Yes, "Scenario" is getting ready to be a bit down beat so I wanted to write something happier. We'll see how long that lasts.
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Galley
S.S. Gre’thor
Captain Kreng had just finished his bahgol, slamming the empty bowl down with satisfaction. He stroked his full beard, patting the soup stained hair, wanting the rich smell of his favorite dish to seep into the knotted strands. Fresh bahgol was one of the few joys he had left and the Klingon restaurant on this starbase always had some of the best in the sector.
Of course he had never stepped foot into the restaurant. Kreng had sent one of his men to retrieve a month’s worth of soup. He could no longer be seen around real Klingons. Though he hadn’t received a discommendation from the Empire, the loss of his command and the fall of his house as a result of it had felt enough like it.
Kreng had resolved to never return to the Empire or be in the presence of worthy Klingons again until he had recovered his honor.
He touched the eye patch bolted over his missing left eye, rage contorting his face. He had come so close to avenging himself only to lose an eye in the process.
“Ivan Cherenkov,” he seethed, muttering the human’s name that had twice brought him low. “I will have my revenge.” The human had cost him a ship and then an eye. Both times he had shown Kreng the ultimate disrespect by not killing him and allowing him to salvage his honor in the afterlife. The Klingon’s unseemly endeavors were only passing time until he met the human again and then killed him or died in the process; both were preferable to the unending dishonor of his current existence.
The captain’s storm clouds parted as three of his men barged into the kitchen. B’zeq and Ch’taak held Joqala roughly by the arms. The blond man’s legs were dangling as they pulled him along.
Kreng snorted with derision. “A Klingon who can’t hold his liquor,” he shook his head. Unfortunately he wasn’t the only disreputable Klingon in the galaxy. His crew was peopled with exiles from the Empire. “I should end your misery right now,” he reached for the disruptor holstered at his hip. He never went weaponless, especially on a ship like this.
He had handpicked many of these men and knew what they were capable of and apparently not capable of as he sneered at the inebriated Joqala.
“It’s not what you think,” B’zeq said, wheezing with the effort of carrying his compatriot. Kreng spat at the heavyset man. The spittle splashed against his dusty boots.
“Enlighten me then,” Kreng commanded, pulling out his disruptor and putting the pistol on the table.
It was at that moment that he noticed how battered all three men were and that Ch’taak was missing his Chalnoth slicer. It was the ringed Klingon’s most prized possession. One he claimed to have taken off a ferocious Chalnoth in battle. More than likely someone else had done the killing and Ch’taak had reaped the spoils.
“Speak!” Kreng shouted after they hadn’t answered him fast enough.
Ch’taak and B’zeq looked at each other, and Joqala’s head lolled to the side. Kreng patted his disruptor.
B’zeq cleared his throat before he began. He haltingly recounted the encounter with the Starfleet officers. At the end of his sorry tale the hefty Klingon lowered his head, his shoulders hunching as if he expected the disruptor bolt at any second.
Instead Kreng laughed. Ch’taak glanced at B’zeq again and the other man shrugged. Confused and a bit relieved, Ch’taak asked, “What do you find amusing sir?”
“This is perfect,” Kreng grinned. He slapped his disruptor. “Don’t you see? This is our way to reclaim our honor!”
“I don’t understand,” B’zeq admitted.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Kreng guffawed, “A sniveling petaQ like you, you know nothing of honor. But soon you will.”
“Sir, we are on a starbase, surrounded by starships and Starfleet personnel,” Ch’taak pointed out, an inkling of Kreng’s ideas glinting in his eyes.
“That’s why we aren’t going to strike here,” Kreng said. “We’ll find out what ships they are on and then, if it’s the same ship, we’ll follow it. Absent that, we’ll follow the ship of the one who gave the most offense. We’ll then engage them in battle.”
“But sir,” B’zeq interjected, “Our ship would be no match for many of the starships docked here!”
“That’s even better,” Kreng declared, “We can enter Sto-Vo-Kor in a blaze of glory!”
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Guest Quarters
Starbase Bastion
The Next Morning…
This part always made Lt. Yori Shibata nervous. It was always easier to get into situations than to extricate yourself from them.
He propped up on one elbow and looked down at last night’s lover. The stunning blonde was wiping sleep from her olive-green eyes. Both of them were still tangled in a purple bed sheet. “Ah, listen,” he began, a bit reluctantly-he always thought putting a hitch in your voice worked best-“Last night was fun.”
She nodded and smiled. “It sure was.” The woman mimicked him by propping herself on one elbow to face him.
Shibata resisted the urge to reach out and brush an errant strand of hair from over her eyes. What’s wrong with me? He wondered. Attachment scared him, but there was something about this woman.
“I’ve-uh-got to go,” Shibata began, eager to nip whatever incipient feelings might be sprouting for this woman. It wasn’t like he was going to have time for them to grow anyway. The Delta Quadrant awaited. “I’m due back on my vessel. We’re shoving off soon.”
“Oh really?” The woman’s eyes brightened. “So am I.”
“You are?” Shibata’s heart thumped, with both dread and possibility. He hadn’t considered that the woman might be part of Taskforce Vanguard, or even in Starfleet. Admittedly neither had spent much time talking.
“Are you in Starfleet?” Shibata asked. The woman nodded.
“What ship?” he followed up.
“You first,” she said, a playful gleam in her eyes.
“The Nimbus,” he said proudly. It had taken him a long time to work his way up to a Sovereign-class vessel. Even if it did take Command almost a little too long to recognize his abilities.
“Impressive,” she observed. “You’re into communications.”
His eyes widened. Now he was the one impressed. “How did you know that?”
“You’re a good talker,” she smiled. “Seemed like a good fit.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “You got me there. Enough with the mystery. What ship do you serve on?”
“Well, umm,” she grinned, “Oh, I’ll just come out with it; I also serve on the Nimbus.”
“Get out of here,” Shibata tried to control his racing heart. He wasn’t sure why it was galloping. Was it fear or excitement? “Small galaxy huh?” He tried to sound nonchalant.
“You could say that Lt. Shibata,” she replied.
“How do you know my name?” Now confusion was thrown into Yori’s emotional cauldron.
The woman sat up halfway in bed and extended a hand. “I’m guessing we should’ve done this first. I’m Lt. Commander Alex Thayer, first officer of the Nimbus.”
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Galley
S.S. Gre’thor
Captain Kreng had just finished his bahgol, slamming the empty bowl down with satisfaction. He stroked his full beard, patting the soup stained hair, wanting the rich smell of his favorite dish to seep into the knotted strands. Fresh bahgol was one of the few joys he had left and the Klingon restaurant on this starbase always had some of the best in the sector.
Of course he had never stepped foot into the restaurant. Kreng had sent one of his men to retrieve a month’s worth of soup. He could no longer be seen around real Klingons. Though he hadn’t received a discommendation from the Empire, the loss of his command and the fall of his house as a result of it had felt enough like it.
Kreng had resolved to never return to the Empire or be in the presence of worthy Klingons again until he had recovered his honor.
He touched the eye patch bolted over his missing left eye, rage contorting his face. He had come so close to avenging himself only to lose an eye in the process.
“Ivan Cherenkov,” he seethed, muttering the human’s name that had twice brought him low. “I will have my revenge.” The human had cost him a ship and then an eye. Both times he had shown Kreng the ultimate disrespect by not killing him and allowing him to salvage his honor in the afterlife. The Klingon’s unseemly endeavors were only passing time until he met the human again and then killed him or died in the process; both were preferable to the unending dishonor of his current existence.
The captain’s storm clouds parted as three of his men barged into the kitchen. B’zeq and Ch’taak held Joqala roughly by the arms. The blond man’s legs were dangling as they pulled him along.
Kreng snorted with derision. “A Klingon who can’t hold his liquor,” he shook his head. Unfortunately he wasn’t the only disreputable Klingon in the galaxy. His crew was peopled with exiles from the Empire. “I should end your misery right now,” he reached for the disruptor holstered at his hip. He never went weaponless, especially on a ship like this.
He had handpicked many of these men and knew what they were capable of and apparently not capable of as he sneered at the inebriated Joqala.
“It’s not what you think,” B’zeq said, wheezing with the effort of carrying his compatriot. Kreng spat at the heavyset man. The spittle splashed against his dusty boots.
“Enlighten me then,” Kreng commanded, pulling out his disruptor and putting the pistol on the table.
It was at that moment that he noticed how battered all three men were and that Ch’taak was missing his Chalnoth slicer. It was the ringed Klingon’s most prized possession. One he claimed to have taken off a ferocious Chalnoth in battle. More than likely someone else had done the killing and Ch’taak had reaped the spoils.
“Speak!” Kreng shouted after they hadn’t answered him fast enough.
Ch’taak and B’zeq looked at each other, and Joqala’s head lolled to the side. Kreng patted his disruptor.
B’zeq cleared his throat before he began. He haltingly recounted the encounter with the Starfleet officers. At the end of his sorry tale the hefty Klingon lowered his head, his shoulders hunching as if he expected the disruptor bolt at any second.
Instead Kreng laughed. Ch’taak glanced at B’zeq again and the other man shrugged. Confused and a bit relieved, Ch’taak asked, “What do you find amusing sir?”
“This is perfect,” Kreng grinned. He slapped his disruptor. “Don’t you see? This is our way to reclaim our honor!”
“I don’t understand,” B’zeq admitted.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Kreng guffawed, “A sniveling petaQ like you, you know nothing of honor. But soon you will.”
“Sir, we are on a starbase, surrounded by starships and Starfleet personnel,” Ch’taak pointed out, an inkling of Kreng’s ideas glinting in his eyes.
“That’s why we aren’t going to strike here,” Kreng said. “We’ll find out what ships they are on and then, if it’s the same ship, we’ll follow it. Absent that, we’ll follow the ship of the one who gave the most offense. We’ll then engage them in battle.”
“But sir,” B’zeq interjected, “Our ship would be no match for many of the starships docked here!”
“That’s even better,” Kreng declared, “We can enter Sto-Vo-Kor in a blaze of glory!”
*****************************************************************
Guest Quarters
Starbase Bastion
The Next Morning…
This part always made Lt. Yori Shibata nervous. It was always easier to get into situations than to extricate yourself from them.
He propped up on one elbow and looked down at last night’s lover. The stunning blonde was wiping sleep from her olive-green eyes. Both of them were still tangled in a purple bed sheet. “Ah, listen,” he began, a bit reluctantly-he always thought putting a hitch in your voice worked best-“Last night was fun.”
She nodded and smiled. “It sure was.” The woman mimicked him by propping herself on one elbow to face him.
Shibata resisted the urge to reach out and brush an errant strand of hair from over her eyes. What’s wrong with me? He wondered. Attachment scared him, but there was something about this woman.
“I’ve-uh-got to go,” Shibata began, eager to nip whatever incipient feelings might be sprouting for this woman. It wasn’t like he was going to have time for them to grow anyway. The Delta Quadrant awaited. “I’m due back on my vessel. We’re shoving off soon.”
“Oh really?” The woman’s eyes brightened. “So am I.”
“You are?” Shibata’s heart thumped, with both dread and possibility. He hadn’t considered that the woman might be part of Taskforce Vanguard, or even in Starfleet. Admittedly neither had spent much time talking.
“Are you in Starfleet?” Shibata asked. The woman nodded.
“What ship?” he followed up.
“You first,” she said, a playful gleam in her eyes.
“The Nimbus,” he said proudly. It had taken him a long time to work his way up to a Sovereign-class vessel. Even if it did take Command almost a little too long to recognize his abilities.
“Impressive,” she observed. “You’re into communications.”
His eyes widened. Now he was the one impressed. “How did you know that?”
“You’re a good talker,” she smiled. “Seemed like a good fit.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “You got me there. Enough with the mystery. What ship do you serve on?”
“Well, umm,” she grinned, “Oh, I’ll just come out with it; I also serve on the Nimbus.”
“Get out of here,” Shibata tried to control his racing heart. He wasn’t sure why it was galloping. Was it fear or excitement? “Small galaxy huh?” He tried to sound nonchalant.
“You could say that Lt. Shibata,” she replied.
“How do you know my name?” Now confusion was thrown into Yori’s emotional cauldron.
The woman sat up halfway in bed and extended a hand. “I’m guessing we should’ve done this first. I’m Lt. Commander Alex Thayer, first officer of the Nimbus.”
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