Star Trek: Republic (Book II: Ties of Blood)

[Enigma]

I wonder if the string of bad luck includes that scout ship being allied to Mak'Vegh.....

[masterarminas]

Chapter One (cont.)

Banner settled down on the plates of the deck within the ample hanger bay beneath the bulk of the Klingon ship. Built to hold a dozen Klingon shuttlecraft, only three were present. “Sir, where are their shuttles?” asked Chris.

“Their captain probably dumped them in order to accommodate us, Mister Roberts. Banner is a just a bit larger than your average Klingon shuttlecraft.”

“Dumped them?” the young Lieutenant asked incredulously. “Why not just store them in the cargo bay?”

“The Captain is correct, Lieutenant,” Turovik said. “The Klingons regard their shuttles as expendable assets—many ship commanders used them to provide close air-support in the Dominion War. If they are carrying cargo the Klingon consider important, they will just jettison the shuttles and replace them upon returning to base.”

“Aren’t they concerned someone like the Ferengi or the Pakleds or the Orions will find them and use them?”

“Lieutenant Roberts, the Klingons routinely equip any such discarded shuttles with lethal explosive devices tied into the systems.”

“Booby-traps, Mister Robert,” the Captain translated for the young officer. “Investigating an abandoned Klingon vessel—regardless of size—is fraught with danger. Remember that.” And with that Matt shut down the main reactor. “Shuttlebay is pressurized, gentlemen, so why don’t we meet our hosts?”

The armored hatch at the far end of the bay slid open and several Klingons marched into the shuttlebay. “Speak of the devil. Get a move on, Misters.”

Quincy Talbot and Alvin Thiesman were already waiting at the upper end of the ramp leading down to the interior of the Klingon ship. “I can smell it from here,” growled Quincy. “We’re spending eleven days on this rust-bucket?”

“Careful, Quincy,” Matt chuckled. “Those Klingons probably feel about this ship the way we do about Republic—and I’m not going to order Corporal Thiesman there to save you if they take offense.”

“Probably have to eat their live food as well,” the doctor mumbled as he followed Matt down the ramp to the shuttlebay below.

The two lines of Klingon warriors snapped to attention, and a shrill noise echoed from the bulkheads. Their version of a bosun’s whistle, Matt thought with a smile. He walked up until he stood face to face with the ship’s commander, and Matt bared his teeth into a fierce grin.

“YOU!” he thundered. “The last time I saw you, you were fighting a dozen Jem’Hadar soldiers with an empty disruptor pistol and a bat’leth—it is a pity for the universe that you survived, you miserable old pirate!”

“Dahlgren,” the Klingon noble growled. “Starfleet must be in a sorry condition to recall someone like you who does not know how to obey orders from his lawful superior!”

Matt snorted. “When my lawful superior—of the same rank—gives a stupid order such as 'leave me behind to die', damn straight I’m not going to obey it!”

“And a good thing that was too!” the Klingon said with a deep-throated laugh. “While I could have taken those Jem’Hadar, it would have been a long fight—without a goblet of blood-wine to slack my thirst! It is good to see you again, Matthew Dahlgren!”

“And you, Lord Koram.”

“You know each other?” Quincy asked sotte voce.

“HAH!” barked Koram. “We do indeed—were you aware that your Captain is a member of my House! He even endured the pain-sticks to prove his worth to my warriors! Qapla’, tlhlngan! This one has the heart of a warrior born! But he handles a blade like a female!” Koram added with laugh.

“Come, Matthew Dahlgren, we shall feast and drink and I will hear your tales of honor and glory. Amar has already reentered warp and is speeding along to Vulcan as fast our engines will allow—faster even, we could well all wake in sto-vo-kor if my engineer falls asleep at his post!”

“An officer asleep at his post on your ship, Koram? You must be growing mellow with age; or senile,” Matt answered as he followed the Klingon from the bay, his officers trailing behind.

Koram stopped and he laughed, as did the dozen Klingon warriors of the honor guard. “It is good to see you again, indeed! And since I know that our food is not palatable for your species, I ordered the chef to cook the targ until it was burnt! Come, we have blood-wine to drink, and songs to sing, and tales of valor to honor our dead!” Koram stepped through the hatch and into the narrow corridors of the dimly-lit ship.

And Matt followed.

[FaxModem1]

At some point in time, this story MUST have a swordfight. Whether you're building up to it or it just happened, I look forward to someone tasting steel.

[Enigma]

At some point in time, this story MUST have a swordfight. Whether you're building up to it or it just happened, I look forward to someone tasting steel.

I thought Matt didn't know how to sword fight?

[Eternal_Freedom]

That's what holodeck training is for. See, as a writer myself I can see the pattern MA has set up. He's given the guy a sword AND explicitly stated he doesn't know how to use it. Inevitably he is either going to leanr how (and not use it) Or he'll be forced to use it in a pinch and vow to improve his abilities afterwards.

[PhilosopherOfSorts]

Just a minor bit of criticism here. The captian here is getting to be a little bit Sue-ish in the way he knows everyone. He's friends with admirals and commodores, he's trained other captians, he knows highly placed, long-term, deep-cover inteligence agents, (not just knows them, but knows what their cover is and where they're assigned) and now there's this Klingon war buddy, who's House he's a member of. Is there anybody in the quadrant he DIDN'T serve with in the Dominion War? I get the feeling that if he was warped to the delta quadrant, we'd find out that he was Chakotay's roommate back in his academy days.

[masterarminas]

Chapter One (cont.)

“You should challenge and kill her, in the Klingon way, Matthew,” growled Koram, after he spat on the floor of his quarters. “This Mar is . . . without honor.”

Matt shook his head. “That is not the Federation way, Koram—although it may well come to that, my career be damned.”

The Klingon laughed bitterly. “My House is no Great House, Matthew, but we are no Lesser House, either. If it comes to that, I can offer you asylum. But now I see why Martok himself requested that I meet with you. Were you aware that our nephew Cha’shin is serving as the Ambassador to the Federation at this very moment? That he—and the Warriors responsible for his security—are on Earth today?”

“I was not.”

The Klingon bared his fangs in a grin. “I shall contact him immediately—do not fear, Matthew; your family will not see his Warriors, but they will be there watching. Cha’shin values . . . subtlety rather than brash action, but he knows honor!”

And Matt bared his teeth in response. “Qapla’! I owe you, Koram.”

The Klingon snorted and then he took another deep pull of his blood-wine. “It is merely part of the debt that I already owe you, Matthew. Think nothing of it. Besides, we shall be in Earth orbit in eight days,” he said with another smile as Matt frowned.

“Eight days? Lord Koram, I thought it would take at least eleven days to cross the Empire and Federation space for a K’mag-class cruiser.”

His host laughed. “As originally constructed, Amar would have taken twelve days to reach Earth from here. Luckily for you, Klingon spies are still the best at our trade,” he chuckled as he tossed Matt a PADD containing engine schematics.

Matt whistled. “That’s the LF-45 warp drive from the Intrepid- and Andromeda-class ships!”

Koram shrugged. “Originally . . . but now it is the STN-11A engine of the Imperial Klingon Navy! You will notice that we made some . . . alterations to avoid being accused of duplicating the design exactly.”

The captain of Republic snorted. “You changed the Bussard collectors—hardly essential proprietary information!”

“The collectors are part of the warp drive, though, are they not, my brother in blood? Amar has the honor of being the first ship refitted with the new nacelles—and she has proven capable of achieving twice her old speed for brief periods of time! She is the fastest ship in the entire Klingon Fleet—at least until her sisters begin to emerge from dock.”

“I will have to report this to Starfleet, you know that,” Matt said as he sat down the PADD, but Koram shook his head and laughed again.

“It is all part of the Great Game, Matthew. Your Intelligence people will spend their time hunting for our spies that uncovered this—while in the meantime, we are free to work upon another project entirely. One that I hope will include your Ambassador Mar and a dozen warriors with pain-sticks,” he grinned and then barked out another laugh. “Besides, the Chancellor authorized you to see that information—who am I, the Lord of a House, to question the wisdom of the Chancellor?”

“He wants Intelligence hunting for his mole,” Matt said sourly, “a mole who has probably moved on to other tasks.”

The Klingon laughed and he slapped one hand against his knee. “You know the Game well, Matthew. But for now, we should speak about how you wish to handle this . . . dishonorable female.”

Matt smiled. “Beside Cha’shin, I have another friend on Terra—several actually who should be watching out for my family until I can arrive. As to what I intend . . . that will be based on what I find once I return home.”

Koram nodded. “I understand, and I think that I shall request of the Federation a berth to allow my crew rest and relaxation once we arrive at Earth. I have two hundred Warriors aboard this ship, Matthew—they are at your command if you have need of them.”

“I thank you, brother—but you could find yourself outnumbered and outgunned by Mak’vegh if he is working with Mar. It was his ships that ambushed me—and probably his ships that took out Sam and the Balao.”

Koram poured more blood-wine into his chalice and grinned broadly. “If that p’tahk comes after me and my ship, then he will discover for himself if that day is a good day to die!” And Koram raised his chalice high.

Matt raised his as well and the two tapped their drinks together, then both men—the human and the Klingon—drained them and slammed them down on the table. Koram stood. “Come, the chef will have finished burning the tarq in your honor—and your crew will probably be grateful if you divert my Warriors attention from them.”

[masterarminas]

Chapter Two

Cassandra Dahlgren smiled up at her classmate and shook her head. “No, Tom!” she said again. “I need to study for the literature exam tomorrow.”

He smiled. “Sausage and pepper pizza, the best in the Big Apple, Cass—and karaoke.”

Cass winced. “You know I have perfect pitch—karaoke clubs are a nightmare,” she shuddered.

“Not a karaoke club open to public—vocal arts students at Juilliard only, Cass,” he whispered as he leaned in close. Then he stood back a step and shook his head. “Don’t forget, Madame Dahlgren, you are supposed to be enjoying your freshman year as well as getting those excellent marks.”

She shook her head no again, but she smiled back at the sophomore. “I can’t; I really need to study tonight.”

“Okay . . . our loss is literature’s gain,” he said and then he trotted down the marble steps, before he stopped and turned around. “Lunch tomorrow?” he asked.

“That I can do,” Cass said with a grin.

The two waved goodbye, and Cass lifted her bag back to her shoulder and started walking down the sidewalk. She shivered against the cold wind and pulled her coat a little tighter across her body; the rehearsal had dragged on later than she thought and it was already growing dark on the streets. Luckily, her apartment was only a few blocks away.

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

She didn’t know exactly what triggered in her head, but something out of place alerted Cass a moment before the man lunged out of the alley-way towards her. But Cassandra Dahlgren was no mere freshman singer—she was the daughter of Matthew Dahlgren and had learned from an early age just how to defend herself.

She didn’t think, she just reacted—and her booted heel caught the assailant in the crotch, followed up by her elbow across his temple and a second kick to his ear as he sank to the ground. And then she turned to run . . . only to discover that her attacker had not been alone.

“Thought your daddy might have taught you some moves,” he said as he trained the hand phaser on her. Cass’s eyes grew wide and her second attacker smiled. “Don’t worry none, I’ll make it fast and painless,” he said as he began to move his thumb.

But at that exact moment, the third man walking down the street moved forward like lightning and he grabbed the attacker at the junction of the shoulder and neck . . . and the thug collapsed to the sidewalk unconscious.

“Wh-wh-who are you?” Cassie whispered as she began to shiver from more than the cold, as the man patted down the thug and pocketed the hand phaser. Her savior lowered his hood and she could see the pointed Vulcan ears and close-cropped hair style favored by that race.

“I am Sepak of Vulcan, and I know your father, child. Come—it is not safe to linger here,” he ordered, extending a hand towards her.

“If my father sent you, then you know the phrase,” Cass said, backing up two steps and getting ready to run.

Sepak stood and he lowered his arm. “Now is the winter of our discontent, this thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.”

Cass nodded. “Richard the Third and the Tempest—two quotes never put together by accident.”

“Come, Cassandra Dahlgren,” Sepak said quietly. “I fear there are more of them watching us. Can you run?”

“Can you keep up?”

[masterarminas]

Chapter Two (cont.)

“We need to get inside a public building and call the authorities,” Cass said as she kept looking over her shoulder at the rapidly darkening streets.

“No, Miss Dahlgren, your father has made an enemy of a powerful person—several actually. One with significant control over the local authorities,” Sepak answered as he continued walking. “Were you to be taken into custody you would shortly thereafter be dead.”

Cass jerked. “Wh-why-who is behind this?”

“A very powerful politician on the Federation Council—an Ambassador that stands a strong chance of becoming the next President of the United Federation of Planets, child. You cannot trust the authorities—you cannot trust anyone.”

She stopped and simply stared at the Vulcan, who sighed and turned around to face her once he no longer heard her footsteps. “It is not fair, it is not right, but this is the way it must be, Cassandra Dahlgren. Your father is en route back to earth—and until he finds a way to stop this . . . individual and those she commands, you, your sisters, and your mother must be kept safe.”

“Amy? Sarah? Mom? This woman is after them too?” she whispered in shock.

Sepak nodded gravely. “You are all in imminent danger—come, we cannot tarry any longer.”

Cass looked around one more time and then she began walking again, Sepak following behind her, giving directions as he watched over Matt’s daughter. “Why is she doing this?”

“Your father has made a habit of disrupting the plans of many decades—for the best of reasons, of course, with the intention of preserving the Federation. There are those behind these plans, however, that object to your father’s interference and want to hurt him as badly as he has hurt them. This woman is one of those individuals.”

“Why didn’t he contact me? Or Mother?”

“Your communications have been tapped and are being monitored, Cassandra Dahlgren. Had your father even attempted to make contact with you, you and your family would have been already killed,” the Vulcan answered in a calm, emotionless voice. “There, that door ahead on the right. The security code is four-one-seven, three-two-three, six-six-eight.”

Cass turned right at a non-descript door on the side of the one of the massive towers and she pressed the keypad in the sequence directed . . . the door popped open with a hiss and she passed over the threshold, Sepak behind her. She heard the door shut and sealed and then the Vulcan pressing in a new code on this side of the security lock. The room she stood in was empty, dark, and cold. But on the far wall, she could see faint illumination coming from an office.

“This is safe-house that I know of—one of many,” the Vulcan said as he walked forward. “You will be safe from those thugs here—do you drink coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Cass answered with a shiver as she reached the door to the office and passed from the darkness into light. The small office was well outfitted with a replicator, two desks, and a pair of computer work-stations. Sepak spoke to the replicator in Vulcan and it hummed. “Sugar? Cream?”

“Both, please.”

She heard a spoon clinking on the mug and then Sepak turned around and handed her the cup filled with the steaming caramel colored liquid. Cass sighed and she took a sip. “Thank you. For everything, Sepak.”

“Gratitude is not warranted, Miss Dahlgren,” the Vulcan answered. “Tell me, do you believe in God, Cassandra Dahlgren?”

She frowned. “I do,” she answered in a puzzled voice.

“And do you know the name of God?”

Cass set down the cup and she stood as alarm bells started ringing in her head, but the room began to spin and her vision blurred; she collapsed, but the Vulcan caught her and lowered her into a chair. He leaned over her and he smiled slightly. “The name of God is Ordan, Cassandra Dahlgren, blessed be her name. We shall discuss that and other matters at length . . . once you awaken. I did warn you not to trust anyone, did I not?”

The rest of Sepak’s words were unheard as Cassandra’s vision faded to black and her eyes rolled back into her head as she fell into a drug-induced state of unconsciousness.

[masterarminas]

Chapter Two (cont.)

The Klingon ignored the stares of the local residents as he trotted up the four flights of stairs and then turned into a long corridor. He made his way down the hall of the apartment complex, upon reaching a specific door, he came to a halt and pressed the admittance key—there was no answer. Looking both ways, he drew a small device from a pouch on his belt and fixed it to the security panel; there was a sudden click and the door hissed open.

Closing the door behind him, he quickly—but thoroughly—searched the small living residence. The coffee maker was cold, the electronic mail on Cassandra Dahlgren’s computer had not been checked since earlier this morning. He frowned as he drew out a communicator.

“She is not here,” he growled in Klingon. “It appears she has not returned from her classes.”

“We have reports that a woman meeting her description and a Vulcan male were accosted in public—the attackers are in local police custody, but she and the Vulcan have vanished,” a voice replied.

“Understood. Instructions?”

“Return to base.”

The Klingon closed the communicator and taking one final look around the small apartment, he left it behind him.

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

“SARAH!” Melody Dahlgren shouted as she nearly tripped over a collection of toys spread across the living room. “SARAH LINDSEY DAHLGREN!”

Her youngest daughter rushed down the stairs, trailed by Jinx the cat, even as the little girl’s older sister Amanda (who no longer liked to be called Amy) grinned from the seat in front of the piano where she was practicing.

“Yes, Momma?” her daughter asked with a broad smile.

Melody frowned down at her and then she pointed at the pile of toys in the middle of the floor. “Yours, I believe?”

Sarah frowned too. “I was coming back for them,” she protested.

“When? You went upstairs an hour ago.”

“That long?”

“Put them up if you aren’t playing with them, Sarah—I will not tell you again.”

The young girl began to protest, but then the doorbell rang. Melody walked over and opened it . . . and she jumped back in surprise at the two Klingons standing there.

“Melody Dahlgren?” one asked politely as he showed his identification—the Ambassador of the Klingon Empire to the United Federation of Planets asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “What can I do for you . . . Ambassador Cha’shin.”

“You could invite us in to speak, Madame Dahlgren—I am the nephew of Lord Koram, and therefore a relative of your former mate.”

“The operative word there being my former mate, Mister Ambassador. Matt isn’t here, he isn’t even on Earth—as usual. Good day, Sir,” she said flatly as she started to close the door, and looked up in surprise as Cha’shin wedged his boot in place to stop here.

“No, Madame Dahlgren, he is not here and he cannot protect his family—which is why I have been sent, to serve in his place,” the Klingon said quietly.

Melody’s face drained of color. “Protect . . . just what the hell has my ex done now that his family needs to be protected?”

Cha’shin shook his head. “That conversation needs to be held in a safer place—for you and your daughters.”

Her face turned white and she stepped away from the door. “Perhaps you had best come in and tell me then,” she said. “Welcome to my home, Ambassador—it is a mess at the moment, I warn you.”

Cha’shin snorted as he stepped inside—and then he turned to the second Klingon and barked a quick chain of orders in his native tongue. “He will remain outside on watch, Madam- . . .”

“My name is Melody, Ambassador. And I go by my maiden name now, Holder. Call me Madame Dahlgren again and I’ll skin you with your own knife.”

The Klingon laughed. “I see why Matthew married you—you have spirit, woman! I approve,” then the smile left his face. “Come, let me tell you of why your family is in danger, and then if you permit me to, I know of a place where you will be safe and secure.”

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

The thug shook his head and lowered the binoculars. “Klingons were not part of this deal,” he snarled softly.

“Then be grateful there are only two of them—Klingons die from phaser blasts as easily as humans after all.”

“What are they doing here anyway?” the first man asked with a frown.

“Who cares?” a third answered. “Control confirmed we get a bonus for them.”

“How much of bonus?” the fourth inquired.

“Enough to make it worth our while. Time to earn our pay, lads,” the second man—the leader—said. “Take out the outside sentry first and then we rush the house. There is just the one Klingon and the woman inside—plus her two kids.”

“Kill them all?”

The leader nodded. “That’s the word, gentlemen. Kill them all.”

[Diverball]

The leader nodded. “That’s the word, gentlemen. Kill them all.”

Kill them? Not even try to take them hostage? That seems to be limiting their options rather unnecessarily. Especially given that the potential for manipulating Captain Dahlgren's emotions is arguably greater if you have your hands on his youngest - someone too young to understand what is happening to them. It's not as if religious fanactics have any scruples when it comes to achieving their mission, after all.

[masterarminas]

Chapter Two (cont.)

Melody was shaking her head as Cha’shin quickly ran through the highlights. “Well, Matt always did know how to push people’s buttons—he certainly managed to push mine a time or two,” she whispered. “Girls!” she snapped. “Get your emergency bags from the basement; Sarah, put Jinx into the travel carrier while you are down there. Amanda, grab my bag. NOW!”

The two girls—quite obviously frightened—immediately scampered for the stairs going down.

The Klingon Ambassador nodded in appreciation at the strong woman before him. “Matthew chose you well, didn’t he?” he chuckled.

Melody glared at the Klingon for a moment, and then she sighed. “Actually,” she said with a ghost of a smile, “I picked him—he always did look dashing in uniform.”

Cha’shin started to answer, but then he suddenly snarled and cursed in the Klingon tongue. He pressed a stud on his belt and then drew his knife in one hand and a small disruptor in the other. “Get down there with your children now, my Lady,” he growled. “Our foes are here—they have just taken out my driver.”

Melody began to run for the stairs as the girls started to emerge. “Back to the basement! Both of y-. . .”

But before she could reach them or even finish her sentence, the bay windows on the eastern face of the house exploded inwards and men clad in black rushed inside. Cha’shin howled as he raised the disruptor and fired one green beam into the chest of the first man through, while his knife flew through the air and dug deep into the second’s shoulder. The Klingon crouched and shifted his aim as three phaser beams burnt through the home and his second disruptor shot caught the third man in the stomach. And in the confusion, the cat struggled free of the youngest girl's arms and bounced in the center of the chaos as she ran for the nearest couch to hide under.

“JINX!” yelled Sarah and she rushed into the middle of the room after the cat.

“SARAH, NO!” screamed Melody as she rushed to grab her daughter—but Sarah passed close by the fourth man, who backhanded her across the living room; her little body going limp as she smashed into a glass-topped table which shattered beneath her weight.

Two more golden phaser beams criss-crossed the room and Cha’shin snarled as one slammed into his shoulder and spun him around to the ground . . . and then the assailant who had struck Sarah turned his attention back to Melody.

And he crumpled to the ground as the engaged ex-wife of a Star Fleet Captain swung the cast iron poker from the fireplace like a baseball bat and struck him right on the edge of his right eye.

The last of the attackers had his phaser aimed at Melody and he shook his head, even as the blood of the knife Cha’shin had thrown dripped from his shoulder wound; he had switched the phaser to his good hand. “Drop it,” he ordered, as he turned the phaser on the limp body of her daughter. “Or she dies. You too, Klingon—quit crawling for that weapon.”

Melody dropped the poker and her face went bleak and he nodded. “Wasn’t expecting you to have a disruptor, Klingon—but just means more money for me.”

“You imbecile, you will never live to collect it . . . I am the Ambassador of the Klingon Empire to the Federation—you will be given to my people and torn limb from limb.”

The man’s face went white, but then he nodded. “Best to finish it then,” he said as he raised the phaser and centered it on Cha’shin’s chest.

At that moment, he heard a voice to one side of him, from the stair-way heading towards the basement. “Except Daddy taught me how to hunt,” followed by two clicks. He wheeled around training the pistol towards Amanda, and his eyes grew wide as he saw the double-barreled shotgun she was holding—and then the flash of both barrels erupting in flame was the last thing he ever saw.

[masterarminas]

Chapter Two (cont.)

“Security personnel and peacekeepers arrived on the scene in minutes—but the family was gone, along with at least two wounded Klingons . . . one of which the forensics have identified as the Ambassador of the Klingon Empire to the Federation,” Jas Cruikshank reported to a wide-eyed Delena Mar. He shook his head. “Dahlgren did not stint on his house security—the moment phasers and disruptors were fired, alarms went off in Star Fleet Command as well as the local law enforcement headquarters in Hinton. Two hundred and eleven seconds after the first exchange, the officers beamed on scene—but they were too late except to secure the site and collect the four dead assailants.”

He paused and shook his head. “And his eldest daughter is missing in New York, madame Ambassador. She was seen being accosted by two criminals and a Vulcan came to her aid; both she and the Vulcan have since disappeared.”

Mar closed his mouth and she shook herself in disbelief. “HOW did this happen? I gave NO orders for this!”

The sibilant voice of the Lorsham priest hissed from the dark corner of the room. “Do you forget your place, thrall? I gave the order—Dahlgren’s family must pay for the sins of their husband and father—Ordan commands it.”

“Blessed be Ordan,” Mar replied as she bowed her head, but then she raised her eyes defiantly. “But this is not Hak’ta-thor, Prascius, this is Earth. Murder is rare here, and they will find out who was behind it!”

The priest stood and he shook his head. “They will discover a member of the Orion syndicate arranged for this assassination attempt—and that the said Orion is no longer available to answer any questions . . . indeed he is past communicating with anyone, ever again. There is no chance of them tracing this attempt to us,” he paused and looked at Mar’s aide. “A Vulcan aided the daughter, thrall? Would this be the Vulcan?” he asked as he held up an image of Sepak.

Jas nodded slowly. “That matches the surveillance video, your Grace.”

“Ah,” Prascius hissed and he bared his teeth. “Forget the family—for now. Concentrate all efforts on finding this Vulcan—unharmed if you value your own lives!”

Mar shook her head. “We need to lie low for now, Security will be absolutely out of their minds that this was ev-. . .”

“DO NOT QUESTION ME, THRALL!” the Lorsham bellowed. And then he collected himself. “This Vulcan is the repository of Ordan—the living Avatar of Ordan and She is alone; she must be returned so that She can be served and worshipped by the Host.”

Both Mar and her aide jerked in surprise. “They cured Sepak!” the Ambassador sputtered. “The Gift failed!”

“There was an . . . unfortunate resistance to the Gift of Ordan, something in the Vulcan physiology which prevented a full conversion to the Faith,” the priest admitted. “Enough that Ordan was forced to turn her attention to breaking down the will of the Vulcan—and then Her relics were destroyed and she chose to inhabit his body. Their ‘cure’ removed the Gift, but not the presence of Ordan Herself. She possesses his knowledge, his memories, his physical body at Her command. The Vulcan is merely a shell for Ordan, for Her Knowledge and Her Wisdom—recovering Her is paramount to our task.”

Mar just stood there and then she knelt. “Then we will focus our efforts on finding this Avatar of Ordan, your Grace. Blessed be Ordan.”

“Blessed be Ordan,” the Lorsham replied with bared fangs.

[Crayz9000]

Ah, the good old "alien lifeform takes over character's body" trope. It just wouldn't be Star Trek without it

[masterarminas]

Chapter Two (cont.)

Mar and Jas stood until the doors hissed shut behind the Lorsham priest and then the aide shook his head. “It is a pity that Ordan was revealed to them; they do not understand anything other than force and vengeance, my Lady,” he said quietly.

“Truth, but the Gift makes it impossible to throttle him as I so desire to do,” Mar snapped. Then she say the look on her aide’s face. “What more bad news have you for me, Jas?”

“We have heard from Lord Mak’vegh . . . his ships engaged Republic ahead of schedule,” and here he frowned, “and were defeated.”

Mar sat down and she put her face in her hands. “Dahlgren will react—he will see this as our opening salvo on him and he will return to Earth. Still, he is a month out . . .” and her voice trailed off as she saw the aide shaking his head.

“Mak’vegh did not bother to tell us at the time he engaged Republic; it was fourteen days ago.”

Mar simply sat back in her chair and sighed. “We have two weeks then to finish the job—has Dahlgren communicated with Star Fleet Command?”

“One message, direct to the office of the Chief of Star Fleet Operations . . . with a code who decryption key we lack; he transmitted fourteen days ago and has since gone silent.”

“So he knows about Balao and he knows that someone gave the Klingons the command codes for his ship . . . how the devil did Mak’vegh manage to screw THAT up?” she asked sourly.

“He was . . . unwilling to go into details, my Lady.”

Mar snorted. “I bet he was,” and she sat up and began to pull up a file. “He cannot get to Earth—Republic must be stopped. Is our agent in place aboard the Constellation?”

Jas simply stared at Mar. “We have one dose of the Gift—one! Dare we risk it now, on a ship that has not even been completed?”

“She will be ready for trials in eight days—have our agent infect her core just before Star Fleet starts the trials . . . and see to it that our newest member of the Host knows that Dahlgren and Republic must be stopped.”

Jas swallowed and he nodded. “I will see to it, my Lady.”

Mar nodded at him and she waved her handed as she opened a computer monitor on her desk. If the House of Mak’vegh could not stop this Star Fleet Captain, Mar thought as her aide bowed low and left her office, then she would. Even if it meant that the Gift must be used prematurely to awaken and convert the computer core of Star Fleet’s newest Sovereign-class Starship.

[Eternal_Freedom]

Oh, shit. A Sovereign under the command of these wackos? This is going to be bloody.

[MondoMage]

Oh, shit. A Sovereign under the command of these wackos? This is going to be bloody.

Even Lorraine should the ship decide that it knows better than the other wackos. While not sentient, Starfleet vessels seem quite capable of certain levels of self-determination. Would the "Gift" enhance this, I wonder? Or perhaps Starfleet itself will have done it, seeing as how enamored the Federation tends to be of their own technological creativity at times (often to their own detriment).

Or an even more sobering thought... If Ordan can inhabit bodies, could she take over a Starship? As I seem to recall, that was how she started out, isn't it?

[Diverball]

While not sentient, Starfleet vessels seem quite capable of certain levels of self-determination. Would the "Gift" enhance this, I wonder? Or perhaps Starfleet itself will have done it, seeing as how enamored the Federation tends to be of their own technological creativity at times (often to their own detriment).

The computer cores of starfleet vessels are perfectly capable of running sentient holographic doctors, presumably with capacity to spare (starfleet computer cores have always been described in the "offical" technical manuals as having vastly more capacity than they actually need). On that basis, it wouldn't take much of a push to make them sentient - unless the archictecture has specifically been designed to prevent this from happening.

Or an even more sobering thought... If Ordan can inhabit bodies, could she take over a Starship? As I seem to recall, that was how she started out, isn't it?

What does God need with a starship?

Sorry, couldn't resist!

[masterarminas]

Chapter Three

Martok, Chancellor of the Klingon Empire, sat upon his throne in the dimly lit Chamber of the High Council on the Klingon Homeworld. His left eye was scarred and sealed shut—a legacy of his injuries at the hands of the Dominion. But his right eye was wary and watchful, and he showed his teeth as one of the many ranking Warriors and Lords of the Houses gathered before him stepped forward.

“I see you, Laramm, son of Mak’vegh. Do you wish to address this Council today, in the absence of your father, the head of your House?”

“I do,” growled the stout Klingon Warrior. “The Federation has lied to us! They have deceived us! All, in an effort to keep the power of their quantum warheads for themselves, ignoring our Alliance and the treaties between our peoples! They told us all that such weapons were designed to fight the Borg . . . and then they were used against the Dominion! They told us that such weapons required a specialized launcher and were not compatible with our Klingon torpedoes! That such launchers were only available on the newest and most powerful Federation battleships!”

Laramm glared at the Chancellor, who returned his two eyes with one. “Lord Mak’vegh has proof of their perfidy!”

“Ah, Mak’vegh, who has been exiled to his estates on Sho-do-rii, has this proof you say?” the Chancellor mused. “Then let us summon him forth to this Council to present it!” Martok said as he stood.

The younger Klingon shook his head. “Lord Mak’vegh was exiled from the Homeworld, from this Council, from your presence, but you never ordered him to remain on Sho-do-rii, Martok!”

“Ah,” Martok said again as he sat. “And what part of ‘get thee hence, p’tahk, to your estates on Sho-do-rii and remain in exile until you are summoned’ did he fail to understand?”

Laramm did not answer, and Martok chuckled. “But that is for another day, son of Mak’vegh. Summon forth the Federation Ambassador to answer these charges!” he commanded.

The Klingon Lords whispered among themselves, but then the blast doors slid open with sharp hiss and a dull thud, and a line of Klingon Warriors of the House of Martok escorted the Federation Ambassador into the chamber.

“Laramm, son of Mak’vegh charges that the Federation has lied to the Klingon Empire, Ambassador. He has accused you of false statements regarding your quantum torpedoes—and he claims proof of his accusations? What does the Federation say in response to these . . . claims?”

The Ambassador lowered his hood, and Worf, son of Mogh, glared at Laramm. “The Federation has told no lies to the High Council! I dispute this claim as a falsehood!”

Laramm stepped forward and he stared at Worf. “Yet, I have proof of your misdeeds! Proof that the starship Republic, equipped with torpedo launchers equal to Klingon weapons, fired upon two Klingon cruisers with quantum torpedoes! How is it that the Federation can claim such weapons cannot be fired from lesser launchers when we have the evidence before us?”

Worf laughed, and whispers rose from the assembled Lords of the Houses. “You cite this as evidence, baktag? When did Republic fire quantum torpedoes into two Klingon cruisers? Where did this take place? And if true, why did she fire in the first place? And does this mean that the House of Mak’vegh has now lost three cruisers to this one Federation Starship?”

“Yes,” hissed Martok. “These questions should be answered, Laramm, son of Mak’vegh. Do so.”

Laramm looked down at the floor, and then he spat. “I have the sensor logs from a third ship, one that escaped, that confirm your starship attacked our vessels.”

“Complete sensor logs?” asked Worf. “That I doubt, knowing of the ill-association of the House of Mak’vegh with the truth!” And the whispers rose in volume, as Worf smiled. “But I have the unedited logs of Republic in this matter and will make them available to any Warrior who wishes to view them.”

“You do not deny that Republic destroyed our cruisers?”

Worf bared his teeth in a ferocious grin. “Pakleds could destroy a ship of the House of Mak’vegh!”

The younger Klingon growled and he jumped forward, but four of Martok’s guards held him back.

“Warriors!” Worf said, as he turned to address the Council. "The commander of Republic stole a number of quantum warheads, he took them without authorization; he then . . . modified his torpedoes and launchers in order to fire them, losing range and some damage potential in the process. No lies have been told by the Federation; there has been no deceit practiced upon you. He has been officially reprimanded for his actions by Starfleet.”

More whispers and few raised voices emerged, but then silence hung over the Council Chamber as every Klingon turned to the sound of Martok laughing upon his throne. “And what Warrior among you would do no less? Truth, Klingons! Speak the truth! Given a weapon such as this, if the Defense Force told you that you could not have it, would you not have done the same? Ah, this Dahlgren has the soul of a Klingon . . . and do not forget he has taken blood-oath with the House of Koram. Besides, Warriors,” Martok said as he turned serious once more, “the Federation has shared with me the secrets of the quantum warhead and soon enough our foundries will be producing a torpedo capable of being used in our launchers. The launchers will require a refit, as it takes significantly more power to arm the weapon than our photons—but it will be available to the Fleets of the Lords of the Houses, as well as the Defense Force.”

Growls of approval rose from the floor and Martok leaned forward in his throne and he rested his elbows upon his knees. “And now, Laramm, we shall discuss exactly what your p’tahk of a father is doing in leading an attack upon our Federation allies. We will discuss this now in . . . detail.”

[masterarminas]

Chapter Three (cont.)

Martok smiled at Worf as the Chancellor entered his private office. Outside, the agonizing screams of Laramm suddenly ended in the whine of a high-powered disruptor—and the Federation officer and Ambassador winced.

The older Klingon laughed. “Worf, you are the consummate Klingon in many things—but in others you are as squeamish as a new-born babe,” he said as he sat down a PADD on his desk and poured a chalice of blood-wine. He sat down and took a deep drink of the liquid, and then he smacked in lips in appreciation. “I believe that your Federation will that information to be of . . . interest.”

“They will not approve of the means through which this information was collected, Chancellor,” growled Worf as he picked up the PADD and began to scroll through the data—but then his facial expression changed. “He has sent THAT many ships of his personal Fleet into Federation space? In pursuit of Republic? What has he left to protect his holdings?”

The Chancellor laughed again. “Very little—less than even the most minor of Noble Houses can field. A fact which I made certain my very ambitious and greedy House Lords were made aware of,” and the old man bared his fangs. “I have declared the House of Mak’vegh as traitors to the Empire—and proclaimed that any House which can seize one of his eleven system may add that system to their own domain.”

Worf nodded. “Whereas, if you used to the Defense Force to crush him, you would be seen as a tyrant; now you have made the enemies and former allies of his House alike eager to carve him up in your stead. And they say you do not appreciate politics, Chancellor.”

“I want them to say I do not appreciate politics—for it is a war by a different name, Worf. And as with all wars, I fight to win.”

Worf inclined his head slightly and then he turned back to the PADD and shook his head.

“She cannot survive against so many ships of House Mak’vegh,” he said sadly, but then looked up in surprise as Martok began to laugh again.

“Your Republic is full of surprises, Worf. Not only did she destroy two K’vorts at Camulus, she has turned back and is running for Earth,” Martok smiled broadly. “Mak’vegh had set his ambush ahead of Dahlgren’s ship—and now he is having to pursue while remaining cloaked to avoid detection in Federation space. A stern chase is a long chase, my friend. He has ordered all of his ships positioned between Republic and Earth to engage—a vain effort to make her slow down due to damage,” the Chancellor stood and he raised his chalice in salute. “She has already destroyed another K’vort, two K’tinga-class cruisers, and no fewer than five B’rel-class scouts! Eleven ships belonging to the House of Mak’vegh destroyed in detail—magnificent,” he said as he downed another swallow of blood-wine. And then he sighed. “But her journey is drawing to end—for the main body led by Lord Mak’vegh himself draws nigh unto your starship, Worf. And no Korolev-class cruiser, even one as well-handled as this one, can survive against the firepower that will be unleashed.”

Martok grinned at his adopted son. “Unless, Republic is given assistance that is . . . do you agree?”

“I do,” said Worf. “Admiral Hansen has already left his station and is rendezvousing with Republic—and there are other ships that have been diverted as well.”

“Yes, but I am thinking that since Mak’vegh is a rogue Klingon that it would be for the best if a loyal Klingon ship were there to assist as well. You are scheduled to return to Earth this week, yes?”

“Enterprise will be completing her repairs soon, and I must return to my duties aboard her,” Worf answered proudly.

And Martok smiled. “Then I release you from your service early, Worf, son of Mogh. Go, return to your Federation space—have you a Federation ship available?”

“There is a runabout on stand-by, Chancellor.”

“A runabout? For the Ambassador of the Federation? While Mak’vegh disrupts the internal affairs of the Klingon Empire and interferes with the Federation? I shall not hear of it! No, I will assign to you the K’mpec. To fufill my obligations under the treaty and ensure that you reach Earth safely, Mister Ambassador.”

Worf smiled. “And if I should happen to encounter Mak’vegh along the way?”

“Kill him. I have already informed the vessel’s commander that YOU are in command of this voyage, Worf. Qapla’!”

[Themightytom]

...yeah I'm guessing it took a few months to rebuild the front of the saucer section and give the ol' Enterprise a new alignment, so this is taking place shortly after Nemesis then?

I like the way you write klingons, not as entirely incompetent space viking morons, but enough that the bad guys are plausibly incompetent while the good ones are sufficiently useful.

Dahlgren's daughter busting out a shotgun... I feel like you'd hunt with a rifle more than a shotgun, but who the hell knows WHAT a guy like Dahlgren would hunt O.o

Orden does not seem to be working in concert with his or her followers, that's interesting, I wonder what the plan for Dahlgren's daughter is.

A sovereign class ship is going to be a major problem for the Republic, hopefully Worf and Starfleet get there in time

[Themightytom]

...yeah I'm guessing it took a few months to rebuild the front of the saucer section and give the ol' Enterprise a new alignment, so this is taking place shortly after Nemesis then?

I like the way you write klingons, not as entirely incompetent space viking morons, but enough that the bad guys are plausibly incompetent while the good ones are sufficiently useful.

Dahlgren's daughter busting out a shotgun... I feel like you'd hunt with a rifle more than a shotgun, but who the hell knows WHAT a guy like Dahlgren would hunt O.o

Orden does not seem to be working in concert with his or her followers, that's interesting, I wonder what the plan for Dahlgren's daughter is.

A sovereign class ship is going to be a major problem for the Republic, hopefully Worf and Starfleet get there in time

[Eternal_Freedom]

Given that Republic has already totalled 11 of Mak'vegh's ships (not counting Val'Qis she seems to be doing pretty damn well for herself. I wonder if she has any quantuum torpedoes left though, and how much damage she has taken.

[masterarminas]

...yeah I'm guessing it took a few months to rebuild the front of the saucer section and give the ol' Enterprise a new alignment, so this is taking place shortly after Nemesis then?

I like the way you write klingons, not as entirely incompetent space viking morons, but enough that the bad guys are plausibly incompetent while the good ones are sufficiently useful.

Dahlgren's daughter busting out a shotgun... I feel like you'd hunt with a rifle more than a shotgun, but who the hell knows WHAT a guy like Dahlgren would hunt O.o

Orden does not seem to be working in concert with his or her followers, that's interesting, I wonder what the plan for Dahlgren's daughter is.

A sovereign class ship is going to be a major problem for the Republic, hopefully Worf and Starfleet get there in time

This is set after Insurrection and before Nemesis, Tom. And you hunt birds with shotguns, as well as deer. Hence 'bird-shot' and 'buck-shot'.

MA

[Themightytom]

That's dissappointing Arminas, I was hoping he hunted something ridiculous. The timeline makes sense, Worf wasn't an ambassador anymore in Nemesis was he...