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Fan Fiction Klingon Awareness Week.

SystemSystem Member, NoReporting Posts: 178,019 Arc User
edited April 2012 in Ten Forward
“Khar’Taga,” a weak, choking voice called after the first officer, “Khar’Taga.”

After the helm console exploded, sending both the helmsman and captain to the deck, the ship’s first officer, Khar’Taga, leapt to the controls of the beleaguered ship in a vain effort to keep her steady. The helmsman was completely lifeless at his feet, the captain, however, having fallen on his back behind him was undoubtedly the one calling after him.

The Klingon Vor’Cha class attack cruiser, Kling’DaQ was in terrible shape, the victim of a ruthless ambush by Orion pirates. The mission was to investigate the rumors of weapons and information trafficking across the border to the Federation. The rumors, it seemed all too painfully clear, were true. The investigation, while proving quite fruitful, had also led the Kling’DaQ and her crew into a trap.

No sooner had the Kling’DaQ come out of cloak to confront an Orion commercial freighter, the target of exhaustive fact finding leading to the truth behind this spy network, than a small flotilla of Orion warships appeared from behind a nearby asteroid cluster. Surely, the Orions had caught on to the Klingons’ meddling and had orchestrated this trap.

The opening salvo crippled the Kling’DaQ’s warp drive and intense substance jamming from the commercial freighter, prevented the Klingons from sending transmissions of any kind. Despite a spirited defense of the ambushed Vor’Cha, the trap was sprung flawlessly, and the result would spell the demise of the Klingon warship.

Nodding to a fellow crewman, Khar’Taga was relieved the burden of the helm to assume the burden of seeing to his fallen captain. The exploding helm console that had killed the Kling’DaQ’s helmsman had also mortally wounded her captain. Shrapnel had punctured his lungs and, by the sound of his weakly rasping breath, he was drowning in his own blood.

“What is our status?” the captain gurgled, realizing that Khar’Taga had taken a place beside his broken body.

“The main energizers are out, we are on auxiliary power only,” the first officer explained the bad news as plainly as he could, “forward and starboard shield are gone. Weapons are offline.”

“Can we go to warp?” Khar’Taga replied to the question with silence. It was all the answer that need be given. The captain’s heart sunk in his chest visibly at the news.

“Today is a good day to die,” the first officer reassured his captain.

“It is not!” the captain croaked, a dribble of blood dripping from his gaping mouth, “we will die here with no one to know. The treachery of these Orion dogs will not be avenged. This crime and this battle will be a long and easily forgotten memory.”

Khar’Taga could not believe his ears! They’d fought well, dispatching well more than their class in enemy ships. The Black Fleet of Sto’Vo’Kor would gladly accept them as honored dead. While the deeds this day may be deaf on mortal ears, theirs would last well into the afterlife.

“The naked stars,” Khar’Taga chided his worried captain, “they will remember.”

“It is not enough!” the captain practically shouted as his lungs escaped him, causing him to collapse into a series of pained coughs. The ship seemed to vibrate with each cough, and while the first officer knew it was from the relentless disruptor fire from the hounding Orion attackers, it seemed as if the vessel truly was a part of the captain.

“My family is poor, Khar’Taga,” the captain explained after calming a bit, “This ship is the sum of our entire family worth. With it goes the livelihood of my family, of my son. He has yet to take the Rite of Ascension.

“If we die with no one to know, he will not know of our honor. He will not hear the songs sung of our deeds. And worse, our family would have nothing and he will never feel the stars beneath his feet.”

The captain then reached forward, grasping his first officer by his armored tunic and pulling him closer. The captain was much weaker now, death was close upon him. His eyes had a plaintive look to them, mixed with a fleeting hope suggesting a final request that was about to come.

“You Khar’Taga, you have served me with honor and distinction for many years. Your blade has been at my side through many victories. You warrant a command yourself. This is why only you can I trust with this last and final command.

“You must live. Take a warp shuttle, escape this place. Live to speak of this. Live to sing this song for my family and for my son. You will bear witness the deeds of this ship and her crew and, one day, you will exact vengeance on these Orion traitors.”

Khar’Taga weighed and measured this request. He would be ruined. Fleeing this battle like a scared mewing child, his career in the Klingon Defense Force would be no more. They, of course, would hear his words, the captain’s family name would be held in great esteem and its place would be cemented. The captain’s son, sharing in the honor of his father’s valiant death, would be put on the fast track to a command of his own.

And despite the inevitable end of his own well being, he could not bear to deny this final duty to his superior. Khar’Taga nodded in silent determination to acknowledge his captain.
And, with that, the captain smiled with relief, weakly laying his head back and gasping the last breath from his tired lungs.

***

The shuttle came to landing and Khar’Taga barely noticed the compression of the landing gear hydraulics as the shuttle finally came to a rest. Barely noticed also were the calluses on his hands from the last several years of running his father’s dilithium mine.

He studied them intently as the shuttle finished its landing procedure and the outer hatch burst open with a hiss. He was thankful his father still had a place for him managing his family’s dilithium mine. With no career in the Klingon Defense Force, he was grateful to have a place to go. The mine was one of the largest in the alpha quadrant and saw a steady uptake in profitability servicing the continuing war effort the Empire waged against the Federation. In the months after his return, he’d made a name for himself as a cunning and astute businessman as well as a rugged miner in his own right. He was never afraid of getting down and dirty with those under his employ and they well respected him for that. As a result the mine flourished and so did his affluence.

Stepping off of the shuttle ramp and onto the landing platform he noticed the form of the elder Thubek and nodding in greeting toward him.

Grasping Khar’Taga by the shoulders the wizened Klingon smiled broadly, “It is a good day to see you, me Friend. Welcome to the First City.”

“Why have I been summoned here?” Khar’Taga replied with a question. It was not a surprising one, to be sure, for Khar’Taga only received a dispatch demanding his presence before the Klingon Council with no reason as to why.

“The son of DaQ’Len a member of house Ke’Toth, allied with house Duras which I understand to be a rival of house Martok, of which your house is allied, is that not so? He claims that my son and you were involved with spying for the Federation. He claims that the battle, of which you brought the honor of my son to my grandson, was a ruse which his Orion lackeys uncovered.”

Khar’Taga could shout in rage at such an accusation! The gall of this weakling to assert such a lie.

“The fool says he has evidence and demands your dilithium mine forfeit.”

“What is this Evidence?” Khar’Taga seethed, emphasizing the word “evidence” with disgust.

“I do not know, he didn’t speak of it, only that he had it,” Thubek replied, “He presents his claim and this evidence to Jem’Pak and the Council tomorrow. I have secured lodging for us. It will be safe should the son of DaQ’Len try to further dishonor us with an assassination attempt.

“Do not trouble yourself with these lies,” Thubek continued with a reassuring slap on his younger’s shoulder, “Spin the webs of deceit and be caught in them. Tonight we feast, we speak of old times, you tell me grand stories on my son’s and your battles, we will sing and tomorrow, we hang that Pet’aQ with his own web of lies.”

“You would stand with me to face these accusations?” Khar’Taga queried. Should he be implicated in treason he would stand not only the dilithium mine. Such a disgrace would mean death, not only to him, but his family and to anyone standing with him. “You need not share my sentence should the Council feed on his lies.”

“You gave up a promising career to bring honor and glory to our house,” Thubek retorted in an almost insulted tone, “My grandson will be carried to flight and to glory upon the wings of the Gragh’Ta thanks to you. Your self-sacrifice for my son and for my grandson can never be repaid. And, I have dedicated myself to your service as a result.”

“You have been a most trusted and valuable advisor to me in my affairs here on Qo’noS.”

“And I shall continue to be so! I will stand at your side, blade in hand, to fend off the very demons of Gre’Thor if I must! And, so shall I stand at your side to face these false claims brought about as a result of an action which my family was a part. We shall share in the sentence or the victory.”

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  • Archived PostArchived Post Member Posts: 2,264,498 Arc User
    edited April 2012
    The two strode purposefully into the Council Chambers and came to stand before Jem’Pak, the High Chancellor and regarded him and the rest of Council coldly.

    Fat, weak, sycophants, Khar’Taga seethed in contemplation of the Council members. Patronizing fools who attained their place through backroom dealings and underhanded politics. Few had earned such a spot in battle, save for Jem’Pak whose reputation in battle was well known, culminating in his wresting the Chancellor’s seat by killing Martok in ritual combat.

    Jem’Pak rose from his chair and regarded the two casually as they came to a stop before him. The other council members moved closer to form a large circle around them. The Chancellor remained quite stoic, showing neither anger nor empathy toward the two. In fact, Khar’Taga could hardly register any interest at all on the Klingon’s face for this particular matter. Perhaps this was rightly so, as this was a simple squabble between houses, little more than a domestic dispute, hardly enough to assume priority over the wartime matters that weighed heavily upon the Chancellor’s shoulders.

    Still, because a rich dilithium mine, vital to his war effort, hung in the balance, this accusation must be judged by him. He could dare not have some provincial judge make a ruling that would cause the flow of the precious fuel for his ships to be disrupted.

    “And the traitors have arrived,” growled a surly Klingon detached to the left of the procession of council members. Obviously, this must be the son of DaQ’len, Khar’Taga surmised. The man came within the circle next to Jem’Pak and glowered at the two.

    “These two served against the Empire,” the man continued without waiting for a word from Jem’Pak. This suited the Chancellor just fine as he was eager for these proceedings to be done. “They fed critical information and weapon schematics to the Federation! Their treachery furthered by the destruction of the ship Kling’DaQ and the lives of honorable Klingon Warriors, one of whom my own sister Ba’Eltrel!”

    Producing a thin red chip he held it high over his head for everyone on the council to see and continued, “On this isolinear chip are the ships logs, cargo manifest and communiqués intercepted from the Kling’DaQ as they were beamed to starbases within the Federation. Had it not been for our Orion friends, grateful and loyal to the Empire, the Federation would have used this sensitive information to launch a decisive strike killing even more of our honorable warriors.”

    “How long did it take you to conjure up this evidence?” Thubek spat from beside Khar’Taga, anger welling and boiling over within him, “How many years and how much did it cost you to manufacture this data? Tell me, did you use Ferengi to fabricate these lies? Or did you orchestrate them here in the comfort of your own home?”

    “I’ll cut your waging tongue from your mouth, old man!” the son of DaQ’len shouted. “This evidence is irrefutable!”

    Handing the red chip to Jem’Pak the son of DaQ’len puffed his chest outward and finished, “Traitors of the Empire, Die. And for the blood of my sister, I claim rights to the dilithium mine to serve the Empire in her name.”

    Up to this point both Jem’Pak and Khar’Taga had remained ominously silent throughout this diatribe. Finally, Jem’Pak spoke, glancing at the isolinear chip disdainfully, “These are weighty accusations, Khar’Taga, son of Khem’Tek. How would you answer them?”

    Khar’Taga glowered at his accuser who stood there with a smug look on his face. There was only one way he could answer these charges. Pulling his d’k tang from it sheath, the spring loaded side blades snapped into position and assumed a defensive stance, goading his accuser by pointing the dagger blade at him.

    Jem’Pak smiled at this, amused at both Khar’Taga’s silent, yet deafening response and also at the consternation of his accuser who, as it seemed, had not fully prepared for this eventuality. Dealing with the petty squabbles and backstabbing tricks of the council was a tiresome, albeit necessary evil of being Supreme Chancellor. Often times, he wondered if ascending to the seat of power in the Empire was really, truly what he wanted. He so longed the thrill of battle and it seemed his price for killing Martok was to be denied the flavor of conflict.

    The son of DaQ’len, Khar’Taga’s accuser gritted his teeth at this turn of events. The accused had challenged him and he could not back down, lest he lose not only his claim but face before the council. The tables had been turned, so to speak, as now the evidence he’d so craftily fabricated- spending a fortune to do so- could quite easily be ignored by the lucky turn of a blade.

    He had not considered Khar’Taga taking this path. Khar’Taga was a simple miner. It had been years since he served in the military, surely the years in a business office, running shipping transactions had made him soft. He was son of DaQ’len, a capable swordsman, his reputation must have preceded him. To challenge his claim with a blade, it was audacious, and quite unexpected.

    Producing his own blade, the son of DaQ’len moved forward, a slow prowling gait as he assumed a flowing, mak’bar offensive stance. Perhaps he would confuse and intimidate the inexperienced Khar’Taga. The accuser had made not one but two mistakes. First was to not anticipate this unavoidable battle, the second was to underestimate his opponent.

    Khar’Taga did not spend years in a business office. Rather he spent them working with those in his employ in the mines and this rewarded him a miner’s strength and stamina. Of which Khar’Taga took advantage quickly, by planting a palm into his accusers jaw. And, because the son of DaQ’len was pressing in an offensive stance, he could not deflect easily such a blow, which landed him and sent him reeling backward on his heels.

    The two exchanged thrusts and parries as the duel simmered to a momentary stand still, with each sizing the other and looking for a weakness to exploit. The son of DaQ’len’s prowess with the blade showed through by leaving telling marks on Khar’Taga’s flesh. Khar’Taga however, continued to fight with a tenacity the astounded all in attendance.

    “Do you think this will absolve you?” Khar’Taga’s accuser spat in an obvious attempt to taunt and infuriate. “I shall spill your blood on this floor and when I am done I shall bleed your dilithium mines dry and feed my houses coffers with the riches from them.”

    A leaping thrust from the son of DaQ’len had almost struck home. However, his final mistake took the form of Khar’Taga’s freehand snatching his blade hand by the wrist, holding him with a strength borne from his years working the rocks of his mine. Wild eyed with surprise at his capture, the son of DaQ’len struggled to break free of Khar’Taga’s iron grip.

    “You fight as a peasant!” he cried in rage, desperate for anything that would afford an advantage, “Unworthy of an honorable warrior. Traitor!”

    Khar’Taga’s eyes filled with rage, and slowly he raised his blade and struck in a downward killing blow that sunk his blade deeply into the base of his accuser’s neck. The son of DaQ’len gurgled an inaudible retort and weakly collapsed to the floor. Khar’Tage followed to a knee beside him, to assure his blow would finish the job.

    Realizing that this was the end for him, Khar’Taga released the blade and with both hands held the son of DaQ’len’s eyes open. A low growling rumble grew from within Khar’Taga chest as the final breath escaped his accuser’s lips. As death took hold, the victor raised his head toward the sky and howled so strongly that sound reverberated across the halls of the council chambers.

    Silence followed as Jem’Pak and the council watched in awed silence. Finally, Jem’Pak tossed the red isolinear chip in his hand to the floor as if it were garbage. This elicited an excited murmur from the council as they speculated amongst themselves the Supreme Chancellor’s action.

    “Silence! And, behold,” Jem’Pak proclaimed, waves a hand before Khar’Taga and his fallen accuser, “his lips still wet with vile accusation and poisonous insult, yet you grant him an honorable death.

    “This is not about treason,” the Supreme Chancellor addressed his fellow council leaders, “This is not about vengeance. No, this is about what it means to be truly Klingon!

    “For far too long we have listened to the voice of the soulless machine and not to the beating hearts within our chest. We have sold our allegiance to circuits and turned out back on the blood the boils within us.

    “Today we are reminded that to the victor comes justice. And that there is no greater glory than a victory won with honor.”

    The Supreme Chancellor came to stand before Khar’Taga and offered him an outstretched hand, “Khar’Taga, son of Khem’Tek. You have taught us all this day what it means to be Klingon. I am in your debt. You and you alone will follow.”

    Jem’Pak lead Khar’Taga to his personal office as the rest of the council continued to murmur amongst themselves, the body of the son of DaQ’len drug from the council chamber like trash. With the door sealed behind them, the Supreme Chancellor regarded Khar’Taga out of the corner of his eye.

    “Your house is allied with that of house Martok, is that not so?” It was a question to which Khar’Taga nodded to the affirmative.

    “I now ask you to answer me truthfully, Khar’Taga, son of Khem’Tek,” Jem’Pak turned to face him and questioned unwavering, “You have served for years as an officer in the Klingon Defense Force. Will you again serve the Empire? Will you again set aside the differences your house has with mine and fight as an honorable warrior under my banner?”

    What a stroke of good fortune. As now, not only had he secured his continued ownership of the family dilithium mine, he was now given the opportunity to serve again. Khar’Taga’s hearts soared at the prospect to once again taste the thrill of battle.

    “I will. I swear,” Khar’Taga proclaimed in response.

    “Good,” Jem’Pak replied with a nod, “For I have a ship that needs a new captain. And, you would do well to bring glorious victories to the Empire.”

    Taking an illuminated pad from the nearby table the Supreme Chancellor handed it to Khar’Taga continuing, “Here is the requisition for this ship. Admittedly, it is not the finest or the most modern. But, she has seen many battles and the blood of many warriors fills her veins. She will serve you well and, if you do bring glory to the Empire as I expect you will, doors will open for you. And this will be but a first step in carving your legacy.”

    Taking the requisition pad from his Chancellor, Khar’Taga brought his clenched fist across his chest in salute.

    “Qap’La, Khar’Taga, son of Khem’Tek.”
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