« Reply #44 on: March 13, 2008, 08:26:47 pm »
CH. 8
“I have found our pilot.”
Dath’mar cast a slow glance back at his First as Kurvis returned to the bridge. He was relatively certain as to whom the XO was referring. The knowledge did not bother the silent captain. Let that officer prove himself again or die in the trying.
Dath’mar nodded his understanding and returned his stern eye to the stars streaking past on the main viewer. The captain was not truly seeing what his eye looked upon. His mind’s eye was looking upon the scope of the task ahead of them. The onerous mission to save a colony, and thereby helping to preserve their floundering Empire, without inflicting casualties upon an enemy that would not pay them the same favor. There was challenge there, without doubt. His orders seemed a cruel joke. There was no glory in completing the mission this way. Warriors throughout the Empire would jest about the Pang, who sneaked in the dead of night as a thief and stole the property of the Empire’s neighbors.
Giving such orders as these made La’ra seem the fool. Dath’mar knew better. La’ra had bested Kruge, brought down his Great House. La’ra had survived Captain Sharp of the Endeavour. No, the Brigadier was no one’s fool. His reasoning was sound, even if the methods he ordered employed were unorthodox. Surely, the veteran officer would have made a better suggestion were he not somehow hemmed in by his options.
Dath’mar, however, was not about to lay claim to having envisioned this quest. He still considered such methods beneath him and his crew. Their goal was honorable. Their methods for achieving it would not be.
The problems of completing their mission swirled within the captain’s head. He stared a hole clean through the main viewer in his concentration. The enemy’s defenses would not be so easy to subvert. Even should their escort vessel be drawn away by their planned rouse, the Gorn planet would not be so easy to wriggle past. Being hampered in the ways he could carry out his mission, Dath’mar would have to discover a new way to ensure the survival of his ship. He held no faith in the idea that the Gorn would be defenseless once their main power was cut.
‘I must maintain control of their weapons once they are disabled.’ Dath’mar thought. Kurvis wished to send ground forces to take over their gunnery emplacements. That meant three teams to take over the gunnery control centers. They would have to remain in those centers until the cargo had been extracted. The Gorn would fight like demons from Grethor to reclaim them from enemy hands. They might even destroy those centers out of spite.
‘My warriors will be hard pressed to retain those centers while using only stun-force weaponry.’ The captain’s face turned sour as he realized what they would go through down there. He would have to lock their weapons on stun to ensure they adhered to their orders. He was hesitant to commit such an act. Orders be damned.
Three nine-man groups would be the typical prescribed method for assaulting and holding such emplacements as those weapon control towers. Twenty-seven warriors. Men he did not have to spread around. He already needed nine to assault the reactor installation, and two groups of three to sever the power conduits. Dath’mar pondered. He could save the men meant for the conduits, instead blasting them from orbit. Surely La’ra would not begrudge him the use of his disruptors. The captain felt the urge to smile. He felt he could trim down the existing groups and create the assault units to hit each of his targets. Another briefing in that tiny room below would be necessary to inform the officers of his changes.
“Now crossing Gorn border.” Kurvis updated the captain. The First Officer stood with hands behind his back next to the navigator, Ger’shall. Ger’shall had been ingenious to offer her idea earlier. This was rare for an officer so young. Even now, she showed her youth as she sat at her station and monitored the ship’s passage. Her wide, high-cheeked face shone with inexperience and childish repose. She would not likely be much use in a ground fight or a boarding, but he already knew she could hold up during a ship-to-ship firefight. This was a start. Combined with a good head on her shoulders, she might have a grand career.
“Set for maximum stealth.” Dath’mar called out to his crew.
Kurvis nodded his ascent and turned for the helm.
“Reduce speed to warp factor four! Weapons, secure all scanning! Switch completely to passive scanners!” The XO’s path took him to the engineer’s post at the foremost bulkhead. “Cut secondary power and secure reactors. Activate exhaust buffers.”
Each of his commands received the necessary responses, leaving both he and the captain satisfied that their ship was completely and totally invisible. The Gorn were renown for their persistent patrols and adept watch stations. It would be no mean feat to reach their first objective undetected.
“Estimated time of arrival to Tres’in Nebula, three hours, forty-six minutes.” The helmsman reported. She looked back for the captain’s response. He ignored her. Kurvis smiled and headed back that way.
“Very well, Bekk. Maintain your course and speed.”
The captain was all too aware of the younger officer’s desire to please him in the performance of their duties. Such did not always bear forth good results. An officer too eager to get the attention of the captain took risks, hurried or ignored regulations. His method had always been to allow his First to take care of such men and women. Kurvis was perceptive.
Dath’mar leaned into the thin upholstery of his command chair and forced the tension from his bones. He fought to clear his mind for a time. There would be plenty to worry over soon enough. He had enough to do, maintaining his imposing figure and pretending to be bored.
***
IKS Pang slowed to a halt at the furthest reaches of the blue and silver Tres’in Nebula. The giant, swirling formation of gasses reached out for three light years, and its irradiated matter shown out against the stark galaxy like a beacon. The fields stretching forth from the Tres’in were not greatly powerful. But they clouded every sensor frequency utilized on this side of the galaxy. Thus was the reason the Gorn kept their assets away from this area of space.
And thus would it make a grand place for a ‘Romulan’ ship to take detailed, long-range scans of the Gorn’s outer colonies. The energized stellar emissions would mask active sensor waves, allowing a scout to operate for a long time without being noticed. There would be no immediate response should the Gorn suddenly take notice.
For these purposes, the nebula also worked well with Captain Dath’mar’s plan. It’s distance meant that it would take a very long time for that escort to get here. And the nebula’s existence meant that their volunteer pilot might also survive his mission.
Before the lone, tall captain, a single, bland looking grey shuttle sat on the hanger deck in silence. Its pilot stood before him. Lieutenant Second Motek was completely armored, his disruptor and d’k’tagh in place. Dath’mar looked at him coolly. The lieutenant would like to employ either or both of those weapons in his death. The captain bore both his hand-built disruptor and his blade. He felt no fear for the man before him.
Motek stood waiting. Likely he thought himself to look impassive. Any could detect the anger writhing inside him. Dath’mar took a slow step toward the boy. The other tensed, looking for sign of attack.
“Are you prepared for your mission, Lieutenant?”
Motek’s eyes narrowed even more than before.
“Yes, my captain.”
“Your electronics package will emulate Romulan scanners. Direct their beams toward the Chetell system and amplify your emissions to cover the distance. Scan for short durations so as not to appear false. Run for cover when it becomes obvious you have drawn their attention. Seek refuge within the neb—“
“You counsel me to run like a targ!”
Dath’mar stepped closer. He was now close enough to strike should he want to. Motek held his ground, eyes widening. The captain leaned forth just a bit. His eye pierced the officer. “I’m giving you operational orders to survive your mission. Is this clear, Lieutenant?”
“Perfectly clear, Captain.”
The reply was slick with hatred.
“Once we have begun our operation, the escort will turn back. This is when you will make your return to Klingon space. Do so quickly. Bring my shuttle back intact.”
Dath’mar took a cautious step in reverse to clear the distance between he and his budding adversary. Motek took an aggressive step in, drawing close once more.
“Should I return from this inglorious suicide attempt, I ask that you grant me one thing.”
Dath’mar stared back, considering.
“What?”
“I demand you meet me in the circle of equals. A duel. Blades in the sparing chamber.”
Dath’mar remained stone-faced. He took his time in answering, as though deciding, weighing options. He already knew his answer. “You will have your duel, Lieutenant. Station!”
Motek saluted his captain, despite the rift between them. He had been honored by the acceptance of the duel. He had something to look forward to upon his return. It would fuel his will to return from his mission. “Qa’pla!”
“Success!” Dath’mar replied, returning the salute lazily.
Motek glared for a final time and reached aside to open the shuttle’s side hatch. The door swung up and open for the lieutenant, who clambered inside and began the process of powering up. Soon, the shuttle was lifting to revolve toward the after bay door. Dath’mar remained immobile, staring at the small craft that hummed and whistled next to him. He motioned high for the enlisted warrior in the control pod to open the main door.
The hatches reeled themselves aside, revealing the panorama of space looming beyond the field protected portal. The shuttle boosted ahead, its hull shimmering as it passed through the hanger’s forcefields and then again as it exited the Pang’s cloaking shield. The shuttle made a sudden turn, taking it from the captain’s view. The doors slid closed.
The mission had truly begun. He did not trust the youth out there, but Dath’mar was reasonably sure that the boy would fight Fek’lhr himself to return here for his promised chance at revenge. The captain did not look forward to it. He regretted the notion the notion that he would have no choice but to slay on of his own men. He had seen far too many of his people killed before him, uselessly, for him to relish the idea of killing another, even for honor. He’d chosen not to kill the boy when he’d had clear reason to days ago.
The future would be what it chose, he decided.
Captain Dath’mar left the droning hanger bay as the ship’s engines again powered up and accelerated to faster than light velocities.
***
The Surgeon slowed as he neared the Captain’s door. The lock showed to be on. This was not often the case unless Dath’mar was sleeping. Likely the man was in there, prone on his rack, gathering up rest needed for the coming trials. It was many hours from the Tres’in Nebula to Chetell. It would be several more hours worth of passage, likely under some form of pursuit, between their destination and their home skies. The doctor almost thought better of awakening his commanding officer.
Just as quickly as doubt had occurred to him, it inexplicably died. The Surgeon pressed the enunciator key beside the security panel. An insectoid buzz sounded on the other side of the hatch.
“What!” Came the captain’s voice through the tiny speaker.
“I have come to see you, Captain.” The fat Surgeon declared, as though this were reason enough to disturb his commander’s slumber and be admitted. The light on the panel did turn yellow. He smiled and keyed the hatch open.
As usual, the fat man entered through the personal office. He found it devoid of life, and so continued on through the dimly lit cabin to the sleeping compartment. There lay Dath’mar on his foldout bunk. His targ lay on its side, tucked in beside the long-limbed warrior. The animal looked sleepily the doctor’s way, narrowing its black eyes to see the new intruder. The captain’s own eye glared back in annoyance. His hand still caressed the tawny back of his pet.
“What do you want, Surgeon?”
“I have come to learn that you have entrusted the fate of this ship and her mission to a man who has sworn to kill you. I’m wondering what sort of thought process leads a man to come to such a decision.”
The Surgeon said this with a light tone of humor and sarcasm. His head bobbled from side to side with his words, emphasizing his opinion of the captain’s logic. His jowls were split with a wide grin between his thin mustaches.
“You care to question my orders also, Surgeon?”
Some of the levity drained from the fat man, but not all.
“Oh, certainly not, my captain.” The doctor searched the dimness for a seat and found one against the starboard bulkhead. There he planted himself. “That would be a wonderful way to derail my stellar career in medicine and earn me a knife in the gagh basket. But I would like to know why you trust him to do this.”
Dath’mar’s eye drifted to the ceiling. His targ continued to stare at the intruder for him.
“I have agreed to duel him upon his return.” The captain’s voice droned dully. “This alone will drive him better than a training sergeant. His hatred for me will guide him back here, and with him with him will come success.”
“And his success means our success.”
“It makes ours all the more likely.”
The doctor’s perceptive eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the warrior lying on the bunk. Dath’mar, like so many, rested fully armored. His pistol lay within easy reach on the counter beside the rack. There was and abnormally melancholy air hanging over the captain. His face appeared almost mournful. The surgeon shifted uncomfortably in the thin metal chair beneath him. He didn’t totally like or understand what he was detecting in his normally immovable commanding officer.
“You don’t like the prospect of killing that boy, do you?”
The first answer was a simple one.
“If he loses his duel, he will die.”
“That was not my question. You will not enjoy killing him. Will you?”
“It is a sad thing for a Klingon to kill another over mere…pride.”
The surgeon’s lips curled into a vehement sneer. These thoughts echoed his own.
“This happens every day. All over the Empire.”
Dath’mar continued to look to the ceiling.
The surgeon’s mind caught on a fact that added detail to the mystery of Dath’mar’s malaise.
“You could have killed that boy on the bridge when he questioned your orders during combat. Yet you merely stabbed him…wounded him. Can it be that our dire and dismal captain has seen enough of his own brethren die?”
The captain’s eye came back to rest on the fat doctor. His face was bland.
“I have seen enough of them die without use, Doctor. To be forced to kill him over a matter of his misplaced pride---“ The captain suddenly halted, now glaring with anger at the fat man. “You draw me into far too open conversation, Surgeon! Enough of your prodding!”
The fat man stood up from his chair. It was no longer any comfort to him. He laughed down at the captain who still nailed his hide with the evil eye. “Perhaps I draw you into open conversation because our stone-faced captain needs a friend on this ship of strangers. You do not fraternize with your First. You have not taken a woman from among the crew or officers. All you have other than me is that hairy plate-lunch at your side… By the way… What did you name that flea bag?”
“’UQ QetwI’.” Dath’mar looked back to the wall. The surgeon would have bet his last Drakar that he’d seen the ghost of a smile on the captain’s lips. So he did have a sense of humor…
“Running Dinner indeed.” The fat man turned to make his escape, lumbering back the way he’d came. “I shall leave you to your repose, Captain. Sleep tight.”
***
