Star Trek Hunter
Episode 27:
The Sword of Destiny
Scene 3:
batlh qelDI’
Great adventurers and master swordsmen were a common occurrence within the klingon population. In theory, a masterful fighter could fight his or her way to the top of any structure and this was often how klingons (and sometimes humans or klingon/human hybrids) became captain of a bird of prey. But a blend of aristocratic and democratic traditions as well as related merit requirements limited the ability of klingons to simply fight their way to the center seat of anything more powerful than a bird of prey. Captaining a cruiser required demonstrated leadership ability and testing for tactical and strategic acumen - promotion beyond captain even more so. And top generals were the only klingons accepted onto the Great Council without a direct aristocratic bloodline. Only the heads of the 17 most prominent noble houses could serve on the Great Council by bloodright.
Those few klingons who had aristocratic standing could challenge the chancellor to single combat, but victory did not automatically grant the chancellorship to the victor – the chancellor was democratically elected from among the great council members.
Councilors Bigh and Shozek were the only two who habitually came down to the council chambers before Chancellor Martok. Military, all three. The remaining members of the council were there by bloodright. All of them had served a minimum of four years, but Bigh, Shozek and Martok were lifelong military.
This morning Bigh and Shozek arrived together as usual, and were immediately on edge. Both drew their disruptors and instinctively moved into position to cover each other.
A sharp intake of breath informed Shozek that Bigh had also caught the scent of blood. Klingon blood. The sounds were off as well. No breathing outside the great doors. The councilors had entered from the rear of the chamber. Both warriors aimed their disruptors at a figure in a darkened corner of the room.
“Show yourself!” said Bigh.
“I come to claim my birthright.” It was a female voice – the most cultured of klingon accents. A lanky figure in full, antique armor emerged from the shadows, holding a bat’leth.
“Put your disruptor away, Bigh.”
“Shozek?”
“Lights!” said Shozek. The chamber was flooded with light.
Bigh immediately understood why Shozek had told him to holster his disruptor. It was The Sword. The warrior carrying the sword had positioned herself directly under the portrait of QeyliS – the first emperor. Her armor was designed to be reminiscent of the mighty QeyliS, but was clearly custom made for her long, slender figure. The sword in her hands, however, was identical to the sword in the painting.
“Remove your helmet. Show yourself, pretender!” said Bigh. “The sword in your hands…”
“Is not the sword of QeyliS,” she responded. “It is an exact replica. The true sword will arrive in this hall shortly after this council convenes. I will remove my helmet and identify myself at that time.”
“And your accomplices?” asked Shozek.
“My crew remain aboard my ship. My family will arrive with the sword,” she replied.
“The accomplices who helped you win your way to this hall,” said Shozek. “You had to kill 60 warriors to get into this room.”
“I came alone. I killed only the five outside that door for challenging my right to be here. The rest are still at their posts, unaware of my presence,” she responded.
“You have come to relieve me,” came a familiar voice, followed by a familiar, iconic laugh - the laughter that had held the Klingon Empire together for two decades of peace. Chancellor Martok straightened with an effort. He took a deep breath and walked steadily to the center of the room – then stopped and leaned heavily on his cane. “And you have the right, by blood, by combat and by the quality of your heart. I have been following your adventures, child. Don’t think for a moment I will make this easy for you. I will kill you if you give me the slightest chance. Give that to me.”
The masked and helmeted female warrior stepped forward and handed the replica of the famous sword to the klingon chancellor. In return, he handed her his cane. “I see from your stance you are ready for me to attack. If you weren’t, I would have killed you this very moment. Perhaps you will be a worthy adversary! SHOZEK!! Get our sleep addled, bloodright fellow councilors in here NOW! I will not wait for this battle!” With a smooth series of motions, the ancient chancellor flipped the replica sword through a quick series of forms and handed it back to his challenger, receiving his cane in return.
Martok hobbled to the council table and leaned against it, waiting as the remaining council members straggled in. “Dur’en of the house of Surga – why did I know you would be the last to arrive?” Before the portly, elderly council member could respond, Martok turned toward his challenger: “WHERE IS THE SWORD??”
“My family has arrived. My cousin and first officer bears the sword,” she replied.
Martok turned toward Bigh. “Send in Commander Utash! Bring the sword to me!”
The ancient chancellor held the sword aloft, then went through the basic forms with it. “If this is not the true Sword of QeyliS, it is so perfectly made that only one who has held the true sword would know. And there is only one alive who we know has held the true sword. He is in the Forge on Vulcan. I sent him there to find an answer for me. Step forward, child! The time has come for you to identify yourself!”
The female warrior swept off her mask and helmet and shook out her long, blonde braided pony tail. “I am Greta Leifsdottor of the House of K’mpec!”
“And the great granddaughter and direct line heir to Chancellor K’mpec, and captain of the ship that bears his name,” said Martok. “You have passed the tests of leadership. The right to challenge me is yours by blood and by service. And I welcome it. But this will be a fight – not a mercy killing! Fight well, child! Do not leave this crippled old klingon to die in his bed…” Martok handed the sword to Commander Utash and retrieved his own bat’leth from the mount on his back. “Give me a death worthy of a klingon warrior!”
“Chancellor!” said Bigh, “Will you not send for your champion?”
“I might have on any other day,” Martok replied. “But not this day. Because this day…”
“Today, Chancellor…” said Greta, wielding the replica of QeyliS’ sword.
“Heh! Yes! Today…” said Martok
“…is a good day to die!” they said in unison.
The ancient chancellor did not waste time warming up with forms – his tired, old body was as prepared as it could possibly be from his morning regimen. It was evident from the start that not only was he woefully outmatched by his opponent’s youth and vigor, but that her unique blend of human and klingon genetics gave her advantages in a sword fight beyond most opponents. Martok was wary and evaded or deflected her first few probing attacks. It was immediately clear to everyone in the room that Greta benefited from a combination of klingon strength and stamina with the far greater flexible range of motion and speed of a human.
Greta was not toying with her opponent. Martok was ancient, but he was also a master of the bat’leth and he could only be defeated once she exhausted his ability to counter, dodge and block. Even so, some of his counterattacks came close and might have been devastating to a klingon opponent. But Martok could not make up for Greta’s overwhelming advantage in speed. Because of her long arms and legs, she also had an advantage in reach and was able to quickly wear him down by delivering several attacks while remaining out of reach of any counterattack.
With a sudden, sweeping blow Greta swept Martok’s legs out from under him. As he fell, sprawling on his back, she turned and threw the replica of QeyliS’ sword to her cousin, Utash, who simultaneously threw the real sword to her. Greta caught and raised the sword of QeyliS with a single, graceful motion. Martok, his sword out of reach on the floor behind him, grasped at the d’k tagh at his belt. Greta put her foot firmly on Martok’s arm, breaking his wrist and trapping his hand grasping his as yet still sheathed d’k tagh and said, “Farewell, great Chancellor.”
Martok managed a grunt of pain. He looked into his opponent’s eyes and, summoning the last of his strength, said in a loud voice, “Lead my people well, child!”
Greta buried the sword of QeyliS into Martok’s major heart – the antique blade cutting easily through his plastic armor, through his body and gouging the marble floor beneath him. She raised her voice - her words echoed throughout the great chamber:
“Here lies the greatest warrior of our time. Time itself could not defeat him! Only the sword of QeyliS could release him from his burden!” Greta knelt quickly and opened Martok’s eyes, looking into them. A howling roar began as a deep and distant murmur within the council chambers as she opened her mouth and looked up. These halls had been designed to amplify sound and the sound of a few dozen klingons lifting their faces to the heavens and suddenly roaring in unison was deafening – almost seeming to shake the very foundations of the great council chamber.
It was not a howl of rage, nor one of sorrow.
It was the sound of triumph. A warning to the dead to beware…
A mighty klingon warrior would soon arrive among them.
*batlh qelDI’ (thlingn Hol - The Author of Honor)
27.3 (of 23)
Author's Note: A few years ago I got to perform on stage (in thlingan Hol) with J.G. Hertzler, the actor who portrayed Martok. I tried as much as possible to capture his distinctive speech patterns in this scene. All actors love a great death scene. I think Hertzler would eat it up.
