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.”
*********************************************************************

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

[Commander La'ra]

I'll venture my own guess, though the Gov will no doubt give a different response:  Most of the times I'm writing with the Ran'jar/Ron'jar character, we're seeing him through La'ra's eyes.  There's been but one exception, in Small Craft Warning.  Even then, the iceman is operating in an almost purely professional capacity, and so we don't see the types of things that'd elicit stronger reactions from him.

Aside from that, keep in mind these are two seperate versions of the character.  Ron'jar's version of La'ra is different than my own, too.

[Grim Reaper]

I'll venture my own guess, though the Gov will no doubt give a different response:  Most of the times I'm writing with the Ran'jar/Ron'jar character, we're seeing him through La'ra's eyes.  There's been but one exception, in Small Craft Warning.  Even then, the iceman is operating in an almost purely professional capacity, and so we don't see the types of things that'd elicit stronger reactions from him.

Aside from that, keep in mind these are two seperate versions of the character.  Ron'jar's version of La'ra is different than my own, too.

Thx for the clarification bud, figured as much. Still, I haven't received an update from you in a while. Having a bit of a block or R/F issues?

[Governor Ronjar]

My answer to all of the above.

Some of the observed icy-ness will pop up in later instalments which I am currently editing. Perhaps I've somewhat departed from character, but since the character is an extension of my own self, I should say not.
 Do note that his petty little blow up in Tor's office, infact, the entire Tor-office scene, was a jibe to my good friend La'ra. He took certain liberties with one of my characters in one of the first stories he posted for Taldren. The whole name thing (Ron'jar/Ran'jar) stems from the same story, where I misspelled my own character's name with an 'a' and he liked the way it looked better. Yes, my spelling IS that bad...
Yes, it is also correct that no two authors can't really portray a character the same way. There will always be differences. You can look at it as seeing a character through the main character's eyes, such as in La'ra's stories, or you can chalk it up to the whole alternate universe thing. I imagine the way La'ra sees the real me and the way I see myself is a bit askew as well. When La'ra began to borrow Ron'jar, I only had two stories written with him anyway, and he was such a small addition to the stories anyway, that his portrayal of him is as correct as can be.
Also note, La'ra does not generally delve into Ron'jar's personal life. He saves that for me. I try to do the same when using La'ra. My version of La'ra, I certainly know, are different from his own. His La'ra doesn't bath in a giant stone tub which was escentially a war prize (House of Kruge).
I guess I'm done babbling. Hope I answered your questions or at least not confused you to the point of having a severe head-ache. I like delving into the differences between different authors' renditions of same characters. I like to read La'ra's Ran'jar and love to see what witty things I get to do in his stories. I hope he gets the same cheap little thrill.
Later.

[Commander La'ra]

I try to do the same when using La'ra. My version of La'ra, I certainly know, are different from his own. His La'ra doesn't bath in a giant stone tub which was escentially a war prize (House of Kruge).

In my stories it's brass, or copper, or whatever metal they use to make those big luxurious rich people tubs (or a more durable material treated to look like such).  I guess I DO need to explain how he got such a thing.  I seriously doubt he just bought it.

I hope he gets the same cheap little thrill.

To quote the poet:  "Indeed."

[Scottish Andy]

Okay Guv'nor, I'm fully caught up with this little tale and now exhort you to supply more, more!

Despite the fact that you inhabit the FASA Universe rather than the SFB/C one (and incur my disfavour for that alone! *grin*), it is a good read. I'm interested to see how well the Endeavour holds up against a battle fleet!

PS. I rather thought that Ron'jar's thought of the lovely Da'kara would make him feel anything but soft... 

[Governor Ronjar]

Actually, my stories inhabit the world of my home-made RPG, which has just as much SFB, SFC3 as it does with FASA. FASA's stuff was pretty lame in most ways, though I can shoot holes all day in SFB's stuff as well. My crap is as close to what I see in the series, minus the stupid stuff, such as beaming down to a known hostile environment wearing a bright colored uniform rather than armor or at least camoflauge.

My universe does have marines, not just SF Security. However, not every ship flies around carrying a full compliment of them for no reason. My security forces respond to reported problems carrying rifle, not pistols.

I could go on for pages, but who really wants to read all my gripes. Its just a TV show. But, my writing is important to me, and I try not to put in stuff that doesn't make sense...

I do use SFB and FASA listings for things when I can. The D-3 class ship I use comes from the SFC3 plug-in I D/L'd from Battleclinic.com. L-42's do come from FASA. The Tom'par'a comes from SFC2, the Klingon DN.

No one uses 'drones', unless they have to. Cloaked ships must lower their shields, but ... AHHH!!! There I go again!

I better get off this subject.

Anywho...glad you like this. Once I get the next bit editted, IF no one further interupts me, I'll post a really big chunk. I'm working on the first set of battles. I take pride in my combat scenes. The one in House of Kruge made me happy in its length, though I admit much of the length was not necessary.

BTW, did you recieve my EMail? I sent you House of Kruge via this sight's service.

Later all...

[KBF-Frankk]

No update?, kick tread to top

[Scottish Andy]

Thanks for the bump, Frankk, I forgot to answer this.

Hey Ronjar, I didn't get your email with House of Kruge attached. Could you please try again, and send it to:

scottishandy@rogers.com

Muchos thanksos, muchachoes. 

[Governor Ronjar]

Chapter Six
USS Endeavour,
Within the Goesan Starsystem,
February 20, 2274




Commander Ronald Jeremy turned away from the science station and faced the center seat. The large, dark skinned man there watched the forward viewer impassively as he awaited reports from his division officers seated around him. He wished he had better news to hand his captain.

“We definitely have company coming, Captain. I read three poorly masked warp field signatures approaching the far side of the plasma storm at warp factor seven.”

Captain Jonathan Sharp looked Ron’s way with worry, but little surprise.

“Type and classification, Number One?”

“The oscillation pattern is heavily masked by some sort of dampening field, sir. Possibly the interference of some kind of cloaking device. But from the hash they’re making on the broad-spectrum array, I’d say older Klingon cruisers. Possibly D-5 class or older.”

“Klingon ships with cloaking devices…” Sharp murmured, looking ahead once more. “Well, it was bound to happen eventually. ETA on incoming guests?”

“Three hours, twenty-seven minutes, present speed. Looks like they’re going to come in through the thick of the storm.” The exec replied. Sharp nodded and glanced sideward as the com officer, Lieutenant Lania approached with a data padd in hand. The young Vulcan wore the white colored, sleeveless version of the newest Fleet uniform, and by far looked the best among all Endeavour’s crew in the skin-tight suit.

“Captain,” she began, “Starfleet advises no reinforcements are available at this time.”

“Reason?”

“Admiral Minton notes a build up of Klingon and Romulan capitol ships near Narendra III, poised to cross the Neutral Zone. Admiral McKindle has ordered a like build up on our side of the border. Additional ships are being summoned, but nearest help is six days from here at warp factor nine. And even then, we can only expect to receive the USS Argonaut.”

“Argonaut is a light cruiser…” Sharp muttered. Their situation here was near hopeless in terms of holding Goesa’vaina from the Empires. An imminent attack here was undeniable, but when weighed against the value of targets near to Narendra, Goesa’vaina suddenly took a back seat. There was the slight possibility that Goesa’vaina was a clumsy feint, but Sharp did not believe so. His sixth sense told him that there was something the Klingons wanted within this system. He could not fathom what it was, but there was definitely something. The Chicago-born captain pondered the values of holding a system so far from the main routes, watching the roiling red plasma clouds on the view screen.

“Very well, Lieutenant.” He said to Lania. She turned and went back to her console to monitor subspace frequencies. “Number One, continue monitoring our guests and try to get further ID on them. Also watch for other vessels. Sound Yellow Alert, raise shields.”

Lieutenant Alfred Jackson, the hulking, heroically muscular man at the tactical console, suddenly sprang to action. The bridge’s lighting lowered to half power, accented by flashing red tracers. As the repetitive general alarm sounded, the deflector shield schematic on Jackson’s console illuminated, showing a field encircling the ship. “Yellow Alert, aye, aye, sir. Shields show up at full power. Weapons coming to standby readiness.”

Everything that could be done now had been done. Now all that remained was informing the Goesan Queen of the disheartening news. Sharp stood from the conn and headed for the starboard turbolift. “Number One, you have the bridge. I’ll be in my ready room. Lieutenant Lania, raise Goesan Command and inform them I’ll be speaking with them shortly.”





The Grand Assemblage Hall,
Jessa’man’a City,
Goesa’vaina




Dashak Prime I’rell Coarus held his face and expressions in check as the black skinned Starfleet captain relayed his news. This was not what he’d hoped to expect from the vaunted Federation. The Goesan government had signed treaties with the humans that were meant to ensure this world’s protection from outside threat. While a military man could expect that the tides of war might prevent these treaties from being upheld in dire situations, it was another thing to see those same treaties falter upon their first test. The first and only time the Goesan people had ever needed the Federation Starfleet, and they say they can do nothing. Or next to it.

Jessa’tae Elani’tess seemed to regard the captain as though he’d spoken in Andorian.

“Allow me some time to clarify, Captain Sharp. You say there is nothing we can do? Nothing you can do?” Her head with its beautiful locks of raven hair tilted as she looked at the human. “We can expect no assistance from your impenetrable Starfleet?”

Sharp seemed to sigh to himself. He didn’t like having to tell the queen this, Coarus could tell. But the good captain’s sentiment meant little to those who would tomorrow be dying. “I’m afraid that the fleet is tied up protecting a valuable stretch of the Organian Treaty Zone—“

“More valuable to the Federation than Goesa’vaina, you mean,” Elani shot at him. Her tone was not hateful, but did hold a bit of spite. She was angry about the agreements she signed, which were not going to be honored. She was angry that the Klingons were apparently coming, and there was nothing to be done to stop them. “I thought that your precious Organian Treaty prevented the Klingons from attacking you.”

“ Nothing about the treaty states that their ships will be stopped by the Organians prior to reaching our side of the border,” Sharp explained, face sour as though he were describing something that had been forced on him like a shackle. “Only that there will be no battle over what were contested planets within the Zone.”

“I see,” Elani’s eyes narrowed, “Another pointless treaty.”

Sharp’s head hung just a little. It was not a good thing to be bawled out by a beautiful woman. Especially when she was right. I’rell hefted the lightweight phaser rifle and glanced over its power levels and indicators. He hoped this fancy new weapon was more dependable than Federation Treaties…

“Endeavour will remain within the system and provide all the support we can muster.” Sharp went on, his voice still solid and firm. He was a good leader, I’rell believed. “Hopefully we can turn back what forces the Klingons have sent and give them a bloody enough nose in the process to make them think again about this venture. We still only have three ships on sensors, and no word yet about the position of the remainder of the fleet they had at Ya’vang.”

The Jessa’tae nodded at the thought. “You believe that your ship and ours may win the day?”

“Perhaps.” That was all Sharp could offer.

Elani’tess turned to Coarus.

“Dashak Prime, rally your men into defense positions throughout the city. You are in direct command of the capitol’s defense. Iram,” she cast toward the Over Secretary across the command chamber, “You will be my direct link to the planet based armed forces. Admiral Torest will command our fleet from the Goesa’kain. Relay to him his launch orders and order him to coordinate with Captain Sharp. If there are indeed only the three ships, we will destroy them. Should there be more to come, mayhap we can delay them till Starfleet deems it necessary to reinforce our space.” She looked pointedly back to the captain. His face bore a proud expression as he looked upon the queen. “Does this sound possible, Captain?”

“Quite possible, Jessa’tae. Endeavour out.”

I’rell Coarus studied his lady intently. She bore well under this building strain. Never before had she led her people against a serious military threat. Today she was. This day she contended with a threat that encompassed her entire world and all those upon it. Her shoulders were set and did not droop. Her jaw was held high in pride. Her eyes remained steadfast. Yes, she would do. Elani was a good Jessa’tae. No matter what happened in the coming hours and days, her people would remember that.





IKS B’rel



“Endeavour holds her station, Lord.” Tor’nax breathed, his young voice betraying no nervous tension. That was admirable, Ron’jar thought. The Lieutenant First Rank bent over his science console, peering over all the intel its readouts could feed him. “She continues to direct low level active scans at the Whitehairs.”

Ron’jar sat in his command chair, unmoving. He had been right to guess that the cloaking shields surrounding the D-3s were inferior to his own. They had been detected long ago. He’d sent the D-3 cruisers along a different coarse from B’rel, expecting that there may be some sort of ship on patrol near the system’s limits. He had not expected, however, that the patrolling ship would be none other than Sharp’s Endeavour. Endeavour was a newly rebuilt Constitution-Class heavy cruiser. B’rel was no match for her in anybody’s dream. The three cruisers Ron’jar had at his disposal would be hard pressed to hurt her badly at all.

By themselves, at any rate. Sharp did not know that a Bird of Prey lurked behind him, even now. This lent Ron’jar a slight advantage. But Sharp was no one’s fool. He was running with full shields, his weapons on standby. He knew trouble brewed here. Likely, the fleet buildup at Ya’vang had not gone unnoticed. Sharp had raced here as swiftly as he could. But no further reinforcements had accompanied him.

Sharp’s grey-white hulled ship hung in space before the Klingon warship, unmoving and illuminated in crimson firelight from the Almat. Beyond, the fierce plasma storm roiled upon itself as it built to its strongest period of the season. Endeavour looked fragile against that maelstrom with her gangly nacelle struts and her gawky saucer section. But the commander knew that Starfleet ships were deceptively tough. Those thin, wing-like struts could take a beating before giving up their burden. But Ron’jar was privy to one weakness of the Constitution-Class design…

The Klingon commander thought of what kind of bragging rights he would obtain if he slew La’ra’s favorite rival. How could this be done before the fleet arrived? An inkling of a plan was formulating within his mind. Sinister light played in Ron’jar’s eyes.

“Helm,” he called. “Alter coarse. Take us within eighty thousand kelicams of Goesa’vaina standard orbit. Full thrusters.” He would see what awaited them in the Goesan dockyards.

“Yes, my lord.” Was the response. La’ra had always held a subtle dislike for being called ‘lord’. Ron’jar really didn’t care one way or the other. He assumed it might one day grow tiresome, but for now, he allowed the crew to go on with the honorific.

The Endeavour spun out of view as the nimble B’rel turned on a heel and dashed away at full impulse power. It would take just over an hour at this distance to reach Goesa’vaina orbit. Ron’jar settled into his chair and relaxed. Soon he would report his intelligence and the bulk of his scouting mission would be complete. Then he would be at his own liberty to decide what to do till the fleet arrived.
******************************************************************************

Hope this was a tollerable addition to my little tragety. May that you all enjoy.

Things begin to come closer to a head in this instalment. I have little time where people leave me alone to write, so this is all coming very slowly. If I had a damn laptop, I'd write it at work on lunch. It is kinda bad, but work is the closest to free time I have right now...

See y'all!

[Commander La'ra]

I like how this one is coming together.  Hard to place why, but the difference between the stuff you're writing now and the stuff you wrote a year ago is substantial.  I get thrills (cheap and expensive) from all your work, but this one is impressing the hell out of me more than usual.

[Grim Reaper]

I agree with La'ra that this is coming along nicely. Nice tempo specificly

[Scottish Andy]

I agree with those two, Ronjar. You're doing a great job here building the tension and sense of anticipaton for the coming battle. I'm decidedly interested in seeing if the Endeavor will survive, and specifically what this alleged weakness in Starfleet's best ship is! *grin*

Keep up the good work. Can't wait for the next part.

[Governor Ronjar]

I'll bet you'd like to know what the weak spot is...

It's something I noticed on the deck chart a few years back. You'd not really be able to utilise it in normal combat. But if used...

If you see the chart, and watch Star Trek the motion picture, you might see what I mean. The problem is evidently fixed by Star Trek 5...

I'm glad all are enjoying. More coming soon. Just started working on it again tonight.

[Scottish Andy]

Oh, the whole warp engines going into matter/antimatter imbalance and cutting out the phasers thingie?

I'd certainly like to see what wild scenario you concoct to allow that sequence of events!

[Commander La'ra]

Heheh.  I know what it is, Andy, and it isn't that.

It's the type of thing that, while some people would notice it, most Trekkies would not since they usually don't think in terms of...erm, I better stop.  If I'd finished that sentence, I'd have said too much.

[Governor Ronjar]

If I wanted to use that particular weakness, I could probably concoct a Trekky way to do it. But Ron'jar ain't an engineer, just...practical. Enjoy Ch.7

Chapter Seven
USS Endeavour,
Near the Almat Plasma Storms,
February 20, 2274

“Captain,” the longhaired navigator called from his console. Beside the helm position, the broad shouldered man hunched low over his sensor array as Sharp and Commander Jeremy spoke in low voices. Both officers turned their full attention to the man.

“Yes, Mister Ford?” Inquired Sharp.

“Long-range sensors now picking up a swarm of powerful warp signatures. At least thirty, Cap’n.” The man’s Southern accent drawled a bit. His report caused the captain to draw himself up in his seat. Thirty ships… He looked to Jeremy.

“Confirm that, Number One!”

Ronald practically raced to his science console and began working the controls there. While he’d talked strategy with his superior officer, he’d left the task of watching the surrounding sky to the capable Chevis Ford. Ford was very good on sensors, one of the reasons he remained at nav despite his estimable piloting capacity. The needed series of subspace spectrometers began to spike on Ron’s screens. The interference from the plasma field was heavy, but with subtle manipulation on the bandwidth controls, the readings became clearer in ways not possible via the navigation console’s systems. The exec’s eyes widened.

“Confirmed, Captain,” Jeremy said, his heart sinking. “Thirty contacts, twelve from visible targets, the remainder likely from cloaked sources. Speed measures at…warp nine. ETA…four hours, thirty-seven minutes.”

Jeremy looked back at his captain as the man took this in. He could figure Sharp’s train of thought. They could not hope to even delay such a huge force. With the three small escorts and the unfinished battlecruiser the Goesans fielded aiding Endeavour, they could hope for little more than to give the enemy flagship a bloody nose before they were wiped out. Thirty to four odds were pathetic. What could the Klingons want from this system so badly?

They needed a new plan.

Sharp sat forward, obviously reaching the same conclusion as Jeremy and likely already formulating alternate plans. “Helm, bring us about and get us to Goesa’vaina. Make your speed warp factor seven.”
“Sir,” The Andorian at the flight controls said in a cautionary tone. “I respectfully remind the Captain that such speed is inadvisable within the close quarters of a planetary system.” Even as the blue-skinned beauty said this, she readied the warp controls for flight.

“Noted, Miss Natarin. Ford, can you guarantee me we’ll make Goesa’vaina in one piece?”

“Yup.” Ford replied, all his concentration focussed on plotting in his coarse program. “Ready and laid in, sir.”

“Engage.”




Grand Assemblage Hall,
Goesa’vaina




Elani’tess narrowed her eyes rather than allowing them to pop open with shock.

“You’re doing what, Captain?”

The blue clad man in the white command chair had the facial qualities of an onyx statue. He leaned forward within that cushioned chair as the plain-lion did when ready to leap upon his prey. This was a man of action, one who hated having others do things for him. I’rell Coarus thought this a good quality in a man, captain or otherwise.

“I’m assuming standard orbit and preparing to beam down a contingent of my crew to supplement your ground troops. My men are well trained and better armed. Within an hour, we can emplace enough heavy weaponry on your planet to seriously delay Klingon conquest of your world till help arrives.”
Elani’s hands perched themselves upon her round hips.

“A few hours ago, you preached slowing the enemy’s ships—“

“That isn’t going to be possible. We’re talking about thirty capitol size starships, more than half with cloaking devices, possibly Romulan warships.” The urgency in the leader’s voice bespoke more than his words. This was a no-win situation. All that could be gained here was a long, drawn-out and very bloody struggle to keep the government intact till Federation ships could relieve them and send the enemy packing. If they could ever free up the ships to do that.

Elani’tess stepped closer to the video feed.

“We’re going to lose, aren’t we, Captain Sharp?”

Sharp looked back at her for hard moments, weighing what he should say. Around him, conveyed by the com speakers, could be heard the voices of his crew as they brought his great ship out of warp speed.
“Not yet, Jessa’tae. But you’re in for a long and hard road, beginning now. Without our help, your planet will be conquered by sun-up tomorrow. With our aid, we might be able to last until my first officer can talk some sense into my sector commander. Minton will send the ships and the man power.”

Coarus wondered if the captain believed that with the same veracity with which he was trying to convince the queen. More likely, he was trying to give both the Jessa’tae and himself a little hope. But it was obvious he cared for the Goesan people.

“Would it not be more prudent to simply surrender to the Klingons than to battle for not, and then—“ Thankfully, Sharp interrupted Elani before she could finish.

“Life under Klingon rule is harsh, Queen. There are no freedoms. No self-governorship. Your people will live only to serve the Klingons. For every infraction to their rules, hundreds of prisoners will be shot. And once they are allowed to root themselves there, it will be the devil to get them out.”

Sharp’s eyes searched the Jessa’tae’s own. He awaited her answer, sure that if she chose to hand her world over to the Empire, it would be the last he saw of her. Elani swallowed and looked away from the feed. Sharp seemed to repress a grimace. I’rell, from his vantage near the command boards, could see the lines of stress that had been spreading since she had been informed of all this. She had yet to leave the war room. She slept here, ate here, prayed here. Elani was a dedicated monarch. Coarus was proud to be her Prime. If he were to die defending such as she, then his life would not have been wasted. At last, she looked back to the Starfleet captain, resolution upon her face.

“Then we fight, Captain. Bring your men down.”




IKS B’rel




Commander Ron’jar quelled his enthusiasm as he ground his forehead into the cold metal of the command gunnery sight. The USS Endeavour floated serenely before his scout ship, her wide spread nacelles glowing within his display. The cruiser floated majestically above the Goesan world, her belly pointed down to the visible hemisphere of golden earth and white clouds. B’rel stalked in from behind, her charged weapons aimed for the weak spots in the engineering hull of the mighty starship. His Bird of Prey was so close it was dizzying.

Captain Jonathan Sharp’s human voice flowed through the bridge from the overhead as he calmly relayed to the Goesan monarch that he was readying his security warriors to beam down. Ron’jar had long ago cracked the Starfleet code used when their ships communicated with allied worlds. It was foolish for them not to have updated their code in all this time.

The Klingon captain leaned into the combat periscope, hands loosely caressing the firing controls as he awaited his opportunity. Behind and around him on the bridge, his crew waited anxiously.  Some thought him maniacal, attempting to bring down such huge prey. Others thought him a fool, such as his First. Tor’nax had not openly said such, but obviously waited for his own opportunity to take advantage of any failure.

Others of his crew; such as the wispy-tall, foul smelling Inora, his chief engineer; were having the time of their lives. This was the kind of thrilling life in the service they had been craving. Ron’jar was not going to disappoint them. And the opportunity he’d awaited came to him.

“—Preparing to launch shuttle Zombie. Hanger bay doors opening…now,” Said the voice of Sharp’s First Officer. Sharp was launching shuttlecraft! This was the time!

Ron’jar’s fist raised, the prearranged signal to prepare to decloak. He could hear the rustle of nervous movement behind him. He wondered if the Romulan shared the exhilaration...

The clamshell looking doors on the conical fantail peeled open within Ron’jar’s viewfinder. The commander slipped his targeting reticule over the cavernous maw that was developing. From within the shuttle bay, a tiny auxiliary craft lifted and emerged into the coldness of space to head down to the planet. The Federation ship’s shields flashed around the exterior of the shuttle as it passed through the deflector field.

“Shuttle away,” a female voice was saying from Sharp’s ship. “Security reports first six teams ready for transport.”

Sharp’s voice: “Cut shields and energize.”

Ron’jar’s hand plummeted in an axeman’s gesture. He then waited, breath caught tight, as the alarms sounded and the lighting brightened to the timing of the cloaking device’s cycle. Grinning fiercely, he jabbed thumbs down on the firing studs.

[Governor Ronjar]

Chapter 7 (pt.2)

The sharp-beaked, ovular command pod of the B’rel shimmered into view from the blackness of space. The protective doors covering her photon torpedo tube irised open to disgorge a volley of three missiles. The rotating balls of spiraling crimson light jumped away from their home-ship, closing the distance to Endeavour at near lightspeed.

As the lethal torpedoes shot in as straight as spears, Endeavour’s onboard computers recognized the peril and triggered the emergency door closure systems. The massive, heavy door sections reeled themselves shut with a speed stunning for something so large, much to the short-lived bewilderment of the hanger crews. The doors closed just swiftly enough to stop two of the three weapons before they entered. The second torpedo slammed into the nearly closed clamshells, thrusting irradiated flame through the quarter meter crack remaining and denting the duranium outer cover. The third torpedo struck, increasing the size of the dent and burning a two-meter wide hole through the armored curvature of the closure. Sparks began to rain down from overloaded field generators surrounding the door. Those sparks never reached the deck.

The first torpedo continued on a few milliseconds after the destruction of its following pair. Targeted manually, as it had been to avoid detection, the torpedo had been aimed for the far bulkhead separating the hanger and main cargo bays from the warp intermix shaft. The design of these newer Constitution-Class cruisers left a great deal of open space from the shuttlebay doors all the way to the forward section of the cargo section, a distance of nearly half of the engineering hull. The shuttlebay doors were never generally opened during combat, certainly not with the shields down…

The torpedo’s onboard targeting system, however, realized that it had traveled fifty meters beyond its expected point of impact. Its simple programming stated that it was, indeed, travelling through the intended reception point and was well within the hull of the target. The software judged that this meant it had passed through a structural soft point in the hull, and conferred with the appropriate set of instructions: which told it to ignite the detonation sequence.

The torpedo erupted into a blinding white flash, immediately atomizing the atmosphere within the hanger and cargo bays, and most of the closest lifeforms. The less lucky were either smashed with unimaginable force into the bow bulkheads or rammed out the small rent in the shuttlebay doors.
The entire fantail of the engineering hull swelled, transparencies bursting from the windows they sat within. A gout of plasmic flame jetted from the breach in the hanger doors, exerting so much force it actually hurled the mighty Federation ship off coarse. Blisters formed all along the pristine, conical formation of the engineering section as the built-up gasses and destructive energies of the confined megatons of the explosion sought easy means of escape.

Unconcernedly, B’rel shimmered once again, fading from view.

USS Endeavour


Captain Sharp clawed his way up from the diamond plate deck where he’d been hurled and shook his cloudy, pain clogged head. What had happened? Had the Klingons attacked already? How had they gotten to Endeavour so quickly, without being detected? Without being directed to do so, his legs and back and arms mechanically lifted him from the deck and grabbed hold of the blue bridge railing to steady himself. Smoke drifted at floor level across the command center. Alarms…damage alarms wailed within the small compartment at mind-splitting intensity. Only the red tracer lights gave illumination to the room. The captain, still wondering, took stock of his people.

Lieutenant Surrak was among those he saw first. The young, short Vulcan was also clambering his rough way back to his station. Green blood flowed freely from a large gash on the left side of his head. Commander Jeremy lay face up on the operations level. He was breathing, Sharp thought, and there seemed to be no obvious damage to his person. Movement sounded from behind him and Jon turned around.

Lieutenant Ford was picking himself up from the bloodied face of his navigations panel. The bearded, hairy officer shook his head and immediately winced from the sloshing pain that thudded in his sinus. He blinked thickly as he looked about the darkened room.

“Report, Lieutenant…” Sharp coughed out. His lungs burned as though he’d been breathing noxious fumes. He might have done just that.

Ford shook his head again, just slightly, and went to checking over his panel.

“Warp power has failed.” The officer read off. He seemed to have a blanket of cold detachment hanging over him. Likely mild shock. He went on. “I’m reading automatic deflector activation on computer order. Shields are up, but on auxiliary power and fading quick. Hull breach in the hanger deck…massive damage being reported by automatic systems from the hanger and cargo bays. Hanger bay is…depressurized.”

Sharp’s eyes widened slightly as Ford reported. Hull breach…damage to hanger and cargo bays…depressurization…the shields were up. Surely they’d been fired upon. But, if so, why were they still standing here? Why weren’t the Klingons finishing the job?

“Sensors, what the hell did this?” Sharp shouted his gravely order as he lurched for the conn. His right knee clenched in pain. He’d twisted or hyper-extended it on the way down, he supposed. His butt hit the cushion of the command chair and he looked into the viewer. All he could see was the curvature of Goesa’vaina’s surface. It was so close that the horizon appeared almost straight…

“Ford, stabilize our orbit!”

Chevis glanced up from his sensor controls and furrowed his brow. The proximity of the planet seemed to almost confuse him, but he did as he was bid. The golden-white sands of the desert world slid away to the bottom of the screen as the ship pulled ‘up’ toward the relative safety of space. Still shaking his head to clear his vision, Ford returned to his sensors. “No contacts within weapons range, Cap’n. But I am detecting residual neutron radiation aft of our current position. Prob’ly from a photon launch.”

Sharp nodded. There was a cloaked warship nearby. Likely Romulan, given that Ford couldn’t pick up a trace. Those three ships out near the plasma storm had been easy enough to detect. And what about the first three…

“Where are those first battlecruisers?”

Ford sat up ramrod straight in his chair. Hurriedly, he swept his hands over the console before him and leaned in close to read its givings. “They’re on their way, Cap’n. They’re D-3 Class cruisers. All three cruisers have dropped their cloaks and accelerated to attack speed. Their ETA is five minutes.”
Sharp now knew why the attacker hadn’t continued his barrage. He didn’t need to unnecessarily endanger his own ship by remaining visible long enough for Endeavour to respond. He was waiting for his back up to take care of them. His fist slammed down on a well-worn intercom panel. “Engineering! How are my engines!”

Jave Bornet, the ship’s chief engineer, had obviously been waiting for the captain’s call and responded almost before Sharp’s mouth formed around the final syllable. “A torpedo has detonated within the stardrive hull!” The Tellarite’s gruff voice growled. “It went off directly beneath the EPS conversion center. The mains are offline. We’re on backup systems only!”

“Any chance of repair?”

“Not without tearing out the entire converter assembly and rebuilding it from scratch. Remember how long that took after the Tirv attacked us?” Jave shot out. Sharp could hear shouting in the background above the tambour of the warp drive. “That isn’t the worst of it, Captain! We have a plasma fire from the fissures in the EPS array! The fire is spreading as the tears in the shielding grow larger! Containment fields have failed! We’re going to have to shut down the warp reactor core!”
And then we won’t have warp speed, leapt into the captain’s mind. “Without warp drive or main power, we won’t stand a chance, Engines!”

“Then you’d better come up with a fix in the next two minutes! After that we lose the core!”


Grand Assemblage Hall,
Goesa’vaina

Jessa’tae Elani’tess walked close to the orbital satellite feed, face slack, as she watched the tragedy unfolding in the skies above her world. Endeavour practically drifted ahead, seemingly without direction as she trailed fire and gas from her bowels. Her once smooth, graceful hull was now rippled and blackened. Ionized particles made a wispy trail aft of her as she limped away from the sight of her violation. Elani could not see how the mighty ship could recover from this attack. A single strike had rendered her ineffective.

“Sensor control,” I’rell was projecting (he never yelled) into the com module in the center of his panel. “Scour the area of space near to the Federation ship and locate her attacker.”

“Yes, Prime!”

“Look,” the queen said, sounding mesmerized as she pointed up at the wall mounted screen.
At the precise moment Coarus glanced up at the viewer, the earthship leapt away, vanishing in a flash of disrupted spatial particles. “She’s gone to warp.” The Dashak Prime confirmed, voice more steady than anyone else’s in the chamber. “Bugged out…”

The Jessa’tae at that moment stopped gawking like a scared child. Her face became a set picture of calm, as resolute as stone. Drawing her mouth into a chagrined line, she turned on her acting military commander. “Prime Coarus, rally our men and all those from Endeavour who made it down here before she left. Inform the Endeavour personnel of what happened to their ship, they’ll want to know. Place the Starfleet soldiers where they’ll be most useful among our men. Order the Goesa’kain to attack the Klingons from their flanks as they make orbit. And make sure the city deflector shield is at full power.”

[Governor Ronjar]

Chapter 7 (part 3!)
IKS B’rel

Commander Ron’jar watched the tactical relay as the blip representing the human battlecruiser slowly crept away from him at a paltry warp factor four. The mighty starship was hobbled and would make easy pickings for any ship that had the itch to take her out. A pair of assault shuttles could chase her down right now, and give her a hard time, maybe even destroy her.

The commander was slightly puzzled, though, as to why the ship still lived at all. The first torpedo should have hit that after bulkhead leading to the engine room and snapped her warp reactor right in two. But it hadn’t. The second and third weapons had slammed into the hanger bay doors; he understood that. But the first should have been all that was necessary. It meant little in the long run. He’d achieved the same result either way. Endeavour no longer protected Goesa’vaina.

The commanding officer turned away from the attack scope, pressing the retract-control as he headed back to his command chair. His eyes befell Lieutenant Tor’nax who stared from the science console in slight disbelief. He looked unsure as to whether to congratulate his captain, or curse vehemently that Ron’jar’s foolish attack had succeeded. Ron’jar glared a dark hole through the small man, daring him to make any utterance at all. Tor’nax exercised the finer points of valor.

The commander sat slowly into his almond colored seat and looked at the sandy world on his viewer. A small smile hid behind his heavy lips. This was command! And it felt good. His dark hued eyes again found his First. “Lieutenant, position Goesan warships?”

“Yes, Lord.” Tor’nax replied swiftly, quick to leap to his duty. Red glyphs flowed over the angular contours of his face. “Goesan battlecruisers approaching at half impulse power.” The positions of the three defenders showed on the tactical map mounted beside the main viewer. They closed in on planetary orbit from behind the B’rel. Their path would bring them past the Bird of Prey on an intersection coarse for the grandfathers. The Goesan commander’s plan seemed very clear: hit the equal number of Klingon cruisers from their vulnerable sides and hopefully be able to take one or more of them down quickly. Likely, the enemy admiral would wait till the cruisers made orbit so their maneuverability would be sorely limited. “The main battleship scans the approaching battle group. The smaller two scan planetary orbit.”

Looking for us, Ron’jar thought with satisfaction. He was only moderately worried about the Goesan ‘dreadnought’. It was an incomplete ship built with below average technology. Native engineers were innovative to have designed such a large warship so soon after discovering warp drive, but the ship would hardly be a match for a well-armed destroyer in her present shape.
He was fairly familiar with the specs of the alien battleship. Part of his mission those years ago had been to steal whatever tactical info he could uncover. The Goesa’kain’s secret design plans had been a part of that intel. Fully powered, her deflectors could stave off a full volley of weapons fire from three K’t’inga-Class battlecruisers. She boasted six Hydran-bought fusion beam cannon, and when finished would have had eight. She bore three photon tubes, and had hardpoints for seven Starfleet designed phasers. Despite her lower tech, she would have been a grand vessel for any planet’s navy. Had she survived long enough to be completed, that is…

Ron’jar knew that the Goesan built shield generators on the ‘kain would be slow to regenerate their protection after successive weapon strikes. The commander planned to exploit this. His eyes moved to the communications station. “Officer Nurrag, order the Whitehairs to maintain coarse and assume standard orbit. Order Commander Kodell to wait for the Goesans to enter weapons range before turning to engage. Upon initiation, enact Attack Pattern Rihansu-Rell.”

“Yes, Commander.” The very young Klingon replied as he plugged a command mic into his ear and began relaying the orders. Ron’jar liked the quiet, adolescent Nurrag. He was totally dedicated to the patterns of unending subspace signals flowing through the cosmos. He reminded the commander of himself to some extent, when he’d been young.

“Commander Kodell confirms message, Lord.” The com officer stated.

Ron’jar waited quietly, feeling the pulse of his ship about him as the small flashing yellow blips on the tactical readout traveled across the hexagon-patterned screen. They were close to gaining a firing position against the D-3s. The white cruiser silhouettes that were the Whitehairs continued their swift descent toward close orbit. Ron’jar admired the steep insertion angle Kodell was assuming as he aimed for the planet. It would allow him to use the planet’s own gravity to increase his speed when the Goesan warships opened fire. For a reserve House soldier, Kodell showed he knew what his ships could do. He knew that maneuverability was his greatest asset against the heavy guns of the battleship and he was damned well going to use the advantage.

Finally, the series of blips moved past Ron’jar’s own ship’s blinking silhouette and moved closer to the D-3s. The commander found himself relieved that the Goesans’ sensors had not detected his cloaked ship. His face showed none of it though. He’d long ago mastered the art of the ice-mask.  The Klingon still harbored little trust for such stealth technology, however. And such hiding still seemed…dishonorable.

“Engage main thrusters and close with the Goesan battle group.” Ron’jar called to the helm. Officer Da’than nodded, his back to the commander, as he plied his hands about the piloting controls. B’rel responded to his smooth touch and they were swiftly moving in unseen pursuit.

The alien ships grew larger in the center of the viewing screen. The dreadnought was a large, bumpy and wide craft. She bore the long, rounded hull that many races effected for simple starships. The design was easy to accomplish and utilitarian. Large impulse drivers with blue thrust flares swelled at the ship’s aft and just ahead were duel warp nacelles built close to the main hull. The forward section, Ron’jar knew from the schematics, housed an ovular, blue deflector dish built in just beneath the armored bridge module.

All Goesan starships bore the same paint scheme. A brilliant ocean blue trimmed in royal gold. They meant for their ships to be seen. Even the small, aftermarket escorts bought from the Hydran Monarchy had been repainted to match. Ron’jar considered the small, angular and lithe craft, then their larger command ship, and examined his options. He knew what Kodell was going to do.

Following the attack pattern laid out for him, he would strike the escorts and draw them away. The command ship would follow, though not as quickly with her slower acceleration curve. A gap would appear between the Goesa’kain and her escorts. How could he capitalize on this?

Truly, he did not have to battle these ships at all. His message had been sent to the fleet and the Alliance’s ships were on their way. In four hours, there would be enough firepower in-system to obliterate or capture the Goesan ships without risking even a single ship. But Ron’jar did not trust the Goesan commanders to sit idly by within their starsystem and not challenge the D-3 cruisers which were easily detectable within a quarter light year’s distance. No, to preserve the older cruisers under his command, he either had to order their complete withdrawal, thus delaying other operations, or attack.

Ron’jar always preferred to attack.

Deciding on an immediate coarse of action, Ron’jar watched as the Goesan warships entered weapons range and opened up at a long distance. Kodell’s ships maintained their coarse, sliding along the contour of the world below as though oblivious of the incoming danger. Several shots flashed by, their aim weak due to extreme range. A few torpedoes found their way home, though. Ron’jar noted that the enemy commander was quite sparing with his missile armament. He likely had a limited supply of the hard to fashion photonic weapons.

The lead D-3, the IKRS Keh’, took two photons in the deflector protecting her portside wing-hull. The old ship slued sideward under the assault, her ancient RCS system unable to keep her stable under such a pounding. But her shields remained intact. The Goesan guns quieted as their weapon banks recharged. The commander knew it would be some time before the Goesa’kain would be able to fire her fusion cannon again. The charge cycle on their capacitors was twenty seconds. And having fired off full volleys of photons, it would take a moment before they had any missiles to hurl at the D-3s as well.

The Goesan defenders closed in, and Ron’jar was just beginning to wonder when Kodell was going to make his move when the Goesa’kain opened fire with her photon banks again. Now she was hurling single shots from each tube in turn, allowing time for fresh torpedoes to load and arm so the assault was continuous. Again and again, the tiny, beleaguered cruisers bucked from successive impacts. Soon she would be adding the punch from her cannon.

Just as the battleship’s main cannon began to prime, The Keh’ turned on her axis, leading her sisters as she darted for the planet’s atmosphere. The ‘kain’s first shots went wide, and the last two torpedoes she fired lost tracking. Heat sheer quickly began to form on the bow shields of the speeding cruisers, and at the last moment before atmospheric contact, the trio pulled their noses high and bounced off the hard blanket of particles. Charged blue lances lashed out, carving swaths into the ground kilometers below, and the Hydran-built escorts pivoted to follow, their phasers ablaze. The commander had to smirk just a bit. Kodell had drawn away the escorts without firing a single shot.

As the D-3s raced away, allowing the smaller ships to dog them, Ron’jar studied the Goesa’kain.
The giant ship’s commander was leery of following the D-3s very close, and was certainly wary of getting too close to the planet. Ron’jar watched as the dreadnought slowed to the deadest of crawls and rotated to bring her main guns to bear on the Klingon vessels which were now at long range once again. The ‘kain presented a wide, sidelong target for the Bird of Prey. Ron’jar glanced at the sensor reading on her shield envelope.

Goesa’kain’s aft shielding was a joke. A single photon torpedo would knock a hole clean through it. Her sideboard shields were little better. Only her forward screens could take a beating. Ron’jar repressed a small smile as he watched the tactical screen. The escorts opened up way too large a gap as they chased the D-3s. The Goesa’kain sluggishly edged forward, either to close that gap or to assist in the chase. Which ever was the case, the defender ship had placed herself only a hundred kilometers above the planet’s upper ionosphere…

“Helm, ahead full!” He barked, pausing till he saw the skyline light with the blue wash of the ‘kain’s fusion cannon. “Drop the cloak! Gunner, target their impulse drive and fire at will!”
*******************************************************************************

There we go. Hope y'all like that little bit. I tried to post iyt in one chunk, but it was too long.I'm now up to date on chapters, having just started ch.8. The weakness noted above comes from the Mr. Scott's guide to the Enterprise and also from a cut away poster I have of the 1701, which had an even worse weakness. The actual warp core is on the other side of the shuttlebay bulkhead! Not just part of the shaft. I noticed several similarities between that poster and the deck chart of the Defiant in the Enterprise Mirror Universe episode.Which I loved by the by. I thought that Episode the best they's produced, and would have prefered more of the same rather than further shows of the 'normal' universe.

Any thoughts of what the next Trek production from Paramount should or even might be?

Bye.

[Scottish Andy]

Great triple post, Ronjar! I tuned in just after you'd posted part one and was aboit to call you a nasty, evil man for stopping there. *grin*

So, I find two more parts and at once realise what you were wanting that first torp to do, and releived that it didn't get that far. Phew! That would have been an expanding ball of dust formerly holding the name USS Endeavour if that was the case! and well done on surprise tactic. That is a huge design flaw, if you can work close enough. What about all the one-way atmospheric forcefields within the shuttlebay though? We see at least one in The Motion Picture.

Great story, though. Had me hooked until the end. Keep it up!

[Grim Reaper]

It's a great Read man! Mighty impressive and a very pausible design flaw. Poor endavour! Poor Goesan ppl!

Btw, is klingon rule that hard indeed?

[Governor Ronjar]

So, I find two more parts and at once realise what you were wanting that first torp to do, and releived that it didn't get that far. Phew! That would have been an expanding ball of dust formerly holding the name USS Endeavour if that was the case! and well done on surprise tactic. That is a huge design flaw, if you can work close enough. What about all the one-way atmospheric forcefields within the shuttlebay though? We see at least one in The Motion Picture.

I thank you greatly. The cloud of dust idea was what Ron'jar was shooting for. As for the force fields, realize that shuttles do fly through them. I think those fields are likely only strong enough to retain atmosphere, not stop war-shot torpedoes.

And to the Reaper-man, its all just propaganda! We Klingons are QUITE ;Dbenevolent!

[Governor Ronjar]

Y'all want some more?


Chapter Eight
In orbit of Goesa’vaina,
IKS B’rel




The roaring noise of the scout’s engines filled the bridge as his lithe little ship ate up the remaining distance between her and the Goesa’kain. The bark of the cloak alarm nearly quelled the reports of Ron’jar’s First as he called off range to target. At last, the alarm halted and the lighting came to full power. Now came the gunner’s turn to light up the sky. Green bursts of brilliant, rapid-fire nadion energy flashed out at the glowing blue drives of the massive warship. With each firing, the B’rel’s hull reverberated with the noise and vibration of the weapon charging system.

The Goesa’kain’s aft shielding flared and shivered under the on going assault. It took barely six seconds to pound through to bare hull. The aft armor of the mighty ship began to shred into millions of sparkling bits, the expanse of now blackened metal superheating to a brilliant red. Another trio of shots from each battery blew the fantail armor away between the two huge sublight engines. The starboard driver sputtered, then faded to a cooler color. The Goesa’kain slued to the extreme right.
A volley of two photon torpedoes shot straight out as the disruptors quieted. Both struck the remaining impulse drive, imploding it upon itself and sending out a spiraling spray of glass-like induction material. Inertia carried the massive, and now ballistic, vessel forward as she tumbled into a slow spin. It did not take long for Goesa’vaina’s gravity to claim its own…

Ron’jar nodded with a silent, and barely visible smile as he watched the battleship’s glowing hull drop into the atmosphere of the planet below. He almost longed to linger over what he knew would be a truly stupendous antimatter explosion when the Goesan ship slammed into the sun-baked desert sands below. Gladly, there was not enough of a hydrogen concentration in the planet’s air to endanger a one-to-one annihilation ratio. Therefor the biosphere was in no danger of being ripped away. But the detonation of nearly a thousand metric tons of compressed deuterium in any form would be amazing. He would make a special effort later to inspect the crater…

“Reestablish cloak.” The commander barked down at Sub-lieutenant S’tall. The Romulan officer showed no sign of irritation at his tone toward her. He thought vaguely of hurling the occasional insult when he addressed her, but decided it would be counter productive. No need to distract her during battle. The alarm sounded and the lighting fell back to its former subdued level.

“First,” he growled to the XO, “center visual on the Whitehairs!”

Tor’nax jabbed a series of three tabs on his console and the forward viewer flickered to the image of the ongoing battle. The trio of aged cruisers had lured the trailing escorts into high polar orbit and had split into three separate paths. The Goesan escort ships had smartly remained together, trailing the lead ship and hammering her with their combined forward firepower. However, whilst they succeeded in pounding Kodell’s shields down as he feigned flight, they’d left their tails open for the remaining two to sweep back in on their rears. Even now, the left-most Goesan ship was death-rolling out of orbit in a trail of her own flaming guts. All three of the Whitehairs were dogging the final Goesan craft and separating it to its component molecules.

All was proceeding according to plan. Not the original, fleet-ordered plan, perhaps, but the outcome was better than what had been expected. All resistance above Goesa’vaina had been removed, and the Endeavour had not been able to deliver any significant number of reinforcements to the people below. Now to make his report to General Tor. And then, he’d wait.




Grand Assemblage Hall,
Goesa’vaina




“Reports are sketchy, My Lady.” Iram called out from the strategic operation center in the right corner of the control room. Elani held her face in check, maintaining complete control over the horror threatening to bring her to her knees. The first space war her people had ever faced, and it had to have happened during her reign! And such overwhelming forces! Her pallor turned whiter and whiter.

“I believe our escorts are losing their battle!” The Over Secretary finished, looking back at her with controlled fear in his eyes. The Jessa’tae found it impossible to hold the man’s gaze. Iram had been a seasoned veteran of the military before his current posting. And he was looking to her for guidance! Her eyes retreated to Coarus.

“What report from Goesa’kain?” She asked, imploring good news from the Prime. The bald soldier kept his expression impassive as he touched a control on the face of his surveillance panel. “This is the feed from Tactical Satellite 17, polar orbit.”

The image was of the northern curvature of her world. It showed the golden sands of the Paldan desert. It showed serene white clouds around the perimeter of the screen. In the center of the feed, it showed a blazing blossom of roiling flame, spreading slowly over kilometers, hundreds of kilometers, of populated lands...

“The Goesa’kain, my Jessa’tae.” I’rell said in a low, husky tone, confirming the worst. Even the unshakable Dashak Prime’s jaw was slack. Eight hundred Goesans had just perished, plus however many occupied the countryside the ‘kain had slammed into. Elani’tess’s back grew rigid. Her green eyes narrowed to angry slits. The Klingons dared.

“Dashak Prime, Assemble the entire Dashak Guard. We are going to the Trade Square. Our command will be led from there as with our forefathers.” The Jessa’tae was already on the move for the chamber entrance. Behind her, the Over Secretary shot up from his seat.

“My Jessa’tae! You must remain here, in the command room! This chamber is reinforced—“
Elani turned and speared him with her sharpest gaze. “I will not hide within a hardened bunker as my people fight an die about the capitol building. You will remain here to coordinate our communications, but myself and the Guard are going to lead from the field.”

Secretary Iram stood taken aback. This was not what he’d expected from a woman so young. His own granddaughter was older than Elani’tess. Yet this woman was leading her men out to command a desperate battle, from the front line, with no battle experience of her own. The former soldier watched her turn back for the door, unable to formulate any response.

Elani’tess stepped past the closed weapons locker, barely sparing it a single glance. Her hand fell upon the phaser tucked into her travelling robe’s pocket. She paused, and I’rell found himself watching her movements intently as she looked back at the closed metal locker. Her brow furrowed as she considered. Then, taking out the detached palm unit from her pocket, the queen returned and opened the case. From within she withdrew the butt piece to the pistol and reinstalled the palm unit to the larger device and also took a holster to fit the weapon. Holster and pistol she hung upon the gossamer belt of her gown. Again, her face was engraved with the look of concentration. Next, she drew out a gleaming, new phaser rifle.

I’rell smiled as his queen slung the rifle awkwardly about her right shoulder and headed back for the door. The Prime’s pride in his young ruler was beyond description.





The Trade Square,
Jessa’man’a City,
Goesa’vaina




Lieutenant Alfred Jackson shook his head with distaste as the tall, slim Goesan soldier told his men and he of the fate of his base ship. Endeavour had been crippled, all but destroyed by a Klingon warship. Now they were alone down here, on a foreign planet, light years from nearest aid. The giant human took a deep, satisfying breath of the oppressive, hot air.

This was what he lived for! Unbeatable odds. Desperate situations which allowed him to shine in his duties. He was a born hero. And occasionally, a modest one.

Jackson nodded to the accented soldier, who immediately turned on a heel and ran away on his incredibly long, legs. My but these people were tall! Taller than he, and that was a feat. Alfred was an enormous man, a few inches shy of seven feet in height. Bands of thick muscle coursed over his body beneath pale flesh. Golden hair stood in spiked glory an exact centimeter tall upon his squareish head. Crisp blue eyes surveyed his men.

Only about half of Alfred’s security contingent of 112 had made it down from the ship. The fifty- four that were here were well armed, and they had the support of one shuttlecraft which was just now arriving. He smiled a grim smile as he thought of what that shuttle was packing. When the Klingons arrived planetside, he would have a few surprises for them.

Alfred spun on a heel and faced his nearest subordinate. Ensign Jo Ricci stood at immediate attention under the scrutiny of his commander, rifle held at parade-rest. Jackson maintained the grin. The lieutenant liked the shorthaired kid. He was good in a firefight, and had a penchant for nuclear demolition.

“Ricci! Organize the shuttle crew and off load their ordnance. I want a tactical map of the entire area that will be under the city deflector shield in five mikes. Also, see to it that field water dispensers are set up and running. We can’t have our troops dropping from exhaustion before we even go to battle.”

“Aye, sir!”

“Any medics make it down here?”

“Negative, sir!”

“Very well, carry on.”

Jackson watched the boy turn and trot away toward the grounded shuttle. Yes, with men such as he, they might just win the day. Jackson spread himself around among his men for the next few minutes, assisting them in setting up semi-portable deflector generators and field generators. He inspected armor and saw to it that all weaponry was in full operational readiness. The sand and the heat seemed to be having no immediate adverse affects on his gear. This was good.

As his men got into the groove of readying their defenses, Jackson took a moment to study the tactical map Ricci had had brought to him. This city was an ancient one, with sprawling mazes of criss-crossing streets running in every imaginable direction. This would make organizing his men a nightmare, but also meant that attacking this place would be near to impossible. He did not envy the Klingons.

“Security officer!”

Jackson quirked an eyebrow and turned slowly toward the loud feminine voice. A single, slight picture of a woman was leading a procession of Goesan soldiers his direction. She wore a slim, form-fitting gown with a thick traveling garment thrown back over her narrow shoulders. A Starfleet-issue rifle was held in her tiny hands, in a manner showing near complete unfamiliarity with the weapon. Jackson resisted the urge to crack a smirk at the Goesan queen. At least she was actually out here with her men, out on the battlefield. Most rulers and planetary officials would be well hidden and well guarded in a protected bunker with a handy escape route planned for them. But this Jessa’tae was brave enough to come out here and give her all and risk her own life. He couldn’t help but be impressed.

Not to mention aroused…

As she drew to a halt before him, with an enormous, bald soldier close behind, the Jessa’tae squinted at the rank pins painted on his dark skirmish armor. “Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am. Lieutenant Alfred Jackson, chief of security.”

Elani’tess pursed her full lips at the sound of the pride over flowing from that one sentence. “I see, Lieutenant. Are your men very close to being ready?”

“Indeed, ma’am. We’re deploying three units of photon mortar men within the inner defense circle, my officers are dispersing among your own nearby units in groups of four. We’re setting up an inner defense ring of shield generators to protect the command area and our artillery.”

Elani nodded, her emerald eyes wide. The tall man behind her nodded as well, a more solid expression of understanding on his rugged face. This man, obviously a leader, also bore a phaser rifle like to Jackson’s. His manner was reserved and well practiced. He knew how to handle himself.
“Very well, Lieutenant. Is there anything you require to help you integrate what you’ve brought into our defense plan?” The queen asked.

“Yes. I need access to the highest ground possible to mount a Type-4 phaser cannon. The weapon has a fifty-two kilometer range within atmosphere and if we can get the tallest vantage possible, the field of fire we’ll be able to cover would be devastating.”

Elani stood silent for a moment, and Jackson began to wonder if the woman was really up to the task of running this show. Finally, though, she looked up to the soldier beside her. “Prime Coarus, would you agree that the Alabaster Library would field the greatest vantage?”

Coarus nodded, stern eyes boring into the human.

“The library of the High Temple. But the library has the more level roof with fewer obstructions. Yes, the library would do.”

Elani’tess looked back to the Starfleet man. “Coordinate with Dashak Prime Coarus in all emplacement matters, Lieutenant. He stands as my military aid in this trial. He will be the one to get things done.”

With trained respect, the Dashak Prime bowed at the compliment, and Alfred found himself bowing as well. This soldier’s mannerisms were not just drilled. He made such offerings out of genuine respect for his lady, and did so as though he could imagine no other way. Jackson decided that he liked this man.

Elani’tess centered her eyes on the lieutenant suddenly then, her expression questing.

“Lieutenant Jackson, in your experience, what will the Klingons do? What will their exact actions against our defense be?”

Jackson gave her a satisfied smile. She was indeed wise.

“I depends upon whether they intend to take your civilization intact, my lady. If not, then all our preparations will be useless. They’ll bombard the cities and any military asset from orbit and never set foot on these sands until everything is wiped out.” Jackson paused, watching the blood drain from the Jessa’tae’s face. “But if that were the case, our friends in orbit would have already started the operation. They’ve shown by their attack on my ship that they’re impetuous. Likely it’s a new commander eager to make a name for himself in Imperial service.

“Given that, their first objective will be to take the capitol. To do so, they’ll have to take out the city’s shield generator so they can beam in enough troops to overwhelm your military. To accomplish this, they’ll either strike from low orbit to try and batter the shield down and try to hit the generator as precisely as possible, or they’ll send in a strike team to eliminate it.”

“How could they get a strike team in?” The queen asked, “There are no breaches in the system. Do they have a method of beaming men through?”

“Not that we presently know of, ma’am. But there are ways to disrupt shielding on a highly local scale. Precision disruptor fire followed by a transporter beam. It’s very dangerous and a timing nightmare, but possible. It’s been done.”

“Which do you believe more likely?”

Alfred narrowed his eyes as a hot, sandy wind blew through the narrow streets. He looked about the ancient columns stretching out across the square. He glanced over the robust architecture and the carven, stone statues staring out from nearly every corner and nook. The uneven, rock paved streets rolled between walkways and buildings, over hills and through natural valleys of hard baked earth. The soldiers within view were of the hardy sort. They were well drilled. Their appearance showed this without much scrutiny. Any battle here would be a pitched one. A strategic work of art. And the Klingons would not be able to resist a hands-on duel with these people.

The Starfleet officer looked back to the planet’s ruler.

“They’ll send in a ground team ma’am. I don’t know how they plan to do it, but they’re going to try and spare your city unnecessary damage. They’re strike team will be fast, it’ll be efficient. They’ll be elite. We’ll have to be very vigilant to catch it.
*******************************************************************************

Hope y'all were able to remain awake. Not as much action in this bit, but I'm gearing up. Just finished this tonight, and I barely editted it. Hope it's barable.

Let the mud fly...

[Grim Reaper]

MUD?! No, no mud. Flowers... maybe. If you post the next one soon.

[CaptJosh]

Ok, I have a few nits to pick. 8 lightyears away and you somehow think it would take three days? More like 3 minutes.  Secondly, when the bodyguard is trying to give the Queen her weapon, the word is insist, not persist. "My lady, I must insist."

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

This is for CaptJosh:

Firstly, you could have been friendlier, as that comment comes off as rude to me. A newbie who doesn't introduce himself launching straight into a nitpick and not even saying whether or not he liked the story? That's definitely bad form.

Secondly, at warp eight (which in the TOS timeframe is 512c) travelling 8 light years takes 5.7 days. Even at the TNG defined value of 1,024c (which is the system our Klinks use here) those 8 lightyears would still take 2.85 days. So, Ronjar is well within his rights of approximation in his statement.

Thirdly, you don't seem to have an idea of the protocols of class. A soldier, no matter how highly placed in the government, would never say "I insist" to their leader. Who is he to force his will on his ultimate superior? He has to try and persuade her by asking again, so, indeed, he must persist.
Grammically speaking and bereft of context, you are correct. In this case, you are wrong, and Ronjar is again right.

So, CaptJosh, are you enjoying Ronjar's story? I certainly am, even though he is writing more in the FASA universe than the SFB one. I find it to be a well-paced tale, sufficiently exciting and all that.

What do you think?

[CaptJosh]

Oops. Didn't mean to come off snappish. Unfortunately, since spelling and grammar are rather pet peeves of mine, I tend to snap off even a friendly criticism without thought to tone. As for the other attempt at constructive criticism, it had the misfortune to get lumped in with that snapped off thing about the grammar. I apologize.


As for your assumption, I'm hardly a newbie. I just haven't posted here before. I happen to do some writing of my own, though the one story I have been writing on and off for years is rather at an impasse. I put too much of myself in the main character, who is supposed to be married, and since I'm not married yet, I just can't get myself to write the wife character. Helluva way to have writer's block, huh? Guess that'll teach me to write too much of myself into a character again. ::grimaces wryly::

In regard to my own treknological whoopsie, I guess I've gotten too used to the TNG era scale after years of not watching original Trek. This is doubly sad as TOS is my favorite.

I never said it wasn't enjoyable. Unfortunately, I never said it was either. DOH!

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Good to see you're an okay bloke, Josh. I have a couple of nitpicks for your reply, though. *grin*

My assumption is valid, as I did mean what you pointed out. You're a newbie to this forum, and in the case of putting out writing for public consumption, that's all that matters here. :-)

Your TNG Treknological assumption is wrong too, Josh. Like I said, at TNG Warp 8 it takes just under 3 days like Ronjar said.

And since speeling and g'mar are your pet peeves, you should look to your own post here:

"Helluva wat to have writer's block, huh?" and "I never said it wasn't enjoable"

I'm teasing you, Josh. Just so as you know. :-) You should put out your own story here, we could help you with your story, if you like. Whatever you decide, stick around and read the other stories. Another author is always welcome here!

[CaptJosh]

Damnit! Now I KNOW I looked over that post for typos. How the HELL did I miss those. Gah! I think I need to trade my eyes and fingers in on newer models. It's getting to the point where I may have to start using the spell checker. ::shudder::

BTW, I've corrected the typos.

[Commander La'ra]

Definitely post your stuff.  The more around here who write, the merrier.

[Governor Ronjar]

Ok, I have a few nits to pick. 8 lightyears away and you somehow think it would take three days? More like 3 minutes.  Secondly, when the bodyguard is trying to give the Queen her weapon, the word is insist, not persist. "My lady, I must insist."

Hmmm...

I could really care less about about travel times. If you wish to know, I did the figures using the old scale, but didn't actually sit down with a pen and paper and get the exact numbers. If you'd like, just figure in for navigational hazzards. I think I was close enough. I was looking over the Trek map of the galaxy that came out just after Enterprise debuted.

As far as grammar... Writers attempt to use correct grammar. People do not. People commonly use double negatives, slang and just generally make a mess of the English language. And J was quite correct. You certainly don't insist your boss at work do a damn thing, why would you dare with a queen?

I like bad reviews as much as good ones. Not many seem to poke holes in my stuff. What you wrote didn't rankle me too much. The above was just my comments about the points mentioned.

Glad you like my story. I've tried to keep it moving at a good pace, which has required alot of editing.

I'm working on Ch. 9. Not coming along too well, yet. I'm tearing down my old house.

[jack dalton]

Hey everyone! Great work Ron'jar, this story has the makings to be one of your best yet. Like commander La'ra I too am getting a thrill from this story. I know you have caught some flack on some of the tech issues, all I got to say to that is that you can use all the technobabble you want and not have a good story. Good writing and a vivid imaganation are what really count and you have both my friend. Keep up the good work.

[CaptJosh]

I realized I missed a few things when I was thinking the speed vs distance, anyway. For some reason my brain was thinking about Warp 9 and above. Particularly in reference to the Enterprise E making it to Earth from the Romulan Neutral Zone in time to help fight the Borg Cube. But Picard ordered maximum warp. Figure something on the order of warp 9.98 on a Sovereign class starship, and that is a hell of a lot faster than warp 8 ever was. My apologies for my miscalculations.

[Governor Ronjar]

I realized I missed a few things when I was thinking the speed vs distance, anyway. For some reason my brain was thinking about Warp 9 and above. Particularly in reference to the Enterprise E making it to Earth from the Romulan Neutral Zone in time to help fight the Borg Cube. But Picard ordered maximum warp. Figure something on the order of warp 9.98 on a Sovereign class starship, and that is a hell of a lot faster than warp 8 ever was. My apologies for my miscalculations.

Travel time is really unimportant to a storyteller...unless the storyteller hangs his story upon it. Nothing wrong with that, but travel time is a bit subjective to me.

According to the Soveriegn-Class cut-away poster I gave La'ra a few years ago, Ent-E maxed at 9.7... But it WAS just a poster. They had the weapons count about right, tho... Wish I still had my Bird of Prey poster...

...damned Milholen...

[CaptJosh]

I would think that 9.7 would be a max cruising speed, as opposed to "punch it!" The Ent-D could cruise at 9.2, and had a rating for a few hours at 9.6 before burnouts and equipment failures would start to show up, with a capability for bursts of higher warp power for short times while risking equipment failures. The Ent-E, being much leaner and meaner would be able to do more because it has the next generation of warp engines, plus less mass, even though it's longer than its predecessor.

[Scottish Andy]

All this technobabble aside (thanks Jaeih...  ), when are we getting the next installment of your story?

[KBF-Frankk]

I need my fix 

[Governor Ronjar]

Capt. Josh, I agree on the speed issue. I figure the E was much faster.

Life has been hectic! My wife and I and assorted friends tore down my old busted-ass house in 2 weeks and made ready for my new mobile home (the castles that dominate redneck life) to be brought in.  No one stops talking around here long enough for me to write, so till my new home is placed and has power, I am unable to write. Ask La'ra, he understands my plight.

Be patient my friends, I haven't forgotten y'all!

[Commander La'ra]

Indeed I can.  I also have to say that one of the best gifts I've ever been given by a friend was when the Guv allowed me to pull down large sections of his house in a process that involved a Chevy Blazer and a long length of logging chain.

[Governor Ronjar]

I'm now in my new home! This means I may soon have time to write!

Right now I'm doing a Trek comic, and it has taken up alot of my attention. I'm nearly half way done on it.

Anywho, I'm still around, soon I'll have more time and all will be well once again.

[CaptJosh]

Trek comic? URL, please.

[Governor Ronjar]

Trek comic? URL, please.

UR-what?!

I couldn't begin to figure out how to get such a thing on the net. Naw, this comic resides in the confines of my art notebook here at the house. I'm combining the art of anime such as Inuyasha with the simplisity of the Clone Wars 'toon. So far, so good. Getting close to finishing.

I've read back over our previos battleing over warp speeds. I think I just realised what the deal was... B'rel was not going to Goesa'vaina at Warp 9.98 of even the old show's Warp 8... The 'White Hairs' are only capable of Warp 5... They're pre-Enterprise vessels. Hope that clears my good name and lacking math skills...

Any who, for those who are jonesing...

Chapter Nine
In orbit of Goesa’vaina,
Eighth Day of Gromarg,
IKS B’rel




Commander Ron’jar’s face remained as stone as ship after ship of the Alliance fleet dropped out of warp speed above the sandy world spinning lazily below. The Tom’par’a led the procession, appearing from her flare of subspace disruption first and decelerating rapidly as she took up a position in front of B’rel. The broad, fat bulk of the green painted warship nearly took up the majority of the small viewer at the bow of Ron’jar’s bridge. An uncontrolled near-sneer flashed across the Klingon’s bearded face and he flicked the visual resolution to a lower zoom setting. That wispy, smug old fool might be overwhelmingly proud of his over grown battle-monster, but this didn’t mean the commander wanted it filling his screen. Further battlecruisers began to fall from warp speed.

“Final cruisers arriving, my lord.” Lieutenant Tor’nax called off from the science console. The commander gave him a silent nod as Nurrag turned from the communications station.

“Tom’par’a hails, Commander.”

“Visual.”

The awesome images of the fleet taking their places over the besieged world blinked away. Replacing it was the dried up old general. “Greetings Commander Ron’jar.” He chuckled through uneven teeth and a wide smirk. “I see we’ve been very busy since your contact report.” The next dripped with sarcasm. “Have you captured the planet yet?”

Ron’jar’s left brow peeked a bit as he leaned unconcernedly within the confines of his chair. “Not as yet, General… We forgot to bring our disruptors.”

Tor cracked an honest smile. Ron’jar had never seen the man smile when speaking with La’ra. “Well, we’ve brought plenty of them. It’s time to give the business ends of them to the Goesans.”

“Indeed.” The commander replied. He stood from the command chair and rested a palm on the butt of his weapon. Before him, Bek Nurrag pressed a key he’d had waiting since the fleet had reached the system’s outer limits. “I have thoroughly detailed my plan to infiltrate the city. I am sending you a copy. We’ll need the assistance of several assault shuttles. Some that you don’t mind losing.”

Tor received a data pad from one of his own officers just out of the reach of the visual pickup. He looked over the glowing red text that stared up at him. The old general’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the built-in foil hidden within the plan. At last, he nodded his assent. “You may have your shuttles, Commander. Just don’t destroy ALL of them. After you begin your attack and your team confirms insertion, I will order the fleet to begin beaming our Qas Dev down to the other ten major cities. Then we will take up bombardment positions in orbit to ensure no troop movements are possible.”

Ron’jar nodded agreement. He stepped forward, closer to the visual feed. He knew his face would immediately become larger and more imposing on Tor’s own screen. It was a cheap maneuver, used primarily to scare lesser ship commanders. The commander did so now to momentarily throw the general off kilter. “Be sure to advise your Qas DevwI’ not to cause too much unnecessary damage to the native surroundings. It would be a shame to mar the architecture.”

“A fan of alien construction, are we, Commander?” Tor grunted a short laugh. “I’ll pass the word along. Don’t hold your breath.”

Ron’jar watched the screen twitch back to its previous image of the slow moving cruisers. He allowed only the smallest of grins, a smile only La’ra would have been able to actually make out for what it was. He took a deep breath of musky warship air, and turned toward his First. “Tor’nax, ready our insertion team! Light melee load only. No bat’leths! We must be able to move quickly and through tight spaces. Standard rifle and grenade load-out.”

“Qa’pla!” The young officer spat back, fist to breast in salute. He then turned and stalked out the iris-like bridge doors. A proud bustle broke out in the control room as the crew took on a springier step. Several among the current bridge staff would participate in the action below. The rest were proud to do their part to insert them.

All save one. Sub-lieutenant S’tall merely stood behind the engineering console, hands clasped demurely behind her, seemingly oblivious to the cheerful clamor of smash-happy Klingon going on about her. Likely, she did not understand why the crew was so damned elated about the prospect of going down to a waiting war-zone. She simply stood there silently behind the operating technician, watching over the engine readouts. This did make Ron’jar smile.

It was an evil, wicked kind of leer.

“Sub-lieutenant S’tall,” he called to her. She turned and he wiped most of his grin away. She caught only a flash of the expression. Only enough to send a chill up her spine… “Will the cloak require complete supervision during the operation I detailed to you?”

She took a moment to answer, wanting to lie to him. Something told her not to dare. He knew the answer already. “Negative.”

“Excellent. Go down to the armory deck. Get yourself a rifle.”





The Trade Square,
Jessa’man’a City




Lieutenant Alfred Jackson crinkled his nose and brow as the reports began.

“The orbiting fleet has destroyed the last of our surveillance satellites, Prime.” The slim and actually short soldier sitting behind the Intel station in the command tent called off. The government-issue-bald tech held a black command mike to one ear much in the style of Starfleet com officers as he watched over the scrolling lines of text and graphics that filled his screen. “Ground stations are taking sporadic fire from above… North Station 7 registers what is believed to be multiple shuttlecraft launches from several of the larger warships.”

“Could our aerospace fighters get them before they reach atmosphere?” Elani’tess asked. Jackson knew well enough not to react adversely to such a naive question. The queen lacked combat experience.
“No, my Jessa’tae.” Coarus answered evenly. “Our fighters would prove ineffective amid such heavy anti-fighter screening fire. No matter how many we threw at them, they would be easily taken down. Our best bet is to utilize our crafts’ superior atmospheric maneuverability by engaging the shuttles close to the surface. Shuttles do not handle well in planetary reach.”

Jackson mentally amended the Goesan’s misconception. Most shuttles didn’t handle well in atmosphere. Some did. It just so happened that those that did could not carry more then two to four men. Such were almost useless in an assault save to protect larger craft. To take and hold this planet, the Klingons likely had their bays packed to the bulkheads with assault type craft.

“Station 7 confirms previous readings. Multiple atmospheric insertions and jetstream disruption…” The tech began to chant. More info scrawled across his screens. “Forty shuttle craft counted. Doppler analysis also indicates the likelihood of a larger, non-visible vessel preceding the smaller craft.”

“The Bird of Prey.” Jackson almost growled. The warship that had hit Endeavour had yet to show itself with more than an ID beacon to its fleet since the attack. Alfred swore he would have his vice-like hands on that Klink’s throat by tomorrow! The technician went on.

“Station 7 reports coarse projection places the incoming craft en route for the Capitol City!”
Coarus’ hard voice came next. “Scramble intercept fighters. Those vessels are not to get through.”
Jackson turned to the Dashak Prime and his ruler.

“Ma’am, your fighter ordnance isn’t likely even to lock onto a cloaked ship, let alone be able to damage it. My shuttle can paint the target for your craft, and its phasers stand a better chance of scoring some real hurt, at least before they decloak and get their shields up.”

Elani nodded her understanding.

“Then launch your ship, Lieutenant.”

Jackson turned and ran toward his waiting vessel. He would command the defense himself.

[Governor Ronjar]

This 20,000 character limit is for the damn birds!!!

170 kilometers away,
800 meters above the Deswan Waste




With the undulating roar and whine of fusion driven engines, thirty weapon-laden planetary assault shuttles roared through the wind-ripped sky of an alien world. Below them could be seen only feathery clouds and bleached stretches of endless sand. From this altitude, the intruders could barely make out the roads crossing the barren terrain beneath them that eventually would lead to the target city.
The pilots of these vessels relied upon local land marks; hills, dunes, stony mountain uprisings; and the powerful signature of the capitol’s deflector shield to guide them in. They maintained a rigid speed limit, daring not to overtake the invisible starship blasting along before them. While it flew above them, it could still prove disastrous to close in too close with the Bird of Prey.

Soon, contacts began to paint themselves upon the invaders’ sensor screens. Defending aircraft were rushing out to give battle. The fighters loosened their formations in preparation for return fire and they strengthened their forward shields. Both forces were well within firing range of modern weaponry, but at atmospheric speeds, firing too far away meant only much more of a chance to evade.
Both groups waited as the kilometers and kelicams fell away.



Jackson watched as the first squadron of defending gull-winged fighters opened fire with their wing-mounted missiles. The weapons were loaded with powerful spatial charges much like Starfleet used a hundred years previous. The warheads would be next to useless against a starship’s polarized hull and fully charged deflectors, but would prove quite powerful versus craft as small as shuttles.
The missiles streaked away, leaving contrails even in the hot air of this altitude. The first line of shuttles broke formation to evade, and the trackers of the defending weapons latched onto them like slavering hounds. Alfred figured the first assault would claim few kills, and looked down at the piloting controls arrayed before him. His own ship was flying obscenely slow when compared to its true capacities. But he had chosen to maintain formation with his allies. He would be depending on them as much as they were upon him.

“Positive lock on that damned Bird?” He demanded of Mister Ricci at the ops panel right of him.

“Not yet. He’s in the center of the air mass, but I can’t get a real scan of him.” The ensign replied, eyes not wavering from the readouts arranged all about him. Jackson found himself peering ahead, hoping to catch an impossible glimpse of the interloping craft. There wasn’t really any possible…

But there was indeed something out there…

Jackson squinted, looking past the swarm of shuttles darting away from low-tech missiles and through the second wave of ships returning fire with brilliant bursts of emerald fire… What was that he was looking at? Was it behind the incoming force? No, it was in front! A huge shimmer, like a blur in one’s vision! A shifting pattern of mottled light and color…

Activating his manual scopes, Alfred began to target the blotch he was looking at. Ricci noticed, his earnest face painted in inquiry.

 “I’ve got him!” Alfred assured, pressing the fire key.

Phasers lanced out at the seeming glob of nothing and cascaded over in indefinable shape passing through the sparse clouds. Ricci’s eyes widened at the sight of the strike and instantly he began to relay orders to their accompanying escort. “Contact, contact! Bird of Prey sighted, lock on that explosion and fire!”





The Goesan aerospace fighters were quick as angry bees to respond. Ignoring their previous targets, they whipped away from the shuttles and instantly began pounding the shimmering mass amid them. The Bird of Prey’s form fluttered in and out as its stressed cloak tried to compensate for all the varied weapon strikes. Phaser blasts, spatial warhead explosions and machine gun impacts rocked the winged starship and caused her to drop through the air. Several of the Goesan craft at the head of the pack began to spiral after it as they closed ground.

With a final shimmer and a flash of pale light, the hunch-backed bird ship dropped her cloak and resolved into view. More weapons struck her hull, hitting hard enough to leave visible impressions on her green hull. At long last, though, her deflector shields came up, and both Goesan weaponry and the phasers of the Starfleet shuttle began to bounce off like hail on a tin roof.

The Bird of Prey began to raise her nose, gaining altitude even as she flew into the swarm of Goesan craft. Meanwhile, the shuttles following behind the scoutship began to concentrate their fire of the fighters dogging their larger companion.

“Break off your attack on the Bird of Prey!” Jackson was calling to his allies. Few answered his signal, and none heeded his warning. Many began to fall victim as they were assaulted from behind while concentrating on a warship they could no longer injure.

Alfred had hoped to do as much damage as possible while the scout’s shields were down. His ploy hadn’t paid off. The Bird was visible now, shielded, and nearly untouchable beneath her capitol-scale shields. The lieutenant watched as the huge, green painted warship swung his way, and could imaging her gunner targeting their small shuttle. He put the small, agile craft into a series of evasive maneuvers to put distance between the scout and themselves.

“Lieutenant, can you get us seventy meters above the Bird of Prey on a parallel coarse?” Ricci asked suddenly. Alfred shot him a glance.

“Probably…why?”

“I have a plan, that is, if you think you can fly us back to the capitol on the RCS thrusters.”
Jackson rankled. “Of coarse I can. Just what the hell are you asking me to do?” The lieutenant was already aiming their ship for the point Ricci had asked for, above the scoutship.

“I’m going to turn our impulse drive into a nuclear bomb.”

Lieutenant Jackson suddenly smiled. He looked at the terrain mapping sensors as he guided the shuttle above the whipping melee of assault craft and fighters. “Can you remote trigger the detonation?”

“Yes.”

“Good, we’ll detonate the drive above the target, just one kilometer before that mountain range.” He said, pointing to the jutting crags they were approaching. Ricci nodded, punching in the final modifications he’d need to make in the engine’s settings. As he worked, he keyed for the Goesan com channel. “Attention all fighters, on our next signal, break attack formation and get away from the Klingon force. We are about to light up the sky!”

The next few seconds were tense. More than once the shuttle drew fire, bouncing with direct disruptor fire to her shields. Several near misses with enemy and allied craft alike nearly ruined their attack plan. Finally, they reached their drop coordinates.

“Ready in three…two…one!” Jackson called. Ricci pressed the waiting amber colored key, signaling their escort as he did.

“All craft, break attack!”

The tiny shuttle lurched as a third of her weight fell away. Jackson fought to retain control over their flight as the RCS thrusters now took total responsibility over their flight. All they could do was pray the defenders heeded the warning and watch the counting indicators on the sensor board. At the desired altitude, Ricci pressed the initiator key.

A great white flash split the shy just above the neck of the giant Bird, instantly driving her into a plummeting dive for the deck. Three trailing shuttlecraft and several unlucky fighters were vaporized by the blast. The Bird of Prey dropped like a stone to the uneven line of saw-tooth mountains below.

“Did she impact?” Alfred asked Ricci.

“I’m not certain, Lieutenant. There was no explosion on the surface, but the mass of the mountainside is blocking sensor reception.”

“Well, we’re not maneuverable enough to make a pass to check while fending off their assault shuttles. We’re heading for base.”





Sub-lieutenant S’tall grimaced a look of apprehension as she and the insertion team listened to their commander receive the report of the downed Bird of Prey. Ron’jar just seemed to shrug the loss off and returned to his place near the ramp. “We land in one minute,” he told them without emotion in his tone.

S’tall stepped as close as she dared. Ron’jar regarded her as a butcher looked at a slaughtered bull. “Commander, without the scoutship’s support, are we not at a disadvantage?”

“The Bird of Prey merely served to add credence to our ruse.” He replied coldly, betraying nothing of what he truly thought of losing the warship. “We continue as planned. Landing is in forty seconds!”
The sounds of the ship’s thruster system began to whine louder and louder. The small ship tilted starboard, the to port, then came the sound of the landing gear machinery in the bulkheads behind the waiting teams. Finally, there came a grinding crunch. Ron’jar’s palm found the activation panel and the landing ramp descended into the dry sand below.

“Disembark!” The commander shouted. His men were already in motion, marching quickly down the lowered ramp and taking defensive positions on the arid ground beneath the ship. S’tall hesitated, then found herself tumbling down the slant of the unforgiving ramp into the shifting sands. Ron’jar thumped along behind, his boots rooted beside her as she lay panting in the awesome heat of this new world. The Romulan clutched the Klingon disruptor to her chest, praying the dirt had not fouled it, and allowed Ron’jar to haul her to her feet.

“To the drainage tunnel, double time!” The commander barked again, and his men were off. Behind them, the wind howled and sand blew into great geysers as the cloaked B’rel lifted from the ground and resumed her lone flight. The insertion team was alone now.

The team made it to the designated drainage tunnel; a two-meter tall pipe made of thin, corrugated alloy. All but Ron’jar took refuge within the cool confines of the sewage chamber. The commander stood without, looking skyward along the avenue his shuttle would be making their attack. At long last, he turned to Lieutenant Boren, the senior among the assault force. “Were we sighted?”
“No, my lord. I sighted no one, and tricorder readings showed clear. The rise of the cliff is too severe for our landing to have been noticed by many.” The tall, broad shouldered Qas DevwI’ answered. Ron’jar nodded back, taking a final look to the far skies.

“Our assault shuttles approach. Prepare to deploy!”

The team brushed past S’tall as they headed farther into the confines of the musty smelling sewage drain. The deflector field protecting the city projected also into this man-made cavern through the rock strata above. It remained powerful enough to halt any hand held weaponry, and under normal circumstances, any attempt to breach the field from here would be detected. Amid the batter of shuttle weaponry due to the attack beginning outside, however, the chances of such detection now were slim. Readying their breaching charges and field inhibitors, the Klingons gleefully plodded along.
*******************************************************************************

I hope this was bearable. I know yall have waited patiently for some time, as have I to be where I am now, being able to write on this in the comfort of my home without interuption. I hope you all enjoy, and more will come soon.

[Grim Reaper]

UR-what?!

(Uniform Resource Locator) The address identifies the location of a Web page on the World Wide Web.

Thus, he basicly wants you scan your comic, to upload it and to provide us with the proper locator to find it. It's easy

Anyways, on to the important part: I love your update(s)! Great action, and nice ploy of that feddie. Still, Ron'jar, outsmarted him. Just a couple of questions: The downed BOP is't Ron'jar's one right? Even though the feddie thinks it is? Or was Ron'jar aboard a shuttle? That's not fully clear to me. The shuttle is most likely to me now but i'm not sure.

now GIMME MORE SOON! to those copying my lines


j/k

[Governor Ronjar]

 I quote:
“To the drainage tunnel, double time!” The commander barked again, and his men were off. Behind them, the wind howled and sand blew into great geysers as the cloaked B’rel lifted from the ground and resumed her lone flight. The insertion team was alone now.


The downed BoP was not B'rel. And I do know what a URL is. That was just my snide thumbing of the nose to computers and the web in general. Glad you enjoyed.

[Scottish Andy]

Great installment, Guv! I love that the baddies (the Starfleet types in this story) aren't completely brainless, and actually quite clever with that impulse nuke trick.

Keep it up!

[Governor Ronjar]

I love that the baddies (the Starfleet types in this story) aren't completely brainless, and actually quite clever with that impulse nuke trick.

Keep it up!

The RPG character Ricci is based upon is both a nuclear demolitions specialist and a generally dirty bastard. I thought his idea in the story fitting. I don't believe in stupid badguys, no matter what La'ra thinks of my RPG portrayal of Red Talons. (just because they're dirty and uncooth does not mean they're stupid!)

I'm nearly finished with my Trek comic. It's up to 20 pages now. Am entertaining the idea of the URL idea, but really don't know the first thing about setting one up. Cap'n Josh got me to thinkin'... Either way, it will be scanned onto my computer.

Thus far I have not had the time nor the creative compunction to write further on Goesa'vaina. I need inspiration. I'm watching Enterprise Season 2 for nit-picky inspiration, but thus far have not stoked the furnace... I think the comic sucks up most of my creative juice. (DOMINATE YOUR FACE!!!) damn, where'd that come from!?

Anywho...anyone who has mud to throw, aim above!

thu guv'!

[Governor Ronjar]

Compared to my previous chapters, this is not long at all. I wrote it tonight inside of an hour and gave it a brief edit. I concider is a stepping off point to bigger, nastier chapters to follow.

Chapter Ten
City Main Sewer Drain Number 4,
Jessa’man’a City,
Goesa’vaina




Lieutenant First Boren knelt and affixed the final field destabilizer to the bottom hemisphere of the deflector barrier blocking the team’s entrance. New, unconquered lands lay beyond the protection of this invisible barrier. Each warrior held back by it itched to be through and to the other side. Ron’jar watched in stony silence, allowing the Qas DevwI’ time and space to work. His eye continued to glance over toward S’tall.

For her part, the Romulan continued to remain quiet and calm, despite his having kicked her crudely down the boarding ramp only minutes ago. He wondered if she truly realized that he had done such a thing, or did she believe she’d tripped? Her slim hands held the borrowed rifle well and with a disciplined manner. She was a soldier after all. Ron’jar had begun to doubt. He’d not let her behind him…

“Set!” Boren shouted, backing instantly away. He pressed the initiator key and was immediately rewarded with a crackle and a series of flashes from the deflector field. “Shield neutralizing…Down!”
“Go!” Ron’jar ordered them. They were off in a heartbeat, S’tall behind the main group and Ron’jar in the rear. Stepping through the pierced barrier, the commander turned back and played his pistol’s barrel over the way they’d come. Satisfied they’d not been followed, he looked down and kicked the field neutralizer away. A moment later, the field was just as strong as it had been.

The tunnel configuration changed totally at the first junction. Turning from corrugated alloy to duracrete, the sewers stretched into a vast web of drain and service corridors beneath the city’s roots. The duracrete was old, stained black by the years. The capitol city had been planned and built from the bottom up after its populations came together into a peaceful conglomeration. The sewers were just as old as the rest of the capitol, all of it being several hundred years old. Now these same tunnels would be the city’s undoing.

As the group of thirty-one soldiers came to a halt beneath the structure of a wide support arch, Ron’jar addressed them all. “Planetary dusk is in one hour. Split into pre-assigned teams and make your way to the planned waypoints. Groups Three through Five will begin harassment operations, drawing attention from our objective. Group Two will remain in guard position one until Group One is eliminated or requires backup. Questions?”

There were none. The plan had been discussed and refined several times as they’d made their journey here and waited for the fleet. Even the Romulan knew it by heart, even through she hadn’t believed she’d ever be part of it.

Ron’jar granted them each a worthy glance, knowing he’d not see many of them again. They would perform honorably. At last, he nodded to them. “Qa’pla!”

“Qa’pla!” They returned as one, and turned to leave their commander and his team. Group One, the largest team by its extra alien member, remained in place as Ron’jar began to take scans of the city above. His tricorder hummed and buzzed in the dim stillness, making the Rihansu Sub-lieutenant cringe at every loud tone.

“Couldn’t you have brought a quieter scanner?”

“No.”

S’tall growled beneath her breath. Her arched brow line became even more severe. “What is taking so long, Commander?”

Ron’jar did not answer, but kept eyeballing his device. Finally, he closed the machine down. “The shuttle fleet continues its attack on the deflector field. A surprising number survived to reach the city. The fleet above has added its firepower to the ruse. We are ready to begin.”

With a motion of his pistol, Ron’jar led them through the dank, foul smelling tunnels. He continued to keep the Romulan at his side…





The Trade Square,
Jessa’man’a City




The tiny, misshapen remnant of a Federation shuttlecraft settled herself down onto the dusty sands just outside the square’s command post. Goesans ran close to the opening side doors to watch the two battle weary human officers who’s helped fight off the first wave of Klingon aggressors. The battle had been a fierce one, and had lasted until nearly sundown.

Lieutenant Jackson and Ensign Ricci regarded the faces of those who received them; their faces so like theirs but for the small, bifurcated triangle of cartilage above their noses, which made their planet’s air more breathable for them. These people were greeting them like returning heroes. Their craft had remained airborne, offering phaser cover and strategic support during the entirety of the battle over the city. Clasped handshakes and slaps on the tops of their shoulders applauded them as they stepped down from the gangplank and off the shuttle’s now useless nacelle. Ricci glanced back at their ride. This shuttle would never see space again. Between the damage, the loss of the impulse drive and the depletion of its plasma capacitors as phaser energy, the shuttle was spent. Ricci looked over at the scorched side of the once white vessel. Beneath the carbon smudge, the name still peered out. The craft had been named the Burton Gwinn. Ricci hadn’t looked to see what ship they’d boarded when launching from Endeavour. One shuttle was just like all the others…Usually… This one had been different. It had fought till the very end, and served its pilots well. The ensign didn’t know whom the shuttle had been named for, but he’d damned sure find out when he returned home.

Lieutenant Jackson left the ensign behind to the adulation of the throng of Goesan soldiers and made for the command tent. There he found the queen and her command entourage in the same places he’d left them. The Jessa’tae turned at his approach.

“Lieutenant! A great and worthy effort, from all those involved.”

“Yes,” the blonde man returned, “We all did very well. How many craft were shot down?”

“Twenty at last count. The Bird of Prey re-lifted just before your return and made for high orbit.” Coarus sounded, his back still to the human and eyes glued to his screens. Jackson paused for a mental count.

“Have your sent teams to search through their wreckage?”

The queen looked taken aback by the inquiry.
“And why would we do that?”

“To check for possible Klingon survivors, my queen.” He answered. “They could still present a danger to your countryside, even if they can’t get into the city itself.”

This drew the Dashak Prime away from his scrolling screens of information. “They can survive a plummet from such altitudes?”

“It’s been known. Their inertial dampeners are at least as good as ours, possibly better.”
Elani’tess looked back to an attaché and directed him to organize search forces to scour the areas the enemy shuttles went down. The Prime stepped close to Jackson. “A craft went down not two kilometers from the deflector perimeter. It is the closest. Below the stone mesa the city resides upon, clear sensor readings are not possible without satellite coverage.”

“I’ll lead a Starfleet team there personally.”

“Take men from the Dashak! My men are well trained.”

With a final nod to the planet’s ruler and its military commander, Jackson turned to find his men.




Two Kilometers outside Jessa’man’a City,
In the Shelfan Flats,
Goesa’vaina




Lieutenant Jackson knelt low behind the cover of the portable shield generator his men had set up. His riflebutt raised into its well know resting-place in the bend of his shoulder. His finger poised just over the waiting trigger. Ahead of him, visible through the magnification of his holoscope, Petty Officer Jentry stood and waited for the lieutenant’s ‘clear’ signal so he could open the mangled hatch on the wasted assault shuttle. With his left hand, Jackson flashed the noncom his signal. All tensed as the brawny youth levered open the warped door. Smoke flowed out from within the craft, disappearing into the darkening gloom of descending night.

Planetary night was dark indeed on this world. Due to its extreme tilt toward its sun, Goesa’vaina would not have any night at all on its habitable hemisphere…where it not for its moon. Calla, the world’s sole natural satellite, provided solar relief for her children every night in the form of an eleven hour long eclipse. Jackson considered flipping on his night vision eyepiece, but thought better of it. It wasn’t dark enough just yet…

No movement came from within the downed shuttle. Another motion sent the seven-man squad of Goesan soldiers closer to the vessel. Rifles trained on the open chasm, the warriors waited for Jackson to move in. Raising into a low stoop, the Starfleet officer advanced and shined his rifle lamp through the entrance.

He found what he’d suspected. The tricorders had shown the vessel to be devoid of life. They had been correct. The only occupant of the ship was very dead, his remains tossed all about the cramped confines of the assault shuttle. Ensuring that the Klingon was, in fact, dead, Jackson turned to the senior Goesan soldier.

“You’re certain no transports were detected here?”

“Indeed,” replied the giant, muscled, bald-headed Goesan.

“We might have a problem, then…”
****************************************************************

How'z about that? Gonna go watch anime now...
Let the mud fly and the bodies hit the floor.

--thu guv'

[Grim Reaper]

too bloody short!

Me likes.

[KBF-Frankk]

  thanks Guv

realmente me gusta tu historia 

especialmente cuando Ron'jar le da una patada a la romulana 

+ karma 4u

[Governor Ronjar]

 No albla...whatever the hell that just was.

I understand karma, however, and thank you greatly Frankk!

Comic is now at 24 pages. Might wind up 30 long before done! I've got lots of color penciling to do...

see you'uns

--thu guv'!

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Hey Guv,

Nice little bit. Thankfully you ain't mistreating my comrade worse than any turtle-head ever treats a poor, misunderstood Rihanha, or your B'rel would be having words with my Warbird! *grin*

Waiting for more, keep it up.

[Governor Ronjar]

I'd have to know the class of warbird before I started shaking... If its a Kestrel, I ain't budgin'. B'rel eats too many of them on SFC3. I can take down anything under BCH with my own BoP refit on the Gen At War mod. With patience and practice, of coarse.

If you're talking about a D'deridex... 

--thu guv'!

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Hah. Sod SFC3, I mean my SFB War Eagle against your B'rel. I'll kick your arse for sure. :-)~

[Governor Ronjar]

Actual SFB? You would surely win as Ron'jar would fall asleep within moments from all the nagging rules...snore...what! Huh! Oh yeah... Combat, right. I guess I'll just board your ship then.

[Governor Ronjar]

I have finished my Endeavour comic. Distpite my hatred of messing with 'puters at such levels, I'd be grateful to learn how to post it for y'all.

[Grim Reaper]

U can scan everything and zip it. Then attach it here via the additional options.

Or mail (collect adresses via PM)

[Governor Ronjar]

Not done colorizing it. It'll be some time before I'm ready to scan and zip the whole thing.

'sides, might not be around much anyway after my tasteless remark for Jaeih's page.

[Governor Ronjar]

Well, I haven't been moderated yet.

I've seen y'all put pics on these pages along with your posts. How can I do this with my comic crap? I've been a coloring quite feverishly lately. It's like one huge coloring book drawn by my self. Strange...

--thu guv!

[Grim Reaper]

'sides, might not be around much anyway after my tasteless remark for Jaeih's page.

PuhLease. If that's reason to go I'd never stay anyware. True you might have stepped over her bounds. You applogized. IMHO you get a second chance. And if I read correctly she's ready to give you one. Klingons don't back away from a challenge.

Well, I haven't been moderated yet.

I've seen y'all put pics on these pages along with your posts. How can I do this with my comic crap? I've been a coloring quite feverishly lately. It's like one huge coloring book drawn by my self. Strange...

--thu guv!

well you'd have to find a site that will allow you to link to images. Check this search page. Upload them there and copy the link.

as for embedding the images in the post: the second to left (of the bottom row) of the buttons above allows you to insert a image into your post. Just past the link between the [ img ][ / img ] (without the spaces between the [])

or quote this post and look how i did it:



(image courtesy of Raven Night's Nightsoftware reachable here)

[Commander La'ra]

If you're having still having trouble with it Saturday, I'll show ya' when ya' come up.

[Governor Ronjar]

Ah-ha! Groovy! I'll play with that when I have more time. Tis 12:14 and I've just written another chapter in two hours... I don't write as much these days, but when I do, damn.   Hopefully this won't seem...off...

Now, on to the details...

I really wanted more detail discription inside the deflector station (you'll see what I mean), but every time I tried such, I felt it dragged down the tempo of the scene itself. So most of it got scragged in editting. Maybe it isn't noticable.

To Jaeih: There's a grizzly scene in this chapter you may want to skip. It emphasises on a particular acpect of Ron'jar that you, and all Rihansu lovers, may not like to read. If you do read, do so at your own risk! Just kidding, It ain't that bad...but then...maybe... Can't really tell how people react somethimes...

Any who:
Chapter Eleven
Trade Square, Jessa’man’a City,
Goesa’vaina
February 21, 2274




“You are certain, Lieutenant?” The surprise laden within the Goesan queen’s voice bordered on grief. Jackson could sympathize. So far, all their efforts had been bent on preventing the Klingons from getting into the city. Now he had brought them all news that their enemy was likely already within the shield.

“Those shuttles were manned with only a pilot each. Just enough to fight them and put up a good show,” Alfred began to lay down the facts as he’d been mulling them over in his mind for the past two hours. “We’ve searched three of the downed craft to make sure the first wasn’t some kind of fluke. There were no transports detected from the surface to any ship or location on the planet. No one near by saw any one leave those craft. And there has been no follow up bombardment of the shield, even though that fleet up there could punch through in a few minutes.”

“So you believe the Klingons are already here…in force…” Elani could barely manage her voice above a whisper. This monarch had her inspired moments, but she was very young. Jackson would not have been surprised if she retired suddenly from the field.

“We can assume nothing else, my lady.” Prime Coarus told her, his own voice a stoic measure of certainty in comparison. His long fingered, callused hand grasped her shoulder. The young ruler seemed to take strength from contact with the older man. “They will go for the shield generators.”
Other people would have wasted valuable time concentrating on how the enemy had gotten in, Jackson thought to himself. These people saw more import in just stopping what the enemy was doing. Others could figure out how to keep them from getting through the shield again. The human security officer already had a good idea of how they’d managed that feat. He’d seen the two-meter or better tall sewage drain which had emptied into the flats the farmers used to process fertilizer. The shield would have been weakest in that area…

“We have to stop them if we’re going to keep the Klingons out of here till the fleet arrives.” Jackson added emphasis. His hand rested on the solid form of his slung phaser rifle.

“Then you shall go.” Elani’tess said. Her eye turned to Coarus. “Send two units to each of the generator stations. Three shall go to the power station and secure it there. You shall take charge Coarus.”

“As you will, my lady.”




Near Deflector Generator
Station One,
Jessa’man’a City.




Ron’jar paused as again he drew out his now-silenced tricorder and passed it about the immediate area. He glowered in silence over the readings, but shared none of them. They were far too close to the generating station to allow any stray noise to give them away. Their emergence from the under-city had been quick and undetected, and the only soldiers within sight had been eliminated in moments with equal silence. Now their objective lay but forty meters from them. The streets were empty and quiet.

The commander remained in the shadows of the narrow alley his team hunkered within. The columned buildings at every street face provided ample cover for his men to skulk behind. They also allowed great advantaged in cover to defender and invader alike. The cobbled street eased up the city’s gentle slope as straight as a line, hooking to several smaller walk paths left and right. The city street lamps shone out garishly upon everything, accentuated at intervals by lower hued torches.
Ron’jar surveyed the way in silence. Something was not correct here, he realized. When he’d come here years ago, foot traffic in this quadrant of the inner city had been dense at all times of day and night. Surely most within the city would be frightened of the coming battle and fearing raining death from the heavens, but where were the idle gossips, the men and women not content to sit by and let the government handle everything for them whilst they remained in the dark? There were always those who did not preserve their personal safety and went looking for those who knew more. There were always those who sought to protect their streets in their own manner, particularly among these strong people.

Why were the streets here empty, when others, even now, were not.

Commander Ron’jar signaled his party to be alert with a shaking, closed fist signal. All behind him hefted rifles to their shoulders and began to more thoroughly scan their threat vectors. The commander himself knelt and affixed both the rifle stock and optical scope to his weapon. Lifting the optical sight to his eye, he scoured the generator building with the sensor he trusted more than any tricorder.

“The roof guards are behind cover,” he murmured lowly to his men. Beside him, S’tall fidgeted nervously. Some of his own men did as well, but not with their weapons.

“No other soldiers in sight.” He lowered his scope to the doorways leading into the station. No guards were visible, adding to the suspicion he felt over the whole situation. He twisted the selector on his sight till it switched to thermographic imaging. There he saw the low-resolution forms of two armed sentries, hiding on either side of the entrance, which itself was covered by the shimmering splatter of an active deflector shield.

With a series of fast hand signals, Ron’jar conveyed the intel to his team and then began to issue deployment commands. With lethal silence, the men and women of his team filed deftly out of the alley and took suppression positions behind the evenly spaced columns before the building right of their commander. S’tall, for her part, remained with Ron’jar, weapon up and aimed to cover the rear.

Taking a solid kneeling stance on the uneven cobblestones of the alley, the Klingon commander set his weapon to full power and took careful aim for his target. The flat thumb-trigger clicked and his weapon bucked in his hands. A blinding burst of emerald spot across the street and blasted a rough-hewn hole through the reinforced duracrete wall of the installation. For all their patience and cunning, the Goesan’s had never constructed a truly blast-proof wall. A force field covering a door was good enough to keep out most cat burglars, but it took more thought to keep out a Klingon warrior.

Standing as his men opened fire on the guard positions above, Ron’jar drew his communicator. “Attack.” His voice muttered as he picked up his Romulan compatriot and shoved her out into the street.





Inside Deflector Generator
Station One




The Dashak Prime turned from behind his position of cover and motioned the alarm to his men. “The outer wall has been breached. Prepare to repel intruders!” His men raised their rifles and submachine guns. This was going to be a close quarters, bloody battle. Coarus mentally steeled himself for the coming moments. His phaser rifle was set to setting five. Enough to kill without doing serious harm to the surrounding machinery. Across the narrow confines of the service corridor, Lieutenant Jackson’s rifle was set likewise. The Dashak Commander momentarily questioned his wisdom in trusting such a technologically different weapon for this fight. He as yet held no faith in these weapons…

There was no time for such self-doubt, however. From the sounds of disruptor fire battering the roof and walls of the structure, the Klingons were nearly to the breach. Coarus could not see the hole in the outer wall from this area, but Jackson’s tricorder device had shown it to be just down the hall. He hefted the lightweight weapon and prepared himself.

Already, flashing pulses of amber light were reaching his awaiting team as the enemy battled his defending comrades. Spatters of jolting gunfire echoed within the confines of the complex, bouncing from wall to wall. The occasional scream or barked order reached the Prime’s ear. The command ‘fall-back’ echoed by more than once…

Coarus gave the silent order for his men to advance. He wasn’t going to wait for the enemy to be firmly entrenched within the station before attacking them. His men needed back up. After the first two men of his team passed his position, I’rell rose to a crouched stance and advanced with them. Out of his peripheral vision, he noted the human security soldier do the same. The Terran’s training was quite good and Coarus felt quite secure with the alien at his back.

The two point men halted at the corner leading to the pitched battle. The first, his identity obscured by the ancient lar’fa kerchief tied about his face, readied his weapon and glanced about the right-hand turn. Returning then to the safe position, the soldier looked back to his commander and began to rote off a series of hand signals detailing what he’d seen. ‘Three hostiles-heavy fire-four casualties-hostiles behind cover.’

Coarus mentally pictured the cover available down this particular corridor. There was a security station meant for screening visitors, the security booth, pipes and electrical switching boxes. Any of these would provide excellent cover. Frowning, Coarus signaled his men ahead.

The first two swung around the turn in the corridor, SMG’s up and raking the way ahead with short and controlled bursts. Coarus followed them up, kneeling at the same corner and pivoting around it to add to their fire.

All of I’rell’s original men which he’d placed here were down by the time the Prime caught view of the battle. The aperture created by the enemy was now very wide, having been battered apart by shots coming and going. Fire had claimed much of the nonmetallic machinery to be had and much of the so-called cover had been shot through by high power hits. The Klingons had already made it inside, and knelt behind whatever was to be had, and some were simply charging up the walkway. One of his two point men took a hit from the Klingon closest his group and clattered to the expanded-metal deck. The second man put a quick burst into the alien, three shots slamming into the silver armor it wore.

The Klingon didn’t fall. It didn’t even stagger. It just raised its pistol and shot Coarus’s man in the face. The alien warrior slowed to a walk as dark red blood flowed down the contours of its armor. It leered at the Dashak Prime. The aim of its disruptor turned his way.

Coarus didn’t hesitate. His phaser rifle came up and planted a glowing crimson beam right in the center of its chest. The beam slapped the alien back several paces as its armored chest came aglow with phased energy. The warrior staggered, looking down at the huge, smoking burn that cratered its chest. But the alien still stood. It glowered back at Coarus and again raised its pistol.

A second, longer phaser blast halted further action in the Klingon. The beam burned a path clean through the warrior and dropped it to the deck atop the first point man. Coarus continued to act, firing back down the corridor at the still advancing forms of enemy soldiers, but was completely stunned by the Klingon’s resistance to injury. Goesan submachine guns fired a twelve-millimeter round at over one hundred fifty meters per second. Three successive hits from said weapon was enough to drop a Goesan male even from a full-tilt charge. The Klingon, from the number of holes in it, had sustained no less than nine such hits, all in the chest. Coarus had heard of their organ redundancy, but the true scope of it leveled him. How many round could they take? There weren’t enough phasers to arm all the military…

More of Coarus’s team took support positions near to him, standing over him and lining the opposite equipment wall. Their ballistic projectile fire deafened him at such proximity. He was used to it. The enemy did bloody jiggles as they continued to advance and take cover before the defenders. A couple of the Klingons fell, only to get right back up again. It was a scene right out of some macabre play. More of Coarus’s own men fell. The man standing above him staggered forward from a hit to the belly, and instantly lost his head to a blast directed at the Prime himself. Half congealed hunks of red gore glopped down of the soldier as he continued to return withering, nearly continuous fire on the aliens.

Jackson’s own red beam slashed out at the enemy. The lieutenant picked out one target after another, felling three. Heartened by the reduction in enemy troops, Coarus called for a slow advance. The Klingons had to be pushed out from here…




Outside the Deflector Station




Ron’jar pressed against the thick, fractured wall of the deflector station and gasped from the burning, wet pain from inside his chest. The rifle bullet from those short Goesan repeaters stung like a fire wasp. He glanced down at the small, finger width hole punched through the reinforced leather of his armor and the dark trail of blood emitting from within. The wound did not feel very threatening. He figured the projectile had lost velocity passing through his armor, glanced off a now broken exterior rib and was likely sitting in the middle of his left anterior lung. He took a deep breath, forcing steaming hot air into the injured organ. Yes, his lung was indeed injured. He’d have to watch his stamina in the hours to come.

Ron’jar was in no real danger. His assault party was. Of the eight who had begun the assault, he was reduced to three, himself and the Rihansu included. The rest were either dead or incapacitated. This was not the perfect attack he had envisioned. But then, they seldom were.
The Commander snatched out his communicator.

“Boren, Group One has failed to reach objective. Begin your insertion. I’ll keep the enemy busy.”
“Understood, my lord!” Was the marine commander’s short reply. Ron’jar could hear the pride resonating within the man’s baritone voice. Boren seemed a stout sort of warrior. He would do well to keep that man near him. He glanced aside to the opposite side of the breach in the outer wall. There, S’tall and Bek Orn were still leaning in at intervals to loose harassment fire into the building. Return fire was fierce, and there was also danger from ricochet.  S’tall caught his gaze first, then touched the large, tall form of Orn to gather his attention. “Grenades!” He ordered them. Both soldiers began to withdraw numerous packages from their equipment harnesses as the commander kept up their covering fire. He gave his people six seconds to ready, then withdrew from the crevasse.

Orn and S’tall stepped into the danger zone and hurled their weapons. They made five throws before return fire gathered enough strength again to pose a true danger. Jerking a thumb behind him, up the north face of the street, Ron’jar gave them the order to pull back.

At the thundering sounds of grenade detonations, Both Orn and the Romulan sub-lieutenant bolted across the exposed breach and joined the commander in running along the length of the deflector station. Cracks of gunfire called for their attention from the roof guard positions as they negotiated their path. No columns lined the exterior of this building, forcing the defending invaders to press themselves against the face of the retaining wall and return fire almost straight up.

A muffled ‘wump’ bounced down the boulevard. At its sound, Ron’jar felt almost like smiling. Boren had made his entrance on the far side of the station. Perhaps he would be able to take down the shield without mauling the entire city in the process.

“We are inserted.” Came the Lieutenant’s confirmation via their coms.

Ron’jar’s time to exult came abruptly to an end as Bek Orn took a shot to the back from the open crevasse behind them. Soldiers had emerged from within the station and were intent on eradicating the remnant of his team, oblivious to the new threat to the building. Orn dropped, blood coursing from his lips as he mouthed incomprehensible words. Another chattering burst of auto fire caught S’tall in the shoulder with two rounds. Green blood splayed upon the white face of the deflector station as she slumped into the commander’s waiting arms. A grin of cruel satisfaction spread upon his bearded maw as he deftly turned the Rihansu about to face those who’d shot her and held her dead-weight form between himself and danger. Another duo of weapon blasts from both avenging Goesans raked the limp Romulan, drawing the breath from her in a ragged gasp. Two rounds hurtled clean through her and injured the Klingon as well, but it was not enough to bring him down. Behind his non-human shield, he returned fire on his aggressors, putting them down with blinding red shots of disrupted energy.

Ron’jar held the gurgling S’tall aloft for a time longer, making sure no other Goesans abounded to make life difficult for him. When he ascertained that the remainder in the area were battling his harassers and those within the station were slugging it out with Boren’s group, he allowed the Romulan woman to sag to the dusty walk.

Ron’jar looked down at her for a moment, his brief glint of satisfaction over having used her thusly faded. S’tall struggled to drag life-continuing breath into her ravaged lungs, all the while staring in shock back up at him. Her back muscles twitched spasmodically, giving her the dead feline look as she lay there spilling dark green fluid onto the packed cobblestones. With a grin of admiration, he saw that the Rihansu was willing to die as a warrior. Her gun hand tried valiantly to raise her disruptor to bear on him. With a nod, Ron’jar ended her struggles with a single blast to the forehead and stepped over her inert form.

From far above, streams of brilliant emerald fire rained from the heavens. The shield had been brought down. The siege of Jessa’man’a had begun.

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

Hope that was bearable, y'all. Please post all coments and continued objections to my comments below.

[Governor Ronjar]

Hey, Reaper man, thanks!
Think I might be able to wrap my warped little mind around your info!
I apprieciate!

--thu guv!

[Grim Reaper]

No prob, you gave me an update to saviour so that evens out.

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Ooooh Guv, you had better not let anyone else hear of what you did to S'tell, as if news reaches Jaeih she'll come looking for you, and in 2275 she gets her KRC.

Great installment, but the Ronjar is a really nasty piece of work.

Keep it up!

PS. As to yiour tasteless remark, forget about them. Like I said, it doesn't bother me--guys will be guys and I ignore it--so don't dare let yourself be chased away. Stay and give us more stories!

[Governor Ronjar]

Ooooh Guv, you had better not let anyone else hear of what you did to S'tell, as if news reaches Jaeih she'll come looking for you, and in 2275 she gets her KRC.

Ronjar is a really nasty piece of work.

That might actually make an excellent story... Perhaps your KRC will be in the combined fleet in story 2... As a mention only, per your permission. I don't know near enough for Jaeih to make even a cameo appearance.

Glad you enjoyed. Ron'jar is a Klingon's Klingon, so to speak. Though. like Worf, comes off to most as overly stoic. He saves his real laughter for the company he cares for. And Ron'jar HATES Romulans, and there is some history which will come out later which explains why...

[KBF-Frankk]

  Thanks a lot Ron'jar + karma 4 u

Realmente una narración muy bien hecha, es tan gráfica que te la pudes imaginar perfectamente, como si estuvieras viendo una película.

[Grim Reaper]

Thanks a lot Ron'jar + karma 4 u

Realmente una narración muy bien hecha, es tan gráfica que te la pudes imaginar perfectamente, como si estuvieras viendo una película.

According to babelfish this means:
Very a well done narration, is really so graphical that you the pudes to imagine perfectly, as if you were seeing a film.

Seems he likes it

btw j/k KBF-Frankk no aggro intended

[KBF-Frankk]

Thanks a lot Ron'jar + karma 4 u

Realmente una narración muy bien hecha, es tan gráfica que te la pudes imaginar perfectamente, como si estuvieras viendo una película.

According to babelfish this means:
Very a well done narration, is really so graphical that you the pudes to imagine perfectly, as if you were seeing a film.

Seems he likes it

btw j/k KBF-Frankk no aggro intended

Thanks Grim + Karma 4  u

[Andromeda]

the pudes = are able to

[Grim Reaper]

And +1 for the final translation

[Scottish Andy]

Man, I can't wait to read what the Roms did to Ronjar for him to hate them so much.

Great installment, keep it up!

[Governor Ronjar]

Man, I can't wait to read what the Roms did to Ronjar for him to hate them so much.

Great installment, keep it up!

They drank his LAST bottle of blood wine!!!

Seriously, though, thanks to ALL for the reviews!
Frankk, thanks for the karma and also for the non-American lingo that I'll never be able to understand in my life that made me feel so damn good!

To Grim, thanks for the translation, without which I'd just have to sit here and smile and nod to myself!

Rommie, thank you for gracing the page. If I recall from previous pages, you mentioned something about not likeing great-reaching planetary battle stories or something. (forgive if I remamber incorrectly)
Your 'Gremlins' was wonderful, and I like small ship stories. This here is a 'fleshing-out' of a previous version of a Sharp story which only La'ra read. It's been gnawing at me for 4 years...

To the Scot, an additional ration of brandy alotted to your allowance effective immediately, carry on! And you will learn of Ron'jar's hate, just not likely in THIS story...

--thu guv'!

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Thanks for the offer of an Extra part in your story, Guv, that's quite flattering!

Jaeih gets her KRC on 10th March 2275, so if your second story takes place after then, feel free to have the RIS Javelin join in. If, however, your story takes place before that, Jaeih can still make an appearance in her KR RIS Kestrel as a lesser member of the combined fleet.

[Governor Ronjar]

Story 2 will be only a day after #1, so I'll likely mention the Kestrel. Kinda had my heart set on that one anyway.

I can't profess to know anything about the Javelin, though. What make and class is she? I quite enjoy SFC3 GenAWar using KR-class ships. Espescially in going after larger ships I have no right trying to take on, such as Refit Galaxy-Class DNs. Yes, I have won these battles, but they are indeed a challenge.

Y'all enjoy and keep whatever comments remain a-comin'!

--thu guv'!

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Well Guv, the full details of my longest command are here:

http://www.starbase23.net/Ship-Rom-Javelin.html

but for the short version, she's a converted Klingon D7C-class command battlecruiser, hence the designation KRC. In 2280 (my Timeline) she has her Plas-Gs replaced with Plas-Ss, and the new designation KRL (or KRCS, for SFCers).

Most powerful D7 variant for over a decade, before the X-Ships are introduced.

As for SFC3, what a yawn-fest. I managed to play that for all of 30 minutes before being bored stupid, and even then I still tried to get into it. Everyone fights the same because everyone has the same weapons, and the Klinks and Roms can cloak, meaning the Freds got pasted. Then, playing online, everyone does warp jumps to dodge torpedoes and gain position, or make repairs.

YAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWN!!!!!
Never could drum up the interest for the Mods. Did it really make the game that much more interesting?

[Commander La'ra]

Most powerful D7 variant for over a decade, before the X-Ships are introduced.

The KR-series are nice ships, but I find that the plasma torpedos and cloaking devices are nowhere near as effective as disruptors and high speed.  Just can't move fast enough charging plasma torps...

As for SFC3, what a yawn-fest. I managed to play that for all of 30 minutes before being bored stupid, and even then I still tried to get into it. Everyone fights the same because everyone has the same weapons, and the Klinks and Roms can cloak, meaning the Freds got pasted. Then, playing online, everyone does warp jumps to dodge torpedoes and gain position, or make repairs.

Basic game did kinda suck, though in my experience the damn cloaking device would get you killed faster than anything else on the game, especially fighting the Feds and their pulse phasers and Quantum torpedos.  Only thing I used it for was the occasional escape...

Never could drum up the interest for the Mods. Did it really make the game that much more interesting?

I know the mod he's talking about:  Generations at War.  I reacted about the same way you did when he told me about it, but lordy, what a difference it made.  Still didn't feel like SFC 2...too much canon Trekness and not enough SFBness for that...but it was certainly an improvement.  All sorts of ships too, and the TOS-era Fed phasers were blue, which warmed my heart.

I still prefer the earlier SFC games...GAW make the third installment much more playable, but it's still a bit arcadey...they feel more like actual combat to me since you have to squirm for every little advantage.  But if you still have SFC 3 and would like it to be more than a coaster, I strongly recommend it.

[Governor Ronjar]

Sadly, La'ra will never grasp the use of the cloaking device... It saddens me in my happy place...

One the bright side, I have finished Goesa'vaina if anyone gives a %#@!&**!

Enjoy!

Chapter Twelve
Ninth Day of Gromarg
Atop the Alabaster Library,
Jessa’man’a City




Commander Ron’jar stood stiffly at full height near to the lip of the roof of his chosen command position. The three wounds received the night before were swollen and testy, covered in antiseptic synthetic skin. Field opticals were glued to his hands and eyes as he visually surveyed the ongoing battles raging still throughout the city. Klingon forces within the capitol were progressing steadily from point to point and had been doing so all night. It was now early morning, the air crisp with slight condensation and moderately hot as the moon Calla descended steadily over the still dark southern horizon. The Empire now controlled seventy percent of the city’s thoroughfares and supply points. The power generators were in his men’s hands. The city had been put to darkness three hours before moon-down. His men, placed under his direct command by Tor, were winning.

The few Starfleet troopers left behind by Sharp had proven a powerful nuisance to his men’s tactics throughout the night’s battle. Their concentrated phaser fire and mortar support continued even now to hamper his Qas Dev as they tired to set up secure waypoints within the streets and buildings. The Starfleet commander was wisely keeping his artillery on the move, firing a few barrages and uprooting before return fire could be organized. Soon, this headache would be removed as well. Or they would run out of ammo. Either would suffice.

The trials and hardships of this battle made Ron’jar’s chest swell with pride and centered his mind on the weighty honor of it all. His tactics were keeping the fighting localized about the centers of organized resistance, sparing the civilians caught in the crossfire. Large groups of civilians were gathered together as they were encountered and beamed to detention camps outside the warzone. This would also lessen the occurrences of further hostile breakouts among the people as control was taken in the coming days. There would simply be no one immediately available to join the rebel forces, which would irrevocably evolve once the fate of the world became clear.

“Commander!” Came a stern voice from behind. Ron’jar turned, lowering his glasses as he regarded the soldier approaching him. Bek Nurrag strode across the open rooftop of the captured library and ducked beneath the barrel of the damaged Starfleet phaser cannon mounted in the center. Reaching his captain, the young officer offered a data pad. “Intercepted Starfleet transmission relayed by General Tor. He confers it to you, stating you know these people better than he.”
Ron’jar’s brow arched at such an admission. Tor proved at times why he was a high-ranking General and commander of an entire sector. It seemed his relationship with Tor would be less strained than La’ra’s… He took the pad and thumbed it on. Having read it fully, he eyed his comm officer.

“Has Endeavour received this intel?”

“No, my lord. Fleet jamming has blanketed the enemy battlecruiser’s comm.”

Ron’jar pondered Sharp’s reaction when he received such orders from his commanders. He would be compelled to inform the Goesan government… The Goesan Queen would be incensed… What would she do? “Reply to the General that my recommendation is to end comm jamming and allow the repeat of this message to come through. I believe its effect of the Goesan command could be advantageous.”

“Yes, my lord!” The youth all but shouted, saluting and turning on a heel as he left with his orders. Ron’jar turned back to the task of over looking the battlefield. Beside him, his command staff worked at delivering his orders to the men scattered about the city. Looking from his field glasses to the broad tactical holo before him, the commander reflected that this battle might end more swiftly than previously considered.




Command Intelligence Center,
Grand Assemblage Hall




Elani’tess once again felt as though she could not believe what her ears were telling her mind. Had Sharp really told her all this? “Captain Sharp…” Her head shook slowly back and forth. Her face was pale and unnaturally flaxen from lack of sleep, the rings beneath her green eyes nearly as prominent as the dark wings of her smeared mascara. “I cannot believe this. Your Federation, your vaunted Starfleet, abandons us!”

“Jessa’tae…” The muscular man seemed deflated. It killed him to relay this. “The Klingons have initiated broad-scale raids all along our side of the Neutral Zone. They’re hitting necessary supply lines that would hamper our ability to rescue your world if we were to divert our ships to your system. They’re hitting our supply lines with dreadnoughts! Six separate convoys were decimated last night by the reports I’ve received. Starfleet has to maintain the lifelines that keep our worlds going. It’ll be some time before we have the situation under control and can recall ships from deep space probing duties to reinforce us. When we have the necessary ships---“

Sharp was never able to complete his claim. The Jessa’tae could bear no more. The failure of promises she herself had accepted from the might Federation and the ill fated advise of the very captain viewed before her had finally split her resolve. Quaking with weariness, she bent low before the screen and buried her face in her clenched hands. Her muffled screech silenced the Starfleet officer and widened his eyes. Behind her, Coarus’ jaw slackened, never having seen his queen thus. Her great measure of enforced calm was gone. What was left was fatigue, rage and fear. She rose back to within sight of the visual receptors transmitting her image to the human ship. Tears caused her mascara to streak down her blanched face. Her eyes were dark and dull, setting the huge Captain aback in his white, cushiony chair. Outrage had turned those emerald colored orbs into animal slits as she glared into Sharp’s face.

“To blazes with your explanations and reasons, Captain! My people are fighting and DYING in the streets based on the hope that your people would be able to come in here and HELP us! It was YOUR advice that compelled me to order my people to take up arms against the Klingons! It was our treaty with YOU that led me to TRUST your FEDERATION! Now MY people are embroiled in a bloody conflict they cannot win, and your ships aren’t coming!” Elani paused to glare with hellfire and unbridled scorn at the human captain.

“My lady…” Sharp was at a loss. Quiet descended over the comm link. “I can’t begin to apologize. Your suffering---“

“Save your empathy, Captain Sharp! My world from now on will rely upon its own to care for itself. See to the interests of your own government.” Elani’tess slammed a palm down of the signal controls, cutting the feed from ground to ship. The queen gathered what dignity she could muster and turned to Prime Coarus and Iram who flanked the consoles opposite the comm station. She pressed long fingers to her cheeks to rub away the make up that had flowed down her face.

“Iram, assemble my maid servants and order them to bring my bathing wares. Have them come here where it’s safe and order them to gather my senatorial robes. Prime Coarus, contact the enemy command and request a temporary cease fire."

Both men stared at the queen as though she’d just spoken Romulan. Coarus alone could muster the presence to mutter: “What is my lady’s intention?”

“I do what I must to preserve our peoples lives, Dashak Prime. I’m going to do what I knew I should’ve in the beginning…”

Both men did as they’d been ordered. Neither liked it.




Chapter Thirteen
Within the Alabaster Library,
Three hours later…




Jessa’tae Elani’tess strode slowly as she could down the densely packed rows of collected scrolls and parchments that made up the ancient histories section of the great library. She garnered up all her self-respect and nobility for the debasement she was about to inflict upon herself. Her pride almost made this meeting impossible. But her love for her nation forced her on.

Her maids had done a stellar job in making her presentable for this meeting. They had stripped away her soiled, sweat stained clothing and the layers of grime and ruined make up and started again from scratch. Now her light-colored flesh shone like ceramic art, her fan-like mascara work casting a beautiful contrast in hues upon her face. Her light blue, silken robes swirled around her and her voluminous curves, dancing about her gracefully as she glided. Her jet hair hung in elaborate braid from the top of her scalp. She bore no jewelry.

Klingon guards stared blankly at her from various corners of the musty smelling room. Each was armed with their brown-looking rifle-pistol weapons. Most bore bladed implements on their person, more than a few held those crescent shaped swords in lieu of their energy weapon. None advanced threateningly toward her, and to her estimable surprise, none glared at her, or leered menacingly. None called out threats or cut-downs. No insults were to be had. There were no gestures. The Klingons stood like well-drilled soldiers straight from the parade grounds. The officer she had been told to expect stood with his back to her at the far end of the long chamber. Before him was a spread out array of some of her worlds most treasured historical texts. He perused over them as though he could read them. Mayhap he was just looking at the pictures.

Elani drew to a silent halt just behind the girthy warrior and waited for his to turn round. She did not have to wait long…another surprise to her.

The Klingon before her was shorter than the average Goesan male, but taller than she was. His armor was dirty, battered and stained in his own blood. He’d been shot at least three times she could see. His long brown hair flowed in uneven tatters and there was grit in his beard. Dirt and blood stained his dark face, and sweat had deposited salt at the collar of his uniform. This was no idle command-post officer. This man had been in the thick of the fighting, leading from the front. Was this really the best man for her to talk to?

Despite all his filth and disarray, the soldier before exuded a calm professionalism and a stoic aura of calm. His eyes centered on hers, not caring at all for her manner of dress. Respect emanated from his bearing.

“Jessa’tae Elani’tess,” he greeted her, bowing slightly, eyes closing in Goesan fashion. His voice was unblemished by Klingon translators, his accent slight to the point of being non-existent. “I am Commander Ron’jar, Son of Burt. I command the forces entrenched within your capitol.”

“Was it you who infiltrated and knocked out the shield generator?”

“It was my men who did so. I commanded the mission.”

“My compliments on containing the destruction of your attacks. Your efforts did not go unnoticed.”
Ron’jar answered only with a silent nod. He stood waiting. Elani found her voice failing her now that she needed it most. Finally she managed up a low murmur. “I have come to parley on behalf of my people. For all of Goesa’vaina.”

“Imperial terms of Cessation of Hostilities are standard and not subject to parley or conditions.”

At least they didn’t call it something like Articles of Surrender, Elani found herself thinking. Why it really mattered she couldn’t fathom. “What do they entail?” Was all she could offer.

“All military forces on your world would immediately lay down their arms and report for temporary internment till complete control and garrison of the planet is established. Said forces are then placed in reserve status to act as police at the discretion of the planetary governor. Some forces may be specially trained and used as ancillary to Klingon Qas Dev marines.

“All civil commerce will be placed under control of the Governor and its resources are organized and dispersed as needed. Imperial laws will be posted and adhered to; penalties for breach of Imperial Subject laws are…severe. For the most part, other than Imperial taxation, life will go on for your people as it always has. Providing your people do not resist Imperial Governorship.”

“And if some resist?”

“Resistance is futile. It is, however, expected. How it is handled is dependent upon the severity, circumstance and the wishes of the Governor.”

“And who would be…Governor? You?”

“Certainly not.”

Elani’tess moved as directed to the data pad which detailed the terms and conditions of her world’s surrender. She wondered over the future and how the occupation of her world would mar its culture and the lives of its people. She wondered if Goesa’vaina would ever again know its own freedom…









In orbit,
IKS Tom’par’a




Admiral Tonara steamed with pent rage as he read the after action report rendered by Commander Ron’jar. The insufferable Klingon whelp! How had he dared! And then to admit this shame!

“Gaaaah!” The Rihansu admiral could not contain his ire. It burst out from his as he stalked Tor’s office. His steely hand slammed down on the General’s blood oak desk. “How dare that Ver’uul!”
Tor watched the other steadily. He had found Ron’jar’s decision to use S’tall in his landing force quite amusing. Tonara seemed to be taking it quite badly, however. Tonara turned on the wizened old Klingon.

“Commander Ron’jar is a murderer!”

Tor gestured palm-up at the pad in the Romulan’s hand.

“The report states she was fatally hit by Goesan weapon fire. Ballistic repeaters the Qas DevwI report. Your own surgeons have confirmed the report. She was killed by them.”

“He could have transported her to my waiting ships when the shield fell! He shot her in the face as she lay there dying!”

“Klingon procedure of euthanisation are well known---“

Tonara jabbed a slim finger at the General, his face green with blood-rushed rage. “She should not have even been there!” Turning away from Tor, whose tolerance was wearing thin, the Admiral spoke to himself. “S’tall was under Commander Jaeih’s direct command, she will be informed!”

“No retribution will be enacted on Commander Ron’jar for any action he took, or for anything you believe he did. Ron’jar’s service was exemplary in this action. The city would still be a warzone right now, if not for his planning. Or a smoking crater.”

“Reducing it to a crater would have been my first choice, General.” Tonara shot back.

“Craters are not productive assets to the Empire, Admiral. There is much to be gained on Goesa’vaina. The Goesan people have much to offer, even if they must be guarded for the next few hundred years.” Tor eased himself out of his carved bone chair. “I have other plans for Commander Ron’jar which you may find nearly as amusing as having him killed. Plans he will not enjoy at all.”
                                                                 ***




Commander Ron’jar allowed his face to darken as he absorbed the General’s words. This was not the worst that could happen. He wasn’t being relieved of command, killed or imprisoned. Nothing so bad as all that. Most might consider this a good thing. It wasn’t a punishment…

At least not officially.

But what he was being ordered to do was nearly as good as imprisonment. It would tie him to a world far from Qo’noS and everything else for decades to come. Possibly forever…

“Respectfully, General… I am no governor… I am no politician.”

“No, certainly not, Commander,” Tor agreed. At least they were alone in the General’s office for this meeting. Ron’jar could not have endured the Romulan admiral’s presence during this disgrace. “But your familiarity with the Goesan culture puts you in a good place to be able to govern these people effectively and profitably. The Alliance cannot have a rebellion on the planet affecting our plans for the system. We have invested too much in this operation. Goesa’vaina must be controlled as swiftly as possible. You have demonstrated the capacity to do so. If you can’t get them to mind, you have the command capacity to make them. The decision is final and the orders have been rendered to your ship. The garrison is yours… Governor Ron’jar.”

END

[Grim Reaper]

Bloody hell. That's a nice twist in the end! Nice hints before too.

“Intercepted Starfleet transmission relayed by General Tor. He confers it to you, stating you know these people better than he.”
Ron’jar’s brow arched at such an admission. Tor proved at times why he was a high-ranking General and commander of an entire sector. It seemed his relationship with Tor would be less strained than La’ra’s…

well... no. LOL

“Klingon procedure of euthanisation are well known---“

and very effective...

--- edit ---

Wow nearly forgot the most important part: GIMME MORE

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

[Commander La'ra]

Somehow, everytime I hear the title 'Governor', I picture Ron'jar pitching his weight loss book like our own Guv.

"Get healthy! Now!"  ordered the swarthy Klingon.

The story?  Oh...right...

...you know I like it.  Want more details, ask me in person.

[Governor Ronjar]

Thoughts are brewing on story 2. Coming up with new characters, etc.

[Governor Ronjar]

 
Nobody read story...
thu Guv' sad...
Bye-Bye...

[Commander La'ra]

Oh, sure, me and Grim aren't good enough for you!  You probably want some Trek-crazed Scottish chick to read it instead!

Bah!

 

[Grim Reaper]

Oh, sure, me and Grim aren't good enough for you!  You probably want some Trek-crazed Scottish chick to read it instead!

Come Larry, let's go get a beer and move to a thread we are appriciated





j/k

btw where is our resident hope for the singles males around here that they can find a woman who likes trek? Maybe sneaking around cloaked?

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Hey Guv, et al:

Sorry I haven't been around lately but I'm back again now in my usual limited capacity.

La'ra: Sometimes people just need the female touch...   

Grim: As for lingering around cloaked, no. I was more... off on a mission. And as for being the resident hope for single males... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!
*wipes tears from eyes* If you don't know by now, ask La'ra... *smile*

And back to the Guv's story:

A great ending to the tale, Guv, and definite thanks for the mention.  Admittedly, There won't be a huge amount Jaeih can do to Ronjar now he's a ground-based dictator on a planet on the Fed/Klin border, but maybe she'll come up with something...

Very nasty, Sharp having to relay the Fred's abandonment of Goesa'vaina. That was seriously harsh and I did feel for the Queen.

Looking forward to more of your stories, Guv. Keep 'em coming.

[Grim Reaper]

Grim: As for lingering around cloaked, no. I was more... off on a mission. And as for being the resident hope for single males... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!
*wipes tears from eyes* If you don't know by now, ask La'ra... *smile*

Mission? I suppose it's either top secret, top private (or top boring ).

And Jaeih, if you are gay or married neither prevents you being a woman (last time i checked ). And how many women are gay / married? Sure a lot but still: if there is one woman, there have to be more!

If I'm missing the point: La'ra? Care to enlighten me?

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Ah, I thought I was keeping alive your hope that there are single, straight women out here for you male Trek freaks to pin your hopes on. *grin*

You hadn't missed the point, it looks like I did. Oh well. *smirk*

PS. And yes, it was top boring. 

[Governor Ronjar]

Well...Grim is good enough for me. HE can post all he wants...

YOU on the other hand...

Well, you post any way, I guess...

Actually, I have a Jaeih-inspired scene for coming stories that will show your character's...love for Ron'jar... 

I was hopeing the scene with the Jessa'tae would evoke actual sympathy. My specialty in getting sympathy for my characters is usually to torture the hell outta them and give horribly painful discription of what just happened to them. This was a new attempt and I'm glad its apprieciated.

I was hoping that, while I was in a hurry to finish, that the story's end didn't seem forced. Many of my resolutions seem rushed due to my impatience with finishing a tale. And if I let them sit around too long, I lose too much of the spirit of the story.

I kept thinking of different battle scenes I could emplace, but the more I thought about it, the more I asked myself why... Yes, more action has its place, but I didn't want to cheapen what was already written, so the action in place is what I decided upon. There will be more in stories to come...

[Governor Ronjar]

Here's what I tossed together one night as I was thinking about starting this here story. It's a bit more detailed than my comic stuff, and please forgive the hugeness of it. I can't seem to down-size these things...