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Taldrenites => Starfleet Command Fan Fiction => Topic started by: Governor Ronjar on January 25, 2008, 12:05:37 am
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I can't resist the urge to post this one. It may be rough. Some editing has been done, but its been a while. I keep getting stuck on it and unlike all of my Ford stories...this one is not yet finished prior to posting...
Here's the first CH. Let me know what ya think!
Dirt
CH. 1
Dath’mar leaned heavily upon the frame of his attack periscope as he zeroed his ship’s manual targeting array onto the engine section of the lonely little ship ahead. The unsuspecting craft was a tiny Ya’wenn escort ship, less than half his own vessel’s size and not nearly a tenth her complexity. This would be an easy kill. The alien ship was at a dead stop, almost powered down where it perched high above the plasma storms that marked the Kovarn Reach. It’s little sensors, dim and ill powered as they were, were directed toward the Federation Starbase seven light years away. They were spying. Watching ship movements and the operations of the base itself.
The captain knew that Ya’wenn scanners were barely able to reach out that distance. They had to kill nearly all their own equipment emissions and direct most of their power to the forward array. And even then, they would get at best a grainy subspace image that would take them days to glean real facts from. His own sensors could reach out there in a matter of seconds and tell him just how many ships were docked there and what their status was. The Ya’wenn had to work very hard indeed to gather such intelligence.
And doing so made their ships very vulnerable.
With all of their attention directed forward, to a base light years away, they were ill prepared to detect a cloaked Klingon battlecruiser slipping up from behind. This was not the most honorable way to hunt prey, but it did feel more like hunting. Stalking. Lying in ambush. Yes, while this was not the most glorious way to dispatch a foe, it held a great deal of satisfaction.
They wouldn’t even know what hit them.
“Range?” The one-eyed captain barked.
“Four thousand kelicams, closing.” Replied I’rell. She was his science officer. Very proficient. She was an attractive woman who sported sleeveless uniforms. Despite what this might suggest, her duty drew near all her attention.
“Weapons hot and ready.” Came an additional report from his First Officer. Commander Kurvis was leaning over the engineering console to the port side of the bridge. He, like the thin captain at the scope, was sweating profusely in the stifling air of the command deck.
Running cloaked, under full stealth protocol made life miserable after long periods of time. Like every other, unnecessary shipboard system, the ventilators and primary air conditioning systems were disengaged till ordered back on. The fewer systems running, the harder your ship was to detect.
The captain pressed his right eye closer still to a metal viewfinder that had been designed for two eyes. He eased the target reticule up onto the engineering section of the small, spearhead of a ship. His thumb ached to press the firing studs. ‘With a single torpedo, I could end them,’ he thought. But the IKS Pang could not fire her fore torpedo launcher. It had been rendered inoperative some time ago in a previous action against the Ya’wenn. His engineer had been able to cobble it back into working order just before they’d detected the USS Tenseiga weeks earlier. But while supporting that ship, the Pang had taken another hit to the command pod. Engineer Hekk’s repairs had come undone. Try as he might, the old man could not get the launcher up and running again.
The captain would have to use the primary and secondary disruptors only. His hands tightened on the controls. He was mentally preparing for the shot, half remembering a time when he’d conducted a similar attack on a Romulan Warbird nearly twenty years ago. He hadn’t needed a cloaking device in those days. He finalized his lock and was about to fire.
“I have had enough of this inglorious farce!”
Dath’mar mentally paused, tough he did not move a muscle. Outwardly, he seemed not to have heard the outburst. He knew which station it had come from. The main gunner’s station. Chief Gunnery Officer Motek. It had definitely been his growl. The captain could hear the creak of the warrior’s leather as he slid up out of his post to face the command dais.
There would be a confrontation. Dath’mar considered opening fire anyway, to see what reaction the gunner would have. Would he sit back down once battle was joined? Or was he a true fool? Dath’mar had yet to order the engineers to drop cloak, however.
Dath’mar continued to observe the enemy through the scope, growing more and more angry, still not stirring. A heavy step came from beyond Motek. About ten seconds had passed, maybe less. The masculine voice of the First Officer shot out from behind the engineers’ seats.
“Lieutenant! Sit down you fool! Do not dare to question the captain during an attack!”
At this, Captain Dath’mar took his eye from the scope’s screen and leaned his right shoulder into the extended module. His polished metal eye-patch gleamed in the crimson battle lamps. His right smoldered in anger and promised retribution. “What do you want, Gunner?”
He did not hide the obvious contempt in his voice.
The younger man, a senior lieutenant with a few years under his sash, stared blades back at him. His hands were clenched fists and Dath’mar saw how his left hand hovered near to his disruptor. Dath’mar’s own was holstered on his right hip, blocked by the girth of the copper painted periscope, kelicams away from use…
The youth took an aggressive step forward, facing off with the lazy looking commanding officer. “I tire of watching my scarred captain take every scrap of what little glory and honor this mission offers by always manning his damned command scope! I am a Gunner! A warrior! A soldier of the Empire! I refuse to side idly by while target after target is blasted away while I sit in my seat…a spectator!”
Dath’mar kept his face impassive, indifferent. His black eye bored through the other’s countenance. He was standing up for himself well. He showed bravery, willing to buck both the captain and First Officer at once. He’d give the boy that. Still emoting an aura of laziness and uncaring, Dath’mar backed away from the scope, slamming its heavy shoulder braces shut and slapping it into motion, back up into the overhead.
“Then take you shot Gunner.”
Dath’mar sauntered in unhurried fashion down the step leading to his broad command chair and stood before the wayward weapon’s officer. Distrust and disbelief washed over the uncertain young man. He eyed his black-clad captain warily. Dath’mar waved to the empty chair before the boy finally was convinced to retake his station.
Dath’mar ignored the confused look of his First and looked back to I’rell.
“Range?”
“Two thousand kelicams. Helm is slowing.”
The captain looked past Kurvis to the engineers who went on about their duty, trying not to look as though they were hanging on every action being taken in this tense situation. “Prepare to attack!”
Kurvis finally turned his back on the captain and gunner, turning once again to tend to the two noncoms working the ship’s engine and power controls. Dath’mar listened to him bark quietly to them. He also looked down to where the chief gunner was preparing to make his shot. He was wisely not trying to establish an active systems lock. The boy hadn’t been truly rattled by his confrontation. He could still think.
Dath’mar leaned in close, almost whispering his orders.
“Target drive core only.”
“Understood, sir!”
“Main disruptors!”
“Yes!”
With a flick of an eye toward Kurvis, again looking back to the captain, Dath’mar signaled the attack. “Drop cloak!”
Kurvis delivered a chopping motion between his charges. They began pressing controls. The lights flashed three times in time with the bark of the combat alarm. A whoosh of cool air swept through the bridge, chilling the sweat on the back of their necks and their rough foreheads. The main lights came up to full level.
“Field disengaged!” Kurvis shouted over the alarm’s din.
Dath’mar’s hand squeezed the gunner’s shoulder.
“Fire!”
The scream of the main disruptors mounted on the undersides of the command pod, the fore section of the shoulders and the bow of either nacelle opened up together. They fired in banks of two, sending six blinding, emerald bolts in pairs into the unprotected, soft underbelly of the Ya’wenn ship’s tail. The enemy’s fantail crumpled in on itself even as fire and debris blasted free. The small vessel heaved up on its nose and began a slow flip. Its over burdened maneuvering jets could not control its wayward flight. Dath’mar could imagine the unprepared chaos that was even now sweeping the ship.
Alien soldiers, if such he could label them, would be flying about through the air. The lucky ones might grab hold of something and hang on. But the majority of them were looking forward to injuries, and all would be in frantic panic. Dath’mar could not help but smile an acid smirk beneath this thin mustaches.
Lieutenant Motek, showing the marks of a good officer, kept up the fire. He laid into the escort craft with another lash of main cannon and also added to the Ya’wenn misery with an onslaught of secondary weaponry. Thin green beams supplemented the larger, more powerful blasts. The interior of the aliens’ engine section spilled to space.
Dath’mar had to grind his one eye closed as the ship erupted into a blossoming shower of flame, gas and debris. The enemy had been dispatched. Now, on to discipline.
“Very good, Lieutenant.” Even Dath’mar’s voice feigned lethargy these days. He turned the gunner’s seat about to face him. The captain was almost smiling. The weapon’s officer’s face fell flaxen.
“You are a proficient weapon’s officer. This is why I will let you live.”
Dath’mar’s hand moved like lightning. His long, curved Levath blade left its scabbard and was protruding from the seated gunner’s sternum before the lieutenant could even begin to defend himself. Dath’mar leaned into the stab, twisted, and pulled it free. He stepped back from the shaking, bleeding officer as blood began already to pool on the bare deck.
The captain studied the young officer as he fought for consciousness. He’d struck the Gukt’a, the primary artery running the trunk of the body. Fed by the Klingon eight chamber heart, it could pump out seven liters per minute when severed fully. He very much doubted his blade had done much more than nick the vein, but the effects were telling. Motek tried to fight his way to his feet as officers abandoned the façade of not looking and stared in open interest. The gunner drew his pistol, which his captain batted away like a spear from a small child’s hand. Motek’s eyes rolled up into the back of his wide skull and he clattered to the deck like a rag doll.
Dath’mar wiped blood from his blade onto his left sleeve. His eye glared off to the communications console and the junior bekk there. “Have that taken to the surgeon, and if it survives, it may resume its post with a reduction in rank as the Second Gunner!” He then looked to the starboard side gunnery post. The slim young woman there all but swallowed under his sudden, fierce scrutiny. Like a hel’ath scorpion, Dath’mar had gone from emotionless and lazy-seeming to enraged and dangerous in a second. “You are the second in line, yes?”
“Y-yes, my lord!” She stammered. She was a Lieutenant Second Rank.
“You are now First Gunner! Call maintenance to clean your post and then take it.” Dath’mar pointed down to the draining officer now being borne away by low ranking enlisted men. “Don’t follow his example…Lieutenant First!”
The new gunner nodded deeply and then activated her intercom control. Dath’mar turned his single eye back to the viewer and the swirl of blazing junk floating out there. He hadn’t even gotten to savor the kill. Too bad. His vision drifted to his First Officer. Commander Kurvis looked back at him with a mix of wonder and disapproval. He might have handled things differently, but this was not his ship. Pang belonged to Dath’mar.
“Captain!” Came a call from the ensign manning the comm station. “Now receiving intercepted distress signals. Numerous calls. Ya’wenn frequencies.”
“From what, Bekk?”
It was I’rell who provided that clarification.
“Now scanning six life pods drifting away from the escort’s remains. I read…seventeen life signs.” The science officer looked back at him expectantly, and with more than a little bit of malicious intent. She knew what he would do with them. But Dath’mar was not in the mood. He hurled a quick look to Kurvis.
“First Officer, bring three prisoners in from the escape pods. Make sure at least one is female. Dispatch the rest and resume cloak. The bridge is yours.”
***
This story is actually a rewrite of a La'ra story I did early on before I knew how serious Larry was about writing his La'ra tales. My version was significantly different from his, but I bowed out gracefully given that La'ra is Larry's character after all. I'm juast glad that cameo he had in the first Sharp story spurred Larry into taking up the Klingon mantle and running with it. Larry has since drawn out some of the best Klingon fiction I've ever seen. The folk who actuallt get paid to write Klingon fiction should take a look at his stuff now and again.
I took the original idea for the scrapped La'ra story, also titled Dirt and came up with a longer, perhaps better version using Dath'mar. I threw in some elements I'd used before. The Gunner throwing his fit on the bridge and paying for it. This came from the old Sharp story. La'ra didn't kill his gunner [Ron'jar did] and niether does Dath'mar in this one.
This tale also differs significantly in that the original version I wrote was just an action story. This one dealves more into life aboard a Klingon Ship. La'ra said he liked that fascet. Maybe yall will too.
I'll post this one slowly as I continue to write on it. Gimme all the feed back you can. This one is a work in progress.
--thu guv!
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I love it. I love the grimy smells darkness and tension you portrait, I love the stalking, I even love the way you handled the breach of the chain of command. I love the way you make feasible that the Ya' wenn are using a grainy subspace image to get intell from.
So GIMME MORE.
btw: I agree on Larry's Klingon stories but I'd add yours as well
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And before I forget, I love that's a KLINGON story :D
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I liked this, it is very TOS Klingon. I never got the impression that the TNGers are serious enough - despite all their d'takh-waving - to go for this level of maiming their own crew in the interests of discipline. I know Dath'mar is a more extreme example, but it's cool to see him in action.
Though I automatically dislike any FASA references *grin* I do like your stealth approach routines, and the reminder that sensors aren't all powerful. They only search where and for what you tell them to. They can't pick up what they're not designed to.
The scene itself is well done and believable, and I'm looking forward to more Imperialistic Klingon antics. ;D
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FASA references? Where?
--guv
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Torpedos and disrupters. In SFB and SFC Klingons use phasers and disrupters are the torpedoes. In FASA, the disrupters are the phaser equivalent and they use photon torpedoes. This does in some ways make more sense. Especially if disrupter pistols are the equivalent of hand phasers.
This was fun to read. I have to say I'm now inspired to write a Kadh story.
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Without going into the rant I just deleted...
My stuff isn't based on any of the games. You want references...watch Star Trek: TOS Season One- ENT Season Four+Movies 1-9.
'Nuff Said.
--guv
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Ya, sorry Guv. Just had a quick re-read and there isn't really any FASA references. I was probably thinking of the more 'Klingon Academy'-stule weapons loadout and the positions of the disruptors in the hull. I think I was remembering your first posted Dath'mar story that you reference, where you say missiles in that (funny what you remember). Torpedoes are canon for K't'inga's, I have no probs with them. Besides, I was just tweakin' ya. :P
Kadh: "disruptor" ;D
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This is great, Guv. You know me, you write it I'll read it. You want to say, "Fire the Futon Torpedoes and make the ship go that way!", then I'll buy it.
Besides, I didn't see anything FASA about this. Just Guv writin' his new(ish) tale. *shrug*
Andy: Style ;D
Czar "Defender of the Kadh, dealer of swift retribution" Mohab ;D ;D ;D ;D
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Torpedoes are canon for K't'inga's, I have no probs with them.
Torpedoes are canon for D-7s as well...watch more VOY [the scene where a 100 year old+ D-7 gives an Intrepid-Class a run for her money]. And you can kinda mention ENT...but I won't go there too far...
Glad you are all enjoying this, those of you that have replied already. I can thank the gracious La'ra for helping me figure out a decent ending for it, though it remains a work in progress even though I already slapped 'END' on it. Hope the depths of 'cruiser-life' that I tried to build is not missed and hope it is liked.
Now to post CH. 2
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CH. 2
Dath’mar stalked off the command deck and followed the zigzag trail of the former main gunner’s blood to the main turbo elevator that serviced this level. The bridge compartment of this newer ship was larger than that of his old Gro’mokh, making the trip from the hatch to the lift shorter. He remembered having seen the original layout of his old bridge when the ship had been given to him. He’d laughed at its inefficient design and had it torn out and altered while on a shakedown cruise. Former commanders and yardmen had done similar to the Pang, but her alterations had been even more lavish than his own. Pang’s bridge was huge for a Klingon warship. The removal of dated equipment had freed up much space on this forty-year-old cruiser. Only half of the original security foyer leading to the turbolift still remained.
The captain entered the elevator car that waited, jabbing a button for the lower decks. This car’s floor showed no sign of fresh blood. Another must have carried his gunner to the infirmary. Dath’mar did not relish killing or injuring crew just to make a point. He was loath to slay another Klingon. His imprisonment on Kovarn had shown him far too many of his own kind dead. Many had died by his own order, desperately attacking the enemy. He knew, though, that leaving Motek alive would also leave him an enemy at his back. But he would deal with it. And should Motek one day gain the upper hand over him and slay him, then the better man would have shown himself, wouldn’t he?
The lift car dropped down the length of shaft that descended into the main body of the Pang’s command pod. Halting at Deck 6, it lurched back into motion, racing laterally down the long run of tube that connected the forward pod to the stardrive section of the ship. The trip was not long, but Dath’mar’s nails bit into the palms of his hands with impatient pressure. The lift halted again and went back up two more levels. It deposited him on the engineering level.
The bark of the cloaking alarm sounded as the captain made his way down the wide, spacious corridors. His prisoners had been collected then, and the rest floated dead in space. The lighting dimmed, making the CO blend into the shadows thanks to the ash he’d ground into the leather of his uniforms. The enjoyable flow of cool air ended as, once again, the ventilators shut down. They wouldn’t start up again till the dioxide levels rose or till the ship decloaked. The doors to engineering parted with a high-pitched drone.
Working officers and men looked up from their busy tasks as the captain strode among them, stalking like a wolf on the prowl. They were wary of him. Likely the story of Motek had already reached the engine room. No matter how big the ship, rumor spread faster than fire. Dath’mar found the man he sought standing between the intermix core and the portside impulse reactor.
“Hekk!” The captain hailed the old man. There was no fondness or friendly content to his voice. Nor did he intentionally let on irritation. That bled out on its own. “The fore torpedo launcher remains out of action.”
Lieutenant Hekk was a tall, grizzled old man. His hair spilled from his crest like a wide river of whitewater. His hazel eyes showed years of experience. The captain had yet to push him very far. There was no need. The man had been an engineer for longer than most had served the Fleet.
“Yes, Captain. The structural mainframe beneath the loader mechanism and the accelerator both buckled when we were hit. My attempts at shoring the deck and sealing the gap have failed.”
Dath’mar took a moment to consider in silence.
“Why?”
“The internal blast ripped away most of the surrounding frame work that holds the compartment together. The entire level is a hazard. When I shore up one area, every other falls out of alignment.”
“Your plan?”
“I am fabricating new internal braces to shore up the rigidity of the compartment. Before this, I can do nothing further.” The ancient man’s withered voice explained. He was a concise man, at least when speaking of his business.
“How long?”
“Another thirteen hours to brace up the framework. Then we can evaluate the remainder of the work ahead.”
The captain nodded his understanding. He did not like being without one of his most substantial weapons while so close to enemy territory. The Ya’wenn would reinforce the area soon, again flushing him away or forcing him to fight at a disadvantage. The Pang had taken a beating over the last few months. Vengeance did not come without price.
“What of the other systems?”
“The shield generators are requiring constant supervision. During our combat alert, I had two teams standing by just in case they failed. Thankfully, they came up when ordered…this time. The plasma transfer coils to the main disruptors are near to fused; you fired them so much. They need replacing; a job that will take the better part of two days out on our own. And both impulse reactors are beginning to try my patience. Added to all the minor inconveniences, our capacity is becoming sub-par.”
The Whitehair did not hold back. Dath’mar respected him for that. The ‘minor inconveniences’ he mentioned were the other devices and machinery that was damaged or out of action aboard ship. The main sensor array atop the bridge was in shambles from the structural shift caused by the torpedo detonation in the launcher. Dath’mar had caused this damage himself by ordering the weapons officer to over load their weapons past 200% while fighting the Ya’wenn. Other things ranged from the grav plating being damaged to the main life support generators being offline. The outer hull was patched reasonably well and structural integrity as a whole remained near to 92%.
But this ship needed much repair.
The commanding officer considered his options. Returning to Goesa’vaina would take nearly a week. Admiral Sharp had gotten the Starfleet Command to allow his ship and others the freedom to pass through Federation territory between Ya’wenn space and home base, but it still took time. He did not know how long he would be tied up there with his ship under going refit. It might take him months to get back here to exact further revenge.
How much of the work could be done out in space, were they to retreat to safer areas?
“Can you get our systems back up on your own?” Dath’mar inquired, looking the Whitehair in the eyes. Hekk chewed on something and looked distant.
“I might, were we to come to a halt so I could get to the outer hull with work-sleds. Then I could access and handle the heavier modules.”
“Then it will be done. Prepare your teams for the first duty shift tomorrow.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Hekk called him ‘Captain’, never ‘Lord’. He liked that about the man. The captain turned and stalked back out of the engine room. Now he had to consider where to take his ship so that the engineer could pull her apart. He knew their general location very well. But so many weeks inside that damned, whirling plasma phenomena had befuddled his direction sense. He’d have to consult charts. Once into the elevator again, he set it toward the officer’s quarters and then opened the intercom circuit.
“First Officer! Pull the charts on this immediate area of space and send them down to my cabin. I will review our position.”
“Yes, my lord!”
“Status?”
“We have our specimens in the brig, Captain. Two male Ya’wenn and a female. Highest was the ship’s third officer, so the Qas DevwI’ claims. We are back under cloak and under way on course 377 mark 121 at one half thrust. Impulse drive operating on warp power, auxiliary reactors shutting down. No contacts in immediate viscinity.”
Dath’mar killed the comm link and was silent the rest of the trip back to the command pod. The lift dropped a deck and practically opened right before his cabin doors. He ignored the maintenance hands on duty as they worked on an open access panel near the life support junction. He knew what they were doing. The air conditioning on this level was dead. It was hot or cold on the entire deck depending on the ambient temperature outside the hull. Right now, it was frigid. He ignored that too.
Dath’mar activated the main light in his cabin’s antechamber and sat down at the round dining table that dominated the main body of the room. He picked up a bottle of Warnog from the low cabinet to his right and pulled its cork. After a long pull from its contents, he picked up a waiting data pad and addressed his assistant’s list of pressing details needing his attention.
He was not at it long before the door’s buzzer went off. He didn’t look up. He knew that the two sentries posted at all times outside his quarters would deal with any trouble.
“Come.”
The door opened to allow the chief navigator entry to his room. Lieutenant Ger’shall was a shapely woman. Her hair and scent reminded him of Li’hoela… He tried to ignore that fact as he did many other things. At least he pretended to ignore…
“I have the charts of this section, Captain.” Ger’shall told him.
At this, Dath’mar looked up to meet her gaze. Her long, wavy, light brown hair was almost exactly like his late science officer’s. Her face was rounder, her eyes lighter and wider. Her hair, though… It was the same. In her thick arms she carried three heavy data pads. He pointed for her to lay them atop his table.
“Leave.”
“Yes, my lord.” She sounded dejected. What had she expected of him? Small talk? Invitation to shirk her duties and imbibe Warnog with him?
The door opened to the corridor beyond, framing the wide, heavy frame of the ship’s surgeon. The huge man grinned leeringly at the shapely navigator as he stepped aside for her to pass. He left her only enough room to squeeze past, thus rubbing her assets against him along the way. Finished with his minor acts of lechery, he waddled uninvited into the anteroom.
“You have an office for this, you know.” The surgeon prodded.
“Your point?”
The doctor sat down far too close for Dath’mar’s comfort. He glared up at the indolent man as he and his bulk smiled that intolerable, smug smile. He was always testing, prodding. “Point? Oh, I have no point. Merely suggesting you might find your office better suited to dealing with business. One’s quarters might actually be seen as a refuge from such bothers…”
“My service to the Empire is no ‘bother’, Surgeon. And where I conduct my business is none of yours. What did you come down here for?”
“Your shining smile and gracious company.” The fat soldier grinned back up till he saw the stone glare he’d earned. His countenance faltered all of a moment. “I came to tell you that our esteemed guest down in security has expired. His time with the mind-sifter was most draining.”
“Commander Banks is dead?”
“His real name was—“
“He deserves no Klingon name. It is as well he died with that ridiculous human face intact. Did he offer more intelligence before his passage to Grethor?”
“You left him with no intelligence at all after seventy hours in that chair. I found it quite interesting as a study case. I have never observed a subject that had experienced Force Five invasion.”
“Study the corpse as long as you will, then blow it out the nearest lock.”
“Had ‘Commander Banks’ been working for Fleet Intelligence or Internal Security rather than the Kla’davin, would you still hold him in such regard?”
“He was a traitor. Nothing more.”
“His assignment began before the Praxis explosion. It is likely—“
Dath’mar looked up from the data module he was activating and shot the surgeon a deadly stare. “Enough, Surgeon. State your real purpose. You could have filed Banks’ death in a report and not wasted your fat breath to get here.”
The surgeon issued his own glare.
“I came to remind the captain that he was ordered into this area of space to fight the Ya’wenn, not his gunner.”
“You come here to question my disciplinary measures?”
“You nearly killed a fine officer! It was luck that his blood pooled in his limbs when pressure from the heart was lost. Otherwise I would not have gotten enough into him in time to save his life!”
“He was blatantly insubordinate!”
“Motek is a skilled officer and an asset to the ship!”
“That is the only reason I didn’t vaporize him!”
“You could still have handled it differently! We have a brig! Broken bones are easier to deal with than severed arteries!”
Dath’mar’s pistol appeared from the depths of his leather holster and plopped onto the tabletop. The captain took a long, exasperated breath and measured the shiver of fear showing in the doctor’s eyes. “I am near to dispensing with another key officer…” He warned.
The pistol was wide and stubbier than any Klingon issue weapon. Its huge barrel glowed with a soft blue light from inside when activated. A red tracer light twinkled at its top. The power module was heavy and robust. The surgeon stared at it for a second. But still he did not back down.
He wisely changed track, however.
“Motek can be back at his station in two days time. I’m ordering no training or activity beyond manning a station till I’m satisfied the vascular graft has set. You’ll be interested to know that I am also now treating him for a Ya’wenn virus. You should clean your blade more thoroughly.”
Dath’mar found a small amount of dark humor in dealing with this man. This alone kept the doctor alive at times. Were he not to entertain the captain, Dath’mar would surely have killed him by now.
“I hear we have more guests.” The surgeon went on with a new topic. Dath’mar did not respond. He merely looked over the long list of stellar hazards in this section. Then he correlated them on the star map included in the pad’s memory. There was plenty of open space, but he also wanted some interference to confuse scanners at long range. He saw where he would likely send the Pang.
“What have you in mind for the Ya’wenn prisoners?”
The surgeon would not relent. He continued to probe for conversation.
Dath’mar dropped the data module with a loud clatter and jabbed his angry eye into the doctor’s face. “Do you ever cease your prattle?”
“Not till I’m done.”
“For now, they sit. They know we have each of the others. If the Qas Dev did their duty right, they can’t see one another, nor can they speak back and forth. When I am ready for them, I will question them. Till then, they sit.”
The surgeon merely nodded. Psychological warfare was a required subject for Imperial Medics. Cutting off the prisoner’s communications with the outside world left them vulnerable. This pressure could be used, guided.
“They’ll be fed?”
“Sparingly.”
For whatever reason, that answer seemed to set the huge man at ease. He finally resigned himself to silence and allowed the captain the leisure of getting back to his work. Dath’mar stood after a few moments and traveled to the comm panel on the far wall.
“Bridge.”
“Kurvis.”
“Set course for coordinates 113705 by 27716. We will take advantage of Starfleet’s generosity and conceal ourselves among them while we make our repairs.”
“Yes, my lord. Speed?”
“Standard.”
“At once!”
When Dath’mar turned back to the table, he found the Surgeon aiming his own pistol at him. The captain lowered his hands level on either side, ready to respond. Was there to be a fight here? Or was the doctor just trying to get even with him with a moment of pause?
It turned out to be the later. This became obvious when the large Klingon twirled the gun on a finger and presented its handle to his commanding officer. The doctor’s wide spaced eyes were gleaming smiles. “Why do you carry such a weapon, Captain? It is not Klingon.”
Dath’mar took the weapon slowly and replaced it in his holster. Both the weapon and its leather holster had been fashioned on Kovarn. “I like it.”
“A trophy?”
“A reminder.”
***
Anybody remember 'Commander Banks'? :angel:
--thu guv!
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No replies whatsoever?
Maybe I shouldn't write Klingon...
CH. 3
A day later found the D-7 battlecruiser in more friendly skies.
The IKS Pang floated without course in the deep black, well within the space of its former enemy. Her holds and hanger bay stood open to space while work pods and shuttles flitted about the outer hull and tended to a lengthy list of necessary repairs. Pressure suited Klingons walked and bobbed across the tarnished silver hull, uneasy of the great nothingness they operated within. Klingons did not react well to zero-G environments. Gravity plating was a definite necessity aboard Imperial ships. As a species, Klingons made superb warriors, but lousy acrobats.
The inner operations of the ship had scaled down to a more leisurely pace. This was as close to shore leave as they could expect for some time. Duty shifts were shortened. Works loads lessened unless one was on a repair schedule for the day. An officer travelling from compartment to compartment saw more smiling warriors than had been about in the last month. The crew was proud of their victories and accomplishments. But they were tired. Tired men and women grew to hate even the good things.
As dour and malicious as he was, Dath’mar understood this. He could sympathize. He had once been a young Bekk.
The captain was traversing the corridor outside the engine room, once again having spoken with Hekk and gathering the Whitehair’s report. He held a detailed work list and progress report in his gloved hand as he moved along at a slow pace, reading. He turned the last corner that would take him to the fore lift.
The one-eyed officer looked up suddenly. He could have sworn he’d heard a…cry. A squeal, perhaps? Where had it come from?
The elevator doors ahead of his hissed open, depositing the lift’s sole occupant out onto the deck before him. The four-legged beast looked up at him and squealed loudly. In its all-consuming fright, it dashed toward him as the lift doors hissed closed. Dath’mar’s eye widened as he reached for his pistol.
The targ charged him headlong, not altering its course as it squealed all the way. The doors behind it opened once again. One of the ship’s cooks was in hot pursuit, raised cleaver in hand as he chased down his quarry. Dath’mar removed his hand from the grip of his weapon as details became more evident. The targ skidded of the expanded-metal deck, sluing to a halt behind the captain and looking back at the running cook from between Dath’mar’s legs. Its beady eyes dazzled in fear at the cook’s approach and it shook its stubby tusks back and forth. The captain watched this display, then nudged it with a boot.
“Still.”
The beast stopped moving and looked up at him expectantly.
Dath’mar held up a hand before the cook.
“Stop.”
The sergeant slowed, stomping to a heavy halt before his CO and snapped off a weary salute. Dath’mar did not bother to return the salute. He glared across at the galley hand. “What are you doing, Sergeant?”
“That devious little petaq escaped my larders and has led me on a deck by deck chase all through out the ship!” The cook huffed. He was red in the face with more than just embarrassment. The targ looked from the captain to the cook, hopeful he had found his champion. Dath’mar looked down at the besieged animal, then back to the cook.
“Leave it.”
“My lord?”
“Can you not tell a domesticated targ from a game animal, sergeant?”
“All galley provision targ are domestically bred—“
“But they have the pronounced tusks of targ in the wild. Not the short, blunted teeth of a pet. This animal was discarded from someone’s home. It was not intended for the crew’s meal.”
“But it’s here…” The cook looked disappointed and confused.
“A pet targ has never tasted bloody flesh. It will taste like canned meat, Sergeant. Draw another targ from the stores to butcher. This one is now mine.” Dath’mar stared steadily back to the man. The galley hand seemed to catch onto something as understanding formed on his face.
“Ah, I see. The stone faced captain does have a heart!”
Dath’mar struck the man squarely across the jaw, dropping him in one lightning quick stroke. The targ looked on in triumph. The cook smiled where he lay and rubbed his jaw. He tucked his cleaver into the brown leather apron he wore.
“And a solid fist, I might add.”
Dath’mar clicked to the targ and stepped past the sergeant. The little beast followed obediently, its hooves chattering on the deck as it came. The captain continued on his way to the lift, wondering just how the targ has been able to trigger the elevator controls...
***
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Commander Kurvis watched over the engineering officers that manned the bridge console. They were earnestly at work, monitoring and guiding the work of the men moving about on the exterior of the ship. Thus far, in the forty-eight hours they had been at rest here in Federation space, much had been accomplished. The impulse reactors had been disassembled and work was undergoing to revamp them. The ancient fusion cores were among the oldest surviving pieces of equipment aboard ship. Outside, the cowling to the upper sensor module had been pulled and two men from the science division were in the process of replacing severed and burned power conduits. The lower maw of the command module had been opened up to space at several locations while Lieutenant Hekk and his teams lent themselves to getting their forward torpedo launcher back up and running.
Work was progressing all over the ship at a fantastic pace. And all of this was being accomplished by men standing reduced watches. Kurvis would not have thought this outcome possible till today. Perhaps the captain knew something about command that he did not. While moody and asocial, Captain Dath’mar did indeed seem to know how to take care of his men.
When he wasn’t running them through at their stations…
Kurvis left his engineers to their duty and turned to look toward the center of the Pang’s fully lit bridge. Lieutenant First Shenna was there at the Gunner One position, her newly acquired post. She was a slight figure, though very fit. She had long, straight black hair like to their captain’s. She didn’t look like a gunner. She didn’t look much like a warrior at all. But she was proficient. The First Officer had taken the time to re-familiarize himself with her file jacket after her impromptu promotion. Her skills were admirable and her devotion to duty outstanding. Most females were simply out-competed when it came to becoming weapons officers. One almost never saw the fairer sex in the gunnery post. The fact that she’d even made Second Gunner was astounding. Now, due to a bad decision on Motek’s part, Shenna was enjoying the first post in her division.
The First Officer chuckled. What a ship this was turning out to be.
“Contact report.” Lieutenant Commander I’rell called out from the science station. There was no alarm in her voice. She manned the station by herself this shift. The closest body of traffic was the group of Federation convoy ships making for the next sector with their escort ship. “Starfleet vessel, Miranda-Class battlecruiser. USS Comanche. She’s turning our direction.”
“Keep her under surveillance.” Kurvis said back. They’d be receiving a hail in the next few minutes. ‘Two days, and they’re only just now noticing us…’ He thought with amusement. After dropping the cloak, Pang had powered down to a minimal standby mode. So they weren’t the easiest vessel to spot. But he’d have thought all those local patrols would have noticed them long before now…
The main hatch to the compartment growled open. Clad in another of his dark uniforms, the captain strode in, looking everywhere with his one eye, but at no one. Kurvis turned to face him and saluted. The one-eyed man saw him despite not looking at him, and returned the salute. Only then did he bother to meet Kurvis’s gaze. “Report.”
Kurvis tried not to show any amusement.
“Repairs continue. Torpedo repair crew states that they’ll have the hull rebuilt within the hour and that bracing will be complete by 1700 hours. The impulse reactors remain down. Sensor repairs are about half finished.”
“Main life support?”
“Not scheduled till first shift tomorrow. Both backup systems remain optimal. Stores are good. Fabrication reports a shortage in duranium. Bekk Torg advises that he will begin fashioning further parts made from HY 2000 steel till our supplies are replenished.”
Dath’mar merely nodded. The First wondered if he truly cared for all the details or whether he simply asked for them out of rote. In the end, it did not matter. He’d give the report no matter what. The captain passed a final glance over the smoothly running bridge and went over to stand near the science console. “Contacts?”
“One Federation battlecruiser. Inbound to our position at warp five. She scanned us a few minutes ago.” I’rell reported to him. Kurvis came to stand behind the captain and science officer. Dath’mar leaned in and looked the contact information over, then straightened. He didn’t seem concerned.
“At last. They notice us.” He muttered.
“Yes.” Kurvis agreed.
“Return their scan. Let them know we see them as well.”
I’rell nodded and turned her chair back to front. Her small hands went over the illuminated controls, buttons and toggles of her station. A powerful, short burst of subspace energy washed forth from their lateral scanner array and returned off the hull of the approaching starship. Information began to fill monitors and banks of displays on the particulars of the alien craft. Its wide saucer, underslung nacelles and high torpedo pod were soon depicted on a screen, revolving to show a 3-D image. The Miranda-Class cruiser seemed built to emulate Klingon design. They were a tough ship to fight. With their extensive weapons arrays, it took scant seconds for them to slice through even the toughest battlecruiser’s shields…
“Incoming hail, Captain.” Called out the communications officer. Dath’mar frowned a bit more than usual and began to turn away. Kurvis watched him head toward the communications control room starboard of the bridge compartment.
“First Officer, deal with the humans. I have had my fill of speaking with them.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Commander Kurvis made for the upraised chair in the center of the room and stood before it. Ready, he pointed to the comm officer as Dath’mar faded into the other chamber. Likely he would monitor the broadcast from within.
The elongated, hexagonal viewscreen flickered to the image of a shiny, much-too-bright Starfleet bridge filled with flat console boards and flashing, light generated controls. A lone, tall figure sat in a soft, pale blue chair. His skin coloring was like to that of a Klingon, but his smooth, round head and short-cropped hair belied any other similarities. Kurvis saw jovial lines etched into the human’s face. This was no warrior. He bore the rank of captain on that bright red uniform. He wasn’t to be underestimated, but Kurvis figured him to be soft.
“This is Captain Hiruul Ramses of the Comanche. State the reason behind your presence in Federation space.” He came off strong. A few words did not make a man, though.
Kurvis smiled pleasantly.
“Your Starfleet Command recently issued permission for Klingon ships to traverse this area of space to get to the Kovarn Reach. We are not in violation of any agreement.”
“That permission was for you to ‘traverse’ the region. Not bob around out there. Are you the captain of that ship?” The human looked as though he might have liked to clothesline Kurvis where he stood. He had a more violent side than the First Officer might have guessed.
“I am Commander Kurvis, First Officer of the Pang.”
“Where is your captain?”
“He has more pressing business to attend to. I was free to speak with you…”
A long, curving brow arched steeply over the Terran’s left eye.
“So he’s too busy to speak with me? Fine, I’ll speak with you. State your purpose.”
“We have taken a great deal of damage from Ya’wenn weaponry in the months we’ve been battling them. We required repairs and a safe place to implement them.” Kurvis smiled an icy smile once more. “I trust we present no inconvenience to you or your fleet, so far removed from the traffic zones?”
A sarcastic light played in the human captain’s eye. He cocked a wide smirk and leaned back into his command chair. “Well, so long as you’re crippled, I guess not. But I’ve noticed that your transponder isn’t on. That does present a hazard to traffic. Make sure you get that back on. After that, you’ve got another twelve hours to be on your way. Comanche out.”
The viewer immediately snapped to an image of black night beyond the ship. Kurvis’s temper flared with a loud growl just as the door to the comm room opened again. Dath’mar glared at him reproachfully, disliking his unbecoming display before the officers. Kurvis stifled the heat in his chest and stepped down before his commander.
“You saw?”
“Yes.”
“He dares to order us away!”
“This is his space. He does his duty.” Dath’mar ascended to his chair dispassionately and sat down. He sat lightly but still seemed to emulate a tree falling. “As do we. Order the transponder activated, but at a low power level. I don’t want the Ya’wenn finding us before we are ready. Get Hekk to gather up his remaining teams and begin repairs to the main life support generators.”
Kurvis saluted and stalked away. He burned with pent up rage at being dismissed so easily by the Federation captain. He could not bear to be still. He would deliver the captain’s orders to the engineer personally and then assist with repairs. The comm officer could take care of the damned transponder. She’d heard the command.
Dath’mar watched his First go, storming off the bridge. Kurvis was skilled, an affable leader. But he allowed anger to guide his actions too easily. ‘Who am I to judge,’ thought the captain wryly. ‘I lead an entire crew on my mission of vengeance…’ The difference being that his anger was driven, controlled. His action against the Ya’wenn jailer was premeditated. Not piece-meal. He’d been planning what he’d do to the people on Kovarn for ten years.
The captain noted that the communications officer was looking after where Kurvis had fled, uncertain. Dath’mar looked her way with a nod and signaled for her to activate the transponder circuit. Now the diligent young Starfleet captain would have nothing to worry about. Hopefully the Ya’wenn would not be looking for it.
“Captain,” came the comm officer yet again. “I have an incoming message from Goesa’vaina. Command Priority.”
The captain raised an eyebrow over his metal patch and glanced slowly to the right, to the comm station. He hadn’t expected anything more than strategic updates from his command base for the next several months. His ship was, for all intents and purposes, on a prolonged ‘dark mission’. So long as he adhered to his original, and rather loose, operational criteria, he could do pretty much as he pleased.
The captain arose from his chair and made for the aft hatch.
“Prepare to patch it to my quarters, Bekk.” He paused as he reached the door’s threshold. Kurvis was below. He wanted an experienced officer at the chair. Of the current duty officers on deck, I’rell was the most experienced. She had little command time, however. “Science officer!”
I’rell whipped her chair about at the captain’s bark and looked up his direction.
“Yes, my lord?”
“You have the bridge.”
“Yes, my lord!”
Dath’mar left the bridge quickly to hide his chuckle at the officer’s reaction. She’d acted as though she’d believed he was about to order her to blow herself out an airlock. Then there had been relief and elation at his order. She was indeed young for her rank…
The turbo elevator ride to the senior officer’s deck was a short one. Dath’mar stepped over a pile of disorganized air conditioning machinery that littered the floor near the lift exit. Technicians and repairmen babbled apologies and excuses as he made for his cabin. He chose the second door to his rooms, entering the central living chamber. He swatted at his targ, shooing him away from the small square table in the far corner of the room. He sat quickly and activated the press toggle on the computer interface that served his cabin.
The computer buzzed on and its screen flickered to life. He tapped in his security clearance codes and waited for the monitor’s maladjusted hash to disappear. This ship’s computer banks were old and worn. They served their purpose, and there had never been a need to enhance them.
The broad, dark colored face of Governor Ron’jar stared back at the captain when the screen cleared up. The Governor seemed mildly pleased over something. “Captain Dath’mar. I did not expect so prompt a response.”
“We have been outside the Kovarn Plasma Region for nearly two days, making repairs to the ship.” The cruiser’s commander explained. Equally ranked, Ron’jar had no more seniority than Dath’mar. But the title of military governor leant Ron’jar the capacity to dictate Commands orders to him. Dath’mar’s actual divisional commander was Colonel La’ra.
“The Pang fairs well?”
“She does. She is a grand battlecruiser and a steady warrior.”
“Indeed.” The governor agreed. Dath’mar knew Ron’jar well enough already to know that this, thankfully, would be the extent of the small talk. The broad shouldered soldier adjusted his stance in his own chair, light years away and spoke further. “You have new orders. The farming planet of Galt has reported an ecological disaster. They request the presence of an Imperial cruiser to assist them.”
“An ecological disaster!” Dath’mar exclaimed. His eye widened and his teeth gnashed. He nearly knocked the computer terminal from it’s desk mount. “We are not a relief ship!”
“I know. No capable ship is close enough to lend assistance in time to avert further damage. Yours is the nearest cruiser sized vessel.” Ron’jar’s expression did not change at all. He had known how the captain would react. He’d likely have guessed Dath’mar’s next words as well.
“What of your cruiser?”
This did draw a slight, angry expression.
“Reassigned…by Imperial Command. With no new ships being launched within the foreseeable future, Command has reallocated all unengaged capitol vessels to the Juramik Stretch to bring about a quick end to the reclamation of our territory. I retain only three Birds of Prey and cannot respond to the distress call. This leaves you.”
“Are these your orders?” Dath’mar demanded.
“No. These orders come from Brigadier La’ra.”
“Brigadier! He has been promoted again? I thought he and Tor were enemies…”
Ron’jar allowed a small smirk.
“They have been. General Tor is a…fair man. He recognizes results and those who provide them for him. As does La’ra. The Brigadier is pleased with your progress against the Ya’wenn. He believes you can help the farmers of Galt.”
Dath’mar could not be impressed with flattery. But if Colonel…Brigadier La’ra had ordered him to respond to the crisis, he could do little else. He leaned back into his small chair and glared holes through the viewer. He sighed and ground his sharp teeth.
“What are the details?”
“I will dispatch the reports. Precise details have yet to come through, but the colony governor can advise you on your arrival. Goesa’vaina out.” The screen faded to black.
Dath’mar switched the computer off. He knew of the Galt colony. He had run it supplies three times while commanding the Gro’mokh. It was an agrarian world, producing grains and large quantities of vegetables for Qo’noS and Imperial member worlds. He did not know why, but they imported masses of Grubbu worms on a yearly basis.
Frustration filled the Klingon soldier’s bowels. But in the end, he found that he was not so angry as he might have thought. He questioned himself internally. Why was he not completely wroth with anger?
The answer was simple. His Empire had, and always would be, more important to him than even his desire for revenge. The Empire came first. Now and always. He was it’s servant. A gloved hand reached out for the intercom switch by the old, scratched up computer.
“First Officer!”
“Kurvis.” Came the First’s replay. He was still angry. The captain found this amusing.
“Commander, we have new orders. Order Hekk to get ready for warp speed.”
“An emergency?”
Dath’mar sneered in disgust, despite himself.
“Of sorts.”
“At once, lord!”
Dath’mar killed the link. He’d inform the bridge crew himself and supervise the overall effort as well. His targ hopped up onto a chair as he passed, grunting for attention. The captain paused to give it a scratch behind his rough ears. The little beast’s eyes rolled in pleasure. He scratched even harder. As expected, the right rear hoof began to patter at the worn upholstery of the chair beneath him.
Well, if he must put off his vengeance to assist a colony, it was best to look at it as in the Empire’s interest. He would do as they bade him. Long live the Empire!
***
--guv!
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You should write Klingon. You should also note the fanfic forums tide-like lulls and frenzies and take them in stride. ;D
You already know most of my feelings 'bout this one, so I'll just say I'm having just as much fun reading it again.
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That was pretty good. Sorry for no comment on Ch2, I thought I had.
The scene with the targ was cute - as was Dath'mar's decking of the cook. "I don't care if I have the Klingon equivalent of a Pomeranian for a pet, I'm still a manly man!" *punch*
A good, solid Klingon scene. Very few (if any) spelling mistakes. Clear storytelling. A good feel for the featured players. Miranda as a battlecruiser? I can see that, just feels a wee bit weird.
This and other random comments brought to you by 4 hours' sleep. ;D
Post more - in a few days. I'm off to see your Prez now.
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Miranda as a battlecruiser? I can see that, just feels a wee bit weird.
A quote from STIII:
[As Klingon points to the sensor screne before him...]
"Federation battlecruiser..."
In Rogland, Klingons call most everything a battlecruiser, so just take it as a general term. Their version of 'starship'. My Rommies will call just about everything they have a warbird, but I won't be writing them using said term for anyone else's craft.
Its raining like hell here...so I'm off!
--guv.
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CH. 4
Today was the first day the crew of the Pang had used their briefing room in all the time that Dath’mar had been in command. Typically, he held conference on a mission on the bridge for all to hear, officers and crew alike, or he used the Threat Analysis Room on Deck Six. There had been a layer of dust atop the inexpensive polymer table when they’d entered. Even the division officers used their operational spaces for briefings. This room simply wasn’t used much. But it existed.
Dath’mar had chosen to hold his briefing here now that his ship was nearly ready for warp and the operational data had been reviewed. He knew the officers would not be happy. And he wanted their displeasure vented before him only, and not in front of the men…
Kurvis rolled his eyes as he slid the data pad in his hand away in disgust.
“This is a joke. We go to help farmers figure out why their crops die!”
I’rell, who’d read the dispatch with far more interest for detail, whacked the commander on his armored shoulder. “They know why! They ask us to solve their problem. They mention that their grubbu have died and that they cannot begin the planting season.”
“Grubbu!” The First Officer growled. “What do they have to do with plants!”
Dath’mar glanced aside and waited for his science officer to answer. Kurvis could grasp most any science having to do with blasting another ship into ribbons. The captain was now learning that the same officer had trouble with other, less combative forms of knowledge. Such was the nature of the soldier.
I’rell tensed, feeling all eyes suddenly on her in the half-lit room. Lieutenant Hekk, First Gunner Shenna, Navigator Ger’shall, Comm Chief Jark and the Qas DevwI’ Commander Kel’dann were all here. All looking at her expectantly. How would she fair?
“Their natural soil possesses a high abundance of natural, inorganic fertilizers such as rock phosphate and limestone. What it does not possess are organic compounds like nitrogen, such as that trapped by bacteria in the soil, vermicast or humus. These are created by releasing grubbu worms into the soil over great expanses. They sift through the soil, feeding, and their feces replenishes the dirt with the nutrients that Galt does not naturally have.”
Now Dath’mar understood all those damned grubbu shipments.
“How did the grubbu die?” He asked.
Commander I’rell picked up the data module and looked it over.
“It does not say, Captain.”
“Then they do not know.” Dath’mar leaned back in the slim, creaking metal chair. “Do we know of other sources for grubbu?”
Hekk, the engineer, was the one who looked up to answer that.
“Grubbu are indigenous to Qo’noS. This was the first time I had heard of a use for them. You can’t eat ‘em.” The last bit was reference to an ancient children's joke. Grubbu tasted acidic and fowl. Kids often added them to plates of Gagh as pranks on adults and other children alike. Many parents carefully examined each handful of gagh before shoveling it into their mouths…
Dath’mar’s eye again looked to I’rell. He wondered if Starfleet briefings followed this retinue… With each officer hanging on the science specialist’s every word…
“If there are other worlds who breed them, I know of none.” She told them. I’rell turned to the computer access terminal before her and flipped the toggle to bring it online. She waited while the ancient thing started. Light flowed over the narrow contours of her face.
Kurvis, least interested in this mission, seemed lost in thought suddenly.
“If the grubbu on Galt all died out, then we need to know why. We will accomplish nothing if we bring them another group and they just up and die!”
The ship’s marine commander, Kel’dann swiveled in his chair and addressed the captain. “Could an enemy have poisoned them?”
Dath’mar shrugged.
“The farmers employ only the most minimal means of tracking space objects. No vessels have been near since their last medical run three months ago. But any vessel could have come in under stealth and done what ever they may… The farmers tested for terrestrial based and common poisons. They found nothing they could report.”
“Radiation?”
“None.”
The soldier grunted and sat back. For one whose specialty was ground and shipboard-armed combat, he seemed strangely piqued by this mission. Perhaps it stirred up the monotony for him. The captain noted the oddity in the commander’s personality and refocused his attention on the matter at hand.
“Our first course is to get to Galt and assess the situation first hand. I already know no grubbu exist on the non-Imperial worlds between us and there. How long till we are ready for warp flight?”
Hekk shifted, but not out of discomfort.
“My men work to replace the outer hull modules we pulled to access equipment. This will be done within the hour. Then another half an hour for adequate integrity testing. An hour and a half, likely less.”
“Good. Navigator,” Dath’mar addressed the young woman at the end of the flimsy, modular table. “Set a course for Galt when we leave this briefing and have it standing by. We will run at maximum speed to minimize our reaction time. The Empire will not say Pang did not give her best effort.”
Commander Kel’dann looked to his CO again.
“What reprocuctions are we looking at if our…rescue…is not successful?”
“Galt serves the Empire by exporting crops to member worlds throughout our territory. This generates much-needed capitol since the Praxis disaster. It also ensures enough food for livestock that feed the growing Klingon populations…” Dath’mar stifled a small smirk. “WE do not favor vegetables as staples on the dinner plate…”
Gruff chuckles and outright laugher floated about the long room as I’rell finished her data search.
“Two other worlds breed and produce grubbu for export. They are well past Vor’cha Sector. There are no ships currently shipping grubbu in any reported sector.”
Kurvis glowered in thought on the matter. Warriors made poor agricultural think-tank members.
“Are there any other sort of…worm…that we can substitute them with? Surely other worms sh*t fertilizer.”
I’rell tapped another key. The image on her screen cast a green hue over her face in the dim white light of the briefing room. “No other worm is bred in such quantities. Grubbu are specifically used for this purpose. There has never been a planet where they could not be used.”
The captain sat in silence while the rest of his officers brooded over their own thoughts. Likely they thought this was a poor use for a battlecruiser. Let some transport ship handle this, they were likely grousing. But no other ship was within range to deal with this before the onset of the planting season. The Empire’s economy had flattened. It had been floundering since the loss of the Juramik Stretch forty years ago. Praxis had made it all the worse. If Galt fell, it would sew chaos throughout the Empire’s trade economy. Member worlds would lose a vast amount of their market. People would begin to starve. The Empire would again have to plead with the Federation for help, just as they had over the ecological damage to Qo’noS.
“If we cannot replace the worms, then perhaps we can get hold of what they put into the soil.” Dath’mar said lowly, almost a repressed grumble. His men settled their eyes and attention on him. “I will speak with the farming governor and gather more information. Till then, our objectives remain. Reach Galt. Gather real intelligence and then take care of the emergency. This is not a glorious mission, but assisting our worlds bears honor. Let that thought enter your minds while we undertake this action. Stations!”
Officers stood as one and saluted their captain sternly. They began to file out and Dath’mar stood up. Kurvis remained behind to speak with him as the doors closed. Both men smelled of far too long of duty shifts. The First Officer had a sardonic smirk.
“This task is an onerous one, my lord.”
“Yes. Not very song-worthy, is it?”
“No. You accepted it easily?”
“Not without argument. But when the Empire speaks, the Pang reacts. Whatever the reason. You disapprove of our cruiser being used in this way?”
Kurvis seemed to consider before answering.
“It is unusual. But the bulk of our fleet has moved to the Juramik Stretch to reclaim it from the Mirak. We must succeed here just as they must there. I suppose it is the way of things.”
“Yes.” Dath’mar wondered over why his First lingered just to banter this subject. “You have further concerns?”
“Today will be Second Gunner Motek’s first duty shift on the bridge since his…accident.”
“You suspect further insubordination out of him?”
“Only time will say. While emotional, he has a fine record. Your slight to him, however, will be remembered.” There was an unnecessary warning overtone to Kurvis’s words.
“I need no reminder to watch my back.” Dath’mar told the taller officer. “And he will learn to do his duty.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Station!”
Kurvis turned swarthily on his heel and strode out of the briefing room. Dath’mar considered his words and thought about how he would handle future incidents with his second gunner. Beyond this, he had more important, if less glamorous, things to attend to.
The image of the rotund face of Governor Legat of Galt stared back on the small screen in the half-lit recesses of the main communications room. Captain Dath’mar did not initially think much of the short-looking, round bodied man who stood there, looking back at him. He wore tan leathers, no weapon beyond a knife, and stood with the leisurely pose of a civilian who’d never known strife or bloodshed. He reminded Dath’mar far too much of his own chief surgeon.
Once the governor’s first words directed their conversation immediately toward progress, however, the military captain began to form a new opinion of the man.
“We have new results from the latest measure of scans our soil analyst, ran. They found a previously undetected quantity of Solonium-90, an isotope which does not occur naturally on this planet.” The fat man said.
“Source?”
“At first, we could not fathom. There had been no ships here in months. And the isotope was not present at the last scan of our fields. However, we did finally remember a comet that traveled fairly close to our world seventeen months previous. Our computers are primitive, but we were able to build a model that shows that water drifting from the passing tail of the comet likely deposited it over most of the main continent.” A measure of pride peeked through the downtrodden expression of the governor-farmer. He had been thorough and given the Fleet commander something useful to work with. “This Solonium particle has been found to be poisonous to the Grubbu we have left. This is what killed them in the fields.”
“Do you have a method of removing the particle from the soil?”
“We have already begun. With the sifting equipment we have now, it will take over a year, but we are ordering more equipment. We should be operational by the next planting season…”
This farmer indeed knew his business. Dath’mar’s previous disdain for the man’s appearance faded. ‘He is no warrior,’ the captain thought. There was no insult in the thought.
“But now to solve our current problem.” Dath’mar said with a sigh. He leaned back from the screen he stood before and crossed his arms. “Do you have suggestions? We have been unable to locate you another source of Grubbu.”
“They would scarcely be helpful if you did. They would die if we were to try and propagate them into the soil structure. The soil must be cleaned before returning to our established method of soil husbandry. What we need is fertilizer.”
“Fertilizer?” Dath’mar tried not to spit the word.
“Yes, soil with high quantities of sodium nitrate to boost the natural veins of limestone and organic compounds in the primary fields. Some field sectors will yield well for a season without enhanced fertilizers…if we baby them… But there are heavily taxed sectors of cropland, which must have richer fertilizers. We have plenty of manure from our own livestock, but we still need nitrates.”
“Do you have a list of suppliers for this?”
“We have lists of suppliers, but many are too far away to be of assistance. Even if you were able to make the trip at warp nine, it would take months to bring it here. We need the fertilizer in three weeks.”
A flash of anger over the situation flared in the captain’s soul. He did not direct his anger toward the planetary governor, but rather internally. But the farmer saw it just the same and visibly blanched. Dath’mar further furrowed his brow, making his steel eye patch hurt.
“Send us the list of your requirements, including minimal statistics. My science officer will examine it and I shall decide on a course of action.” He finally told the man.
The Klingon governor bowed slightly.
“Thank you, captain. Honor to the Empire.”
Dath’mar nodded back to him simply and turned away as his chief noncom shut down the link. The captain paced very slowly about the room as the three gathered comm officers began to receive the information being transmitted from Galt. He was lost in thought as to how he would acquire the needed fertile dirt for the planet, and more importantly, how to transport it. He had an extensive cargo bay, but it was eighty percent full of supplies and provisions for his extended mission in the Kovarn Reach. As he stepped back and forth in the seven paces long room, the deck shuddered under foot at the passage of his cruiser into warp speed. Hekk had finally gotten squared away and Kurvis had ordered the ship into action. At least now they were doing something. But what next?
“Transmission received, Captain.” One of the high collared enlisted men told their CO. Dath’mar held a hand out for the data chip and took it. Then he passed silently onto the bridge.
The huge bridge was humming with activity as the engineers conferred with the exec as to the status of the drives and the integrity of the hull. Both were apparently fine. This cruiser was old, but certainly not past her prime yet. Dath’mar turned right immediately upon exiting the communications room and halted at the science station. Commander I’rell turned in her chair at the feel of his approach. He handed her the data chip.
“Open this.” He told her.
I’rell nodded and turned her seat back to her wide console. The designer of this bridge had made sure of a lavish sensor/science control panel, which followed the curve of two bulkheads. Two posts manned it when fully staffed. And I’rell demanded a full staff at all hours. As second officer, it was her right. Dath’mar agreed with her. His last command might not have died had there been extra hands at the ship’s eyes when that mercenary had been creeping up on them…
Information began to scroll across the main monitors in red Klingon glyphs. Dath’mar scanned them over only partially, picking out highlights. It was his science officer’s duty to see that he understood the measure of the information within. I’rell was second to none aboard at this task.
“It will take some time to digest all of this data. Some of it may not be useful to us at all, from an operational stand point.” She told him.
“The farmers are thorough.” Was the captain’s comment.
I’rell looked up at him, craning her long neck.
“Yes, my lord.”
Dath’mar left her there and turned for the command chair. If she needed time, he would give it to her. He shouldered into his command chair’s embrace and landed as lightly as ever. He feigned a slouchy behavior, but remained deft as ever. He surveyed his command deck with his one eye. Behind him, the doors parted. To the right of the center seat, the noncom manning Gunner Two straightened and glanced behind. His replacement was coming.
Dath’mar readied himself, his honed warrior’s instinct primed for the moment he may have to roll out of his chair and defend himself. Instead, Lieutenant Second Rank Motek came slowly about the side of the command seat and faced the captain in rigid stance. His balled right first found his heart and shot forth in salute. “Permission to assume my post…Captain.”
“Granted, gunner.”
Motek turned for the station and stepped off the captain’s platform. His stand-in looked up with some confusion as to the exchange, then seemed to shrug. He left the gunnery post to his superior and made for the aft hatch. Dath’mar watched the lieutenant’s stance as he gingerly bent to sit in his seat. He was hurting from the repairs to his belly. Perhaps the injury, and the resulting scar, would teach him order. Or at least compel him not to question his CO in battle.
The shift bore on.
***
--thu guv!
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This is the coolest Klingon mission ever.
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Heh. That's what I told him when he wrote the first version of this.
"What's next? They raid the Romulans for a thousand tons of cattle feed?" ;D :laugh:
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I think the this forum has more skill in writing than most trek writers and Guv's should be the next trek series. Esp. with this Klingon pov in it. Adds flavour to Fords endavours ( ;))
And I know Larry's work (and speculate Andy's too) ties in really well.
OT though: I keep repeating myself but I love the little things you add! The scene with the cook, the miranda convo, the dust in the conference room, the explanation of the dying worms. Details that add to the story, link previous chapters and hint at coming chapters. Great work m8. Leaves me one thing: saying GIMME MORE!
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Thank you much. Hopefully the ending does not fall short of expectations. I remain doubtful whenever it takes me a full year to finish a story. Too many starts and stops, too many frames of mind behind the writing of one tale.
+ Karma btw!
--thu guv!!
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Really cool story. I agree with Rommie in enjoying seeing a "warrior only" crew deal with a distinctly civilian-style mission without Larry's Enlightened/Renaissance Klingon attitudes. ;D (Didn't stop me really enjoying his own farming mission, though.)
Love this line:
He wondered if Starfleet briefings followed this retinue… With each officer hanging on the science specialist’s every word…
Though I don't think you meant to use retinue: "a group of retainers or attendants". Doesn't seem to quite fit. I almost know the word I'm thinking you mean, it's another 're...' word but I can't bring it into my frontal lobes. Maybe 'template', 'pattern', or such would do in the mean time
Minor spelling mistakes: "Repercussions" and again "capital".
Looking forward to more.
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Love this line:
He wondered if Starfleet briefings followed this retinue… With each officer hanging on the science specialist’s every word…
Though I don't think you meant to use retinue: "a group of retainers or attendants". Doesn't seem to quite fit. I almost know the word I'm thinking you mean, it's another 're...' word but I can't bring it into my frontal lobes. Maybe 'template', 'pattern', or such would do in the mean time
Routine, maybe? Ritual? Repertoire (long shot)? The Guv's wonderful story again falling victim to his not so nice auto corrections subroutine? That there is most likely the case, IMHO. When reading the Guv's work, I take it on faith that he knows what he meant. Its enough for me ;)
Guv- Don't be so hard on yourself with the "one year to write this" stuff. So it took you some time. So what? Sometimes, quality takes time. In this case, it took a year or so. Big deal. It'll work itself out in the end, and hopefully we'll see your one eyed monster take up a hoe and sow some seeds (I might need to reword that later... :P)
I really do enjoy reading your works. Grimmy already said, and with much different words, what I would have said, but it is true. :notworthy: :notworthy: This isn't a warrior story in the typical sense. But, in typical Klingon fashion, they are battling the elements, some dead worms, and time. While it may not be as action packed as the Pang decimating and desecrating the last of the Ya'Weenies, they're still locked in battle, and the Empire is at stake if they fail. Pretty good, if you ask me.
Czar "New 'puppy' = No free time on my free time days" Mohab, who would have responded sooner, but the pup's a handful and a half; and the jerks at work installed some big brother programs, so no more posts from work...
P.S. 8 m.o. G. Sheppard/Hound mix (I think blood, could be tick or coon, too early to tell) with ZERO training, no skills, and came from a not-so-happy home. [/color]
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Replaced retinue with itinerary. Not sure what exact word I was trying for at the time. As Andy said...some re-word.
As to spelling mistakes...I need not worry. I have Andy.
Glad the unusual mission is apprieciated. The warrior is not well suited to such a task, and Dath'mar thinks almost only in military terms. Thus the solution he brings about.
I think the Enlightened/Renaissance discription is among the best for Larry's Klingon bunch. The ideals of Commander La'ra certainly affect his crew and thus they are very much different from Klingons seen in any film/series. This is why his tales stand out so well.
Dath'mar is in some ways very much the typical Klingon you see in Trek, but I work very hard to take all the stereotypical failings of Trek Klinks out of his make up. He has flaws, but not because he's an idiot brought in to be the story's bad guy. He may be someone's badguy, but he believes he's the good guy so long as he carries out the will of the Empire.
Of course, there are some things even Dath'mar won't do...
--thu guv!
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Here's y'all some more.
CH. 5
Two briefings in one day. The main briefing room had gone from being unused to being quite popular. This minor piece of irony was not lost on Captain Dath’mar as he seated himself at the far head of the table, furthest from the door. At his left sat Kurvis, who still looked bored with this mission and ready for more manly pursuit. To his right, before the computer access terminal was Commander I’rell.
The science officer was positively beaming. She evidently found delight in research, or at the very least found pleasure in making use of the olds ship’s extensive memory banks. One of the few things emulated of the Federation’s Starfleet was their propensity to record every bit of trivial detail and keep it in their computers. One never knew when the fate of an entire battlecruiser might rely on knowledge of the atomic weight of a neutron or some other blasted bit of irrelevant information.
Dath’mar cast his one eye over his officers and let it come to rest on his science chief.
“You called us here.” He told her, his voice a tired sounding drone. “Speak.”
I’rell nodded deeply and keyed on the computer screen. Having learned from her previous attempts with this ancient interface, the lieutenant commander had placed it on standby so she wouldn’t have to delay the briefing while she waited for the machine to warm up. “I have researched the worlds of the Empire which possess rich veins of sodium nitrate, suitable to our needs.”
The ship’s surgeon glanced up from his own access monitor to question her. This was the first mission briefing he’d attended on this ship during Dath’mar’s command. It was likely that he possessed little information about their current assignment. “Sodium nitrate. Is that not a commonly found on nearly every world?”
“Yes, Surgeon.” I’rell answered. She shot at him a short eye that told of her displeasure at his interruption. The fat man did little more than shrug at the dark look on her face. “But not in such quantities that it can be mined and shipped to other worlds. Worlds with such an abundance are rare. At least in our Quadrant. I have found two which are within range to meet our mission parameters.”
This was what Dath’mar wanted to hear.
“The first?”
“Ordella II. A Class N world. Minor life forms, limited vegetation. The House of Tor maintains a small prospecting outpost there, marking tracts for future mining. Some mining has already begun there, though since the destruction of Praxis, little has been accomplished, as the minerals there are not used in starship construction. The prospecting teams located a rich vein of sodium nitrate two years ago and marked it for extraction.”
The cruiser captain sat back in his cheep chair and studied I’rell as she paused.
“I take it there is a reason we won’t be getting our fertilizer from this world.”
The science officer nodded again, pressing a key on her control pad to activate a wall mounted viewer. The red tinted monitor displayed every asset the planet possessed. There was little there. Not even an Imperial escort ship was maintained in orbit. Only a few disruptor cannon pointed to space provided defense for the worthless lump of rock. Dath’mar scowled as he read over the listed progress of the teams living there. I’rell looked at them all and settled again on her CO. “If we want any nitrate from this world, we will have to dig it out ourselves. Sodium nitrate is not needed in battlecruiser construction, and therefor, like every other mineral on this planet, has not been mined. No attempt whatsoever has been made to extract more than a sample of anything on Ordella.”
Kurvis growled at the setback.
“Can we not blast our own mining shaft and beam out the mineral?”
“Even at their lowest settings, our weaponry would vaporize most of the material in question, and spread the rest to the four winds. Whatever was left would be irradiated.” I’rell answered. She was indeed thorough.
Dath’mar found himself looking searchingly at his science officer.
“You mentioned a second world.”
“Yes.” The commander replied simply. She made an adjustment on her control panel and another planet became pictured on the wall viewer. “Chetell III.”
Kurvis pounded the table with a gloved fist. Dath’mar remained silent but mentally echoed the reaction of his First Officer. Kurvis thundered as he pointed in accusation at the revolving green world.
“Chetell III is in Gorn space!”
Dath’mar held up his own leather clad hand to silence the chorus of groans and complaints rounding the table. He looked over to his science officer, glaring through bored-looking miasma as he studied her. “Do you expect us to fly in there and ask nicely for their dirt?”
“No, my lord.” I’rell answered, lowering her eyes in obeisance. Dath’mar continued to look her over. She did not avert her eyes out of fear, but embarrassment at her comrades’ reactions. The captain looked back to the planet on the viewer.
“Can we not open negotiations with the Gorn?” Asked the surgeon. “Surely they’d sell fertilizer.”
Kurvis practically snarled at the doctor.
“Should we go crawling to the lizards on our knees, asking for dirt for our farms?” The First Officer was normally so much more reserved. Dath’mar found it telling that his exec’s patience did not extend to missions such as this. He was somewhat young for his advanced rank.
“I do not suggest begging!” Retorted the doctor. “There is a such a thing as trading!”
Hekk got in on the loud bickering as Dath’mar watched it blossom before him. He found their near-yelling oddly soothing… “And what might the Gorn accept of us? We have approached them, years in the past. They would take nothing for their possessions and chased away our trade ships under fire! They are more territorial, even than us! They will not barter with us.”
Kurvis showed a grin full of sharp fangs.
“Then we will take it by force!”
The captain held up another staying hand to quiet his officers. He looked to I’rell.
“But acquiring our dirt isn’t the only problem, is it, Science Officer?”
I’rell looked up from her screens.
“No, my lord. The main problem is in transporting it. The Pang has space for four hundred and seventy metric tons of ore. IF…we empty our bay of our supplies. The Galt colony requires a minimum of three thousand metric tons of sodium nitrate to yield enough crop to meet the lowest requirements demanded of them.”
This news sounded among them as a death knell for their hopes. The mission may not have been one made for glory, but no warrior could stomach failing even a task such as this. Dath’mar looked to Hekk. The engineer saw the unvoiced question and shook his head. No more cargo could be crammed aboard this ship. 470 metric tons was all a D-7 was built to carry. What they needed was a cargo ship.
“Are there any cargo vessels in the area we can commandeer?” He asked.
It was Kurvis who replied, having most of the sector’s strategic information memorized.
“Goesa’vaina has several cargo ships. But they are all of low warp capabilities. They would just be getting to Chetell when the farmers needed their fertilizer. We would be weeks late.”
Dath’mar glanced again to Hekk.
“Can we tow a cargo ship any faster with three thousand metric tons of ore?”
“No. And our structure couldn’t take it even if we tried.” Was the engineer’s reply.
The new chief gunner also added her voice.
“Even if we could tow a cargo ship to Chetell with us, the Gorn would chew it to pieces.”
Dath’mar nodded. The young woman would make a fine officer. No, cargo ships were out of the question. Pang must do this herself, even if she only had a fraction of the necessary space. He would find a way to accomplish this task. He looked again to his right, to I’rell.
“Tactical information on Chetell.”
“One frigate on constant patrol in and around the system. The planet serves as a necessary breeding grounds for stock animals which they feed on. They farm plants for those animals to eat. No ground defenses have ever been observed, but as the planet has no strategic value, the Empire has not expended many resources looking. We would have to make our own scans for more current and useful intelligence.”
The captain nodded to her. The fat surgeon was jostling about as though he was about to speak. Dath’mar looked his way. “Should we not at least speak with the Gorn? Perhaps they will sell us what we need. Risking the crew of this cruiser in an unworthy battle, to claim a load of dirt is…dishonorable.”
Dath’mar cracked the side of his face open with a smirk.
“I doubt any attempt at contacting the reclusive Gorn would yield much fruit. They would ignore our hails as they often have. Should they be curious enough to listen to our broadcasts, they will assuredly turn us down as any destabilizing factor in our Empire makes their own Hegemony that much safer.” The captain looked again to the small green planet on the viewer before them. The surgeon clenched his lips shut in silent anger. “Also…any hail would only serve to warn them that we are coming. We cannot get our dirt from an Imperial world, so we must take it from the Gorn. The First Officer and Science Officer will go to the main observation chamber and direct our tactical sensors to Chetell III to gain all strategic knowledge we need for this attempt. Engineer Hekk will join me on the bridge. All other officers will resume their duties. Stations!”
As the other officers stood and began to slowly file out the main exit into the corridor beyond, Dath’mar halted I’rell with a look. She was shutting down the aged science computer and her lips parted a bit when he looked at her. He slowly stood from his small chair and looked down from his towering height over her. “Very good, science officer.”
Other scientists might not have included information on worlds outside the Empire in their briefings. Their captains would have to venture the idea on their own and then made the science officer scramble to get him the intel he needed. I’rell had practically suggested the raid. Dath’mar admired skill.
“Thank you, sir.” She said back. She held his gaze a second longer, then made to leave behind the First Officer.
Captain Dath’mar repaired to the bridge.
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CH. 5 [part 2]
“Course change, Captain?”
Dath’mar looked up as his navigations chief, Lieutenant Ger’shall, spoke out from the pilot stations. Ger’shall had been present at the briefing and followed him back to the bridge. From the general conversation during the briefing, she’d taken her captain to mean that they were now going to Chetell.
“No. Maintain course for Galt.”
Ger’shall seemed momentarily confused, but nodded back and bent to her astrogation panels. The helmsman looked from her to the captain, but said nothing. Dath’mar crossed the expanse of the bridge deck and leaned close to his chief engineer. Hekk looked back up to him from the master control position.
“Draw up Pang’s schematics.” He told the chief.
Hekk nodded, his long, flowing grey locks bobbling with the motion.
An image of the Pang’s exterior appeared on his primary monitor. Hekk opened the basic deck outlines and displayed them to the captain. Dath’mar studied the cargo section on Engineering Hull Level Nine. “These partition bulkheads are collapsible, yes?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Do we gain any space in deleting them?”
Hekk’s brows bobbled as he input the storage parameters into the computer.
“About one metric ton.”
The captain growled beneath his breath. He reached down and began to scroll through other red lit deck plans. He paused on Level Seven. “What of filling the Sparring Room, Fitness Chamber, and the Weapons Proficiency Room?”
Now Hekk looked up to his commander as though the man had lost his mind.
“You know how long it would take to clean out all the dust from our equipment were we to bring nitrates above the cargo deck?”
Dath’mar chuckled gruffly, still staring at the deck plans, arms crossed.
“We’ll have a planet full of grateful farmers to help us sweep. Run the figures.”
Hekk returned his hands to the glowing keys. Again he shook his head.
“That gives us roughly nine hundred twenty metric tons of space. Still insufficient.”
Dath’mar tapped another key, bringing up Deck Eight. Hekk’s face blanched. Would the captain fill the entire ship up with dirt? “The assault transporter section and the staging area. Add those figures.”
Hekk felt like weeping. Those transporters would take weeks to get running right again. It was hard to keep the old things running as it was…
“One thousand, six hundred metric tons.”
Another key, another schematic. Hekk moaned.
“Deck Five, Qas Dev’ Quarters.”
“Where will our marines sleep?!”
“On Galt. Add the figures!”
Hekk tapped the math into the computer and read the results. Perhaps when the captain saw they could not possibly do this, he’d stop thinking on filling the ship with foul minerals. “Two thousand, four hundred and fifty metric tons.”
This was close to the three thousand needed by the farmers. But three thousand had been a minimum figure… Dath’mar pressed another key. “Science labs.”
“Science labs!”
“You feel like running any extra experiments today?”
Hekk returned to plying the control panel. Exasperation filled his voice. “No, Captain.” Another figure appeared on the screen in sharp Klingon numericals. “Two thousand, six hundred and eighty tons.”
Shaking his own head, Dath’mar called up one final deck outline.
“Hanger Deck.”
“Three thousand, four hundred tons.”
The captain at last seemed satisfied. He turned away from the engineering station, casting his final instructions over his shoulder. “Make the final preparations and do what you can to prevent unnecessary equipment damage. And bring me accurate figures on how long sight to sight transport of the ore will take using all transporters under cloak.”
Hekk turned his seat fully about to look upon his CO in amazement. The captain would go to every length to ensure this mission’s success. He found an incredulous grin creeping onto his face. “That will take a great amount of power. We’ll be sitting targ for the Gorn, cloaked or not.”
“Just bring me the figures.” Dath’mar cast back to the engineer as he settled lazily into the command chair. His single eye burned a hole into the image of stars shooting across his main viewer. The end of this ordeal could not come soon enough.
***
The mess hall on Deck Six was full of the ship’s hands. The division between officers and enlisted was not so defined on most of the Empire’s cruisers. Pang was no exception, and her many long, oaken tables were packed with warriors of various rank and posting. The ship’s galleys had been ordered to turn out a great meal for her crew. In part, it was celebration for a long and successful deployment in enemy space. It was also, many said, in consolation for the mission they were currently embarked on.
The majority of the crew seemed to care little for the reason. The food was heaped upon the wooden planks and the barrels of bloodwine continued to roll out of the ship’s stores to lubricate their mood. The general consensus among the ship’s compliment was that their enigmatic, vengeful captain set a good table and brought them much glory.
The noise level in the great hall was unequalled when the third shift, including most of the medical staff, arrived. Songs drifted amid the sounds of loud conversation. The smell of meat, both roasted and raw, filled the musky air and gave the entire room a ravenous humor. The newly arriving off-shift quickly set about securing themselves utensils, platters, tankards and seats amid the great throng packed into the room. There abounded so much fresh meat that the crew estimated at least half of the live targs on board must have met the butcher’s blade.
The crew was entirely festive.
Save for one, brooding man freshly relieved of his shift on the bridge.
Lieutenant Second Motek allowed his tall bulk to crash down on the back-less bench seat of one of the outlying tables of reveling warriors and threw his wooden plate out before him in sullen disgust. His face was dark with anger and he joined in none of the conversation or song that passed about the mess. But no where in this room could he escape his fellow crew, and he did not feel like carting his meal conspicuously down the corridors to his own cabin to eat. He also did not feel like enduring further questioning from his bunkmate, Hodis.
For some minutes, Motek allowed himself to believe he might actually get to spend his time eating without words. The arrival of the ship’s surgeon altered that faulty perception. The great oaf bulled his way amid lower ranking crew to make himself a place at Motek’s table and plopped down a great platter rounded over with food. The fat doctor’s hunger apparently knew no bounds. He had piled on generous helpings of targ flank, heart of targ, ipious claw, keldad squid and hammer crab. All of this was set to motion by the writhing mass of gagh that had been thrown atop all of the rest. With great glee in his eyes, the surgeon speared a hunk of bloody, gravy coated targ with his prong-fork and held it up before his chubby cheeks. The meat was quickly shoveled in with one mighty motion and then chewed with great gusto and much sloppy, wet smacking. Blood and grease ran unchecked, and likely unnoticed down the fat doctor’s hairless chin and into his long-handled mustache. Motek had seen some men with manners approaching the Surgeon’s, but thankfully he’d seen few of them. The fat man looked up to his fellow shipmates.
“Our captain certainly sets a fine table!”
Motek scoffed, looking away. It’d been a mistake. Now the doctor had noticed him.
“You do not think so, Motek? Don’t tell me your pride still aches over your little wound.” There was slight mockery in the way the Surgeon looked across the table to the now junior weapons officer. The lieutenant glared back with heated passion.
“Our captain is an inglorious coward.” He growled back. Several of those nearest him looked upon him warily. There was no known Imperial Security presence here aboard the Pang, but then, one never knew. Such statements and opinions in a public venue could be dangerous. Motek went on, unafraid. “He took advantage of a man who was seated and not expecting an attack.”
“You were dangerously insubordinate in a combat environment!” The Surgeon thundered back, his blood rising. He reached up with the back of a gloved hand to wipe targ drizzle from his round, knobby chin. “I’ve served on cruisers where the captain would have simply shot you at your first outburst.”
“He should have!” Motek returned. “A warrior would have responded to my threat at the time it was made, not wait for my guard to be down!”
There was a silence growing amid those closest to the weapons officer. It went unnoticed by Motek. He continued to stare down the doctor. The Surgeon could not be set back or put off.
“A lesser man might have endangered his ship that way. Dath’mar did not!”
“There was no danger from that ship. It was defenseless prey.”
The chubby man’s eyes narrowed.
“Short lived is the fool that underestimates his prey.”
Motek cocked his head at the intolerable chief medic.
“You seem very full of love for our gallant captain, Surgeon. I wonder how many here would join you in your sentiment should they learn why we are enjoying such a repast today.” Only now did the gunner pause to take in the view of all those about him that were listening. He had the attention of all those within a table’s length of him. Still others were closing in, platters in hand. Most of the hall still busied itself with food and song. Motek leered at all those he saw looking back. “He’s clearing room. He is going to have to make up enough space aboard ship to fill her with dirt. Our storage sections, cargo bays, practice rooms, equipment sections and quarters… He’s going to fill them all to capacity with fertilizer!”
“sh*t?” Asked a nearby Bekk. The Surgeon shot the boy a glance.
“Sodium nitrate. Little more than coarse salt.”
“Whatever!” The irate gunner spat. “It does not belong outside the cargo bay! Our captain offers his ship to assist foolish farmers who are letting their crops die so he can alleviate himself of further combat against his enemy!”
The Surgeon’s eyes narrowed darkly.
“Our commanding officer has sought out more combat than any previous captain of the Pang… He follows the orders of the Empire. Which is more than I’d say of you. You are little more than an insolent to’pah, who questions his masters without cause. I now see why the captain stabbed you.”
Motek could only glare back in response. He could see that the majority of the officers and men around him agreed with the doctor. Let them all rot in the pits of Grethor! The captain was a cowardly hunter and his tactics were without focus against the enemy. He attacked many things, targets without challenge, and they ultimately had done little to the Ya’wenn. Fifteen crew had died in this campaign, and there were few gains from their deaths.
At last the second gunner stood and snatched his platter from the wooden tabletop. He no longer cared what Hodis asked. Eating in seclusion in his own cabin was preferable to this rabble.
The medical officer watched the young lieutenant go, stalking away in defeat. The boy was dangerous. He’d be more dangerous should he convince others to follow his ideas. This was what led to gross and bloody mutinies. Dissention among the ranks was nothing new, but this boy believed himself smarter than all his superiors. And he wanted to prove it.
Questions of how to cure this problem circled about in the Surgeon’s mind as he again turned to shoveling food into his hungry mouth. The men about him were laughing nervously now that the child was gone and the doors closed once more. They would soon be thinking of better things, their encounter with Motek forgotten. What to do? He could approach the captain. He didn’t want the young man dead, but he’d eventually get there on his own if he continued to follow his present path. There was Kurvis, the First Officer. Kurvis was discrete in most matters. He wondered how the commander might fare in turning the boy’s aggression to wiser pursuits.
After a few minutes, though, the Surgeon abandoned this line of thought. The food before him was far too good to drown his enjoyment with such thoughts. Let the boy stew for now. There was as great a repast to be had as ever there had been aboard this mighty cruiser. The doctor was determined to enjoy it to the utmost.
--thu guv!!
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I think the Enlightened/Renaissance discription is among the best for Larry's Klingon bunch. The ideals of Commander La'ra certainly affect his crew and thus they are very much different from Klingons seen in any film/series. This is why his tales stand out so well.
Thank you. ;)
I'm not sure I'd have picked the word 'enlightened', but it fits in a way. I sort of imagine La'ra and crew are cultural fringers, in a way. They're far removed from the 'core' of the Empire, on the borders where their upbringing becomes less practical than the here and now. As Sisko grew more aggressive, less 'principled' in such a situation on DS9, La'ra and crew end up seeming more mellow than your typical Klink.
I don't think any of that should be applied to how intelligent they seem, however. As you said, dumb Klinks are bad writing, and I discard such nonsense as I see fit.
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Uh-oh! Trouble brewing with that boy for sure. We actually got to see that the doctor is not just an affable fat fool - he actually has a brain in there, even if it is crowded out dinosaur-style after glutting himself... ;D
I was having an issue with the paltry cargo capacity of the D7, but then I remembered: dirt is bulky! it literally is not a matter of weight as space. Fooled me there, but I caught up! :D
I can see Dath'mar's future wife at divorce hearings...
"How was I to know he was a ruthless sadist with a grudge? He seemed like such a good man. He was fond of his targ... " :D
Looking forward to more.
(Is hoping Czar is pleased I can comment without nitpicking grammer and speeling)
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(Is hoping Czar is pleased I can comment without nitpicking grammer and speeling)
I am stunned!
--guv!
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Here's y'all some more unmemorable work to read ;)
CH. 6
Lieutenant Hekk tried to stand as tall and straight as his aged tendons would allow before the captain’s scrutiny. Dath’mar did not look pleased with the figures he’d just outlined. For now the younger man simply sat there at the desk, looking back at him with that one, piercing eye. The small, garish light that illuminated the CO’s anteroom shone off the unpolished steel plate that covered the other orb. Dath’mar was unnerving enough with just the one eye.
At last the captain adjusted his position in his seat and grunted. He looked away.
“Two hours… Beaming in dirt.”
“You asked for the figures of how long it would take to beam it up while under cloak. I also have the figures for time while decloaked.” Hekk offered. Dath’mar returned his eye to the engineer.
“And?”
“Twenty minutes.”
Dath’mar rolled his eye and went back to staring at the dark bulkhead.
“Twenty minutes, unshielded under the guns of a Gorn warship. Pang would be destroyed.”
Hekk shrugged. He was relatively secure he had a better idea on how to proceed.
“We would be far more vulnerable trying this under cloak. The Gorn would not take much time to locate us on their scanners once we activated all our transporters. Site to site transport costs a great deal of energy. Such expenditure will bleed through the best cloak. Uncloaked, we can return fire and even deploy our dorsal and aft shields.”
The captain looked back to the engineer. There was a hint of surprise upon his normally impassive face. “Our shields will not slow the transport cycle?”
“All transporter nodes are built into ventral facing positions aboard the latest refit of the D-7. Were we to lower only the ventral facing, we would add only another ten minutes to the total time.”
Dath’mar listened to the engineer’s explanation and nodded.
“I will take your data into consideration when I devise the plan.” This was as close to praise as many Klingon commanders ever came. Hekk was satisfied. “You are due back in Engineering?”
“Yes.”
“Station.”
Hekk saluted, bringing his withered, clenched fist to his breast and shooting it forth before him. Dath’mar returned the gesture before the engineer turned and removed himself from the captain’s cabin. This new captain was much different than any other the old engineer had served with. He was approachable in matters dealing with duty or the ship. He kept to himself during meal times, a habit different from many but not unheard of. He was reserved and quiet. One might have labeled him moody, but he seemed to only have variations of one particular, dark mood. Hekk pondered the man and their unusual mission as he entered the close by lift and set it for the engineering deck.
***
Commander Kurvis squinted in the gloom of his quarters at the fat Surgeon who sat before him. Like his captain, Kurvis took care of most administration matters in the comfort of his cabin’s small anteroom office. He did not favor the doctor’s visit, nor did he enjoy what was being relayed to him.
“You want me to…talk to the Second Gunner?”
“His disgruntled outbursts amid the crew are bad for morale…” The Surgeon warned forcefully, leaning over the short desk and pointing to a blank spot of the plastic surface. “And very dangerous should he find those he can convert to his way of thinking!”
“You believe him capable of leading a mutiny?”
Doubt tugged at the doctor’s features. He obviously did not think he should take things that far just yet. But, then, he’d already broached the subject. “Perhaps. But I do not know.”
Kurvis stood up to his full height behind his desk. A light played in the Surgeon’s eyes. There was doubt and worry there. He did not know what sort of box he had just opened on the unsuspecting Second Gunner. The First Officer pegged the fat man with an iron stare. “Surgeon, if a member of this crew is openly taking a stance against his captain, then it must be dealt with. Harshly. What has he done so far?”
“He has merely voiced his opinions…loudly.”
“He spouts dissention?”
“He is dissatisfied!”
“Then perhaps I can arrange for his satisfaction.” The doctor shook his wildly maned head. He hadn’t bargained for such a heavy-handed solution to the matter. Still yet, he had no idea what Kurvis had in mind. The First took some measure of amusement out of the unsettled expression now shining upon the fat Klingon’s face. “You have done your duty and brought this to my attention. I will now do mine and inform the Captain. I will make my own recommendation…then the Captain will decide what to do.”
“The last time he dealt with Motek, the captain damned near killed him!”
“And he may yet finish the job, Surgeon.” Kurvis told him resolutely. “This is a Klingon warship, not a pleasure liner. We don’t issue demerits for poor behavior. If a man crosses the wrong line, he may pay the ultimate price for his failure.”
Now the surgeon’s lips took on a sullen twist.
“He does not deserve death for being angry! Motek may become a fine officer. He is an excellent gunner, and the Empire would do well to keep a man of his skill in a position where he might still do good—“
Kurvis slid his black service gloves on and turned back to the irate doctor.
“Enough, Doctor. The decision belongs to the Captain. Not you or I. I’m headed to the bridge.”
***
The drone of the mighty engines dulled and dropped almost below the frequency of hearing as the IKS Pang slowed to sublight speed and settled in above the brown and green farming world of Galt. The Pang eased in to a close orbit to better facilitate the transport of the bulk of her crew to the surface. The cruiser’s mission still lay before her, and this stop over would allow her to better complete that task.
Captain Dath’mar materialized in the midst of a small, open pasture. A wide expanse of fenced in dirt surrounded him and his science officer as they surveyed the area around them. The captain had worn his field cloak, but it soon proved unnecessary in the damp heat of this forested world.
The governor of Galt was quick to appear before them from within the confines of a low, wide trussed barn full of Keddek. He wore riding leathers and long armed gloves for handling the biting, long legged Keddek riding beasts. On his lined, fat face, he bore a happy grin. “Ah, Captain! Lieutenant Commander! I am happy you have arrived.”
“You are informed of my plans?” Dath’mar asked of him. I’rell said nothing, watching passively.
“Yes, Captain. A wide area is ready for the encampment of your men, and a sector of the forest has been cordoned off for their military and hunting exercises. Will they need no further supply?”
Dath’mar looked off over the close horizon. With all of the trees and the tall hills of the terrain, this planet did not appear so big. But after months of confinement on a cruiser, it felt…alien. There was so much space. The smell of dirt and manure differed so greatly from the stale smell of recycled air, the musk of warriors and the sweet taint of leather. Time on this world would not be unpleasant.
“Our men will have ample supply from ship’s stores. The rest I expect them to acquire on their own. You will keep a detailed log of all transgressions precipitated by the men. I will review them on my return.”
“Do you expect trouble, Captain?”
“I expect them to behave as men who have been cooped u on a battlecruiser for half a year.” The captain replied to the farmer. Governor Legat smiled in that knowing way, belonging to the old and wise.
“Of course, Captain. They are starved for activity…of the kind not belonging aboard ship.”
Dath’mar studied them for a time, then nodded. The farmer understood. The captain nodded once. “Indeed.”
“I don’t believe there will be any problem.” The governor told him with confidence. “We have had cruisers lay over for shore leave before.”
Dath’mar turned away from the older man and studied the flow of the land. The hills drew his eye. They reminded him of his home in the midlands of Qo’noS. He had not seen the homeworld in some decades. Perhaps when his vengeance was sated.
Commander I’rell stepped up as the captain pondered the future, her tricorder raised in question. The captain gave her a nod and stepped away. The old governor studied the young science officer appreciatively. “Governor. We have located a source of sodium nitrate of level one purity. We have ascertained that Pang can extract and carry thirty-four hundred tons of raw nitrate. This will meet your requirements?”
Legat smiled gratefully as he nodded.
“Oh yes, Lieutenant Commander. We would require much more bulk in fertilized soil, but that amount of raw nitrate will more than suffice. How have you come by such an amount?”
“We are going to borrow it from our neighbors.” I’rell told him simply. Legat studied her for a moment. His face bloomed with understanding. He knew exactly what these warriors were about to risk for his colony’s success. He seemed to sober considerably and slouched a bit more. Dath’mar said nothing as usual. He continued to ponder the roll of the lands and the height of the trees.
I’rell glanced to her captain and watched him. He was stoic, like the warriors from tales of old. He said little, and when he bothered to speak, there were no excess words. He spoke only of the matters of immediate concern. She wondered if he had any friends. Likely not, given most of his former crew was dead, or spread out in assignments with the far-flung Klingon Fleet. None of his previous officers had followed him to this assignment. The science officer did not know whether it had been their choice, Dath’mar’s or the Fleet’s. After all, the captain never spoke of it.
Standing there, silhouetted against the brilliance of the horizon, the setting sun of to his left, Captain Dath’mar looked the very picture of loneliness.
Governor Legat stepped in closer to the slim young science officer. “While the captain enjoys the sunset, my dear, let’s go and look at the area set aside for your Qas Dev’. There will be plenty of game for them to stalk, and varied terrain for exercise. Will you be beaming down your ground skimmers?”
I’rell glanced to the old farmer in surprise.
“Yes. The captain wants all the space in our bays. That included the two armored cars. Why?”
“I was once a marine myself. I was assigned to an assault battalion specializing in armored vehicles.” The leader told her as they passed over the rough, rocky ground, headed for the thick forest.
“You were a marine?”
Legat looked back to her, amusement in his small eyes.
“You seem surprised.”
“You do not seem a warrior.”
Legat nodded as he looked back ahead of them. For a man of his height, he cleared a lot of territory with his fast gait. I’rell was already beginning to sweat in the humid air. “I joined the Imperial Fleet to bring honor to my family. My father had done the same, and was proud. He’d been maimed in the Mirak wars. My service made his years waiting to die more tolerable. He enjoyed stories of my adventures, especially tales of battles against the Mirak. I think he died a happier man for my efforts. I never rose to officer ranks, but my tenure among the Qas Dev’ was a good one.”
They began to near a collection of supply sheds and heavier buildings. A long, barbed fence of wire divided the flatter land from the hilly, wooded parts beyond. Legat pointed to a section of the fence where the posts were set in pairs. “The fencing can be dismantled at that point to access the rest of the settlement. Should your Qas DevwI' wish to include the colony’s towns in his exercises, we will cooperate. All bear arms, including the Ulder’ni and the Anarians.”
“You have subject races here?” I’rell asked. She’d yet to see any evidence of any but Klingons here since beam-down. The farmer nodded.
“Oh, yes. A farming colony cannot get along without them. Most work the lower lands where our machines cannot go for fear of becoming stuck in the mud. They will be returning before nightfall.”
I’rell thought of how much different life must be out here amid the frontier…on a colony… One hardly noticed aliens from other worlds on Qo’noS. They kept to themselves and seldom stayed on the homeworld any longer than their business demanded. But out here, work and the demands of a thriving and essential colony brought Klingons and the races they protected and governed together on a daily basis. Compared to life aboard a cruiser, the thought of this seemed fascinating and a little repulsive to the science officer.
The governor also brought forth interest from the commander. He had been in the fleet, been a marine… Now he planted crops and lived the life of an Imperial Subject. He’d traded his disruptor for a trowel. The most confusing part of this enigma to the officer was the fact that Legat seemed unbothered by the difference. The larger man halted at the fence line. The sizzle of Pang’s transporters came to their ears as a group of nine warriors laden with gear faded into view. The Qas DevwI' had brought his command party down and was about to prepare for the transport of the rest of his marines. I’rell watched on as Commander Kel’dann began to bark orders to his subordinates. The lower officers began to drop their packs to the thick grass and drag out the items they’d need first. Soon, they had rudimentary field communications and sensors in operation.
“So you left the Imperial Service to become the governor of a farm?” I’rell asked Legat as they watched the marines do their work. Another squad beamed in before them and began to fan out into the first three search/recon parties.
Legat smirked and glanced aside at her.
“Not exactly. I used my training as a Petty Officer to land a job in management and administration back on the homeworld. This led me to the Agriculture and Colonization Bureau. They propelled me to my current standing, and when Galt became available as a posting, I took it!”
“I don’t understand how such a posting would appeal after a tour in the Fleet.” I’rell said, deciding to get right to the crux of her confusion. “Surely your warrior’s heart led you to become a warrior.”
“Yes.”
“And you willingly left the Fleet…” She probed. He offered no argument, so she went on. “To become the leader of a farm.”
Legat nodded grandly. Pride showed on his face.
“The governor of the biggest farm planet in three sectors!”
I’rell could feel the man’s pride in his accomplishments here. Was he as proud of his former life as a soldier? She wondered whether or not to question him further. But she had duties to attend to. Hers was the responsibility of taking the Qas DevwI’s first report and detailing his further needs for this deployment. The captain seemed to be a reasonably patient man, but she did not wish to test him by delaying her report.
With a motion to the gate, she prompted the farm governor to dismantle the fence for them to enter. They made their way down the gentle slope to the burgeoning campsite.
***
Captain Dath’mar was leaning on a fence, still looking to where the sun had sank in the west when his science officer returned, tricorder in hand. He knew her by the sound of her approach and did not need to look at her. She drew to a halt and awaited his acknowledgement of her existence. When he said nothing for nearly a minute, she coughed slightly and scuffed the ground with her armored boots. He hid his amusement and looked back to her.
“Learn anything useful, science officer?”
“The Qas DevwI’ states that he will initiate a surprise attack drill tonight with the shuttlecraft we are leaving behind. He wishes to test his marines’ response times in unfamiliar terrain after all their work in setting up base camp—“
“I did not mean about our men and how they’re going to play around while we are gone.”
I’rell stopped and stared a moment. Her face showed the thought processing in her mind.
“The Governor?”
“Yes.”
“He is proficient, more so than I thought a farmer might be. He was once a warrior.”
“I thought as much. Qas Dev?”
“Yes, he was a marine.”
“And yet he chose to live a life amid dirt and plants and barnyard animals…” Dath’mar’s statement might have denoted confusion, but he did not feel any. He could see the appeal in this life. It was…peaceful. This was not a notion that had ever called out to him before. He was a born warrior, a soldier of the Empire. But the idea of spending his life on this ball of dirt did not seem so bad. Perhaps if death did not find him in service, perhaps he would wait for it on a world such as this one. He’d still prefer to meet his end in battle, though.
“Will the marines require further supply?” He asked finally.
“No. Commander Kel’dann states that he has all that he needs. I suspect he has intentionally left his camp short in some supplies to further test the resolve of his troops.”
The captain nodded and abandoned his prop against the aged wooden fence. He faced his science officer. “Then we leave.”
I’rell nodded, handing her captain a chip containing her report. She drew out her communicator and keyed it on. “I’rell to Pang. The captain and I are coming up.”
And so they left Galt and its fresh air.
***
--thu guv
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Well, now we get to see the contemplative side of the Burning One. A nice little introspective piece. I like and dislike I'rell's puzzlement at the same time. The attitude is good, but seems kinda wrong on her somehow.
Legat's attitude is pretty cool too. Klingon psychology differs from author to author, but I too am puzzled why a Klingon marine would be happy on a farming planet. He is informative about events, but not motivations. I am wanting to know the same as I'rell.
I'd write more comments, but I've already forgotten most of it. ::)
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I hope to present Dath'mar as a 3-Dimensional character. He has martial prowess, but I do not simply want to present him as 'the brooding badass'. His dark and silent demeanor is, in many ways...just an act. And he admits it to himself, and strangely allows the Surgeon to see past this. His persona has been changed a lot by his 10 years of being a prisoner/rebel on Kovarn. He doesn't relish wanton, unnecessary death among his people any more. He is actually beginning to learn that death in battle might not be the only way for his life to end.
I'rell, on another hand, is a very good scientist. This does not, however, mean that she is not a pure warrior. In the future I may have opertunity to show her more martial side, which only peeks out in this episode. I toyed with a scene in this story that would certainly have showed her capacity for melee, but I have thus far axed it. I may still write it to show as an alternate scene... She is genuinely confused about colony life, and like you, does not understand how a marine would go back to live on a farm world.
As to the Governor, I wanted to show that side of Klingon life barely hinted at. The Klink who's life's ambition was not to be a warrior. He joined because it was his family's tradition to do so, but never intended to make it his sole route in life. Much like a person in RL joining the Reserves, he did it for the experience, and for the tools it gave him for his future. Don't expect to see that placed in the story verbatum, however. The story really isn't about the Governor. He's just there for flavor.
glad you liked!
--guv!!
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Here's y'all some more unmemorable work to read
Hehe... Just so you know, I have been reading this and enjoying it very much! I agree with what Rommie said earlier: best Klingon mission ever. :D
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*bows graciously*
--guv!
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And this from a man who had Rommie singing 'Sexyback', so he knows 'memorable'!
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And this from a man who had Rommie singing 'Sexyback', so he knows 'memorable'!
LOL! Rommie isn't the one that I had singing Sexyback... but I should have. ;)
Still waiting for more of this excellent adventure, btw. I'm also wondering why no one has brought up the option of simply taking out the patrolling destroyer and then grabbing the ferilizer before reinforcements can arrive.
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LOL! Rommie isn't the one that I had singing Sexyback... but I should have. ;)
I was trying to implant the suggestion subliminally.
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I'm also wondering why no one has brought up the option of simply taking out the patrolling destroyer and then grabbing the ferilizer before reinforcements can arrive.
You shall see soon...
--guv!
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I was trying to implant the suggestion subliminally.
Hmmm... how about something along the lines of Rommie as a green orion slave girl singing "I'm bringing sexy back," eh?
http://www.xenocorp.net/H_bardCorner/images/AndromedaSG1.jpg
I bet I could throw together a kickin' song parody to go with that if anyone wanted me to... ;)
You shall see soon...
Excellent! I very much look forward to it.
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CH. 7
Dath’mar’s single remaining eye opened in a mixture of shock and rage as he stared blades at the Brigadier pictured on his monitor. No one witnessed this conversation. The Captain was speaking with his commanding officer, Brigadier La’ra, in the dark privacy of his cabin. The other stared back, unmoved.
“You are ordered to complete this mission without Gorn casualties, Captain,” The regional tactical commander told his subordinate once again. A wave of static washed across the viewer. Dath’mar wished it had wiped out the signal entirely.
Captain Dath’mar sat back, eye still locked on the Brigadier as he fought to retain his control. His blood boiled as the order repeated over and over within his mind. No Gorn casualties. He could not attack them, not in the traditional sense. Nor could he bring his ship’s full might to bear in defense of his own vessel and crew. He was effectively being sent into this mission with his hands tied.
“Are we the Federation now, that we go into battle to stun our enemy and leave them to attack us another day!” The captain growled back. He’d almost shouted, but such was no longer Dath’mar’s way. Shouting and railing had never gained him anything.
“The Gorn are not our enemy, Captain. And our Empire can ill afford them to be. Praxis—“
“Praxis! Every difficulty I hear is laid upon the altar of Praxis!” The captain returned. His firsts were clenched to either side of the comm screen. He glowered most impressively. La’ra stared back defiantly, secure in the light years separating them.
“The Empire cannot afford another war. We already battle the Mirak over the Juramik Stretch and are only now beginning to get political support for the effort from the Federation.”
“And for that we throw them back the territories surrounding Goesa’vaina!” Dath’mar resisted the urge to growl and hurl curses. The lengths his government was going to appease the weaklings in among their former enemy disgusted him. “Have we not given them enough?”
“The Mirak, for now, remain their allies, and they wish to remain friendly with the Gorn as well. We would find their ecological assistance on Qo’noS…lessened should we being initiating broad scale hostilities against ALL their neighbors. I support your plan to steal what we need. The Gorn indeed will NOT barter with us for anything. And asking them now would only give them fore knowledge that you are coming. This seems our only recourse. But you cannot anger the lizards enough that they mobilize against us. Find a way to avoid combat with their ship and ground defenses.”
“And how do you believe I should proceed?” There was vehement accusation in his retort. Dath’mar looked back with consternation. He was being asked the impossible. La’ra merely looked back with put on innocence, passive and smug-seeming. There was the hint of a smile when he replied.
“Do you believe yourself incapable of the task?”
Pride arose within the Captain’s chest and threatened to burst forth in a childish tirade of boasting. Brigadier La’ra dared much. He was intentionally goading Dath’mar into this. And it was working. The captain held back his response for a time, then declined his face in anger. His eye remained locked on his commanding officer.
“I will do for the Empire as I must. If we now fear war against inferior creatures, then I will find a way to combat them without drawing blood.”
La’ra nodded back, then killed the connection. Dath’mar’s fists slammed down in futile rage. He almost wished he hadn’t transmitted his battle plan to the Brigadier’s ship. But all major operations in the Goesa’vaina-Juramik Stretch Theater of Operations was under La’ra’s review. Withholding vital information from him would be paramount to treason.
The captain was not a blind man, nor was he necessarily shortsighted. He knew the economic state of his Empire. La’ra had been quite correct in his assessment. It made his orders no less bitter a pill to swallow, but he agreed with the reasoning behind them.
If the Empire required Dath’mar to complete this mission without making an enemy of the Gorn Hegemony, then he would do just that. But how? Dath’mar reactivated the computer screen before him and waited for it to reheat, its startup images rolling and fizzling. He would need to review the tactical assets that this starsystem boasted and its navigational anomalies. The Pang would not fail in her task.
***
The Pang traveled invisible to eyes and sensors through the chill silence of space, carrying her skeleton crew of determined warriors out and away from Klingon space. The ship was quiet with all of its work crews gone. Of the compliment of three hundred ninety, only one hundred four remained.
Captain Dath’mar had again called his command staff into the briefing chamber and packed them around the confines of the cheep little plastic table. The captain remained standing as he regarded them all in stern silence. The monitor on the wall behind him and the small screen in the center of the conference table both showed the configuration of the Chetell starsystem. It possessed ten planetary bodies, each with at least one small satellite. Its star was of the common yellow variety. Chetell III, their destination, was highlighted near the center of the slowly revolving map.
“This is our destination.” He told them, his voice dull and subdued. He wasn’t looking forward to any of this. “Brigadier La’ra has ordered us to curtail enemy casualties to prevent the start of war between us and the…Gorn.” He’d only barely avoided using the term ‘enemy’. He waited for his crew to take this in. Commander Kurvis was the first to stir near the head of the table.
“Speak.” Dath’mar told him with a small nod.
“By curtail…you mean…”
“No Gorn deaths will be tolerated. We are forbidden to destroy their on-station frigate or shore defenses.” The captain again paused to allow them the time to curse. To his mild surprise, they merely looked back and forth amid themselves and gaped. His crew was a disciplined band. Pride in them awoke deep inside him, and not for the first time since taking this command. Kurvis looked back to him.
“You must be…” The First Officer halted before insinuating anything he’d immediately regret. “How can he expect us to complete this mission without destroying Gorn defenses! We cannot simply begin beaming in their minerals and not expect to be attacked. Their planetside guns are arrayed all about the mining sites. They also have terrestrial shielding. And that escort is not going to simply let us have our way. She may be small, but she poses a great risk to us if we do not eliminate her!”
Once the First had had his say, the captain calmly nodded.
“This mission is onerous and inglorious. But it will be done. The planet’s defenses are formidable,” he began the meat of his briefing, turning to the wall mounted viewer and pointing to the highlighted spheroid. The image enhanced and depicted an aerial view of the main continent where resided the largest nitrate mining complex. The ground was torn and scared from the Gorn’s efforts and massive installations dotted the surroundings. “However, there is one fatal flaw. It is civilian built, and not built to defend against cloaked vessels with Klingon transporters. They have no idea we can use our beams while cloaked, unlike the Romulans. Their entire defense network is powered by a single warp reactor…” He pointed to a rounded building with peripheral hubs. “Here. Once disabled, the Gorn’s defenses should crumble.”
“Should?” Asked Shenna. As First Gunner, hers was much of the responsibility in combating their enemy. The prospect of undergoing this mission under no-fire orders frightened her to no end.
“We have no intelligence as to their backup capacity. It is suspected their guns will have some kind of battery system.” Dath’mar answered.
From the left side of the flimsy table, Hekk sat back with a smirk. “No one builds energy weapons to charge directly from a reactor. We must expect them to be able to continue to fire even without their reactors.”
“Indeed.” The captain nodded once more. “Our ground units will not only strike the reactor, but also their hard connections at two other points to further complicate their repairs. Without primary power, their shields will fail quickly and their guns will speak only sporadically.”
Kurvis sat forth, squinting as he scrutinized the images before them.
“Removing primary power will not be enough. We must also ensure the few shots they are able to hurl at us do not disable us. I suggest beaming in strike forces to disable their guns.”
The fat surgeon made a noise.
“We barely have the manpower for that. The Gorn are strong—“
“We are Klingons!” Kurvis spat back. “Caught by surprise, they will be overwhelmed!”
Dath’mar studied his First and nodded. Kurvis might loathe this mission and the limitations emplace on them by Command, but, like the captain, he carried out the Empire’s will. The First was now looking up to Dath’mar.
“But what of the escort? How do we dispatch it without attacking it directly?”
Before the captain could formulate an answer, the navigator spoke up.
“Could we not lure it away?”
The assembled officers stared back to Lieutenant Ger’shall. The young woman seemed to sink a bit under the weight of their sudden attention. Dath’mar could not help but smile a tiny, dark grin at the sight and over her suggestion. The crew noticed his smile. Soon they too were shrinking before its ire. The captain did not smile. To see it now…was unsettling.
“Lure it away…” He repeated.
Ger’shall looked up at the captain with uncertainty bordering on meekness.
“If the escort is not present, it cannot be a threat to us.”
“A distress call?” Suggested the surgeon after some time of silence.
Kurvis shook his maned head.
“The Gorn know where each of their ships is at any given time. Civilian or otherwise. They will not be fooled. Pirates have tried similar on them before and failed.”
“What can we lure them away with, then?” Asked the doctor further.
Sudden realization dawned upon the captain. His smile had not yet faded.
“Something they hate more than us.”
The officers looked up at Dath’mar in question. Hekk matched the CO’s grin.
“Romulans.”
The animosity between the Gorn and the far away Romulans was quite renown. The expansionist cousins of the Vulcans had once tried to conquer the Gorn when their designs on the Klingon Empire had failed to yield fruit. The reptilian recluses had quite savagely shown the pointed-eared devils which way their home star lay. Repeated conflicts had marked history as time and again the two races’ forces had found one another and clashed.
“We can simulate the energy emissions of a scanning Romulan Warbird with an ECM package.” Hekk thought aloud. “A probe won’t do. To small, too limited. It would not provide a convincing rouse.”
“A shuttle.” Dath’mar provided, matching the engineer’s thought process.
“That means a pilot.” Added their Surgeon. “A pilot in a near defenseless shuttle craft, bobbing about out there and trying to draw the attention of a much larger ship. He’d be a dead man.”
Kurvis bore teeth in an animalistic leer.
“A glorious death!”
The surgeon did not appear to agree with the warriorly sentiments of death in battle. He rolled his eyes and looked away. None noticed but Dath’mar. The captain already knew where his doctor’s convictions lay, and was not bothered. The captain sat slowly into the small chair near the head of the table and allowed the small smile to fade away. The countenance of stone again reigned.
“Who do we send off on this glorious, one way mission?”
The First Officer drew to his full height within his chair and seemed to take on a look of satisfaction. “I know just the man…”
***
“So! The captain wishes me to volunteer for my death!”
Commander Kurvis smiled grimly back to Lieutenant Motek. The former first gunner’s outburst had been fully expected. The shorter man fumed and raged behind his own eyes as he glared bloody holes through the executive officer.
“No. I am offering you the chance to redeem yourself before the captain.” The First told him. “The captain ordered me to pick the man I thought best.”
“Then you offer me nothing!” Motek hurled back, stalking to the far end of his shared cabin. Thankfully, the other junior officers assigned to this berth were on duty. There were none present, other than the two of them. None would hear the disgrace the lieutenant would likely begin to rail. “I have no desire to redeem myself before that cowardly to’pah!”
“You believe he has treated with you unjustly?” Kurvis asked in a voice far calmer than the boy deserved. Motek snapped his face back to glare once more at the First.
“He stabbed a man unable to defend himself! Would you have done the same, Kurvis?”
“No. I’d have shot you before the attack began. As your particulate matter settled onto the deck, I’d have assumed the guns myself and done your job for you. You got off lucky.” Kurvis was again grinning, this time with pronounced malice as the former gunner’s face fell into a long look of shock. “If you have a grudge against your captain, seek to settle the matter in the in an honor duel. Till then, do your duty and stop your infantile tirade against him. Word of your fit in the mess has reached me. It has likely reached the captain’s ear also. Do not test his patience…or mine.”
Motek continued to stare back, standing still as a post before his bunk. His fists were no longer clenched. His hands hung limp at his sides. Kurvis had stopped smiling and was looking at the whelp in challenge. Before the boy decided to look away, the First Officer took a menacing step in.
“Now, do you have the gomptu’ to accept this mission? Or will you sulk in your cabin and continue to whine like a child?”
***
To Hsta: I'm hoping that the idea of destroying the Gorn frigate, at least prior to this CH., was implied as a given...and therefor not brought up for discussion. Just thought I might clear that one up...
Anyway...about halfway through the chapters here. There are 8 more...any comments?
--thu guv!!
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Nice plan! I like that you sketch an impossible task and then give a possibly usable solution. But even the best laid out plans fail at first contact. So GIMME MORE!
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I too am impressed with the plan and the confrontation with the mutineer. I like seeing these "bog standard" Klingons being forced to think outside the box and come up with solutions none of them ever thought of before. You told that very well!
As for the plan, Larry screwing things up for Dath'mar with the 'No casualties' rule was funny. I liked this line:
“Praxis! Every difficulty I hear is laid upon the altar of Praxis!”
While I t think the ground may indeed be scared of the Gorn, it'd probably be scarred by their mining efforts. :D
You are really fleshing these characters out quite nicely, Guv. Keep it up! Looking forward to more.
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To Hsta: I'm hoping that the idea of destroying the Gorn frigate, at least prior to this CH., was implied as a given...and therefor not brought up for discussion. Just thought I might clear that one up...
Yes, MUCH clearer now. Excellent work, as usual, THANKS! 8)
I will note that I do recall a TOS episode where Klinks used fake distress calls to lure the Enterprise away from a planet they were interested in. Scotty had been left in charge of the Bridge, IIRC.
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I remember it. Was where the idea actually originated. Was hoping to kinda imply that such was not the norm for the 'bog standard' Klingon who's mind is muddled by misconceptions of honor.
Glad yall are liking!
--guv
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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.”
***
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Finally!
Sorry, Guv, but for some reason my internet doesn't like 'Dirt'. Every other thread I try and bring up on the board works, but this one stalls halfway through until just now.
You already know my opinions on pretty much every part of this story, but wanted to let ya' know I was still readin'. ;D
Hsta:
I bet I could throw together a kickin' song parody to go with that if anyone wanted me to...
I want ya' too!
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Excellent!!! Just can't get enough Dirt and I'm glad to see I'm not the only one to take advantage of the forum outage to get some work done. There were a couple of jarring instances of repeated words, but I'll let the wordsmiths here post the mark-up editing comments. I'm simply enjoying this exceptional tale as it unfolds.
As for La'ra, roger that. Working on Rommie's song parody now. :D
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There were a couple of jarring instances of repeated words, but I'll let the wordsmiths here post the mark-up editing comments.
Repeated words? I am confused.
--thu guv...
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Repeated words? I am confused.
Like in this paragraph:
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.
Oh, and I think you meant that he would have no choice but to slay one of his own men. ;)
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Good stuff.
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Funny that the grammar check wouldn't pick that up... Oh, well. It is fixed in the home copy. Thank you.
Glad y'all continue to enjoy.
--guv
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Now...to the nitty-gritty...
CH. 9
Twenty-seven hours of listless waiting and slow preparation found the Pang and her warriors slowly coasting toward Chetell III. For the first fourteen hours of the journey from Tres’in, the mighty cruiser had maintained a steady velocity of warp factor seven. This was a moderately fast speed for their purposes, but with proper care, did not broadcast their presence further than three light years away. Their circling course had been carefully constructed to keep the largest planetary bodies between Pang and the waiting Gorn.
Thirteen hours out from her destination, the battlecruiser began to scale back her speed. Dropping first to warp five, then four, three and so on over the passing hours, her crew lessened their outgoing energy emissions and traceable telltale signatures. Seven light minutes outside the Gorn mining system, the Pang finally dropped out of warp speed, resigning to coast the rest of the way in with a final surge of full impulse power.
No engine breathed aboard the stealthy cruiser. Her main reactor had been scaled back in power production. It only made enough energy to fuel the cloak. All else was fed by battery. Nearly all outboard systems had been secured. Maneuvering thrusters remained silent. Active sensors were dead. The life support system was set to the barest minimum. Only the smallest amount of energy escaped from the navigational deflectors; they remained necessary since even the smallest space rock could endanger them at such high sublight speed.
Pang had coasted, half-drifting, into the core of the alien star system. Her entire crew was at their posts. Each watched their instruments for the slightest sign of betrayal to the enemy. In such situations, everything became the enemy. Their systems, the faulty ones and the misused. Their own mistakes. Unforeseeable happenings outside their ship and beyond their control… Successful incursion demanded complete vigilance.
Dath’mar stood bent behind the science console, leaning lightly against the back of Lieutenant Commander I’rell’s chair. His vision scoured her panel for any sign of errant signals and unwanted emissions. The science officer kept a watchful eye as well, even as she also watched for sign of enemy wariness.
“The Gorn warship maintains its orbital path.” She updated in a small, light voice.
Dath’mar nodded. The crimson from the glyphs on her board bathed his angular face. He seemed a vision born of blood. I’rell noted this with amusement and a slight trace of fear. The captain possessed a fatal persona that made her suspect he wanted nothing more than to drop his cloak now…to open fire on the Gorn and turn this into an open battle. His mannerisms did not speak this. Nor his expression. These remained unreadable as ever.
The very air about the man sweated pent up violence.
“Now nearing apogee in our course for the planet, Captain.” Called out Ger’shall. The navigator looked up from beneath her sweaty curls of light brown hair to see her captain’s reaction. “Beyond this point we begin to pass Chetell III and will have to reverse course to correct for orbit.”
The First Officer quietly stepped closer to Dath’mar. The captain kept his eye fixed on the alien escort. The Gorn ship had yet to slip around the curvature of the colony world from them. Pang remained within direct line of sight of her. One small mistake now would spell disaster. For Pang. For Galt. The Empire.
Sweat dripped from the executive officer’s bearded chin. The unrecycled air on the bridge was stifling. The ventilators had been disengaged for seven hours now. Heat convection from engineering circulated the air in an effort to keep it oxygenated. This made it stale and warm. But this method consumed less energy and created a lesser signature than the life support generators.
“The Gorn ship is facing away…” Kurvis observed of the enemy. He was anxious to make orbit. Backtracking to achieve orbit would only mean more of a chance to be detected. Once in orbit, planetary reflection and magnetic fields would help to obscure the Pang.
Dath’mar continued to watch the circling alien craft. Its orbital path was most inopportune. It’s course seemed designed by fate to keep the little vessel in sight of Pang for the longest period of time possible. The captain watched. The Pang drifted. The Gorn ship circled slowly.
Dath’mar finally shook his head and stood up straight.
“Slow the ship.”
With a pronounced nod, Kurvis turned for the flight control stations.
“Helm, braking thrusters. Trigger minimal reverse thrust and increase steadily to one half power. Execute!”
Bekk Akara nodded her understanding and bent to work. Her normally luxurious dark brown hair was pulled into a dank, tangled mass behind her glistening neck. The helmsman dripped as she worked. The Pang began to slow, lethargically at first, resistant. Then her velocity began to drop steadily.
Dath’mar and I’rell watched the reptiles’ ship intently on their scopes. The captain was prepared to order attack stations at the slightest provocation. A battle against that tiny craft would be short indeed. The angular, needle-like Gorn ship never tottered in its orbit. Her power emanations remained steady.
“No reaction from target.” Came from I’rell.
“Maintain alignment…” Dath’mar murmured. He was not yet satisfied.
There came a shining wave of emerald energy from the Gorn escort, depicted on the sensor images as a cone waving out from the little vessel. Both watching soldiers tensed as the scan passed over their position. Kurvis drew up still behind his commander. They waited for further indication…
The wave of energy passed on. It swung thirty degrees past Pang and concentrated. An active pulse of a different sort shot out from the escort, pegging an area of unoccupied space with detective energy. The Gorn received no return. Both scanners shut down. The escort kept on circling the planet.
Dath’mar looked to his exec.
“They are alert soldiers.” Kurvis remarked.
The captain gave the barest of grunts and stalked away for the command dais. He ascended its summit, but did not yet sit. He looked back out over the stations about him. “Watch the Gorn. As they pass around the colony’s perimeter, we will close. Not before.”
Each of his officers turned to him as they heard his words. They nodded their understanding, Kurvis included. The First would have to test his own patience. Dath’mar flopped into his chair with little sound and glowered at the brown and white colored world on his viewer. He seemed to be staring curses at the planet and its inhabitants.
Were his stare a virulent plague, the populace of Chetell III would all be gone.
I’rell turned her seat away from her post to look to her commanding officer. He glared her way in challenge. The science officer was becoming less and less affected by his shadow. She looked up to him with a mild defiance he found he liked. “Lieutenant Motek will begin his broadcast within the minute, Captain.”
Dath’mar nodded, then glanced to his First. This look was all Kurvis needed from his captain. “Science officer,” his thick, melodious voice said. “Open long range subspace detectors and begin listening for our gunner’s rouse.”
I’rell nodded and returned to facing her station. The heat swelled. The officers blinked sweat out of their eyes and remained on the watch. None spoke. Even the few pieces of running machinery seemed to be muting their voices. Dath’mar looked idly on at the screen before them all.
Kurvis turned suddenly, his wet mane flinging with the motion.
“Contact! Intense sensor emissions now reaching Chetell, Captain. Motek is right on time!”
Dath’mar looked at him, measuring. He nodded.
“The Gorn?”
Kurvis cast his gaze back to the science panels. Both operators worked to enhance the images they had of the now receding escort ship. The little vessel continued on, seemingly oblivious to the energy waves rebounding in the system. Were the emissions too weak? Had they over thought their plan in their efforts to avoid seeming specious?
Time crawled by in the excruciating stillness. The Gorn continued on under the Klingons’ watchful eyes. The Pang sat near motionless amid the swirling and shooting bodies of the system. Dath’mar closed his eye, trusting in his crew while he rested his mind for a time.
The Gorn warship passed out of view of the drifting battlecruiser.
“The enemy has moved out of sight…”
At I’rell’s voice, Dath’mar’s eye opened and he straightened.
“Helm, rotate the ship and push us into orbit, minimal thrust.”
“Yes, my lord!”
The stars on the main viewer jostled as the ship’s visual recorders fought to maintain a steady image against the Pang’s spin. The unusual motion quieted and the planet centered there began to enlarge slowly. Pang was again in flight.
Kurvis leaned in on the sensor station. His shoulders knit together in frustration.
“Motek continues to broadcast. Soon he will disengage and wait for a quarter hour to be—“
Motion burst past the left-hand side of the viewer. There was a flash and a hint of pseudo-motion from behind Chetell III. The captain looked over to his exec. “First!”
“A warp trail, Captain!” Kurvis could not contain his exuberance. His great fist crashed down on the console, causing a squeal of protest from the machinery within. “The Gorn have gone to full battle speed, my lord! They bear for the Tres’in Nebula!”
Finally, the captain truly relaxed. The bulk of their worries had just been lessened. He closed his eye once more, face inclining toward the dark ceiling bulkheads. “Put us in orbit helm. All stations…maintain stealth.”
***
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CH. 9 [pt.2]
With the Gorn escort gone, the Pang had gained to opportunity of watch down on her enemy with impunity. She established a geosynchronous orbit, parking directly above the colony site. Commander Kurvis took on the task of guiding the science and gunnery officers as they scoured the lands below them with visual and passive detection systems. With patience and skill, they were able to fully map the installation below and target its most critical resources. Pang now knew where the critically needed nitrates were stored.
Dath’mar had watched on in typical silence, offering a word here and there in support. Otherwise, he remained out of their way.
Time passed more swiftly now that each had their respective tasks at hand. The First Officer made repeated trips down to the assault staging area, briefing his men on the latest intelligence as it was forthcoming. The Qas Dev who remained on board were to be the leaders of the strike teams. The captain had ordered four teams to be readied for deployment. Seven warriors, including the First, would assault the reactor installation. Four men would strike each of the gunnery control towers. They would be dressed in the heaviest armor available in the armory and bear all the arms they could carry. The captain had forbidden all melee weapons save for daggers. Dath’mar knew the zeal of the warrior. The marines could not be expected to control themselves to the point of not cutting the Gorn to pieces.
Kurvis returned to the bridge after his fifth inspection of the troops below. He had already donned the heavy armor meant for pitched ground combat. The typical Klingon soldier did not favor the more bulky build of the assault gear, but its superior protection could not be argued. The First carried his rifle slung over a shoulder. Dath’mar looked him over from atop the command dais.
“The Qas Dev are at full readiness, Lord.” Kurvis reported. There was swelling pride within the commander. The captain nodded in return, his eye unblinking.
“You don’t care to take a heavier rifle, First Officer?”
Kurvis blinked and unslung the weapon from his shoulder pad. He had in his hands the standard rifle, little more than the quite powerful, venerable pistol unit with an attached stock. The stock bore additional power cells and an optical sight for long range shooting. The First looked the rifle over and shrugged. “I find the standard weapon quite satisfactory, Captain. I doubt I’ll find opportunity to fire further than one hundred qams, and while not as powerful, this weapon will shoot for a longer period of time.”
Dath’mar looked back to him with some doubt, but did not argue with the First. Kurvis waited for an objection to arise, and when none was forthcoming, he looked to the viewer at the forward bulkhead. Chetell III stood silent and still before them. Pang’s parking orbit held her aloft directly above the compound they intended to invade. The First Officer stepped off the dais and halted at I’rell’s console.
“Status of planetary defenses, science officer?”
“Gorn weapons systems remain unpowered.”
Kurvis glanced at the tactical repeater on the console’s right hand corner.
“The frigate?”
“She continues to bear for the anomaly. She has increased her speed to warp factor nine point three.” I’rell looked back at the exec with raised brows, her expression mock-aghast. Kurvis nodded in appreciation for the achievement. That escort vessel had been of a previous generation’s design. To see her moving so fast spoke well of her crew’s ingenuity.
Lieutenant Motek would be hard-pressed indeed to escape them.
The First Officer looked a few more indications over before turning his back to the science systems. He retraced his steps back to the command chair and stood silently aloft should he be needed. Dath’mar had closed his eye. His pose within the broad command throne betrayed his wakefulness. During their deployment within the Kovarn Reach, Kurvis had never known the captain to close his eye for any length of time while on the bridge. This was a new side to their commanding officer. Had he retreated into his own mind? Or was he trying to allay boredom?
“How long till the escort reaches Motek?”
The fact that Dath’mar had said the officer’s name rather than simply mentioning the shuttle told volumes. The captain held more than the average concern for the errant warrior. Kurvis made a note of this, adding it to the fact that Dath’mar had not simply killed the man already. The exec glanced to the science station once more.
“Gorn will reach the shuttle in roughly three hours, my lord. They have been traveling toward the Tres’in disturbance for sixteen hours.” The Gorn had taken a more direct route at a faster pace than had the Pang. They would meet with Motek in far less time than it had taken the Klingon cruiser to reach this world.
Dath’mar looked out to I’rell, who sat rigid at her post, watching her screens and pretending not to listen to them. “Has Motek begun to make his escape?”
“Negative as yet, Captain.”
The lieutenant’s acceleration to his ship’s maximum warp was to serve as the signal for attack. Motek was not expected to take his craft into the Tres’in. While this would take the escort out of sight of the planetary system and cut it off from communications, the tiny Klingon craft would not survive more than a few minutes of the nebula’s corrosive gasses. Raising shields was not possible amid the disturbance’s interference. Motek’s only real choice was to make a run for the border and hope the vengeful escort was more interested in rescuing the colony than on destroying a tiny interloper.
The captain glanced back to the viewer, and again to science. Kurvis watched. So, the great stone-heart had lost his patience… The First hid his amusement and stared ahead. Dath’mar seemed almost to nod, his gauntleted palm slapping the top of his armrest. “Kurvis, ready your men for transport!”
“Success, my lord!” Kurvis replied with a sharp salute. Dath’mar nodded without returning the gesture and watched his First head out the aft hatch.
Dath’mar returned his chair to facing forward, considering the sleeping colony below. It was near to midnight down there. The night would be moonless and pitch black. A perfect time to attack. And he had had more than enough waiting. It was time to move!
“Helm!” The captain projected with his battle-voice. His sharper tone seemed to snap officers out of their lethargic states. “Move us to within minimal orbital range for transport! Prepare to make evasive turns at my command!”
“Yes, Captain!”
“I’rell, watch for alertness from the enemy!”
“Battle Alert, Condition One!”
Red battle lamps lit in every corner in every compartment as the computer sounded the shrill, electronic alarm. All hands were already at their posts or near to them. The alarm served more as a wake-up call and signal of coming action. Dath’mar looked over the smaller regiment of bridge officers which sat about him. They all sat straightforward at their stations. Their hands were poised and ready. The planet on the main screen edged closer. The tactical display next to the screen came online, showing their dangerous proximity to the all-encompassing mass of the planet. They were now limiting their maneuverability in a way that made most combat commanders shrink away.
The time was coming.
Commander Kurvis passed through the final reinforced set of blast doors, entering on the starboard side of the assault transporter bay. His men awaited him in anxious, nervous rows. Their eyes were wide, glinting in the crimson light with the lust for battle. He saw here not a trace of inexperienced fear in his men. He had selected only the best of the marines and crew to come along on this mission. He swept down their ranks, giving them a final assessment. Unsatisfied, he halted before them.
“Turn and check your partners’ equipment!”
Each of them turned with parade precision, looking to each other in preassigned pairs. They began to pull at armor tabs and straps, check over weapon and equipment settings. This took only a matter of seconds. They then turned back to Kurvis and stood at attention.
“Equipment secure, Commander!” They shouted as one.
“Command requires us to stun our enemy this day, Qas Dev! Check your settings and lock weapons to setting number two!”
They took a quick glance down. None of them needed to reset their disruptors. They had already done this. Kurvis noted a wry smirk on two of his soldiers. His eyes darted over to the only member of the assault party that he bore concern for. This soldier was the only female in the group. Her sex did not cause him concern. In the Imperial Fleet, all were warriors. Her training was liken to all those who stood about her. Kurvis had personally seen to this.
The First’s concern for her did not stem from a misconception about her training or readiness. Nor did her sex bother him. He worried over the amount of equipment she carried. As the technical specialist selected for the strike, Sergeant Orna bore a modular scanner, tricorder, toolkit and a computer interface borrowed from human design meant to break into enemy security systems. All these added another forty kilos to her already cumbersome gear. She did not have to carry the portable deflector generator laying on the transport pad behind her, but her encumbrance would surely be a detriment.
Kurvis looked stolidly at her, accessing her survival chances once battle was joined. No warrior worth his mettle feared death so much that it would incapacitate them. None loathed the chances of dying a glorious, honorable death. It was, however, his duty to ensure that this honor was not laid upon his soldiers unduly.
Orna noted his scrutiny and looked back at him in quiet defiance. She was the shortest of the warriors assembled. Her eyes dared him to speak. Kurvis smiled a wolfish grin and began to pace again, bathed in red. The lights had quit flashing and now bore down on them in bloody hue.
“The Gorn are renowned for their stamina! A single stun blast will not incapacitate them! Set your weapons, now, for concentrated beams. Check your targets! Fire long bursts into them to ensure they fall!”
His teams had bent their heads, uncoupling their barrel assemblies to bypass the flow baffles that made the rifles fire bursts and closing their weapons again. Kurvis nodded to them all in satisfaction. He pointed to the leader of the second squad, meant for the northern control tower. “Group Two, portside transport quad! Group Three, next quad!”
With violent stabs of armored fingers, the First placed each of his four-man teams on their waiting transporter platforms. Then, with a nod to the sergeant he’d glared at so measuringly, he led his own squad onto the central portion of the wide, multi-facetted alcove. This bay was built to beam down hundreds of troops in very short periods of time. Doing so drained the ship’s energy reserves, but today, no such capacity was yet required. Only a couple hands-full of warriors were going to grace the alien world below. The real task for Pang’s transport handlers would be coming later. Kurvis just hoped the old transporters could handle it…
Kurvis took his place amid the forefront of his men and glowered back to the officer manning the controls inside his protected pod on the far end of the room. The officer returned the nod, saluting, fist to chest. His voice echoed into the hollow chasm about them. “Qa’pla!”
“Success!” The Qas Dev’ shouted back in unison. Kurvis tore the proud smile from his face. The transport officer keyed his comm to the bridge.
Today would be a good day to die.
The intercom panel on Dath’mar’s seat blinked yellow as the report came from below.
“The First Officer and his teams stand ready for transport, my lord!”
The captain’s hand descended slowly on the control as he took the time to relish what little he could in the moment. “Begin transport!”
A sharp, low, double-pulse alarm began to bleat in their ears as the assault transporter energized decks below and far aft of the bridge. Dath’mar could imagine that he heard the drone of the heavy subspace buffers as they hurled the disassembled atoms of his soldier kelicams out to the planet below. He could imagine their pent up anxiety, fear and lust as they began to dematerialize close to the enemy.
“Transport complete!” Came the update from below.
‘Now to get the Gorn’s attention…’
Dath’mar stood before his chair, full of energy.
“Drop the cloak! Fire disruptors!”
The space close about the battlecruiser Pang shimmered and wavered as subspace fields parted and fell away in layers. The long necked warship became a dense, substantial thing once more and swiveled a few degrees as she brought her forward weapons to bear directly on the colony below. Flanking both sides of the round, lower portion of the command hull, port and starboard primary disruptor banks lashed out with thin, emerald beams that lanced down at the unwary enemy. The twin shots angled out away from one another, aimed for different striking points.
The beams came down with the force of ages old atom bombs tearing each through tons of bedrock to hit the targets beneath. The impact points exploded violently, throwing into the air hundreds of tons of dirt and suddenly liberated stone into the sky. The plasma transfer conduits under all that protective stone severed with those direct hits. The Gorn had not had the time to raise the outpost’s deflectors.
Dath’mar narrowed his eye and looked aside as his science officer’s voice called out.
“Both energy transfer conduits destroyed, Captain.” I’rell told them. “Gorn switching to back up systems!”
Dath’mar would have normally taken the liberty to relieve the enemy of said backup systems. Such would soften them for swifter defeat. But those backups were situated amid the Gorn’s buildings and structures. Hitting them would kill possibly hundreds. La’ra’s displeasure would be paramount. Sneering in disgust, the captain refrained from ordering their destruction.
“Ensure maximum shields!”
Hekk was here, on the bridge, directing his crews from the portside console. The old Whitehair looked back to him with a proud nod. “Deflectors are at one hundred ten percent with ample reserve. We-“
The first reprisal blast struck the Pang.
The bridge officers held on to their station corners and armrests as a long line of rail gun projectiles spat up at them like tracers. The riotous cacophony of their repeating impacts assailed the ears and set off emergency alarms. Hekk almost lost his balance, his lanky limbs flailing out for support.
“Forward screens have taken a direct impact!” Lieutenant Shenna called out, the first to report. “Shield holding at sixty-seven percent!”
The second wave of the Gorn’s return-fire swept the cruiser’s defenses, causing her to sway side to side. The thunder of hundreds of meter-long projectiles impacting the outer screens was deafening. The Pang’s structure groaned from the forces she absorbed.
“Shields now fifty-two percent!” Shenna looked back, eyes wild with battle passion. “Do I return fire?”
“No!” Dath’mar felt sickened at the issue of such an order. “Helm! Prepare evasive!”
A third barrage of cannon fire rose through the atmosphere before them, bearing straight for the Klingon vessel. Dath’mar watched them come. How much more weapon power did the Gorn have left in their emergency batteries? And how long till his men secured the control positions?
Pang heaved at the abuse of further impacts.
***
Hope this does not fall short of expectations. Gimme any and all feedback, please.
--thu guv!!
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...Hope this does not fall short of expectations. Gimme any and all feedback, please.
Good heavens, Guv... don't change anything that you are doing, just keep running with this story!
My wife tried to ask me a question while I was reading this earlier and I actually told her, "not now, honey-- the game's on!" :D
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CH. 10
The first Gorn dropped with barely a sound as Kurvis and his warriors swept forth from the entryway they’d beamed into. The chamber about them had been dimly lit and huge, built of heavy steel with a ribbed inner structure. The Gorn male they’d first found had been unarmed and had seemed curious when he’d come about the corner. Likely, the whisper of Klingon assault transporters had caught his attention and set him to investigating the cause of the sound. Imperial transporters were designed to minimize buffer time, eliminating much of the droning noise caused by the beams of other nations. Such had obvious tactical advantages.
Kurvis led his team at a trot through the corridors of the enemy installation, guided by the tricorder in his hand. They made excellent time. The ground rocked only once during the entire time they transited the distance to the stairwell they sought. This would be the Pang’s guns speaking up. Likely the power leads to the Gorn weapons had been severed.
The open cavern of the dark stair loomed before the assault team. The Qas Dev could now hear the distinct electronic chatter of the enemy’s rail cannon returning fire on the orbiting Klingon cruiser. No return fire was forthcoming; Dath’mar was showing restraint.
Kurvis motioned silently to his men and led them down the stair. The Klingons kept to the sides of the path, hugging the corners. Each kept their ears alert for sounds of movement. Sergeant Orna held her combat scanner aloft, scouring the way for sign of their enemy. The party reached the bottom of the stairway and drew to a halt. The sergeant directed a more intensive scan ahead.
The sharp-eyed woman looked to her commander. She held up three fingers, then clenched her hand in a fist and pointed ahead. She ended the signal by sticking up her thumb and three more fingers. There were three Gorn guards, stationary, forty qams ahead. Kurvis nodded and looked to his men. He directed the four bearing assault rifles to take point and fan out from cover to cover. These men passed him and the sergeant. With one man covering the rear and dragging the shield generator on its rollers, Kurvis and the sergeant rose to follow.
No guard abounded outside the power plant’s main control room. This was certainly a civilian operation. Kurvis squatted in the narrow passage leading to the entrance. One of his men withdrew a plasma charge and attached it to the heavy doors. Once the bomb was set, the four point men withdrew to a safe distance and set the shaped device off. It flared with a searing noise, and the warriors averted their eyes to save their darkness-attuned vision. When Kurvis looked back up, the molten doors were crumpling in upon themselves.
Grenades were next to go in. The four point men activated and tossed in two grenades apiece. The squall of stun bursts deafened them in the echoing confines. Kurvis waited, rifle up, anxious. He heard the thud of heavy, scaled bodies striking the permacrete deck. Had they already succumbed? Eight stun grenades was suspected to be sufficient to drop up to ten unarmored Gorn warriors… Kurvis had been hoping for the enemy to surprise him.
The point men covered the control room entrance and entered one by one. Kurvis stood, disappointed. He’d wanted at least some kind of battle. With his back covered by the sergeant and his rear guard, the executive officer walked forth and stepped past the cooling puddles of metal heaped in the door’s archway.
Three Gorn males lay heaped on the floor, just as he’d expected. His men were attaching an anti-breach charge on the remaining exit. The next person through that door would get a shaped charge in the chest. Kurvis waved the remainder of his assault force into the compartment. This room was a wide chamber packed with reactor controls and power flow management systems. It was the main heart of the outpost and its defenses.
Sergeant Orna went immediately to work, setting her packs down and hooking her intrusion gear into the computers’ interfaces. Kurvis pointed to the destroyed doorway. His men jumped into action, setting up the shield generator and arraying themselves to cover the hall leading down here with their rifles.
Pang stopped shuddering.
Dath’mar looked to the now docile planet down below, then glanced to the tactical screens to either side of the main viewer. No more fire was snaking up from the surface. Kurvis and his party had been successful. The glowering captain looked starboard to the communications console. “Report!”
The lieutenant there, the young man named Jark, looked back with his comm transceiver pressed to his ear. “Sir! First Officer Kurvis confirms capture of the power plant. Three captives, no resistance. There is still fighting within the gunnery control stations.”
Dath’mar nodded and cast his eye to science.
“Report!”
Commander I’rell kept her eyes glued to the displays on her red-lit console. “I read total power cut-off to Gorn defenses. Their shields remain active on battery.”
Another nod, and now the captain looked to his weapons officer.
“Gunner! Bring their shields down.”
“Yes, my lord!”
With a gleeful smile full of bared teeth, Lieutenant Shenna gripped the controls on her console and set her targeting reticules firmly on the half globe of plasma and electromagnetic fields that protected the colony below. She squeezed the triggers with zeal, sending down a burst from each of the cruiser’s six main disruptor cannon. The bursts shot down in pairs. The first two bolts shook the shield bubble, illuminating it and making it visible even from space. The second pair struck and caused the field to oscillate dangerously. The third collapsed the field entirely.
Dath’mar felt like smiling, but refrained. He stood from his throne-like chair and advanced to the edge of his dais. “Engineer Hekk, begin transport! Communications officer, order ground parties to maintain their posts till withdrawn. Science officer, watch for reinforcements!”
The captain’s officers replied in turn and bent to their tasks. Thus far, all had gone according to plan. The captain knew he could not expect things to remain as such. He stepped down from his dais to plant a hand on the back of the gunner’s seat. His voice lowered to near inaudible level. “Gunner…you may reactivate the overload suppressors.”
Lieutenant Shenna smiled a bit and glanced down with slight embarrassment.
“Yes, my lord,” Was her reply, and equally quiet.
“Impressive.”
Muttering his compliment, the captain stepped past the gunnery chair and closed on the main viewer and the flanking tactical screens. He devoured the intelligence scrolling past in glyphs and iconography. The retrieval…and theft…of the ore was proceeding faster than Hekk’s projections had predicted. They were emptying the storage bunkers with a rapacious appetite. So much the better. The sound of leather stirring drew his eye to the science officer.
I’rell looked up from her scopes.
“The Gorn escort has reversed her course. She returns at flank speed.”
A nod.
“As expected.”
“Their ETA back to us is fifteen point one-three hours. They have managed to urge another tenth of a warp factor from their drives.” There was the slightest bit of admiration for the Gorn’s crew in her voice. The captain was not so impressed. It had been far too simple a task to lure them away from the planet they had been charged to protect.
At any rate, the Gorn warship would never be able to make up enough ground to intercept. They were stressing their engines in a futile gesture.
“Any further response from the surface?”
I’rell returned her attention to her panel and peered closer. At length, she looked back to her CO. “No, my lord.”
Dath’mar nodded once more and looked back to the wide, hexagonal viewer. Soon their objective would be complete and they could return to home space…leaving this inglorious mission behind them. Only the honor of helping his Empire warmed Dath’mar’s blood this day. His logs of this mission had been sparse. He did not want his name forever attached to this disgrace. He only wanted this mission resolved as swiftly as was possible.
Commander Kurvis looked over his sergeant’s shoulder as she fought to manage the alien software that even now fought against her for control of the Gorn’s power production systems. Orna was actually sweating as she manipulated the keyboards arrayed before her with a speed the First Officer found amazing. She said nothing, and gave no detail in any way as to what she was doing. Kurvis would not have understood her explanations anyway. He was no computer programmer.
He turned to examine the static defense maintained by his soldiers. His riflemen manned the shielded, but open hatch leading back the way they’d entered. They had drawn consoles and tool chests into the way to add more cover to their position and aimed their heavy rifles down the darkened way, ready to repel any attempt at retaking the control room.
Kurvis fingered the waiting transport pattern enhancer bolted to his shoulder armor. He was anxious to leave this place. His instincts told him real trouble was about to come to them. The enhancer he fingered would be their quick way out. No transports in or out of this underground chamber were possible without a pattern-enhancing device. This fact had been their reason for having to start the attack from above. Kurvis had expected a much more challenging battle. Instead, there had been no battle at all. He had been disappointed… but he would prefer no battle to being trapped within this small chamber, defending against a horde of angry Gorn clawing to get in…
The First Officer wondered if the Gorn needed an enhancer to beam in here…
A great hiss interrupted the commander’s musings as the heftiest of his armored men was hurled across his field of vision. A flurry of green scales had come to life where one of the stunned, and formerly bound, Gorn had laid. That reptile was up now, moving with stunning speed as he launched himself into the group guarding the entry.
Kurvis reacted without pause, leveling his rifle and firing off a long red burst of stun energy. The beam smashed into the lizard’s back, knocking him down amid the Klingons he’d just scooped up from the deck. One of Kurvis’s men disentangled himself and back-pedaled, already bleeding from cuts on his face. The soldier fired in concert with the First Officer, both men bearing down on their firing studs as the enemy flailed and fought. Together they again subdued the great beast.
The Exec stepped forth and hauled the heavy reptile off the top of his men. One would soon be dead. The Gorn had torn his throat to shreds and broken the neck. That warrior lay writhing in his spreading blood, eyes wide as he stared about in fear and pain. Kurvis blessed him with a stun burst to speed him along the road to Sto’vo’kor.
The remainder of his men seemed intact. The first one assaulted was even now rousing from the corner to which he’d been so effortlessly tossed. The senior corporal made sure to stun the other Gorn once more to ensure no further surprises arose.
Commander Kurvis glanced to Sergeant Orna.
“Status!”
“I retain control over the antimatter reactor, sir… All defenses remain down.”
The First nodded in satisfaction.
“Good…be sure it remains that way.”
“First!” Came the shout of the corporal. Kurvis looked his way and found him reading a tactical scanner where he knelt by the shielded doorway. The short-haired warrior looked back to him with an expectant zeal lighting his eye. “They are coming!”
***
Dath’mar pressed close to Engineer Hekk’s space and watched silently for a time as the lanky mechanic managed the endless seeming transmission of matter from below. The old man seemed icy cool despite the still oppressive heat of the bridge’s air. His aged hands worked with tireless precision that inspired amazement. This man should be of much greater status than a lowly chief engineer aboard a second rate cruiser. The captain let the old man work until he could bear no further silence from the man.
“Status!”
“Forty percent complete.” Hekk’s report was equally terse.
“Time remaining?”
A shrug. The old man looked as though time had not been a factor to him. He glanced up at the console’s chronometer. “…Ten minutes. Perhaps more.”
The old mechanic had impressed his superior with the speed at which he’d worked.. The captain nodded and stepped a pace closer to the command dais. He would leave the engineer to his task. “Comm Officer! Report landing party status.”
Lieutenant Jark was pressing his transceiver close in bent concentration. He hesitated a long moment before looking back to his commander. “My lord, I believe the First Officer’s party has just contacted an enemy—“ The communications specialist again went silent as he listened to voices so loud Dath’mar could almost make them out from four meters distant. Jark grinned and nodded. “Confirmed, Captain. Kurvis’s team is under attack by a team attempting to reclaim the reactor control room!”
Dath’mar growled and turned back to the viewer. His arms crossed sullenly. At least some one was getting to battle today. His undeniable jealousy and yearning for battle were unsettling him. He allowed little of this to be displayed visibly to his officers.
“Very well,” he replied to the lieutenant. “Keep me appraised on our teams’ disposition.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
The captain continued to glare into the visual display. Motion to his left drew his attention. With subtle movements, he looked to port and caught a glimpse of his engineer sneaking a look at him with amusement. Dath’mar pinned his sight fully on the old man with sudden motion, causing the engineer to gape a bit. The CO allowed a tiny sneer of a smile to let the old man know he’d been caught.
“Mind your panels, Whitehair.”
Hekk grinned back and went back to his work.
***
Kurvis hugged the contours of the curved support column beside the main entrance as yet another barrage of Gorn auto-fire opened up on the defenders. The deflector generator strained and wined as its beleaguered field rebounded the solid projectiles back toward their points of origin. The howls of the frightened Gorn as their bullets ricocheted about them caused the young First Officer to chortle in laughter.
“These Gorn civilians are pathetic!” He said aloud. Two of his men laughed with him. Kurvis knew over confidence could easily get the better of him and his crew should they begin to think too little of their opponents.
The First took a glance at the Gorn lying on the floor. They would keep a few minutes more before needing to be stunned again. Stunning them too often would prove just as lethal as shooting them at full power. Lacic acid built up within the muscles of every biological creature hit with a stun beam. Gorn physiology proved quite fragile when subjected to too much of this acid.
The force field generator was the next to take up the XO’s attention. Its status screens showed that the machine was not handling the continuous onslaught of rail-gun fire very well. With each renewed assault, the overload coil surged and drew more and more power from the charge capacitor. Soon…the device would simply be depleted. Then would begin a true battle in earnest.
Kurvis expected a worse turn of events long before this, however.
Thus far, the enemy had not attempted to breach the rear door. Tricorder scans detailed armed Gorn just on the other side. They possessed scanning devices of like design to the Klingons’. They knew of the bomb set on this side, just waiting on them to try and force the door. Soon, the enemy would unveil some plan to circumvent this contrivance.
Another chatter of bullets rebounding off the deflector made Kurvis look back to the nearer doorway. The blast that came next rocked him back on the heels of his feet. The enemy had just deployed a more powerful weapon!
“Plasma cannon!” His tac specialist shouted. The corporal leaned out into the clear before another shot could be fired and lashed out down the corridor with his disruptor. The stun bursts sliced dull black marks across metal and concrete, connecting with little. The Gorn were losing their fear of the obviously non-lethal weaponry being deployed against them. They didn’t even bother to duck.
“Intensify fire!” Ordered the First as he stepped out boldly to try and halt the enemy from breaching the shield.
Kurvis’s aim found the guard who wielded the plasma cannon. The female had the tubular weapon propped on her shoulder and was even then pulling the trigger. The exec’s shot found her first and slung her half way around. Her next shot slammed into the corridor wall half the distance to the control room entrance. The blue charge obliterated a man-sized hunk of permacrete and sent a torrential storm of grey projectiles and dust in all directions. Kurvis continued to blast away, now joined by his men who leaned away from cover. The force shield before them shimmered and flared with strikes from debris and rail projectiles alike. None could see down the hallway. The Gorn’s movements were obscured.
A dark blot of movement made the First look down suddenly. A device, obviously a grenade, rolled up and touched the ionized perimeter of the shield. Kurvis hurled himself and the nearest man away from the danger.
The explosion tore through the metal floor at the base of the entrance and slew the remaining defender even as he unknowingly hurled fire back at the Gorn. Kurvis felt the blow of the detonation like a seven-foot wide hammer across the shoulders as he and the corporal beneath him were slammed into close-by machinery.
Kurvis tried to call out to his men. He was uncertain that they’d heard him, uncertain that he’d even spoken. He was now quite deafened. He looked about the whirling smoke and dust, stunned by the ringing in his head. He had to rally the defense swiftly, regain control…
***
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I really like the story. It's a very good idea and the characters are well-defined.
There is something that's been bothering me for a while, and I finally figured it out: the writing is very heavy. It's overdone for the story. Too often you use complex words when simpler words would do better.
Two simple issues that jumped out at me: 'no guards abounded': an awful phrase. Abounded means there were lots of them. Then there's the shaped charge on the door. Wouldn't that kill a Gorn or two or more if they went through it.
Also, despite stun weapons being used against them, if these are Gorn civilians, they have bravery and organization and one heckuva leader out the wazoo.
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I like the pacing and think the slow buildup together with the cliffhanger climax make for very enjoyable reading indeed!
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I have to agree with Kadh about the bravery of the civilians.
This is an exceptional tale.
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Yup. Some prety badass civilians. No arguments there. But they are also reptiles, and reptiles are known to eat their young when time get lean or if they're not gonna survive anyway... So, I'm not so worried about them seeming badass.
Aside from that, I've seen some contry folk round here that would have already eaten both sides for breakfast. They're civilians too.
--guv :)
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CH. 11
A warning siren began to cry out just a second before the machinery beneath the engineering console ignited and began to belch a screen of noxious smoke. Hekk and his subordinates jumped away from the growing flame that began to consume the lower portion of the machinery.
The pistol-shot blasts of three separate overload modules giving way one after another assailed the bridge crew’s hearing. Hekk paled at the sight of the readings now flickering on the panels across his console. The old man rushed back into the licking fingers of flame to grab up a fire suppressor. Joined by his engine mates and the navigator, the Whitehair began to battle down the fire.
Captain Dath’mar strode quickly across the deck to quell the alarms from the science console. He looked back and watched in angry, hate-filled silence as the mechanics beat the conflagration back and killed it. He knew all too well what the Chief Engineer’s expression had read.
“Engineer! Status!”
Hekk looked back with a fang-filled growl. His feral nature had roused. Had the captain been close by, he’d have been struck. “That was the primary control relay for the transporters giving way! We have lost transporters!”
“Back ups?”
Hekk pressed back in on the smoke-screened station and bent in to press at its inactive keys. “No good… I think the heat of the fire has destroyed both controls!”
“Can you reroute?”
Hekk looked back at Dath’mar through the swirling tendrils of smoke and the gloom of battle alert. The hooded crags of his brow intensified his disgust. “I can reroute… If you want me to tear out control modules and wiring harnesses for the next four hours! I have no idea how far in or how extensive the damage is and I don’t have the men to do this quickly! Most of the status sensors went out with the control systems. The damage is not limited to this deck, certainly… I had been worried about this. These old systems—“
Dath’mar held up a halting hand as he approached the old engineer.
“How much of the ore has been taken?”
Hekk’s eyes dropped to the decking.
“Less than fifty percent…”
“And can we resume transport before our teams on the surface are all killed?”
Hekk looked back up. He was a dedicated engineer and mechanic. But as a Klingon soldier, he was also a combatant and a trained warrior. “No.”
‘I don’t have the men to relieve or reinforce my warriors below…’ Dath’mar growled nearly inaudibly. He looked back to the science console behind him. I’rell gazed at him. The smoke had permeated the entirety of the bridge compartment and was making the woman blink with wet eyes. “How long till the Gorn repair the transfer conduits to their weaponry?”
The science officer didn’t bother consulting her screens.
“A matter of minutes…a half hour at the most. Their teams are converging on the sites even now.” I’rell reported.
Dath’mar refrained from cursing. His men below were not likely, no matter their level of skill, to last more than a quarter hour down there with all of the enemy numbers massing on their position. The Pang could fire upon the guards from orbit, but Imperial cruiser weaponry was not renown for leaving survivors…even when set for stun force.
This mission had in the sounding of a single alarm become a failure.
Captain Dath’mar soberly looked back to his engineer.
“Can you restore control to the personnel beams?”
“Perhaps…”
“Do so quickly.”
As Hekk charged with lanky stride from the bridge, the captain retired to his chair and sank down in disgust. The cold, wet sickness of failure began to fill his guts. His crew endeavored not to look his way. The ire of an angry commander was not a thing to be tempted.
***
Kurvis rolled onto his back and struggled to regain his stance even as the first set of flapping clawed reptile feet charged around the wrecked doorframe. The first Gorn within the control room was knocked clean off his feet by a long lance of crimson energy as Sergeant Orna cut him down. The sergeant had abandoned her now non-functional intrusion gear and was up in a crouched stance, bent over her huge assault rifle.
Orna fired continuously into each Gorn as they emerged into view. Each subsequent attacker took five full seconds for her to drop. It was a losing proposition. There were simply too many of the avenging lizards for her to deal with.
Kurvis rolled back onto his booted feet and joined his fire to hers. Together, the two of them began to fight back with greater effect. This lasted only till the Gorn opened fire again…
With the electric cough of coil-fired projectiles, the hulking Gorn dropped the sergeant and the young corporal before he could even rouse himself into the battle. Kurvis lurched aside, trying to present a moving target. He knelt, almost dropping, behind the scant cover offered by the furthest fuel control panel. He considered increasing the charge of his weapon, but cast the idea away. If he stopped firing, he’d be dead. A sudden jerk as his leg was snapped aside told him he’d taken a round in the thigh. He could not tell whether it had penetrated his armor.
Desperate, Kurvis dropped his left hand from the fore stock of his weapon, still firing as he snatched a waiting grenade from his web belt. He primed the device and tossed it underhanded toward the Gorn massed in the burnt doorway. The silver weapon bounced amid the soft bodies of the unconscious Gorn lying there. Three rounds hit the First in quick succession, dropping him to the floor.
The flash of the grenade was the last thing Kurvis comprehended before everything began to tingle…
--thu guv!!
-
much better!
-
CH. 12
Kurvis felt the stinging of a harsh slap on the cheek. His first thrust out catching the Gorn in the jaw. The Gorn growled and cursed Kurvis’s mother vehemently…
…in Klingonese…
The First Officer propped himself up on his bleeding elbows and looked Engineer Hekk in the eye. Confusion swirled in his adrenaline filled mind. Battle lust and fear fought for control. He was…in the fore transporter bay.
Commander Kurvis forced himself to focus on the nearest alert flasher as he reasoned out his current surroundings. This was no dream, no trick. He was back aboard Pang. “Status!”
Hekk jerked his wildly maned head back and glowered angrily down at him. “We have brought you back aboard!”
“Our mission?”
“Over…but not as we’d hoped!”
Kurvis stood quickly, noting but choosing to ignore the blood pouring into his boot. The bodies of his men lay gathered about him. They were all accounted for, even those he knew to be dead. All had been beamed home according to the signals of their pattern enhancers. Hekk was bending his aged frame down to drag Orna off the platform.
“The other teams?”
“I don’t know! Help me to drag these carcasses away so I can beam them in!”
Kurvis bent to help immediately and scooped up the slain corporal.
“Why did you not—“
“This is the only beam in operation! We’re lucky it is not tied into the primary array!” Hekk explained. This simple explanation began to shine light on the engineer’s earlier statement.
“What’s happened?”
“The main and secondary transport control systems failed catastrophically. All cargo and combat transporters are dead! We are aborting the mission!”
Kurvis let the corpse in his hands drop with a leaden thud. The gravity of Hekk’s words made the First Officer’s stomach fold. The mission was over. Whatever fertilizer they’d gotten would not be enough to allay disaster. The Galt colony would falter and fail in its next harvest. The Empire would suffer to no end… The misery of Praxis grew compounded even more.
The First grabbed the final Qas Dev and drew him clear as Hekk manned the control panel once again. The machinery beneath the platform began to moan as the shimmering masses of more soldiers, most standing, some not, began to coalesce.
“Reestablish cloak!”
The bark of the stealth alarm shouted within the confines of the bridge and the lighting grew dimmer. Only the flashing alert tracers and console controls provided light now. Commander I’rell swung her seat about with fright on her face. “Something is wrong!”
Dath’mar looked left as though he’d been suddenly slapped. The engineering console was littered with blinking and fluttering indicators, the subordinates standing there useless. The captain looked back to his science officer for answers. “Report!”
“There is no sensor hazing! The cloak is not functioning correctly!”
Dath’mar leapt out of his seat and landed next to the primary gunnery seat. He pointed to the auxiliary maintenance panel and watched as Lieutenant Shenna accessed the cloaking systems through it. His fingers clenched on the back of the gunnery chair like a talon within the throat of tender prey.
The damage caused by the transporter overload had done more harm than Hekk suspected. The cloaking array was nonfunctional. Standing slowly to his full height, the captain returned to his chair.
“Old ship…”
Pang staggered with strikes from ground weaponry all over again. Now the rounds struck unprotected hull. Damage alarms wailed out. Dath’mar dropped to one knee and clinged to the arm of the chair before him.
“Cut the cloak and restore shields!”
“Yes, Captain!”
The cloak alarms called out all over again and the commanding officer counted the moments before the protective sphere of the cruiser’s force fields would once again safeguard them. “Evasive!”
Pang took another blast from the rail gun below even as her starboard wing dipped with a sharp turn. Dath’mar climbed forcefully up to his seat and rightened himself. His only eye found the status board to the right of the main screen. The red circle surrounding his vessel told him the shields were back up. More rounds pounded on the ship’s retreating tail as she plied for safer reaches.
“Maintain evasive turns!”
Rail cannon had no effective range limit in the void of space. Only distance and erratic maneuver would keep them from taking further damage. The navigator looked up from her panels suddenly. “We are clear of orbit!”
“Warp speed!”
The roar of the ship’s drives ascended and filled the deck with its reverberations. Dath’mar sagged in his chair and watched as the stars slid past, depicting his failure.
-
CH. 13
“Damage report?”
Twenty hours had not bettered the captain’s mood. The failure of the day before still rode heavily upon his brow. Engineer Hekk looked up from the mass of melted, carbon crusted wiring and conduits that spilled from the bulkhead before them. He and the three men he’d taken from other duties had dismantled much of this section of engineering in their attempted to make right all that was wrong. Their long hours of work had made for little progress.
“The overload affected every subsystem integrated—“
Dath’mar’s kicking boot knocked the old man over onto his haunches. The captain’s palm rested on the butt of his huge pistol. “I know that much! I ask for a status update.”
“Then perhaps you should be more clear!” Hekk risked a bit of indignation as he reclaimed his kneeling position. He and the two men beside him were covered in grit and soot. The whole compartment smelled of burned insulation. “I have yet to replace all the destroyed control modules because I’m wasting all my time tearing out all this…MESS!”
“So you’ve repaired nothing!”
“I have barely enough men to keep the operational systems from joining the inoperative ones! We are lucky to retain flight capacity! The long-range sensor array is dead due to power control malfunctions… The cloaking device is full of burned out conduits and I’m quite sure the field coil is out of phase.” Hekk took a breath and forced himself to calm. He picked through the scorched wiring in his hands almost unconsciously. “With half our control systems destroyed and the other half questionable…we’ll be lucky if we can steer all the way back to Galt, let alone a proper repair base!”
Hekk braced for fresh reprisal from his CO. None came. Dath’mar’s anger had spent. Only his personal misery for a job so badly gone wrong remained. The enemy had not bested them. The limitations imposed by command had not bested them. Pang’s old, worn out machinery had. Control modules not replaced in twenty years and not upgraded in who knew how long had gotten the better of them and made a barely feasible mission nigh impossible. Now Pang slunk back home bearing what little burden she’d been able to steal.
“Will the drive hold up till we regain Imperial space?”
Hekk stopped and looked back up again.
“My engines will see us home, Captain. They have never failed.”
Dath’mar studied Hekk for some time. At least he nodded and stalked slowly away. For the first time, the engineer noticed that damned little Targ following at his heels. It was a comical sight.
Captain Dath’mar leaned heavily against the bulkhead of the turbo elevator. The twin doors clanged closed. He and his pet were alone. The overhead computer buzzed impatiently for a destination. The tired captain ignored it. He closed his eye and focused on breathing.
Dath’mar, captain in his Chancellor’s Empire, did not often fail.
Never had he failed in a thing so important.
His inability to bring back simple dirt ate at his insides. That such a simple thing should help to bring his kinsmen low before its enemies… He could not accept this turn of fate. There had to be more that he could do. He wracked his warrior’s brain, so used to thinking in military terms and equations.
UQ QetwI gurgled inquisitively at his feet and nuzzled his shin guards for attention. Dath’mar pondered where he could turn to acquire the remainder of the ore he needed to save Galt’s schedule. He knew of no other world within range where he could gather the nitrate. No ships were known to be hauling it during this season. The closest supplies in the Empire were beyond range…
There was always the Federation.
The Klingon warrior’s stomach curled at the very thought of appealing to them. The Empire had already come to rely on them…far too much. To ask for more would bring a shame none could live with. The fact that La’ra had not suggested this as a course of action from the beginning told Dath’mar that the Brigadier had likely been told not to seek human help. So, where else was there to turn?
The squall of the intercom broke the captain’s dark reverie.
“Report!” He growled.
“Captain…Federation battlecruiser on approach.”
At the sound of his First’s voice, Dath’mar came once more to a more awake stance and pressed a control stud for the bridge. “Type and distance?”
“Miranda-Type. Identity yet unknown. Distance 400,000 kelicams.”
“I’m on my way.”
The lift door deposited the captain and his targ within the security chamber aft of the bridge. Dath’mar strode through swiftly, chattering to his pet which obligingly hopped high enough for his master to catch him. Carrying the animal like a ball under one arm, the captain entered his command room.
“Slow to sublight!” The captain’s voice was a veritable roar. His consternation had reached new height. The crew noted this and avoided looking at him.
Dath’mar moved to his command dais and took his chair. The Surgeon was present, looking on as the Federation craft approached. The captain handed his targ off to the surgeon who obligingly stepped away. The officers gathered on the Klingon cruiser’s bridge watched as the stars began to draw to a halt. The Federation cruiser slowed to sublight also and angled in to close with the Klingon ship. The captain betrayed no plans as he sat studying the simple design of their new opponent.
The ship was indeed of Starfleet’s Miranda-Class. Based in part on Klingon design, the ship was a straight-forward construction consisting of a saucer, a large engineering and auxiliary craft section built into the rear and two warp pods. A roll bar and torpedo module capped the vessel off, giving it a very adaptable capacity for accepting mission specific systems.
This vessel was well known to the crew of the Pang. She had been included in the sector briefings reviewed three months back. And they had already spoken with this ship once. She was the USS Comanche, NCC-2044. And she was packing serious firepower.
“Comanche is hailing.” Called out Lieutenant Jark. “Captain Ramses wishes to confer.”
“On screen.”
The bridge of the Federation cruiser looked no different than it had when Kurvis had spoken with Comanche. Clean. Brightly lit. Gaily painted. The captain sat in a powder blue chair. Captain Ramses could almost pass for a Klingon in build. His left eyebrow arched high in curiosity as he regarded the Klingon captain.
“Captain Dath’mar, we meet at last.”
“So it would seem.” Dath’mar replied in bored fashion.
“You mind telling me why your ship is high-tailing it through Federation space?”
Dath’mar cast a glare at his navigator. Ger’shall shrank in her seat. Little could be blamed on her. Without long range and navigational sensors, she’d had to rely totally on inertial navigation and visual sightings. Such was not widely practiced. At warp speeds, visual sightings on stellar landmarks were unreliable. The captain looked slowly back to his opposite number on the viewer.
“I would mind.”
Captain Ramses developed a rankled look and stood up from his little chair. He advanced threateningly on his own visual feed and jabbed a big finger at the Klingon. “Captain, I cut you slack a while back when your needed to stop for repair. You did your thing, then you moved on. I’ve been listening to distress calls for twenty-four hours telling me about a Klingon ship attacking a mining colony…a damn dirt farm! I couldn’t help but think of you. Now I find you, your ship all shot to hell, trailing smoke from out your nacelles, lost in Federation space… And you’re not gonna humor me with a why?”
“No.”
Ramses glared back with a bemused gleam in his brown eyes.
“You know that I could intern your ship for an unmitigated attack on a peaceful neighbor’s territory?” The threat was an empty one. Both realized this. The Federation and its Starfleet would not initiate any action that would damage the building relations between the two powers. But Dath’mar knew Ramses had to do something. The likelihood of an armed conflict here was quite acute should the wrong actions be taken.
Dath’mar sank into his command chair.
“No one will be interning the Pang.”
“Then what do you suggest, Captain? I have to know what’s going on here.”
***
Captain Dath’mar entered the spacious briefing room buried deep within the core of the Federation vessel. The Klingon had brought with him no guards. Few could be spared from his ship and her repairs. The black clad warrior stood with arms crossed on the far side of the pale blue table that dominated the chamber.
The captain actually thought of this room as far more functional than his own, tiny briefing compartment. Perhaps he’d order his own enlarged…
Captain Ramses regarded the aloof Klingon commander and waved away his security sentries. The armed men stepped out of the room without complaint. The two shipmasters were alone. Silence reigned.
“So…you want to go first?”
Dath’mar remained quiet, then lowered his arms, slipping his thumbs into his belt at either side. “My ship is on a mission for the Empire.”
The Captain’s duty to complete his mission and to avoid conflict were grating, more now than ever before. Dath’mar’s nerves were beyond frayed. He was uncertain as to how to proceed.
“Why don’t you start first by telling me what the problem is?”
This question caught the warrior off guard.
“What do you mean?”
“You said you were on a mission for the Empire, right? Then why don’t you start by telling me what problem led you to violate Gorn space and transport away fifteen hundred tons of fertilizer.”
The earnest cast to the human’s face was beguiling. Dath’mar steeled himself.
“There was a soil contamination on one of our colonies.”
“Galt?”
The Klingon glared at the human. Ramses shrugged.
“That was where you went…”
Dath’mar forced his spine to relax and his shoulders to give way to some fatigue. This human was a watchful one. His ship had spied on the Pang from afar. “Yes. Galt.”
“So you went to the Gorn colony to steal…dirt?”
Embarrassment flooded the Klingons face, reddening his countenance. This ignominy was beyond any limit he might be expected to endure. But it was the will of the Empire. “We went to take what was needed for the survival of the Empire!”
“That’s a lame excuse. I assume you did this when all other avenues turned up dry? Why didn’t your government contact the Federation—“
“We can accept no further hand outs from your--!” The captain’s outburst was quickly checked, but not quickly enough. Ramses sat back in his soft chair and nodded.
“Pride, huh? Well…I can understand that. Pride makes a lot of people do stupid things.”
Dath’mar slowly approached the table and leaned down, planting fists atop its cold surface. “You dare question the intelligence of my superiors?”
Ramses was tense, but he did not back away. Dath’mar could smell the primal energies building within the man. This human would fight him, here and now. He found he liked this human for that trait.
“You do too…” Ramses told him. “I can tell by the way you talk about it. You think the fool who dreamed this little raid up is a complete dumbass. You jeopardized relations with a neighbor, strained peace talks with a possible future ally, got your ship shot up and had to haul a load of sh*t halfway through the galaxy because some higher-up didn’t want his Empire to look weak.”
Dath’mar remained where put. The plan had been his. But the restrictions had been conferred to him by Command. What Ramses had guessed was essentially true. Dath’mar did hate this mission. He hated further the fact that this self-important shipmaster had cobbled together so accurate a portrayal of the week’s events.
“Am I wrong?” The human prodded.
“No.”
“Then what we need is a better solution. Do your orders preclude asking us for help?” The human waited. Dath’mar drew back to his full height.
“They did not cover such an option. Either way…I will not crawl on my belly for help from your people.”
Ramses stared back evenly, without real expression.
“I’m not asking you to. There are other avenues. There’s always a surplus of farming material wherever there’s a Federation colony. Starbase 23 plays nursemaid to three colony sites.”
“This would be no different than groveling—“
“You need to think on a wider spectrum, Captain.”
The Klingon’s eye narrowed. What was this wry human suggesting? A thought niggled at the back of Dath’mar’s military mind. Could he force himself to think as this conniving human did? Realization dawned in him.
“Can there be…a back avenue to getting nitrates…without a formal request?”
Ramses smiled.
“There can be. We have plenty of loose freighters in our sector. One or more can be hired indirectly to run…whatever you might buy…into Klingon space…”
Dath’mar considered this option. Little could be said if Galt’s governor purchased nitrate through a private contractor if Dath’mar could simply provide him one. The warrior’s dire face softened. He felt like a miserable weakling. He stood in silence. Most of his heart refused to accept this measure.
His mind made the final decision in the good of the Empire.
“I will need a contact name and information.”
“I’ll have it for you before you leave.” Ramses replied with a nod. The captain stood up from his blue seat and looked across to his counterpart. “Now, about that colony you raided…”
-
CH. 14
Commander Kurvis sat atop the tallest chair on the bridge as the Pang slowed and began to assume her parking orbit over the brown world of Galt. The mighty cruiser did not bring nearly as much dirt as her captain had promised. But Pang returned none the less.
The ship’s First Officer looked sideways as the science officer stood and made for the aft lift. I’rell halted upon note of his stare and turned to face him. “Permission to beam to the ground, Commander.”
“You wish to oversee the drop off?”
The lithe young office seemed to take a careful moment to consider her reply. “Since the Captain will be overseeing the return of the Qas Dev, I thought it wise to monitor the ore transport.”
Kurvis did not go for her thin lie. She wanted to visit that pretty little dirt ball down there. Perhaps there was hulking farmboy down there she had a liking for. The First grinned. “Carry on, Science Officer.”
Kurvis turned the command chair back to the fore position as I’rell stepped past. He looked to port where the tired and dirt covered Hekk bent painfully over the patchwork engineering console.
“Status of beams, Whitehair?”
Hekk shot an irritated glare back over his sloped shoulder.
“Pathetic, First Officer! Absolutely pathetic. But they will do so long as I go slowly…”
Kurvis had a twinkle in his eyes as he looked back to the viewer.
“Just try to not set the bridge on fire this time.”
Growls arose from the engineering corner. Kurvis could only smirk.
His levity broke, though, a moment later when the shift changed. The officers of the previous watch abandoned their posts and gave them up to the next, more rested replacements. Lieutenant Second Motek was among these.
The young warrior did not so much as glance the First Officer’s way as he took over the Gunner One position. Kurvis watched him warily.
The Lieutenant had been back aboard for more than two days. In all that time, the angry warrior had not mentioned or requested time for his duel with the captain. Had the kid simply lost his nerve? Doubtful. No, an impetuous youth didn’t often forget a slight to his honor. Motek had been silent an unobtrusive ever since his shuttle had returned.
Kurvis did not like what this might mean…
***
Lieutenant Commander I’rell materialized before a huge plantation lodge. A great fire pit had been built before the residence, and even as her particles condensed, the science officer could smell the salty tang of broiling meats. Farmers strode about happily, chests thrown out in pride as they prepared a feast of giant proportions. I’rell could only blink in surprise over all the activity.
Coming down the packed mud steps leading from the earth and lumber lodge, Governor Legat was all smiles as he hooked his thumbs into the front of his belt. The older man swaggered with satisfaction.
“So!” He hailed when coming within speaking distance of her, “Our mighty heroes have returned victoriously!”
I’rell’s brows arched.
“We did not procure even half what was necessary for your fields…”
Legat shrugged and offered his hand to her, the palm of his fist pointed down. She took the offered arm and let him guide her to the flaming pit. “But you did bring enough for us to begin with right away, and your resourceful commander secured delivery for the rest. The planning will remain tight, but we will not have to fear failing in our duty.”
The science officer bowed to the elder man’s logic. They reached the side of the stone walled fire pit and looked out over the rows of laid out spits, each laden with targ and flank of hekeed.
“Having a feast to celebrate your good fortune?” She asked him.
“Of a sorts. This meal is to be shared with your men, as many as may come down. The colony wishes to display its gratitude and honor our brave military for doing what had to be done.”
I’rell smiled at the gesture. She crossed her bare arms and looked up to the sinking sun in the west. It had been at twilight on a similar day when she’d last stood on this planet. The sunsets were beautiful. Red mixed with gold and the blue of the sky… It was easy to lose one’s thoughts to the sight. Legat gave her a soft nudge.
“The sunsets are always so on this world. Even the rains cannot dull them.” The governor studied her silent form for a time and then spoke further. “Do you think your captain would join in the feast?”
I’rell could only grin at the thought of it.
“I doubt it, Governor. He is…a private man.”
“Ah. Too bad.”
The drone of maladjusted transporters began to fill the air. A hundred meters south of the plantation house, the first drop of the nitrate ore was being deposited onto a patch of wide open, dry ground. A slight breeze made some of the powdered nitrate swirl in the air in a silvery twister.
“Our transporters are badly out of sync.” The second officer told Legat apologetically. “Otherwise we could put the ore into the storage bins.”
Legat shrugged.
“It matters little. In the open, my machines can get to it faster and the work will get done all the sooner. Till then, let the winds sew some of it for us.”
The two Klingons smiled over that comment and went in amid the people setting up tables for the food that was beginning to appear in the arms of arriving workers. Unlike her first visit, the science officer now got to meet several of the subject races the old farmer had mentioned. There seemed no distinction to how these aliens were treated among these soft and gentle farm folk. They came and went without having to ask permission. They worked side by side with Klingons to erect tables and set up benches. There was a harmony here not found in the core worlds.
Such a place as this was alien in its own way. But it held its charms. The equality may have stunned the commander when she witnessed it. She did not shy from it. She was glad to have been able to help these folk. And by helping them, she and her crew had helped the Empire as a whole.
This had been a good mission.
-
CH. 15
Captain Dath’mar listened to the dull drone of his drive as it powered up to full impulse power once more. The day spent in orbit of Galt had been profitable for the engineering gangs. The Pang was more operable than she had been days earlier. Long range sensors were back up. The warp engines were working better. More transporter control had been restored.
The fore torpedo launcher remained inoperative.
The captain lay on his flat bunk, a thick hide thrown over him for warmth. Air conditioning was still down on this deck. In the depths of space, the hull allowed internal heat to bleed away.
Dath’mar thought over the decisions and actions taken by he and his men the last week. Their mission had been a success, but only marginally. They had lucked out. The ore stolen from the Gorn would be enough to get the farmers started. New supplies would arrive from terran contractors a month before more would be needed. Brigadier La’ra had been pleased with the outcome and was already arranging escorts to bring the civilian freighters safely across the border.
The battle fought over Chetell had not been in vein. The warriors lost would be remembered as having died honorable and somewhat glorious deaths. The mission would go down in history as a successful raid. Those dead soldiers had fallen in battle.
The drive increased in pitch as the ship accelerated to warp speeds. Dath’mar allowed his eye to droop closed. He had neglected sleep for far too long. Now was the time to catch up. His senses were lulled by the rhythmic call of the warp drive. He did not feel so much like a warrior as a tired child.
When Pang went in for refit and overhaul, he would take a month leave. Qo’noS had not felt the tread of his boots for far too many years.
The sound of the captain’s door roused Dath’mar partially. The damned Surgeon had come to disturb his rest once again. He thought of just shooting the man. The smell in the air did not belong to the doctor…
Dath’mar looked up to see Lieutenant Motek framed in the light outside his doorway. The young officer had his disruptor out and leveled on the captain’s chest. Dath’mar had no doubts it was set to kill. The CO blinked. His senses truly had been dulled.
“I have come for our duel, Captain!” Said the former first gunner with malicious intent. It was quite obvious he intended no fair battle between them. He had been biding his time since his return, waiting out their time at Galt. Now he’d come here bent on simple murder.
“You have me at a disadvantage, Lieutenant.” Was Dath’mar’s reply. He would not allow the fear and tension he felt now to enter into his tone. He would die with dignity.
“Much as you had me some time ago.”
Motek advanced, but not so far as to trigger the door to close. There were no sentries at the captain’s entry this day. He’d ordered them to join the repair teams throughout the ship. The young warrior would kill him without immediate fear of reprisal. He wondered if his First would avenge him in any way.
“If you have come to kill, then do so.”
Dath’mar lay back down. His own pistol lay years away from his hand, beneath his hide blanket. He hadn’t thought he had covered it, but it was not to be seen. He felt its weight at his right hip.
“You are a weakling, Captain. You do not deserve the title. Your years in prison dulled your brain. It was a dishonor for you to be taken alive. It was worse to reclaim you into the Fleet. Now I put right the wrong.”
“You are wordy, Lieutenant. Have you come to kill, or to talk?”
“To kill, Captain…” Motek raised his weapon. Dath’mar watched, wanting to see his death come for him. His father awaited him in Sto’vo’kor. Shadows played as the junior officer aimed for the killing shot.
Motek’s scream echoed in the small bed compartment as it lit with the burning of his associated atoms. The shout of disruptor fire assailed Dath’mar’s ears. Motek faded away to nothing, leaving only burning embers in his stead.
Captain Dath’mar looked upon the fat Surgeon as he waddled in through the doorway. His pistol was still held ready in hand, even though the threat had vanished. There was a faint amount of shock in the doctor’s eye as he looked up to the captain.
Dath’mar chuckled at the irony of it all, then lay back down.
“You have served me well, Surgeon.”
The Surgeon looked up, a small smile playing across his flabby jowl.
“If you have to shoot, shoot…don’t talk.”
END
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I'm sad to see this one over.
1. It's nice to see an old ship act like an old ship
2. Your young science office got to go down to the planet. I'm sure you'd have rather sent the young officer
3. Somebody did something in vein. I hope it wasn't drugs. I'm sure they meant to do it in vain anyway. although that isn't any more fun.
4. How many times does the doctor get the last word and have it be so true?
Clap clap!!
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You know what I think. It rocks. Might be slowly creeping it's way up to 'Larry's favorite Guv' story status.
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Most excellent! As with Kadh, I am sad to see this story end... it was a fun bumpy ride while it lasted.
With any luck, you will catch something like the horrendous sinus cold I've had (for 3 days now) and can get back to work on your "pneumonia/drug-induced" story! ;D
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Bravo!
Encore!
*throws roses*
That's your best Klingon story ever. Full stop. It is one of your best stories ever, but I'm not currently sure what ranks with it.
It was a brilliant story concept well executed, and I apologise for not being around for the chapter postings so I could comment on each as it came out.
I second Kadh's earlier comments on your overly wordy word choice. It's great that you're spreading your wings and using big words, but as a favour to me and yourself, look 'em up at websteronline.com before posting them. Write it with that word in mind for speed and flow of original writing, but check the actual meaning of the word before you post. If it doesn't fit you can put in the word you thought it meant.
I also second Kadh's earlier comment about the old ship acting like an old ship, though it was a bit off calling the wreck in orbit of Galt at the end a "mighty cruiser" again. ;)
There were plenty of grammatical mistakes, but I've left it too long and forfeited the right. That should make you happy! :D
Hsta has the right of it, calling this a roller-coaster ride with its ups and downs. I really thought Dath'mar was going to die there, completely missed the foreshadowing with the Surgeon - but see it now. That means it was done very well!
I loved the Federation 'cameo', though I'm torn between thinking you did that registry from an old RPG or just to annoy me! :P
A very good story Guv. Be happy to have that one up on my site.
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I second Kadh's earlier comments on your overly wordy word choice. It's great that you're spreading your wings and using big words, but as a favour to me and yourself, look 'em up at websteronline.com before posting them. Write it with that word in mind for speed and flow of original writing, but check the actual meaning of the word before you post. If it doesn't fit you can put in the word you thought it meant.
There were plenty of grammatical mistakes, but I've left it too long and forfeited the right. That should make you happy! :D
Yeah, about all that...
I'm very glad for the accoloades and am happy that despite my poor craftsmanship, the tale was enjoyed. I labored a bit over this one and was not sure how good it was.
I'm quite glad you enjoyed it... Really.
It will be a very long time before I post more here.
--thu guv
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It will be a very long time before I post more here.
*worried*
Why's that then? Did I put you off? Then ignore it! It was a great story that I thoroughly enjoyed. Your grammar didn't spoil my enjoyment, I was merely noting it (you should know by now I'm anal that way). I was trying to be encouraging with constructive criticism. If it came off wrong, then it looks like I needs to work on my phrasing!
If it's another reason, then... what's wrong?
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-Tuco Benedicto Juan Maria Ramirez, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Best line in the whole movie.
Just got finished reading this. Sorry I've been away of late.
Seemed a little odd to me, in the resolution, that we would find that Ye Olde Comanche had been well informed and updated on the entire situation, but offered no other assistance until that point. You'd think that being a Starfleet captain, in the Federation, and most importantly, being human, would have had the guy trying to, at the very least, get some sh*t sent to Galt. Seriously, after all the war and strife and struggle that these two nations have had, wouldn't you as said captain want to jump at the chance to fling some sh*t over the border, without any possible repercussions? Without fear of reprisal? And to top it off, he'd probably get some commendation for the far flung sh*t.
I'm also surprised by the number of chapters; 15! Endy, as I recall, had what, 10 each, not counting prologue or epilogue. Really caught me off guard.
Which leads me to the next item. I know that we all can't keep writing a story forever, but after seeing 11, 12, 13, etc... I was kind of hoping for 16-20. Or more.
I don't care what anyone else says about your writing style. You already know my feelings on this, but if you forgot: You write it, I'll read it.
*BUT*
There were a few "extra meaty" portions that seemed to bog things down. At the same time, though, it was usually balanced out by adding small details that some might not notice if this were, say, a movie. Not always in the meaty parts, either. It was a real joy to ignore the boot slowly filling with blood, to have a targ keep staring whilst his owner looked away, and to have Klingon pistols fire a 3 gun salute on Pang's bridge.
If, for some odd reason, your writing has been put off for doing things in that ever terrible "Real World", then I can understand. If, however, a certain critic's criticism is what's got you down, well, keep writing, I've got your back; and I'll stay off of it, too.
All in all this was a splendid tale. I was sad to read that our hero's didn't get enough sh*t for all the sh*t they put up with, and also sad that it had to end.
As soon as I read this:
“If you have come to kill, then do so.”
I knew I would never let you live it down if you hadn't somehow included:
“If you have to shoot, shoot…don’t talk.”
That being said, it is one of my all time favorite movies, and lines, and characters. Was my sig, I think, long ago here, and still is on the old KA boards. They didn't take to my writing like you all have, and I didn't know at the time that there were other boards, so it might have been on those, too.
Czar "Probably should have said, 'poop'." Mohab[/color]
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To Czar and Andy: No, the critique did not 'get me down' so much as make my response a bit sharp. I'd decided a while back that I need to write something other than the endless stream of Trek coming from my fingertips. I DO get tired of the endless BS over grammar for something I do in my SPARE TIME on LUNCH BREAK at work, but that would not , in itself , stop me from posting.
And I WILL still be around, just not posting my own stuff.
For Dirt, and the issues there of, it was a disjointed writing, and I freely admit some sections were bogged down while others zipped by. This comes from the various states of mind I occupied during the various times I was writing. This is why I try to get a story of such length done in a month or less. And editting only accomplishes me so much.
Captain Hiruul Ramses did not so much 'know' what was going on as guess what was going on. Perhaps this needs to be more blatantly stated.
Anywho, sorry for 'scaring' anyone. Roger still wuvz you.
--guv!!
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Glad to hear I didn't bug you too much then.
Personally Czar, I think Ramses' reaction was spot on. I could tell that he was monitoring the situation via long-range sensors (aka "from afar") and he was piecing it together. And the fact that he knew enough about Klingon psychology not to force help on them as Czar is suggesting, letting Dath'mar instead purchase it through back-channels was a great touch. Shows Ramses to be book-smart and street savvy.
I did forget to mention that I loved your Spaghetti Western line for the Surgeon as well. Seen it in Larry's sig for a long time now.
As for being sick of your own stories... well, I've got my Trek on now, with two stories currently in writing, and it looks like Jaeih & Kieran are coming back *nudge, hint* and Tus has started up, so you should be good for a while. Take a break and come back fresh.
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-Tuco Benedicto Juan Maria Ramirez, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Best line in the whole movie.
It's my favorite movie. Period. And it has a hell of a lot of really good lines. ;) Changed my sig back to one of them...
Seemed a little odd to me, in the resolution, that we would find that Ye Olde Comanche had been well informed and updated on the entire situation, but offered no other assistance until that point. You'd think that being a Starfleet captain, in the Federation, and most importantly, being human, would have had the guy trying to, at the very least, get some sh*t sent to Galt. Seriously, after all the war and strife and struggle that these two nations have had, wouldn't you as said captain want to jump at the chance to fling some sh*t over the border, without any possible repercussions? Without fear of reprisal? And to top it off, he'd probably get some commendation for the far flung sh*t.
Andy already answered this, but his impressions mirror mine.
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*bows to all*
I do have one more Endeavour Story, should anyone be interested. It's the one Larry and Andy have already read. It's really just Book One of a larger story, and I have no idea when I'll get back to it. I don't intend to post it for some time, if ever. If anyone wants to read it, I'd be happy to email it to you. Just leave me a line here, with either an addy or whatever.
--guv
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dude this is up with the best stories I've read and it's a crying shame you need to refuel your star trek muse! However, rather that then you burning out on the trek so I'll eagerly await the next stories. And we get an Endeavour to bridge the gap (or am I misunderstanding things?).
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And we get an Endeavour to bridge the gap (or am I misunderstanding things?).
I have another ready. If you'd like to read it, I'll email it your way. Either leave me a addy or I can get it from your Dyna profile.
The new story would have to take place in an alternate universe. There's a few years between Stroy #15 and this one. Got good reviews so far.
Want a copy?
--guv!!
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-Tuco Benedicto Juan Maria Ramirez, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Best line in the whole movie.
It's my favorite movie. Period. And it has a hell of a lot of really good lines. ;) Changed my sig back to one of them...
Seemed a little odd to me, in the resolution, that we would find that Ye Olde Comanche had been well informed and updated on the entire situation, but offered no other assistance until that point. You'd think that being a Starfleet captain, in the Federation, and most importantly, being human, would have had the guy trying to, at the very least, get some sh*t sent to Galt. Seriously, after all the war and strife and struggle that these two nations have had, wouldn't you as said captain want to jump at the chance to fling some sh*t over the border, without any possible repercussions? Without fear of reprisal? And to top it off, he'd probably get some commendation for the far flung sh*t.
Andy already answered this, but his impressions mirror mine.
About that second quote of yours:
Textual sarcasm and I don't get along. Wasn't meant to be serious.
HOWEVER, What's-his-face did piece together enough info to help D'M *AND* know where some "back-door" poop could be found.
Guv, If you could shoot a copy my way that would be great, no promise sthat I will read it in a timely fashion, but definitely before --- 15 May 08. I'm always willing to read your works. Just need to find time lately.
Czar "RL's been keepin me down," Mohab, who will return shortly. Possibly before 15 May 08...
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I mailed from my address to your addy, I'd love to have it!
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Grim: I replied to your email. Story away.
Czar: I usd the MSN addy provided in your profile as your actual addy was hidden. Hope that's still an active account.
--guv
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as i said in the mail: mucho thx. Do you already know what you are going to write iso trek? Is it going to be space related? Or more a side leap like larry's CoH fanfics?
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What I'm writing now has nothing to do with scifi. It's about a conman set in modern day.
--me
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And it's great.
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What I'm writing now has nothing to do with scifi. It's about a conman set in modern day.
--me
so? post it here anyway. It's not like we'd mind and the mods leave us pretty much alone...
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I'd actually like to try and get it published. :D
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Czar: I usd the MSN addy provided in your profile as your actual addy was hidden. Hope that's still an active account.
Thanks... almost done with it. Really hard to put down... errr... away. Hope you don't mind, but converted to .pdf; OOo isn't familiar with your toons and the red lines everyplace you'd typed a name made it hard to read.
I've given this some thought, and though they'd most likely never get the go ahead from Paramount, B&B, et al, this could really be HBO's next series. All of the Endy series so far done. It's to "curse wordy" even for FOX, and sometimes, too raw (sexy, bloody, etc.) for the regular networks. I haven't actually had HBO in years, but they have done some great shows in the past (Sopranos, Sex in the City, Six Feet Under, Carnivale, to name a few). It would be enough to get me to cough up the big bucks and plug it back in if they did ST:Endy.
Then again, if you or anyone else had the patience and skills, it could also be turned into a Flash media presentation. Would have to hire some voice actors... and be really good with Flash. I'd watch Endy:TAS if that were the case.
I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one that feels this way, but I'm pretty sure others could argue over how Endy was visualized. That being said, if your writing style holds on in your non Trek trek through words, I'm very confident you could get it published. Just remember your friends here when you're a big time writer ;). I'm sure we'd all like a cheap-as-free copy, signed by the author (or two so we could eBay the other one in a few years when you're super famous).
Oh, and feel free to take all the breaks that you need from the Trekkage. Might do the same myself, but not for publication's sake.
(http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/4/30/englushpaprasi128540660643593750.jpg)
Czar "Back to work for me," Mohab, who might have a post-nuclear word trek coming. Had a funny dream the other night...[/color]