behind the metal bench. The prisoner was now staring imploringly at the Captain, his eyes reflecting pain and fear (“Pathetic …” Captain Rag’naRok thought “The most civilized race in the galaxy, and this one is cowering in the corner like some trapped animal.”). “Now” he continued “that THAT foolishness is out of the way, I shall continue. I can make all of these charges disappear with but one finger on this PADD. If you will only agree to satisfying certain ‘family obligations.’”
“A-And whu-what if I d-d-don’t agree?!” the suddenly cowed Klingon bully stuttered.
Strangely, the older man only smiled at the younger, with a certain knowing look in his eyes. Just as suddenly; Captain Rag’naRoK turned away from J’ok, and walked to the opposite end of the improvised ‘detention center.’ “Do you know what this device is?” the captain asked, motioning towards the crude metal framework. Without giving the disgraced Lieutenant a chance to answer, he answered himself; “This is a portable agonizer. It’s really a marvel of modern technology, wouldn’t you say? They used to need an entire booth to make it work – not much bigger than your cell, really. Now this, this can be folded up in a few minutes, and carried or beamed to wherever you need it next.” Pausing to turn back to the captive criminal, the captain said, bluntly: “If you refuse, I will simply have you strapped into this device and turn it on until you agree.”
After a dramatic pause for effect, Captain Tk’tok Rag’naRok asked: “So, just how ‘disagreeable’ do you feel, right now?”
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The newly cleaned and pressed J’oK Rag’naRok was seated at a table, while Tk’toK Rag’naRok stood above him, with a female officer in tow (who was currently hiding half-in, half-out of the shadows).
J’ok fidgeted in his chair against the uncomfortable feel of clean clothing against his freshly scrubbed skin. “That fat ghuy'cha' had me bathed against my will – bathed!” He thought, still burning with the memory of the combined sonics, blistering streams of hot and cold water, and being sanded down with a combination of abrasive scratchpads and copious amounts of soap. The stench of his own body sickened him, and the cold metal raking against his wrists and ankles only steeled his resolve.
Tk’ToK stood glaring down at the disgraced Lieutenant with a mixture of amusement and aggravated pride. “Well, he’s seems to have calmed down, for the moment …” He then smiled broadly at the fuming young man and said; “You smell as pretty as a fresh Starfleet recruit! Now, as far as that ‘favor’ you were going to do for me …”
“As soon as these restraints are off, I will murder you on the deck of your own ship. Then I will take your woman, and your command. And then I will rule the House, instead of an old fat FOOL like you!” As J’ok ranted on, his tone got more vicious, and his voice grew louder, until he was practically screaming, rattling his chair as he struggled against the thick cuffs at his hands and feet.
As J’ok was in the midst of his temper tantrum, the Klingon captain felt the junior officer slinking up behind him. “I could kill him now, if you wish, my lord. He won’t put up any resistance in his current state … if you would prefer, I could release him from the restraints, first. Only to be honorable, of course – he wouldn’t last more than two seconds with me in open combat!” As the ship’s Second, she was only doing her duty. The big, childish man in the chair was only going to get in the way, and probably make things much worse. She could’ve taken the opportunity as a career advancing move, given her commander’s current lack of good judgment. Still, she chose to display another command-worthy trait: loyalty. Her displaced father-feelings towards the big man may not have been entirely professional, but, as far as the command options among the House, Tk’toK Rag’naRok was definitely the lesser of many evils.
The captain, meanwhile, had only to brush her away (with a slight gesture of his hands behind his back), and she courteously backed off. “Lurra only wants the best for the mission … unfortunately, I can’t have her knowing I may be wrong about this decision. Perhaps it’s time for a more convincing display of my command abilities.”
Captain Rag’naRok then advanced towards the snarling, inconsolable Lieutenant, sighing and dragging his feet through the tediously predictable scenario. After breathing a heavy, annoyed sigh, the Captain looked down at his prisoner and asked; “Are you done?” After receiving a response – in the form of a murderous glare, and a low growl, from the rabid miscreant – he sighed again, this time producing a small device that looked like some sort of remote control emitter. He then pressed down on the top of the remote, and J’ok screamed out in tortured anguish.
“Portable agonizer on remote circuit” Tk’toK commented, as he replaced the device into a inside vest pocket (patting the front of his robe for emphasis). He watched for a moment as J’ok began to peer down into the fabric of his new outfit, looking for the telltale signs of a concealed torture device on his person.
“Don’t strain yourself looking – you won’t find it, not ON you, at least. However, if you peer down the front of your tunic, you should be able to see the scars. I had the ship’s surgeon leave the marks from your surgery, as a reminder.” He smiled, briefly, at the young man’s reaction; turning his head swiftly in the older – and definitely IN CHARGE commander’s direction. “Good to see you paying attention … where was I? Oh yes, your latest ‘modification.’ I had the ship’s surgeon graft a miniaturized version of the pain inducer directly onto your spinal column. Plus a little extra: There is a charged anti-electron capsule attached to the interior of your heart.” He then leaned in close, bringing his venomous mouth next to the captive young warrior’s ear, close enough to whisper; “You try to kill the wrong people, take the glory for yourself, do ANYTHING to jeopardize this mission, or my command, and the charge will ignite, and YOU WILL DIE, instantly, and with the honor of a disgraced fool. But, don’t take my word for it … I believe a demonstration is in order. Commander, send in the prisoner …”
[Later, after ‘demonstration’ and mission briefing]
“So, now, I ask you this” Captain Tk’toK Rag’naRok stated, bluntly. “I offer you titles, lands and power, if you accept. If you refuse, I can only promise you a gruesome, dishonorable death. I will only say this once: How do you choose?”
J’ok Rag’naRok glared back at the Captain, then down to the floor, at the lifeless Klingon crewman sprawled out on it, and back again at Captain Rag’naRok. “I accept, my Captain.”
If there was any sarcasm or implied danger in the young man’s tone, it was lost on the older warrior. “Very well.” Moving right along, the Klingon captain then began his lesson on human etiquette. Even as the wrist and ankle restraints self-released and dropped to the floor, he ignored this as he tutored his wayward student.
He pulled a PADD out of an outer pocket of his leather robe (feeling downright giddy at the sight of JoK’s definite – but barely perceptible – flinch) and slid it towards the subdued ‘tough guy.’
J’oK looked down at the full-screen picture of an attractive (“For a human …”) young woman, and briefly wondered why all of this time and effort was being spent on a simple assassination.
“Her name is Diana To’Var: you will be courting her for her hand in marriage …”
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CLASSIFIED:
Name: J’ok Rag’naRok
Occupation
: Thug
Age:
29
Gender
: Male
Race:
Klingon
Eyes:
Black
Hair:
Black
Unusual features and distinguishing characteristics:
Subject bears numerous scars, scratches and bruises. Some of these have faded over time, while others are quite fresh (and often self-inflicted). Repeated damage to his spinal column(s), as well as numerous broken, set, broken and re-set bones have given him a slight hump, and he walks with a noticeable limp. However, this somewhat weakened appearance is extremely misleading. This individual is quite strong, physically, and very capable, martially.
The hard physical conditioning he has undergone has given him a very high pain tolerance and great physical strength. And his psychological condition(s) cry out for self-inflicted pain and injury, either by his own hand or by the provoked reactions of his many ‘enemies.’ He would be a formidable opponent to most (even given his tendency to ‘swing harder, not better.’) However, his lack of discipline, willful ignorance of the martial arts, and supreme overconfidence balances these strengths out. A smaller, weaker opponent with a cooler head and greater knowledge of self-defense systems could easily best the larger, more vicious Klingon male. Most notably, the subject bears several disfiguring marks on his face, neck and scalp – probably due to a physical combat situation.
Personality:
Asshole
Social Level
: Antisocial sociopath
Emotional Aptitude
: Paranoid sadist
Political Affiliation
: Klingon fascist
Religious Beliefs
: Atheist
Overall Psychological Profile
J’ok possesses a sadistic, misogynistic, sociopath psyche, laced with delusions of grandeur and an over-inflated sense of self-worth.
Intelligence Index:
A slightly lower-than-average IQ and cognitive reasoning abilities: J’ok Rag’naRok is the type of individual who is easily manipulated and led, but who lacks the intuitive intelligence or strong character (i.e. a well-defined sense of honor, duty and personal responsibility) to be an effective leader themselves.
Sexual Orientation
:
Asexual in the conventional sense (but heterosexual in a biological sense); subject is probably unable to initiate physical contact with an element of violence, domination, &/or cruelty (e.g. rape). Probably reflects a low opinion of women in general, not to mention strong feelings of self-loathing and an overtly bleak, dysfunctional worldview.
Personal Background
:
J’ok’s entire life has been marred by extreme violence and cruelty, both as victim and tormentor. Trained to be a blunt instrument of House power, the boy was raised under a harsh, somewhat old-fashioned set of dysfunctional Klingon ‘family values.’ The xenophobic paranoia of the Rag’naRok cult was fully beaten into the individual, until only a shell of that individual existed. His Spartan upbringing had hardened him beyond the point of even the most basic humanoid empathy. Several of his brothers never came home from their ascension rites: experiencing such an obvious loss of family at this age surely impacted the child. His parent’s callous disregard for their children’s safety was no doubt just as traumatic. Under such extreme circumstances, an individual is forced into a pure survival mode: normal development is either stunted or warped, often resulting in the sort of dangerous individual we are discussing here.
The subject also witnessed the repressive, barbaric treatment of his Klinzhai sisters and mother. He internalized this abuse into a “bad attitude” about the opposite sex (again, this was probably a long-term result of the child’s fragile psyche throwing up psychic barriers at a very young age). The cruel education he suffered through left him with no compassion for any non-Klingons, not to mention those within the Empire whom he feels aren’t living up to his expectations of what a true Klingon warrior should act and think.
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Location: Engineering, IKS Valkyre
Diana looked around and found Kor making repairs to the warp drive. She ducked under one of the conduits that sent oxygen and maintained life support. Between the steady hum of the impulse engines, and his intense concentration on the repairs he was making, he didn’t hear her walk up behind him. She waited until he paused, before clearing her throat.
“Captain,” he acknowledged as he turned to face her.
Diana smiled, “A bit formal for someone who’s asked for my hand in marriage, isn’t it?”
“About that…,” the Klingon warrior looked down at his feet momentarily, and then back at her. “It was sort of my family’s idea. They thought that marrying you would secure my future.”
“And you?” Diana encouraged him to continue.
“I had not considered settling down so soon,” he replied honestly, “and I believe that I’m strong enough, and smart enough, to secure my own future.”
“Kor,” Diana said, “I was married to a great man. I assure that this conversation would not be taking place, if I did not believe so too. I respect your ambition, and your honesty.”
“Then, you’re not offended?” he asked.
“No,” she answered. “Tell me, will you be staying on once we reach Quo’Nos?”
“Actually, it has always been my dream to be CEO of a much larger, more modern ship,” he admitted.
Diana laughed, and gave the young man a hug. “Now, I’m offended,” she said. “I love this little ship, but wish you well--wherever you serve.”
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Location: Mess Hall, IKS Valkyre
Diana looked around, and saw her younger brother, Max, in animated conversation with her next potential husband. Getting a cold drink from the replicator first, she went over to join them. They were both starting to rise from their seats to acknowledge her, when she said, “At ease.” Sitting down, and taking a sip of her drink first, she turned to the new guy and said, “Max says that you handle the helm almost as well as I do.”
“Almost?” he replied. “This ship and I are like one person sailing through space.”
Diana sat down her glass, and looked into the man’s eyes, “This ship holds my soul, and when she’s hit, I hurt.”
The new guy returned her steady gaze, and said, “This ship is my life. My blood runs through her like oil. We will die together in glorious battle, and arrive together in Sto’Vo’Kor.”
“Not if I die first,” Diana stated flatly. She tried to maintain her serious expression, but broke out laughing, and the men joined in. “Finally, someone who loves this ship as much as I do.”
“So, what do you think?” Max--always the overanxious and blunt friend--asked.
Diana looked at her brother, “Who are you; his agent?” Pointing at herself and the new guy, she said, “The two of us need to talk.”
“Gotcha,” Max said. He got up, grabbed his tray and headed for the waste bin. Dropping off his tray, he quick flashed the new guy a quick two thumbs up, before leaving.
“I see you have an ally in my house,” Diana said.
“Max is a good friend, and a funny fellow,” the new guy answered. “So many warriors are deadly serious on their way to Sto’Vo’Kor. I think they miss a great deal of life on their way to death.”
“That’s very profound,” Diana said.
The new guy shrugged his shoulders, “We are Klingons--we fight. I personally want to fight for something worth dying for, and I hope to vex my enemies further by living well. Eventually, I will fall; but I will have lived first.”
“Love is also part of life. Have you ever loved anyone before?” she asked. The new guy shifted in his seat. This new question was not a comfortable one. Diana recognized the body language. “You’re in love now, aren’t you--but not with me?”
The helmsman pulled a picture of a young Klingon woman out from inside his uniform’s inside breast pocket. She was a striking Klinzhai female. Her skin was flawless except for a small scar on her left cheek--somehow, that only made her seem more beautiful. “She’s extraordinary,” Diana said. “The two of you are … ?”
“We were once, but …,” he left the rest unspoken. “Her father wanted her to marry someone more respected; someone better than the son of one of his hired retainers.”
Diana understood how he felt. For years, she was too young, too inexperienced, too human to be a fitting wife for the man she loved. She felt like her soul were being crushed every time she saw him with someone else. It would be wrong to marry someone who loved someone else as much as she loved Ta’rok.
“You realize that if we were to marry, you could never see her again,” Diana told him. She saw the fleeting look that crossed his face--a look of surprise and despair. “Don’t be fooled by my Terran features or ways. There’s a reason why I’m captain of this vessel. I can stand toe-to-toe with any Klingon captain for strength, cunning, and pure viciousness. One thing I will not tolerate, no matter how discrete, is a rival for my husband’s affections. If I smelled another woman’s scent, or felt her presence in your heart, I would not be able to contain my fury.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the stunned youth said.
Diana started to get up from the table, “Don’t give up on your lady. Invite her to the wedding, as a member of my house and a bridge officer aboard this ship.”
“Really?” this time his expression was one of pure joy.
“Really,” she assured him.
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Loc: Staging Area for training & recreation, IKS Valkyre
Diana found Kang performing a weapons check, and invited him to join her for bat’leth practice. He smiled. The girl was half his size. “Are you sure?” he asked. “You’ve been sick a long time.”
She returned the smile, “Don’t worry; I’ll go easy on you.”
He picked up his weapon in his left hand, and holding his right over his heart, feigned being hurt, “Ooohh, you wound me, madam.”
“Not yet,” Diana answered, “but step into the circle, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“How can I refuse, when you ask so nicely,” he answered. They faced off, tapping their blades together. “Qapla.”
“Qapla,” she said, her eyes sparkling. She was easily one of the finest female bat’leth fighters on Quo’Nos, and she had the skill to take down most male warriors as well. Practice is not held in a holosuite on a Klingon vessel. Diana’s pulse raced, as friends and crewmen gathered around to watch the match.
They circled each other, while making a few tentative feints to feel out each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Kang raised his weapon, and brought it down in a high arc. It took both hands, but Diana not only held the Klingon warrior off, she moved in, and swept his leg out from under him with her own. He momentarily lost his balance, but didn’t fall; he even managed to avoid being hit by her follow through swing.
There was the clang of metal on metal, as they attacked and parried. Kang was impressed by the earth girl, and decided that it was time to stop holding back. Diana was gaining strength and confidence as the match went on. There is something very life affirming about defying death. There is something very intoxicating about having the power of life and death over another. All her life Diana battled with her warrior nature, but now the love and lust for blood sang in her veins.
Kang swung the bat’leth at her legs, but she sensed the attack coming, and did a back flip. She landed in time to meet his next attack. Sliding over, she caught her blades in his. Kang growled in frustration, but Diana didn’t give ground. Using both hands, she twisted her bat’leth counter-clockwise. Kang felt his wrist give, and dropped his weapon. In the next instant, Diana’s blade was at his throat.
The crew was cheering, and Kang raised his hands up, “Pax.”
Diana lowered her weapon, and hugged the big lug. “We have to talk.”
He nodded, and they went to the Mess to grab a drink. He had a blood wine, and she drank mineral water; mostly out of habit, but partly because that last hangover was not something she wanted to repeat. She looked down at her hand. It was strange, but the cuts from the broken glass had almost completely healed.
“You came on board for a reason,” she prompted.
He nodded his head. He knew what was coming, but still didn’t know how to tell her that he’d changed his mind.
“And, do you still want the same things?” she asked.
Kang set down his bloodwine. “No, no I don’t.”
“May I ask, why?” she was curious.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he started to say. “You have many fine qualities. I can see why Ta’rok chose you—why you head his house, and captain this ship. It’s just that you …”
“Don’t look very Klingon,” she ended the sentence for him.
Kang breathed a sigh of relief. Women could be so sensitive about their looks. It wasn’t her fault that she was so smooth, small, blond, and well, hideous. “I’m sorry,” he told her.
“Don’t be,” she replied. “I expect nothing less than complete honesty from my QaS Devwl.”
He looked up expectantly.
“That is, if you decide to stay.”
“Yes, captain!”
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Location: Runabout Kobayashi Maru
Time: On approach to Eagle's Nest
The trip to the Eagle's Nest was proceeding uneventfully, except for the occasional inability of the artificial gravity system to compensate for the pilots flight style. As far as Pleg could see, everyone's stomach seemed to be handling it just fine. The bulk of the Black Skulls team sat in the aft compartment, some at the mission table-the rest along the walls on the floor.
Svetlana got comfortable knowing the trip might a bit long. She hoped Saliss was ok after that near miss with the fire she was grateful his body was able to heal its burn so quickly. She liked and trusted the Sauran. He was a good medic and seemed to truly care and enjoy helping others heal. Watching the goings on in the shuttle, she felt the pilot's barrel rolls and smirked at the responses around her.
Ali looked around to see where his potential new girlfriend was sitting. He’d taken advantage of every opportunity to work and talk with her, without appearing too anxious. He was always as charming and helpful as he knew how to be, and it seemed to him that Kalia had found him amusing and professional. Now that she considered him a friend, it was time to move in closer. As he turned around, he saw Pleg. Judging by his expression, the Ferengi was either thinking through a difficult problem, or having a bowel movement. [I wonder what’s up with him,] Ali thought.
Pleg, seated in between several of his cohorts, ignored the conversation around him and ruminated over the events of the day as he knew them. The cargo transporters had been sabotaged prior to the first shipment, but not by him. Pleg wanted to know who did it as much as the rest of the crew, but for different reasons. His contact at Siridon Arms had assigned him to covertly sabotage the mission. He had tried with the fire, but failed. While he scrambled to come up with a new plan, another player had done his job for him. But who and why? The automatic conclusion was that his sponsor built in a back-up plan, with another hired saboteur.
To Pleg, this was a slap in the face, a grand offense against him personally. He wouldn't forget it. However, he needed to do something more to redeem himself. Pleg's problems was that while he was an artist at individual removal, (aka assassination), he was not as skilled at bringing down a whole mission like this. Perhaps, he should sit back and assume he'd been replaced, let the other guy handle it, and worry about his paycheck later. As a Ferengi, he had a hard time doing that. He was screaming on the inside with the desire to kill his rival.
The little Ferengi's attitude was off, Seveta noted. He was...Jumpy to say the least. Watching him closely she wished Saliss was here so she could ask her friend what he knew about Pleg. It seemed more than just simple nerves. The guy was never this way unless he was...Nawww...but you never know. She knew the Ferengi still held that grudge against her for beating him at cards that one time. Shrugging Seveta decided to watch him and see what happened. He acted like someone hiding something.
She rubbed her shoulder it was sore she'd have Saliss look at it when she got back. He had told her it might get that way if she didn't watch herself, but she never listened to medics much. Saliss would just stare at her, and click his tongue in disappointment. Her face would redden, embarrassed, when he asked what was wrong. He would give his reptilian smile to let her know he wouldn't hold it against her.
Pleg's skin started to crawl with the realization that he was being watched by Sveltlana, who was sitting across from him. Why? Belatedly, he realized that he had been squirming and twitching. His mind, so focused on his thoughts, hadn't allowed him to realize what his body was doing. 'Control Yourself!' He chastised himself, silently. And then his foot started tapping.
She snapped out of her memory at the sound of Pleg's movement.
"Don't you think you have more to worry about than my motor control!" Pleg challenged. "I'll be fine. Worry about yourselves." Reaching down he grabbed his rifle and tossed it to Svetlana aggressively. "Here! Check this out, EXPERT." He nearly spat the words. "I can't say I've seen you do much, so far! I want the sight aligned to .002 microns. Is it in spec?"
Ali whipped around at the sound of Pleg shouting. He’d had enough of the little parasite’s attempts to take over command. He didn’t care one way or another about the broad, but if she let Pleg talk to her that way, he’d be ordering everyone around within the hour. The Arab got up, and stood beside the Ferengi. He wasn’t exceptionally tall for a human, but he towered over the other rifleman. “You know, a real professional would have taken care of this before going on a mission.”
<Svetlana--Inspects weapon. It is in perfect working order>
Smiling maliciously, Pleg responded. "I know. I already checked it. I don't actually NEED your services. It's just nice to know you actually know how to do your job. And don't worry, I'm more than capable of handling mine."
This brought a round of chuckles to the group, indicating that Pleg had successfully taken the attention off of himself by the change of direction he'd taken.
Out of the blue, a possible explanation for the second saboteur struck Pleg. Again, the words of the Orion rang in his head. "You must move to discredit D'Vek Kartz's intervention in matters where he does not belong." Pleg's plan had been two-fold.
Phase 1: Discredit Kartz to the colonists by sabotaging the shipments, thus making him appear to be unreliable.
Phase 2: Implicate Kartz in biogenic weapons trafficking by planting encrypted files in the Axel mainframe and then leaking the information to the Federation ship.
SO, WHAT IF someone aboard Axel had found those files! Pleg had never considered that as a possibility. Could saboteur #2 have screwed with the transporters as a result of this?! The guy BELIEVED that his ship was smuggling the contraband and had a some kind of motive to stop it?
The possible explanation gave the Ferengi a sick feeling. 'That's it!' He swore to himself 'I'm done! To hell with my mission! If someone has already discovered the altered files (even if they don't know what they have, yet), I've over exposed myself! Let the blame get shifted to the other guy....I'm about to become the dutiful soldier. No more clandestine crap for me!'
----------------------------------------------------
Location: Cretanus
Lisa tossed the shot of scotch into her mouth in one stroke.. She felt her esophagus trying to close rather than let the stuff in. It burned her throat and her eyes. It even tried to come out of her nose. Looking at Damora with venom, she forced herself to swallow.
“I’m getting off this planet, Dee. I don’t know how but I will and all the scotch you con me into drinking won’t change that.”
“Lisa, you’ll be passed out before that ship sets down and you know it. I know it and the entire bar knows it. You’ve tried this before and we kept you here. Remember?” Damora leaned back in her chair, sipping at her own shot of imitation scotch -which did not negate the amount of alcohol in it. She studied her shot glass and the dark amber liquid within it with bleary eyes. [It wasn’t all *that* bad], she thought.
Mayor Breens stuck his head into the doorway of the darkened bar and winced at the sounds and smells. He hated having to come here but he’d promised Lisa. He’d worked with Damora for the past months to keep Lisa from leaving. Successfully stopping her from contacting the captain of a freighter that had stopped by for supplies by getting her drunk; he had subsequently promised her he would help. A promise said in the dark of night, snug in each other’s arms, they both knew he would keep that promise..
Phil Breens laid his hand tenderly on Lisa’s upper back. “We’re getting those medical supplies, Lisa. I had your personal belongings packed and sent to the landing field. If you hurry, you can get there before they take off.”
Lisa jumped up knocking her chair backward. Phil gracefully caught it and set it to the side. Throwing her arms around the mayor’s neck, she kissed him on the mouth. Pulling back, his arms holding her steady around the waist, Lisa said softly, “I hate to leave you, Phil. But I’ve got to go. You know me. You know I have to.”
He nodded. “I know. Now, go!”
Lisa rushed out of the bar, her lab coat catching on the door frame. She turned and twisted, getting her arms out of it, leaving it dangle.
The alcohol was rushing to her head with the sudden activity. She swerved and staggered, her feet finding their way underneath her to keep her moving. Nurse Howt brought the scooter alongside Lisa’s stumbling run. Lisa grabbed at the roll bar and flung herself into the seat there. The two women didn’t speak. They’d had their conversation the week before.
Now, Billie Howt put the scooter into gear, the high whine of the electrical engine not drowning out her sobbing cough at Dr. Story leaving. She’d at least cared about the people in this god-forsaken place.
Coming to a halt near the shuttle bay doors, Howt reached out to hold Lisa steady but was brushed aside. “Bye, Billie. If I get back this way, I’ll stop in.”
The shuttle was powering up. Lisa panicked. What if she couldn’t get through those doors before they closed for good? Running, she gave a push from the soles of her boots and dived into the shuttle. They couldn’t refuse her passage, could they? As a doctor, she was certainly able to ingratiate herself. Couldn’t she?
“Dr. Lisa Story. Permission to come aboard.” With a weak smile, Lisa passed out.
Roquel knelt to check the womans pulse; it was strong and steady. The smell of too much alcohol wafted from the woman's breath. "How am I going to explain this to Korav?" She wondered aloud. Then, she pulled up the woman by the arms and dragged her back to the aft compartment. Roquel lowered one of the auxiliary bunks and plopped the woman down upon it. Once she was situated properly on the bed, Roquel strapped her down with some load straps. "That ought to keep you out of trouble while I get back to the Axel." She said, to the unresponsive form.
"Rendezvous in 3 minutes." The computer warned. Roquel headed back to the pilot's seat,
----------------------------------------------------
Location: IKS Valkyre
The Vorcha Class Battlecruiser dropped out of warp and approached the I.K.V. Valkyrie at 1/4 impulse. With shields down, it moved to within 10,000 ft of the smaller ship. Captain Ah'Qwa signaled for his comm officer to broadcast his hail "=/\= Prepare to receive me! I would speak with your captain, at once! I have a proposal for her that need be presented in person. =/\=" Immediately he closed the channel. Ah'Qwa knew his actions were bold, but that was his way. He would brook no argument on this...they would let him aboard. It would not have been missed that his finger was poised over the fire button for the main disruptor as he had spoken. The Vo'Tek had nothing to fear from the Valkyrie and he knew it.
----------
Once aboard, the tall confident Klingon commanded that he be escorted to the captain. Diana Hunter would hear him out this day.
Diana hung up the bat’leth, thanked Kang for an excellent practice and his honesty, then proceeded to her ready room. Apparently, she had another admirer.
Ah'Qwa cleared his throat loudly and waited until he had Diana's full attention, then proceeded with his well rehearsed lines. "I am Ah'Qwa, Son of Lorat, and I have come to seek your LAND in marriage."
Diana smiled, “My land?”
The forty-somethingish Klingon smiled broadly. "HA! I see that my choice of words did not escape you! Ha, Ha! I have been accused of being too blunt before, however..." he said seriously "to be less than straight-forward would dishonor us both."
“Then allow me to be straight forward with you, Ah’Qwa,” Diana said, as she walked around her desk, half sat/half leaned against its front edge, and crossed her arms. “Your name appeared at the top of a very short list of candidates drawn up by my people. I know and respect your father; as we tend to vote in the same bloc at council. He’s progressive without being reckless, …”
Ah'Qwa grabbed Diana's upper arms to reign her in. "Be still! Hear me out!" He had no reason to believe that he had done anything other than raise the woman's ire. Still, he felt that she would listen.
"You and I both stand to gain from a marriage between House Lorat and House To'Var. Come...sit...let us speak as equals." He gestured to a nearby set of chairs. After waving towards them, he went and seated himself and awaited her.
"I am aware of your situation." Ah'Qwa stated flatly, once she'd joined him. "The High Council expects you to marry a Klingon male....soon. I also know, that you have not chosen your consort. THIS is why it should be me. House Lorat is strong! We have a mighty fleet and many proud warriors. "I" can assure the safety of your House's lands. As I'm sure you are aware, our lands lie at the Eastern border of your own. I intend to unite the lands of our two houses under one banner, so that in the event of future upheavals on Qo'Nos we should both prevail!" He waited out Diana's apparent confusion and continued. "House Noht'Far bears watching." He said cautiously. "They have allied themselves with House Rag'Na'Rok."
“I am aware,” Diana stated flatly. She was more concerned with how she and her new husband got along, than her house and its neighbors. Neighbors you could quarrel with, and even kill. But, it was quite another thing entirely to fight day in, and day out, with the person you slept with and had children with. “Tell me, Ah’Qwa, do you believe that you could come to love me?”
"Listen!" Ah'Qwa persisted. "I am not after your love! Your heat belongs to another!" He waved dismissively. "That matters not! Throughout the galaxy marriages have been used to settle disputes, garner favors, and form political alliances. It is an honorable tradition." Ah'Qha shook his fist and nodded his head vigorously. "I respect you. Human or not, YOU have the heart of a Klingon. THAT is what our marriage would be based upon."
“Yeah, about that heat thing,” Diana started. “I agree that it’s time House To’var had a male head, but being a warrior means living a life of risk. I wanted a life without regret. It’s been three months since I’ve been with any man, and I don’t think that anyone that lives on the edge would begrudge me a dalliance or two before settling down. And, I do mean settling down. I would be a dutiful and faithful wife; I will tolerate nothing less than a faithful husband. Even you have to sleep, Ah’Qwa, and I am a very jealous lover.”
"Diana Hunter," Captain Ah'Qwa started imploringly. "Will you consider me as a potential mate? I have an exemplary record in battle. I, myself, have slain over 500 warriors! My ships have gained many victories for the Empire!" He stood and then knelt on one knee at her feet. "Should you say yes, I will give over one of my finest vessels for you to command. You shall have a ship to rival my own, instead of THIS!" His arm swept wide to take in the Valkyrie around him. Little did he know, what he had done.
Diana laughed lightly and sweetly. She hugged the Klingon captain briefly, and took him by the arm. “Haven’t you heard, Captain,” she said, “it’s not the size; it’s what you do with it. Allow me to show you my little ship, and along the way, since we are being honest as a husband and wife should be, I wish to tell you some things that I have never shared with anyone else.”
As the tour commenced, Ah'Qwa walked alongside Diana where possible, and 1 step behind where not. He listened diligently, but his mind also focused on Diana's line "...as a husband and wife should be" and felt extremely hopeful.
“I was a member of another Klingon house before I married Ta’rok. I entered into a blood oath, and wore my house symbol on everything--even my pajamas,” Diana told him. “We lived on a mining outpost back then. One night three Cardassian battle cruisers arrived. Someone of rank had arranged for Starfleet to be diverted, and the claxons never sounded. But the screaming, that we could hear. 48 children lived in tunnels and held off the Cardassians for almost two weeks. When help finally arrived, there were only eleven of us left. It was this ship that rescued us.”
Ah'Qwa was well versed in the nature of war, and he visualized the events in detail. "You must have fought back valiantly to take on those honorless PetaQ! I am amazed any of you survived." He gazed at Diana both sorrowfully and filled with respect as he ducked his head to pass through the doorway to enter the bridge. "Tell me more."
“We lived on board this wonderful ship for nine months,” Diana said. “We grew up during that time, and we had heroes to teach us. Do you see the captain’s chair?”
He diverted his eyes from the woman to the center chair. It looked old and battered with obvious signs of wear accumulated during battle.
“I salvaged this ship,” Diana admitted. “When she went down, her captain--who was like a father to me--was gripping the arms of that chair, watching certain death approach through the view screen. His finger bones are imbedded into the chair, and I will never have them removed. While they are there, I remember that command is not comfortable; it’s not about career or fame. Command is about duty, responsibility and eventually to die fighting rather than to live on one’s knees. I love this little ship, Ah’Qwa.”
The tall Klingon warrior was impressed. "Diana Hunter, I was correct! YOU ARE A TRUE KLINGON! You understand duty, honor, life, & death as well as any warrior I have known." Ah'Qwa now understood her attachment to this vessel. It would be unthinkable to captain any other. He remembered well the ridicule that General Martok had received at the decision to keep his flag aboard the Rotarran during the Dominion War, but it had been a sign of his dedication as was this.
As they passed the transporter pads, Diana said, “This was the last place I saw my mother. The Cardassians had taken her, and about twenty others, to be comfort women. The Cardassians agreed to a trade, but when my mother, and the others arrived, all of them had their throats cut and were bleeding to death.”
"....Then what happened?"
“They traded me for our mothers,” Diana answered. “They just weren’t counting on me to be loaded down with explosives, and or that I’d have a locator on me.” Changing the subject, she said, “Let’s go to the brig for a moment.”
“This is where I made a mistake,” Diana confessed. “The screams of a prisoner touched my heart, and I showed him mercy that he did not deserve. I was punished by having my arm broken. I learned more about being Klingon by this mistake than I ever could have learned in books or interviews. I learned about real strength, why protecting the ones we love doesn’t stop at the battle field, and why we don’t keep prisoners.”
Ah'Qwa nodded with understanding. "Both are wise realizations that can only be learned through the trials of life."
“Let’s stay here for awhile; it’s quiet,” Diana said. “Everyone makes mistakes. If you’re lucky enough not to die from them, you should learn from them. I made a mistake with Ta’rok when I was 14-years-old. His ship had encountered a biological weapon. Everyone on board had a fever, and was going mad. Some of them had already killed each other, and the Klingon ambassador was concerned that the ship and crew would be lost. He asked for my help, and I was foolish enough to imagine that Ta’rok knew me well enough to recognize me, and not hurt me.”
"Well..." Ah'Qwa started carefully, "I could be easy. Even a Tarkelian Razorbeast has a gentle side." His concern though over the issue showed in his visage if not in his words.
“He mistook me for jeghpu’wl. He grabbed me, and forced himself on me,” Diana said quietly. “I was not prepared for the full passion of a true Klingon warrior. I was near death when I was teleported to a nearby ship, and spent two weeks in the hospital. Ta’rok and I did get past that. I was always happy to be with him, and we did have a relationship before we married. But, he always had to hold back. Do you really want to enter into a marriage where your wife cannot satisfy all your needs?”
Ah'Qwa weighed Diana's words and felt the heaviness with which they were laden. "They would be OUR children." He responded with pride. "I WOULD defend them with EVERY ounce of life and EVERY last breath. They would learn to be strong from the rejection of others. Yet..." He pondered further. "...perhaps it is much to ask of them."
“There’s one other thing that you must consider,” Diana warned him. “Our children would not be accepted by most Klingons. For the rest of your life, you would be fighting to defend your Terran wife, and your mixed breed children. I do believe that you can grow to love me, and I know you would love your children. It would tear at your very soul to have them rejected by both the highest and lowest levels of Klingon society.”
“You’re quite the catch, Ah’Qwa,” Diana told him. “A girl would have to be crazy to turn you down, and I’m not crazy. In all fairness to you, I’d like you to think about all that we’ve discussed. If you still feel the same way, then I’d be honored to call you husband. If you do not, I will not take offense. Whatever your decision, our houses belong together. We should be friends.”
These words filled Ah'Qwa with a new version of his original goal. Perhaps, the allegiance between houses could be gained without marriage. He was, in fact, in no particular hurry to wed. His desire to have House To'Var and House Lorat aligned, however was paramount. "I will think on every word that you have spoken to me, Diana." He said holding her hand between his two. He looked into her eyes and saw the true Klingon soul within this woman. She knew well how their children would be shunned, the trials they (and he) would face, and the the waves of turmoil that their joining may carry into the future. "I will return to the Quet'Zol (his ship). By the end of this day, we shall know whether we are to be united in matrimony or friendship." Ah'Qwa let go her hands, backed up, and bowed. "My lady." He then turned crisply on his heels and headed back for the transporter room.
******************
Location: Sickbay, Axel
Kim had seen Ernie tend to several drunks in the past few days, so when Roquel dropped off their newest arrival, she was confident that she knew what to do. She was just a little disappointed that this new crewmember had started going downhill so soon. Or, maybe, this woman knew something she didn’t.
Lisa came into consciousness with a groan. She kept her eyes closed but she knew she was in a well lit room and she guessed it was a hospital. Had she made it onto the shuttle? Curiosity made her eyes open against her will. Sickbay. She almost grinned. Her head came off the bed a piece of an inch giving the blood in her veins the push it needed to move around. The resulting headache pushed her back down.
But her eyes had taken in the small oriental woman at her side. “Sorry. Guess I’m a bit hung-over,” she admitted.
“Don’t worry about it,” Kim replied. “It actually saved us some time--every new crew member is supposed to get a physical. If this were Starfleet, you’d probably get a psych evaluation as well, but this is the Axel, and you have to be a little crazy to be here in the first place.”
The young Oriental girl set down the tri-corder, and handed the woman on the bio-bed a few pills and something warm to take them with. “B-complex + C, ibuprofen and herbal tea.”
“Not quite the concoction I usually use. Will it work?”
“Can’t hurt,” Kim replied. Sitting down next to the woman’s bed, Kim picked up her own cup of tea, and said, “So, what is it you do?”
“Guess we need an introduction. I'm Dr. Lisa Story.”
Kim tensed up at the word ‘doctor.’ If the Axel had a real doctor, why would Korav keep her around? She went over to the counter to set her tea down, but her hands were shaking. Tea spilled all over the counter, and on the floor. She quickly tried to wipe it up before something important got wet or ruined.
Lisa rose up onto one elbow. The young woman had gone very pale. Lisa watched as she hurriedly moved to the counter. Something was wrong. Suddenly, tea spilled all over the counter, and on the floor. The nurse -obviously a nurse- quickly tried to wipe it up before something important got wet or ruined.
“The headache is gone. I’m feeling much better,” Dr. Story said quietly. Getting out of bed, Lisa went over, grabbed a towel and got down on hands and knees, stretching the towel out ahead of her. “You okay?”
TO BE CONTINUED …
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