Topic: Goesa'vaina

[Governor Ronjar]

I fear the ?s. They're everywhere!

But here's my digs.

GOESA’VAINA




Chapter One
Third Day of Gromarg
February 15, 2274

   Ron’jar, son of Burt, clasped his hand upon Captain La’ra’s armored shoulder and returned the heart felt smile his friend offered him. They had both been awaiting this moment for years. Ever since the day Ron’jar had come aboard this old cruiser, the Hiv’laposh, as executive officer.

   “This has been a long time coming, my old friend.” The elder of the two said. La’ra’s hand reached into the metal box sitting atop the com station and withdrew two shiny silver rank pins. He bared shiny white fangs as he pinned them gruffly to his former exec’s leather collar. “There, I promote you to…Commander!”

   Ron’jar remained ever silent as the bridge crew of the old D-6 battlecruiser cheered in guttural Klingon dialect and thumped fists upon station tops. The dark skinned warrior had finally earned the promotion for which he had been fighting for ten years. He had been held at the rank of lieutenant for over a decade because of his affiliation with less than popular people. People he had gladly given up rank and power for to be with. Now, because of his perseverance and La’ra’s incessant badgering of Command, Ron’jar had his due rank.

   Ron’jar looked over the men and women he had served and battled alongside for most of a generation. La’ra had been his friend since childhood. The giant soldier had found him years after they had joined the Imperial Service and gone their separate ways. Ron’jar had been wasting away aboard a communications relay station along the Federation border at the time. La’ra had been in command of a tiny, out dated Bird of Prey at the time, and had put him to good use and made him his new First Officer.

   Behind La’ra was Leral, she who would replace him as First Officer. She was a reserved, intelligent science specialist. Ron’jar could leave his friend in no better hands. Though, Leral would be far more likely to ease a d’k’tagh into La’ra’s back than he had been. Tall and beautiful, and smart to boot, Leral was not to be underestimated.

   Beside her was Lieutenant Grimbek, the ship’s prime gunner. Grimbek was enthusiastic and young. His attitude was summed up in the term irrepressible. He never tired in his pursuit of the warrior’s lusts: glory, honor and battle. The muscular, round headed youth was almost as good at Mok’bara as he himself.

   There were others among the crew, such as L’dar, La’ra’s equally huge brother and chief engineer. L’dar was almost as quiet as Ron’jar himself sometimes, but far more boisterous, especially when drinking. All of these people had stood behind their former exec, and he would miss them upon departing the ship.

   At the rank of commander, Ron’jar was far too high in rank to remain as First Officer aboard such a small ship. In fact, such an old cruiser as Hiv’laposh only rated a man of his rank as its CO. La’ra’s rank was intended to be as much an insult to him as the name of the ship had been. Both the wily Klingon had put to use. But Command was not likely to continue to waste such experience on one old, second line cruiser.

   Ron’jar knew he would be leaving soon, and not likely to a very grand assignment.

   La’ra stepped back from the commander and regarded the command crew. “Engineer, make ready for departure,” he told L’dar. The slightly shorter Klingon nodded and, for once, held his sharp tongue. “We must take our exec to his new assignment…and to our next mission.”

   Still the acting First till he received his next commission, Ron’jar stood at attention, hard eyes pressing La’ra’s for information. “What coarse, Captain?”

   “Ya’vang, near the Federation Border. Then, we’re headed to Goesa’vaina.”


**************

This story takes place over a decade before 'Fall of the House of Kruge'. I must note there are differences between mine and La'ra's universes. They occupy almost the same time periods, but there are many differences.

[Commander La'ra]

Spelling of names being the most noticable differences.  That's deliberate on both our parts...erm...well, at least that's my story.

You know what I think already, though I'm betting you've written more that I haven't seen yet.

[KOTH-KieranXC, Ret.]

Interesting start. Not much action to start out with, but i'm interested to know where you're going with it. I will stay posted.

[KBF-Frankk]

Hey Ronjar, where is the rest?

[Governor Ronjar]

Hey Ronjar, where is the rest?

Patience Frankk. For the Jedi it is time to eat as well.

I get pretty busy with all I have to do round the home-stead. Sonn, I will post more.

[Governor Ronjar]

Damn, this looks like the site time forgot.

Here's some more. I found time to look over this chapter and have found it suitable for posting, so, if it be your pleasure, read on...

                Chapter Two
   Jessa’man’a City,
   Goesa’vaina
                February 16, 2274




   Dashak Prime I’rell Coarus stood at respectful attention, eyes closed as his lady passed. He silently fell into step behind her as she passed down the halls as though floating on a pillow of air. Her step was so even; it appeared as though she did not have to walk to move from place to place. The tall, slim warrior smiled at the amount of training and discipline his queen, the Jessa’tae, embodied, even in her movements.

   Her training nearly rivaled his own. Though the two were hardly comparable.

   I’rell carried his KI-117 Shavat rifle a hand span before his strapped, bare chest as he followed the prescribed distance behind his ruler. She made a swift pace today. Something must have caught her concern today. His eye strayed to every corner as he strode behind, extra alert for any unlikely problem.

   The queen and her quartet of armed sentries made for the Jessa Assemblage Hall. It was a massive building, built of modern materials but mimicking the ancient styles. It was a great, columnar hall; much of it built to open air. Modern security devices were hidden within, though, to protect the Jessa’tae from all those who might do her harm. Such had not happened since the days the first warp drive had been tested, and the ensuing crisis over the arrival of the first Starfleet vessel, but they were there should they ever be needed.

   The trip to the Assemblage Hall would be time consuming, but the Dashak Prime was used to much longer jaunts. Being the Prime meant that he had tested and competed and proved himself to be the most capable soldier in all of Goesa’vaina. As such, only he had the right to protect the Jessa’tae when she exited he chambers.

   Many parted the way before the grey cloaked queen, most bowing so low before her as to be lying practically on the ground. The Jessa’tae’s alabaster hands protruded from the tick travelling garment to give the people her leave. She did not revel in the sight of her people humbling themselves so before her. But old customs could not be broken. No matter how modern new technologies made life here.

   The quintet of people passed into the royal corridors. These halls led directly to the Jessa Assemblage and provided the swiftest, and most easily defended of all routes to the governing building. The Jessa’tae also led her men aside, to the hovertram garage. Her journey was indeed urgent. She was not content to merely walk to the Assemblage.

   The queen halted, none of her body visible beneath her traveling robe, and arms crossed. Her shrouded face turned Coarus’s direction. “Prime Coarus,” she called to him; her bothering to use his name a breach of ancient decorum. “Arrange a carriage.”

   At least she hadn’t gone directly to the transport master, I’rell thought. He bowed, again eyes closed, and detached from his men. As he went to the transport master, his men wordlessly fanned out, two setting sentry for the door and one inspecting the vehicle pool. He smiled very slightly at his people’s discipline. They did not await standard orders. They simply did their duty. He had trained these, and the hundred that went with them.

   Coarus arranged the tram with a minimum of terse words and ordered a man from the driver pool to man the controls. He knew the driver. His background was clean and unremarkable, and he’d been with the royal service for ten years. I’rell returned to the Jessa’tae’s side and waited with her in silence till the tram moved up and opened its armored main door. After his men checked within the hover car, Coarus scanned it with a Starfleet issued tricorder. He then signaled ‘all clear’ and allowed his queen to get within.

   The ride up the royal corridors was silent, just as Coarus expected. He did not believe his Jessa’tae would go into important details within the presence of such low ranking men. For all their skill, they were but armsmen in the service. She would likely wait till they were dismissed to brief him.

   The drive was still four minutes long in the white hover car. They finally arrived before the Assemblage, directly before the royal entry. Many guards were present here, but Coarus’s men immediately exited the vehicle and inspected the area and the men. Upon satisfactorily querying the commander of the guard, the men returned and reported to I’rell. He nodded, sliding out himself and offering the lady his hand.

The five of them entered the Assemblage and traveled amid its collected myriad of art and royal momentos. The place was a colorful collage of tapestries and hand woven rugs. Ancient ideograms covered the tall, white columns. At every corner and indeed every five meters, stood a guard. The Jessa’tae ignored all this. She strode lightly through the halls, leading them deep within the Assemblage to the Command Intelligence Chamber.

This caused an eyebrow of amusement to rise upon I’rell’s face. Generally the queen fraternized with half the councilmen and senators that eternally littered the building awaiting her audience. The reinforced, phaser resistant doors parted and the Jessa’tae and Prime entered. The three remaining men stayed outside.

The interior of this, the newest portion of the Assemblage Hall, did not match the austere design of the rest of the temple-like structure. This was a Starfleet designed and built chamber. It was not round like the “bridges” of their star cruisers, but instead rectangular. The stations were arranged, though, after the fashion of their combat space stations. For this reason, it was the Jessa’tae’s least favorite room.

Silver cased consoles lined the walls, surrounding a central, railed of semi-circle of master command stations. The consoles were black topped and very modern looking. A cluster of small, internally lit buttons crowded the faces of each control panel, and graphically lit information panels mated to each of them. The room was rather crowded with military officers from each of the military services: the Aero-Defense Force, Intersystem Patrol, Royal Navy and I’rell’s own Jessic Guard. Each of the officers was very highly placed, much higher than Coarus ever placed in his army.

Jessa’tae Elani’tess pulled the hood of her robe back to revel a head of long, black hair and a pair of haunting green eyes. Her flesh was pale due to her never going out in the direct sunlight. She burned far too easily. This was why she didn’t mind the royal travelling robes. Her people ranged from the equatorial region. The planet’s extreme tilt toward her sun ensured that those continents received only half as much direct light, though Goesa’vaina’s closeness to that sun made them just as hot. Coarus stepped forth to relieve her of her over garb.

Among the men arranged before her, one man stepped forward from the others. He was of northern desert stock, like to I’rell’s creed. He was not so tall, but his face was twice as lined with experience as the Prime. He had served in the Jessic Guard for nearly forty years, ascending to the rank of High General before retiring from active service. Now he served the public as Over Secretary of the Military. His hair, now that he allowed himself to grow it again, was grey and thinning, and contrasted garishly against his dark skin tone. He obviously could not care less.

“Report, Secretary Iram.” The queen invited. There was a very comfortable chair in the center of the command center for her use. She did not even glance at it. She usually did not. Iram bowed slightly and began.

“A Starfleet vessel patrolling the Klingon border has reported in to us. They detail an enormous build up of Klingon warships in the Ya’vang starsystem.”

Elani’tess’s eye brows raised slightly. Coarus’s eyes narrowed a bit. He was somewhat familiar with the Ya’vang. They were a member world of the Klingon Empire and a served as a small supply outpost for trade vessels. I’rell considered the implications of a military build up there.

“What is Ya’vang’s distance from Goesa’vaina?”

“Eight standard light years.”

Elani’tess’s face hardened.

“Three days distance at Warp Eight.”

“The Starfleet cruiser’s captain is standing by on subspace com.” Iram stated.

“On visual.”

The large human who appeared on the primary viewing screen drew a short breath the Goesan queen. He was broad shouldered, so much so he barely fit within the white upholstered command chair he occupied. His impressive physique was the only thing that kept her from grinning over that ridiculous blue uniform he wore. In fact, this man was the only person who looked good in the new, ultra tight Starfleet uniform. They came in a variety of styles, and in at least three colors (blue, tan and grey), none of which was appealing. Each, including the men’s’, possessed a very low collar line. Little adorned them, other than a pair of very tiny epaulettes denoting division by color and years of service, and an oddly obtrusive belt buckle which protruded from beneath the uniform tunic. This man wore the blue version of the suit, which made his dark color stand out beautifully in contrast. Wide spaced, sparkling brown eyes stared out at the queen and ivory teeth glimpsed out from under thin, strong lips in a hint of a smile.  The Jessa’tae found the captain quite enticing.

“Greetings, Captain. I am Jessa’tae Elani’tess of Goesa’vaina. I rule the First Senate.”

Politely, she waited for the chocolate colored human to introduce himself. The first mistake of so many people speaking over subspace radio was to try and say everything you had to discuss in the first few moments. Elani was very keen on conversational etiquette.

“I’m Captain Jon Sharp of the USS Endeavour. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.” He said. The captain had a small gap between his ivory teeth that gave his squareish face a cute quality. Elani’tess believed she might enjoy getting to know this man.

“Likewise, Captain. My cabinet members inform me that you have detected Klingon activity.”

“Yes indeed, Jessa’tae.” The human stated all hint of a smile dropping from his face. The man was so quick to turn all-business. “Long range sensors have detected a large body of Klingon vessel amassing in the Ya’vang system. Thus far, we’ve detected and classified ten battlecruisers of various classes, with two more en route.”

“And what indication do you have that their intention is our system?”

“First is Ya’vang’s proximity to Goesa’vaina. Second is the fact that their scouts are scanning the Almat plasma storms with their tactical scanners. Third,” and the captain’s brows bobbed at this point, “is that one of the incoming ships is the closest sector command ship.”

“The Tom’par’a,” Elani said, “General Tor’s ship.”

Sharp was obviously impressed that a hereditary monarch was so well versed in such things. Many were just posh, over weight figureheads with little or no sense to them. Elani’tess was not one of these. She prided herself in the areas of knowledge she fielded. Sharp went on.

“Likely they are assembling the forces they believe they need to successfully take and hold your system.”

“We’re allied with the Federation, Captain.” The Jessa’tae returned, “Are we not covered by the Organian Peace Treaty?”

“You are an allied protectorate of the Federation, and therefor under our jurisdiction. However, you are not within the territory the Organian treaty was drawn for.”

“The Organians will overlook such a technicality?” She inquired. “I thought they were a benevolent and care-taking society.”

“So they said when we encountered them. However they have shown they are perfectly willing to overlook anything happening outside their selected area of influence. You can’t count on them to safe guard your worlds.”

“So I see…” The Jessa’tae signed. They had a hard road ahead of them. “Very well, then, Captain, what do you suggest?”


******************

This chapter kinda sets the stage for whats coming up and also helps me to begin fleshing out something of a major character in the life of Ron'jar. I've written this story before, in a way, but that version was written in a bad time of my existance and wasn't very good. But the idea of the story was good, I thought. So this is all just a really fleshed out and improved version of some old, un-posted work.
I hope y'all wind up likin'it!

[KBF-Frankk]

 

+ karma 4u

[Governor Ronjar]

+ karma 4u

I am highly greatful, thank you!

I have done some more editing and such and finished off another chapter. I've also decided to hint at a character that I believe Lara has been asking La'ra about over the years. You'll finally get at least a look at her...

Again, I hope everyone likes this story.

[Grim Reaper]

Mmmm... Perhaps if she'll see Klingons aren't all bad. Make that not bad at all

[Governor Ronjar]

Hi again, y'all. Not much time to write or anything else. I've kinda edited this, but been...elsewhere more than I'd like.
This chapter shows how Ron'jar gets into some of the suroundings you see him in in 'House of Kruge'. There's insight into Ron'jar's undying affection for all things Rihannsu. You'll also note, if you're fans of La'ra's stories (who isn't?), that I poke some fun at the liberties he took with some of my characters (cough TOR cough!!!sorry). He hasn't even read this yet, and I think it might be worth a wry grin, maybe even a chuckle.

Enjoy...

Chapter Three
Fourth Day of Gromarg
The Ya’vang System




   The General’s ready room was a much more spacious a chamber than any Ron’jar was used to aboard a ship. Two great windows over looked the sweep of the great, grey ship’s backside and the upper, right most of her six nacelles. The Tom’par’a was and enormous monstrosity of an attack cruiser. She was easily three times the size of La’ra’s D-6 cruiser. Even the ungainly giants of the Federation Starfleet were not so big as this dreadnought.

   Commander Ron’jar stood at attention before the great blood colored wood desk that occupied a large portion of the room. Such exorbitant displays of luxury aboard a starship were considered questionable among most in the fleet. General Tor was usually above such question. He invited little question to his habits or his orders. Ron’jar did not mind the desk. La’ra might comment on it. To Ron’jar, it was of no concern. That which occupied space behind the desk drew the commander’s ire.

   Standing beside the general, behind his antique desk, was a Romulan.

   Ron’jar’s cold eyes remained locked on the pointed-eared alien. He could not abide the Romulan people. He did not trust them. The alliance between the Klingon Empire and these slinking foes was foolish. He kept his hand close to his d’k’tagh.

   “You are familiar with the Goesa’vaina system?” The Romulan was asking him. The alien was an Admiral, and part of the combined fleet. It was Ron’jar’s unfortunate duty to answer.

   “Indeed.”

   “Can you elaborate?” Tonara prodded. Tor hid a half-smirk, unseen by the admiral behind him.

   “No.”

   “Are you familiar with the main planet?”

   “Yes.”

   “I see.” Tonara looked down to the white haired old general. Tor smiled a bit too politely and looked back to the stolid commander before them. Tor cleared his throat and stood. He handed a data padd to Ron’jar.

   “Commander Ran’jar, we congratulate you on your recent promotion. Due to your experience with the world of Goesa’vaina and is defenses, yours is the honor of leading in the first contingents to pacify the system.”

   Ron’jar glared a hole through Tor. The General noticed, but did not comment as the commander asked a question. “Why do we want Goesa’vaina?”

   “It furthers our expansion efforts into what is currently Federation space. To ensure that the Goesan people do not interfere with our operations within their system, we are going to occupy their world and confer upon it the status as Subject of the Empire.”

   Ron’jar nodded, but continued to glare unblinking holes through Tor. The general paused, glaring back for a moment, but went on. “You are to lead the scout element in past the Almat Storm, assess the threat forces within the area and report back to the invasion force which follows. After, you will lead the force which takes the capitol city of Jessa’man’a.” Tor blinked, jaw working back and forth. Tonara now found that it was his turn to smirk. Tor placed wizened hands upon the polished desktop and leaned closer to the commander.

   “Is there a problem, Commander Ran’jar?”

   “Yes.”

   “Then pray name it, so we can get on with this briefing!”

   Ron’jar tossed down the data padd he’d been handed.

   “These orders are not addressed to me.”

   “What in the name of Grethor are you talking about?”

   “This is addressed to a man named Ran’jar. I am Ron’jar, spelled and pronounced with an ‘o’.”

   Tor seemed incredulous. The commander was bringing up something so trivial now? During a mission briefing about a prestigious mission? Was he mad?

   “What does it matter, Commander?”

   Ron’jar had been putting up with this tiny indignity for years. Fleet command never got his name right. Usually, it meant nothing to him. The higher brass was simply showing their lacking intelligence. But today, before this Romulan admiral, the oversight was too great an indignity. He would see it corrected, now.

   “One name describes me. The other describes another man.” He narrowed his dark eyes upon the thin, tall general. “It would be alike to describing you as a small, fat and decadent man,” his gaze fell to the elaborate desk, “which certainly isn’t true…”

   Tor scrutinized the other man. At last he shrugged.

   “Very well, Commander Ron’jar. If it will stop you from crossing your beady eyes at me!” He slung the padd back. Ron’jar himself now smirked as he looked back over the data device.  Most of the intel presented here he already had a grasp of. Goesa’vaina was the primary of two inhabited worlds in its starsystem. The planet possessed an eighty degree tilt toward its Class F star, and an orbital apogee much closer than most Class M worlds. Temperatures on the sunward hemisphere averaged sixty degrees Celsius daily, growing no cooler than forty degrees during their so-called winter. Ron’jar had journeyed there years before, gathering information that he saw was included in the pre-mission briefing he now held in hand. He nodded with a bit of pride.

   “It will take a ground team to disable the city deflector generators,” he said to Tor, eyeing the man evenly, “If you want to take the capitol intact.”

   Tor seemed nonplused. “I will leave the details of how you take the city in your hands, Commander. Just so long as you do not fail. You will have access to your own ship, plus three D-3 class cruisers I recalled from a local House unit. The D-3’s have been refitted for specifically for this mission.”

   Ron’jar felt like sneering, but managed to only narrow his eyes a bit more. “Why use such elderly vessels? The ‘White-Hairs’ are more than two centuries old.”

   “The bulk of the fleet is required elsewhere, Commander,” Tor said a bit vaguely, “ to ensure the success of this mission. Larger, more capable vessels will follow you in later, after you transmit intelligence on current defenses within the system. Your reports from your mission stated that the Goesans possessed starship construction facilities on the surface. You will lead your scouting element in and ascertain the current space borne threat within the system. After, you will report to the Tom’par’a, which will then set coarse for her objective and arrive four hours later.”

   “I understand.”

   “Now, about your command…” Tor rounded the desk, walking tall on very long legs. In his youth, Ron’jar knew, Tor had been one hell of a duelist. His bat’leth prowess had almost led him to the sought after title of Dahar Master. Ron’jar felt of the thick, brown leather sash he wore upon his uniform. His own father had been the man who’s defeated Tor in the semi-finals that season. Sadly, though, Burt had done no better than Tor during the final competition.

   If Tor had ever noticed that this honor sash had been the one worn by Burt of Kovis, he had never made mention of it. The general handed over a flat, red optical disk as he came to half sit on the edge of his desk. Tonara came closer to look over the tall general’s shoulder, a feat he could only attempt when the elder Klingon was not standing at his full height. Ron’jar slid the chip into the second receptacle on his padd.

   “Your vessel,” Tor began, “Is a K-24M Class Bird of Prey. In fact, she’s the B’rel herself, named for the general I believe you know personally.” Ron’jar nodded, noting both the irony that he would command a ship named for a friend and that Tor kept tabs on who he was friends with. “She has just finished a refit which brings her systems up to fleet wide standards, and her former commander also had a pair of type two disruptors installed, as well as an advanced maneuvering system. The ship is only five years old, and has not seen much action save for escorting convoys near the Orion borders.”

   Ron’jar happily looked over the specifications. He loved Birds of Prey. They were an agile, fast vessel. And very simple. They fought. That was nearly their only purpose. The warrior’s eye caught on to one detail. Arching one brow in Vulcan fashion, he looked up to Tor.

   “A cloaking device?”

   “Yes,” Tonara said, stepping round the general. “Romulus has traded cloaking technology for access to advanced warp technology and the…” he nearly coughed, “newer D-7 class starship hulls.”

   “I see…And I am to become proficient in its use in less than two days?”

   Tonara’s face pinched in a way that made the commander think he had something amusing to say, but didn’t want to laugh at Ron’jar. “I am sending a specialist to accompany you on your mission. She will operate the cloaking device and train you men in its use and maintenance.”

   “A Romulan…aboard my ship?” Ron’jar’s words could get no darker. Tor went to sit back behind his desk. Tonara held his ground, but his fingers were becoming antsy.

   “Do you know of a better way to train your men in so short a time?”

   The admiral had been wise not to start a racial argument. And Ron’jar was glad he hadn’t. Stating his feelings for the Rihansu before both flag officers would likely end his involvement in this mission, and possibly his command. The commander said nothing in answer to the admiral’s question.

   “Very well, then, commander,” Tor said with finality. “Read over your mission parameters, and familiarize yourself with your crew compliment. That is all.”

   Ron’jar turned to begin his way out. Tonara made a motion that drew his alert eye. The Romulan had extended his right fist, drawing it from his breast. “Success, Commander.”

   Ron’jar’s eyes could grow no narrower. His icy stared melted the admiral’s repose, and the Klingon turned away. The doors droned open, and closed with a loud clang. Both flag officers looked wordlessly at one another. Tor was rather sure the admiral was suppressing a shudder.

************************************************************

Anywho, there's differences in my timeline and most things Trek. My B'rel's weren't originally built with cloaks, as you might have noticed. No real reason save that I wanted Ron'jar and his crew to be completely unfamiliar with them. Thus the need of a Rommy aboard for me to have my fun with.

I actually enjoy writing with Romulans, I just don't get to often. Having one aboard B'rel will give me an excuse to write with one...while she lasts.

[Grim Reaper]

A Romulan on board a Klingon vessel would need to have a massive backbone. If she has, he'll be sure to like her. If she is a Rihansu in stead of a mere Romulan (I differentiate(sp?) on their honour) he'll like her even more.

[Commander La'ra]

You're a [censored].

But it's good.

[Governor Ronjar]

You're a [censored].

But it's good.

[censored] Thanx, L'araw!

[S'Tasik]

Yo.  As promised, I've finally caught up on with this thing, and I like what I've read -- but you knew that already.   Unfortunately, I don't remember your stories from back in the day, but that's probably because my memory isn't what it used to be.  Though I'm pretty familiar with, say, La'ra's crew or Kieran's crew, I've never seen Ron'jar in the context of fanfic before, and that's what makes this a cool experience for me, in that I'm meeting a bunch of faces for the first time and getting to know them as a fresh reader would.

To be perfectly honest, however, I find myself wanting to know a bit more not about Ron'jar but rather about this Goesa'vaina place that will (I assume) become the focus for the majority of the story, and specifically her Queen.  Call it testosterone or whatever (me, I like to call it "curiosity" XD ), Elani’tess seems like a pretty interesting character not only because she's evidently attractive but because she's the head of a whole civilization I've never encountered before.  And then there's the Romulan political officer, for lack of a better term -- I'm really interested in the interplay between her and her Klingon "allies," especially given Ron'jar's reaction at the end of your most recent section.  Something about Tonara's attitude tells me that his lackey probably won't be that much more, shall we say, respectful.

At any rate, I'm definitely looking forward to seeing where this one goes.  Post more soon!

[KBF-Frankk]

Patience Frankk. For the Jedi it is time to eat as well.

I get pretty busy with all I have to do round the home-stead. Sonn, I will post more.

already finish eating the jedi?, I believe that it was eating fish 

[Governor Ronjar]

already finish eating the jedi?, I believe that it was eating fish 

No, my friend. Only Gagh!
More to come. Hectic 2 weeks...

[Governor Ronjar]

Back again y'all. I've finally had a bit of time to devote to stories and have finished some editting on ch.4. This goes into some personality traits of Elani'tess, my Goesan queen. I've alkways been in love with this character, which is somewhat similar to how I've pictured Cleopatra (minus any scandal...so far...). I've just begun a chapter where I kick back to an OLD Trek character of mine, Captain Sharp. I'm also beginning the edit of chapter 5, which I just finished the preliminary work on.

I hope y'all like this as much as I.

                Chapter Four
   The First Assemblage Hall,
   Jessa’man’a City,
   Goesa’vaina





   “Jessa’tae, we must take the starship captain up on his offer!”

   Over Secretary Iram was nearly red in the face with his feelings. Jessa’tae Elani’tess had to render the man credit for his conviction. He genuinely wanted his queen to go, to be kept safe during the coming crisis. And it wasn’t as if he had been offered the same chance to leave. He was going to remain on-planet whether she left or not. His only concern was her safety.

   Elani was touched by his sincerity.

   “Iram, I will not run as my people face possible Klingon invasion by themselves. I will stay here—“

   “But, my lady!” Iram cut her off with a curtness he would not have shown under normal circumstances. Elani was not used to being interrupted. Normal decorum did not permit such, but she actually found it amusing. She closed her mouth with a tiny smile and listened to him. “Your contribution to such a situation would be minimal. There is no reason in the world to risk your presence.”

   The queen shook her head, long black locks jiggling back and forth about her green eyes.

   “I’m not going, Iram.”

   “Actually, Iram,” I’rell Coarus finally spoke up. He had been standing in silence at the corner of the command center with arms crossed for well over an hour. “The Jessa’tae’s contribution will be quite great in terms of morale among the soldiers. Her leaving them to their fate would only breed a fatalistic view about the outcome of the battle.”

   Iram stood silent, staring at the Prime. The Over Secretary had been counting on some amount of help from the experienced warrior. He glowered at the highly lethal man, however. “As you wish, my lady.” He grumbled at last, then looked back up at the Jessa’tae. “I shall begin by ordering our battleship to launch and reinforce our patrol craft.”

   Elani’tess resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she looked seriously at her advisor. “You know full well that our ‘battleship’ is nowhere near ready for action. The Goesa’kain could not hope to take on even a single Klingon cruiser!”

   Iram mustered a shrug, returning her gaze with a great deal of regret. “What choice are we left with? The Earth ship may be powerful, but she cannot defend this world alone. Perhaps with the aid of our combined fleet, we can slow them down till adequate backup arrives.”

   Iram moved off to areas of the command chamber occupied by naval operations personnel, leaving the Jessa’tae and her Prime to themselves. Elani glanced at the tower of muscle with ever-flowing appreciation in her eyes. Coarus granted her a slim smile of reassurance and then turned to a weapons locker mounted to the eastern wall. Opening the cabinet, the soldier withdrew a slim, silver rifle slung with an unstained black strap. I’rell turned the weapon on its side and checked its charge and setting. It was obvious to the queen that her chief guard wanted a lot more firepower for the upcoming confrontation. She had never seen him with a Starfleet phaser rifle. Coarus had always preferred the customary, Goesan-built KI-117 Shavat. He was truly arming for war.

   The Prime glanced back at the queen, seemingly in the midst of considering something. Reaching a determination, he reached into the locker again and drew out another weapon. This one was a Type Two pistol. He handed it butt-first to the Jessa’tae. “Take this, my lady. You may yet have need of it.”

   “I have yet to use a weapon in anger.” She objected. I’rell held it out further, insisting.

   “Jessa’tae, I must persist.” 

   Elani nearly glared at her bodyguard. Finally, though, she accepted the pistol. She held it in both hands, turning the slim, metal colored device over in her grasp. It was deceptively weighty and had a solid feel. The alloy of its casing was cold, cooler than the air in the room actually was. Its digital control panel gave it a decidedly non-confrontational appearance. Was it not for the obvious knowledge that this little thing could knock down an entire building with but a single blast, it would not seem to be a lethal weapon. It seemed so clean, so unassuming.

   Still looking at the phaser as though it were the proverbial apple of Eden, Elani’tess grasped the gun by its tail and pressed in a small clip on the side of the pistol’s body. The phaser issued a small clicking sound, and its front section became disembodied from the bulk of the weapon. She took the palm unit, the auxiliary weapon system incorporated in all Starfleet weaponry, and handed back the remainder of the gun. I’rell looked back with amusement and tossed the useless butt of the pistol back into the locker and closed it. Elani’tess felt strangely guilty as she accepted possession of the highly lethal weapon. Refusing to look at it further, she tucked it into her form-fitting belt.

   “I don’t like this.” She complained.

   “The coming days may bring a great deal none of us like, my lady.”
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That be it for now. Give 'er a read and let the mud fly!





   

[KBF-Frankk]

That be it for now. Give 'er a read and let the mud fly!

  capitulo muy corto 

[Governor Ronjar]

I come to you all again friends. I've finished some more perusing and found this next chapter fit for posting. I hope you like it. It also answers a question asked quite often of La'ra. Yes, Ron'jar is married. Here you get a glimpse of her and learn her name.


Chapter Five
   IKS B’rel,
   En route to Goesa’vaina.





   Commander Ron’jar felt unnaturally soft as he sat before the personal computer station within his cabin. He had been aboard his new command for just over two hours now. His ship and her escorts, those three ancient warships training smoke behind B’rel, had already set course for their destination and were headed there as fast as the old grandfathers could manage. In reality, Ron’jar could hardly complain about the D-3 cruisers. For all their age, they had been quite well maintained by their owners. Each had been hurriedly refitted with a modular cloaking generator, which would increase their stealth capacity. At least his task force stood a chance of reaching Goesa’vaina undetected.

   This certainly was not what made Ron’jar feel soft.

   The B’rel was operating, like her escorts, under cloak, even now. Goesa’vaina would be reached in four days. Ron’jar had wanted to be there much sooner. But the ‘White Hairs’ just could not top warp factor seven. His own ship could make warp nine. To do so would mean leaving his backup behind. Stifling his impatience, the son of Burt accepted the time it would take to reach destination.

   This, also, was not what made the commander feel soft.

   No, none of these things affected the warrior in the least.

   The image on the viewer before him made him feel soft.

   Weak. Inferior. Soft.

   Ron’jar didn’t mind, though. It had been a long time since he had been able to hear from his wife.

   The representation gazing back at him from within the computer screen was not a live feed, but a recording. Nor could it hold a candle to the real thing. Da’kara was far too beautiful for a mere image recorder to capture her countenance correctly. And the message had been short. Far too short.

   Under stealth operations, no outgoing transmissions were allowed. It would not do to travel under cloak just to have your cover blown by sending out an active com signal. But it was dissatisfying to be able to hear his love, and not talk back to her.

   Da’kara was wearing a blue, studded gown of thick leather. Ron’jar had sent her the Nausican leather for her last birthday. It pleased him that she’d put it to such grand use. The gown showcased her supple, strong shoulders, but teasingly hid all but the curve of her ample breasts. Da’kara was a woman pale of skin tone, and just the sight of her flesh sent her husband’s blood soaring. Long, black locks hung from the rim of her ridge crest in a straight, lustrous cascade. Her crest itself was soft and subtle, having but the barest of indentations to show her cranial form. Her ridges were but tiny rows of shallow, v-shaped lines on her narrow forehead. Da’kara’s eyes were the color of freshly tilled earth, an alluring light shade of brown which reflected all she saw. Her smooth, wide cheeks tapered drastically down into a very sharp chin, framing a petite nose and full, red lips. Ron’jar felt very heavy when he looked upon the visage of his beloved wife.

   This was what made Commander Ron’jar feel soft.

   “I have been informed by General Kargan of your new command.” Her deep, breathy voice was telling him. “I am gladdened by your promotion but must wonder what price the Kla’davin have placed upon your commission. Perhaps simply promoting you away from La’ra will suit their needs. General Tor has too long been their puppet.

   “Your daughter, you will be pleased to note, has disobeyed my wishes and joined the Imperial Navy. General B’rel has promised her emplacement into officer’s training, and Kargan says he will be sure she is deployed somewhere in your sector. I did not want her to join, but she is her father’s daughter it seems. Our lands prosper, and the South Province has produced a record yield of grubbu for shipment to Galt. Tending the lands and the farming is no joy now that the navy has left me with neither husband nor daughter. But I manage as always. Perhaps when you next take leave of your glorious fleet, you may find it suitable to return here and leave me heavy with another companion.”

   Ron’jar grinned at the wry humor twinkling in his spouse’s eyes. She teased him mercilessly about the amount of time he spent away from Qo’noS. Her expression turned to a light smile as she leaned closer to the recording device at home. “In fact, I would gladly trade the months of burden for just on night alone…” Her smile deepened.

   Ron’jar had thus watched this video seven times. Each time further, he felt more homesick. He had not touched his wife’s hand in three years. He hadn’t even been in the home sector for two. He could bear no more of this. His finger regretfully descended upon the kill key, and his wife faded from view.

   Drawing a long breath of thick starship air, Ron’jar looked about the small cabin that was his quarters. It possessed a long, metal rack, which folded into the bulkhead. Upon the rack was a fleet issue pillow that Ron’jar was not likely to find a use for. Soft pillows deadened any sound he might discern during the night. He preferred resting his head on an arm or just on the flat of the bed when he slept. It was must safer this way. Assassination attempts had been rare aboard Hiv’laposh, but had happened. His post was the first to come up for…openings, given that he never considered taking down La’ra.

   At the foot of the fold-down bed was a blanket made of norn hide, sent him by his beloved. She knew he sometimes got a night chill. No mattress adorned his bed. He did not begrudge those who slept upon them, save for his own personal amusement, but he did not find their cushioning comfortable. He slept on the ungiving bare rack.

   Little else populated the cabin. He had the desk he sat at, with its single chair. There was a head complete with shower aft of the compartment. There was a small com/environmental panel starboard. The rest of the room was fleet-standard brown primer and dull metal flooring. The cabin’s lighting shown out from between criss-crossing piping across the ceiling. It was alien compared to his quarters aboard Hiv’laposh. But it would be home, now.

   The commander stood, regarding his satchel and other belongings, which lay strewn about the deck. He resolved to unpack at the end of his first duty cycle. He was eager to return to the bridge. Jabbing the door release, he exited into to main companionway leading through the core of the ship. His path led him forward and into the B’rel’s neck section, connecting the command section to the main hull. At the end of the corridor, the commander passed the briefing/interrogation room and transporter chamber. A soldier stood watch over the transport alcove and the bridge entrance, bearing a rifle strapped over his arm. The noncom nodded to his superior as Ron’jar passed. Ron’jar glared at the youth, coming to a halt before triggering the bridge hatch. The Klingon’s eyes widened as he realized he’d earned his CO’s scrutiny. Finally, cognizance dawned within him and he assumed attention. His fist ascended to his left breast and shot out in salute. Ron’jar returned it, removing his icy glower.

   The bridge was running with the quiet efficiency of a Klingon ship of war. His officers stood rigidly at their stations, monitoring readouts and visual displays. Literally half the ship’s standard compliment was present here within the control center. Most systems aboard a Bird of Prey were rendered to automation, requiring only occasional maintenance and upkeep. Only during battle or emergency situations did any component receive more than computerized check-ups. This could be a blessing in terms of manpower, but could easily become a curse.

   The B’rel’s bridge was an oddity among Klingon designed vessels. No structural members could be seen jutting from beyond the bulkhead limit, nor were there exposed access panels. Everything was smooth and flush along the perimeter. It was typical of things designed by Romulans. No cover for shipboard combat. How did they expect to defend their ships if there were not usable defense points? And why had the Empire ever agreed to co-design this ship-class with those creatures?

   At least the command seat was upon a suitable dais. The crew should always be easily observed by their commander during operations. Ron’jar ascended to that platform now, and took a long look about his small bridge. The iris-type main door droned open behind him. The commander glanced aft to see who entered.

    An engineer, clothed in simple brown work fatigues, shuffled within, carrying his burden in either low-stretched arm. He labored to bring heavy buckets of thick liquid onto the bridge, and Ron’jar noticed the breath masks he had tucked beneath his arms. Suspicion boiled within Ron’jar, and he stepped close to the man in challenge.

   “Officer, what do you carry there?”

   The engineer looked up, eyes widening as he realized his commanding officer was speaking to him. This man the commander had yet to meet. “Paint, my lord! I come to cover the bulkhead primer.”

   Ron’jar looked the compartment over, and glanced down at the buckets in hand. The bridge was already coated in Imperial Regulation anti-stain brown primer. It worked good to absorb blood spilled in combat so erase slipping hazards. Nothing more was to be done.

   “The ship appears to be finished, Ensign. Another coat would be a waste.”

   The young officer blinked his apparent confusion. “But per B’rel-Class specifications, the command deck is to be painted after the primer dries. We did not have time to paint before leaving dock, so it must be done en route, before we come too close to our destination.”

   Ron’jar narrowed his eyes.

   “What color?”

   “Light blue, Commander.”

   Ron’jar drew his back straight up in his disgust, glowering at the ensign under his great brow. “Paint my bridge in that and I will kill you. You will leave the regulation primer intact and dump that mess.”

   “The paint scheme is standard on all ships designed by the Romulan Star Empire, Commander.”

   The low and sultry female voice came from behind as the ensign hurried to remove the offensive enamel from his commander’s presence. Ron’jar turned round, knowing who to expect. Emerging from the forward hatch, leading to the main sensor control chamber, Sub-lieutenant J’lenna S’tall stepped forward on shapely, athletic legs. Her fit anatomy added desirable curves to the near shapeless lump of Romulan uniform that covered it. She wore the blue sash of a lower officer and bore a Klingon issue disruptor of the previous decade’s design. Her face, as upon each of the three opportunities he’d had to speak with her, bore just the tiniest hint of a smirk. Ron’jar found that his disdain for her species faded just enough to notice when he saw her, but immediately redoubled his efforts to make up for the difference.

   “I gave you no permission to enter my bridge.” He shot at her as he headed away, pausing to check out the communication station. J’lenna followed, hands outstretching in a mock pleading manner.

   “And just how am I to go about my duties if I am not to enter the bridge, Commander? The cloaking device control system is integrated with the engineering interface.” She said, tapping the top of said console for emphasis.

   “You will request permission to enter from the senior officer on deck each time you come to the bridge.” He told her, voice gruff and dark. That petty little order should rankle her quite nicely. “Is that clear?”

   “Oh, certainly, my lord.” She replied, now her mouth fully curling into a smirk. Ron’jar contemplated shooting her. Could his men learn the cloaking device’s intricacies prior to reaching Goesa’vaina, he wondered. Likely not, he had best keep her around till at least planet fall. He already had an idea about what to do then…

   “I must wonder, though,” she went on, seemingly unperturbed by the Klingon’s distaste for her, “if the lavatory system we designed for this class was as effective as it is supposed to be. Considering the smell lingering on this tub one would think there was a flaw in the bathing apparatus.”

   Ron’jar only glowered in response. Again his trigger finger itched. Maybe he would use setting three. She’d survive at least that much cellular disruption. She could still operate the cloak with painkillers…

   The commander put those pleasant thoughts out of his mind for the time being. The Rihansu had her uses, however annoying she may be at the moment. “It is time for the third shift to train on the cloak system.” He reminded her as though she’d not said a word to him. Without sparing her another glance, Ron’jar ascended to the conn platform and took his seat.

   His chair was broad and angular, of the same model installed on the modern K’t’inga-Class of D-7 cruiser. It had an automated swivel function, used more for mild intimidation purposes rather than true functionality. Its tarnished copper color was pleasing to the eye, as was its high back. He sat slowly, relishing the feeling of his command.

   Again the main door to the bridge peeled open, this time disgorging the third watch of the day onto the deck. Lieutenant Tor’nax, his first officer, led the three man party onto the bridge, relieving the larger number that already stood at their stations. The third watch, which occurred at the beginning of mealtime in the mess, was only a small watch keeping force. No more than five of the ship’s regular compliment of twelve would be on duty. Today would actually be different. B’rel carried within her an additional twenty-four soldiers from Tor’s command to assist in operations. This crowded the ship quite severely, a condition that was common on many missions. Six men of this extra force would be on duty during this shift, spread between the engine room and the forward sensor control room.

   The relieved men of the second watch stood, allowing their replacements to sit. Each saluted their captain and made their way from the bridge. Ron’jar watched as Tor’nax made his way from one station to the next; helm to engineering, from there to weapons control, then on to his own post at the science station behind the command chair. Finally, his tour complete, the First Officer stood at attention and addressed the captain.

   “My lord, B’rel stands at one-hundred percent operational capacity and is ready for battle. All watch stations are manned. The armory is fully stocked and all tactical weaponry is at your command. Fuel status is at ninety-nine percent.”

   Ron’jar nodded his only response to the report. “I have the bridge.” He told the younger man.

   “You have the bridge.” Tor’nax repeated.

   The first officer seemed to be a very good hand in by-the-book operation. Ron’jar had found no opportunity to test his mettle, though. Goesa’vaina would tax the youth to his limits. Those people were valiant warriors with a martial tradition that literally stretched back to their earliest roots. The Goesan political structure, indeed its very government itself, was the same one that its most ancient forefathers had built in bygone ages. It had never fallen. Ron’jar’s respect for these aliens was very high.

   Yes, the coming battle would indeed be one worthy of song.



*****************************************************************

Hope that was somewhat endurable. Thanks for reading.

[Grim Reaper]

Its a good read m8. However I still have a q for you. How come La'ra pictured us Ron' jar as an icy man with near perfect control over his emotions while your version expresses more emotion? Or is it just that he does not express the emotion he feels and seems to be showing? I'd like more reference to the icy parts of the man that captured my intrest not just a look. But thats just my opinion.

Still its a good read. Keep up the good work and gimme more. I need more. esp. since La'ra seems to be lacking in them