The IKS nomore

Posted on Wed Apr 22nd, 2020 @ 10:41am by MERCHANT RANKS Anslo Tol & Second Mate Simon Starr & Master Steward Othor Jaxz Ghost of the Second Star

2,755 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Meanwhile...
Location: IKS Suvwi'

-Start-

{Ex-IKS Vessel- SuvWi'}

Steam and heat were a comfort to Klingons, one of the few they indulged. For this once proud Klingon war vessel, those systems had long been ruined. Five warriors at their stations and the two who sat in the middle had taken to lighting a fire as of late, letting smoke filtration do its job.

Htek saw his breath in the rare moment of gleaming light the bridge saw every time the rear entry cycled open. He felt ice in his beard, and it hurt to blink. In total silence he muttered to himself, for all to hear, "A warrior does not not express his discomfort... but Captains sure do."

Knowing to laugh at what was most certainly not a joke, the man shrouded in icy dark at the right of the Captain used grace to keep his captains image. He gently asked, "Would our virtue be spared for the addition of a heater my lord?"

It gave Htek the opportunity to be strong, and he took it.

"MY Virtue... was hard won. I would sooner freeze in Gre'thor's icy pits than surrender it."

"We learn by your example, though surely these conditions are perilous-"

Htek silenced him with a raised hand, "I will hear no more of this mewling. We do not waste our resources on creature comforts."

The man in shadows knew not to press the point, but Htek pressed on, quoting Kang. "A warrior must adhere to virtue honorably and Virtue is the reward... One need not enjoy virtue to receive its benefits."

Light returned to the bridge, Htek's sprawling form cast a shadow over the front half. What dim illumination landed made the young man to Htek's right visible. Where Htek was an older Klingon, scarred and mad from war, this lithe young killer bore the spots of a Trill, and a countenance able to murder at a glance.

He waited for Htek to finish, respectful of the man who took him as his second. The crew had thought the Captain mad, and they were right, but since becoming the first officer things had steadily improved. Htek couldn't run the ship the way he should anymore but saved their lives a dozen times over before now. A curious blend of madness and wisdom had gotten them this far, with prices on all their heads.

"Yes sire, I will admit, the flickering light and natural warmth is a comfort of its own. I also wanted to ask if you had made a decision in regard to the Talarian operation?"

Htek had forgotten all about his officers plans to recruit an agent on the ship. He played it well, "Yes, a warrior prepares." Htek was silent, unsure if his answer worked. Doubling on the one thing he could remember he fell back on Kang, "Four thousand throats may be cut in one night by a running man, yes Anslo, yes."

Silence fell over the bridge. The scope of their operation would potentially give them all enough riches to walk away from this life. The silence was a recognition of the gravity the situation commanded. Htek blithely hummed an old war song, and Anslo locked eyes with J'alla, who had wanted to lead this operation over Anslos dead body. Htek had just given her ample reason to act, and on this old guard Kang inspired vessel, any reason was good enough.

She didn't disappoint, messages left from her terminal, Anslo saw the central computer log and process them. His spyware gave him a copy, and the names of the disloyal crew about to mutiny. Klingon computer security was formidable from the outside, but non existent once you were inside. A conceit the strong had when the weak never fought back, it allowed Anslo to rule the ship with Htek as the sockpuppet for his ambitions. J'alla had told him this, accused him of it and Anslo had denied it.

She was right cunning, a shrewd observer. It was exactly how he operated now. His symbiont rejected violence and was very clever in dispatching enemies without killing them. Anslo may be the living portion of the duo, but Tol brought so much knowledge to bear that the change was inexorable. It was Tol who convinced Anslo that Htek was the perfect leader of the ship, and the patience to walk those thin lines between danger and opportunity.

Anslo executed his plan in reply, a silent command sent to the bridge officers in his control and J'alla felt strong hands clamp on her armor. She tried to struggle, but the large warriors had a firm grasp, and her primal scream was impotent rage embodied. Her curses were formidable, but Anslo was not afraid.

She was being dragged to the front of the bridge, for Htek to view. She screamed, "I have done nothing you dishonorable P'tak! You are a fool to strike in the dark, working like a Gree worm, you Romulan! My Lord will surely see through this shallow ploy, Please Lord Htek, see that I Am your right hand, I am-

"SILENCE WITCH!"

Htek stirred, moving from his seat finally. Anslo had seen the Klingon at the height of his glory, and remembered the power in his frame. There was a reason when a madman holds power usually. J'alla had offended him by suggesting he hadn't seen this ploy of hers. She dared to suggest he needed her for protection. Htek had to answer that, though he truthfully didn't want to. Madness for Klingons is not so far gone as it is for others, they live within it at all times.

J'alla fell silent, perhaps recognizing her words had come out wrong. She was as large as her captors, and had proven her worth time and again in the service of the crew. She relied on her honor in the Captains eyes to redeem her this insult, but the bile in her throat was too bitter to handle as she also realized Anslo could influence him either way. His eyes were on her but she stared only to the Captain.

He took two thundering heel strikes and walked to her, taking her collar gently and . He had half a meter on her in height, over two hundred kilos weight. His voice growled in an attempt at purring, "J'alla is it? I hate to waste a good warrior like you, remember to heed your words."

J'alla dared to feel hope and was grateful to Htek beyond measure. He performed an act of political brilliance by rounding on Anslo as well. Htek growled for a moment, gritting out, "Anslo, we face challenges head on. I should expect my Second Officer to handle his position in a Klingon way. No more cloaks and daggers yes? Warriors? Release J'alla."

Anslo knew better than to protest, Tol was wise, and cautioned him of the precarious position. Htek was wily, and now Anslo either earned his position, or someone better got the job. It was the Klingon way, and put Anslo in his place. Outplayed by a madman was never part of the larger schema.

Tof, the MP of the bridge, and Hteks bodyguard threw his mek'leth into the center of the bridge, closer to her than Anslo. Protecting Htek had made him very rich, and he was more than happy with the rewards his position brought him. He was a useful voice for the Captain as well, noticing the times Htek was not focused and pulling attention. Tol had suspected resentment when Htek chose Anslo for Second, like a dog who couldnt share its masters affections.

"J'alla, your feud with Anslo is recognized as valid. If you think you can lead, do so. Do not let these petty affairs near the Captain." Tof was nearly bigger than Htek, but lacked the savage mien.

Anslo felt a moment of fear watching J'alla rise, but knew Htek wanted blood sport. The problem was, he had just given her clout with the crew. This challenge had to be answered in combat but J'alla was likely his superior if she held the Mek'leth. Unarmed, there was little chance of him losing, so he felt at least. Tol reminded him of an early observation on board, 'Klingons carry their weapons at all times, mainly for the purpose of killing one another.'
Anslo had felt idly carrying weapons outside of combat only marked you as a blowhard, seeing her spiked gloves was a wakeup call.

J'alla bellowed, a circle formed around them. "I challenge you for your position, as a coward and plotter of secrets, a wretched liar-"

Anslo had enough by then, and decided if the Klingons wanted this to happen, he had to be Klingon today too


Tol had lived many lives before, most of them had only monastic training. Anslo, had served the Starfleet infantry since the Klingon broke from their treaty, since the Dominion scourge and Cardassian betrayal. J'alla had only ever jockeyed for position, played political cards and maneuvered. She fought as a pirate did, only when victory was certain. He was the right hand, the arbiter of change on board this ship and he would not be usurped. She would go for the weapon, because for her, you want to always fight with a weapon.

If he stood no chance to get it first, and stood no chance after she got it, then he needed to make his move as she went for it, and to deny it to both of them.

She lunged, faster than Hell. Anslo followed suit, already behind on the plan. As she gripped the blade, Anslo changed his stride and leapt off of the slight elevated platform, giving her eyes no target rising from the floor. She felt his hands on her armor, the thick braided leather, studded and ribbed as a bridge of protection and durability. She felt him fall and use his weight and gravity to slam her against the bulkhead.

So she dropped the knife, acknowledging the guile in subverting her advantage, but giving her hands free reign. Unencumbered, she grabbed at the hands on her shoulders and was able to spin them so they both fell hard against the bulkhead struts. As they grappled, her knee struck his ribs while her head spun under his arm. Anslo seemed immune to both hits, and impossibly strong as his grip on her collar maintained. The two wrestled and J'alla realized that Anslo was playing a game now. He could easily beat her without the Mek'Leth, but was letting her land hits.

Was Anslo trying to make it look like a fight? If he didn't make it look good, they wouldn't be satisfied. He had to be hit, be bloody by the end of it or it would just seem like more tricks.

The thought of being toyed with enraged her, letting the adrenal systems pump rage into her fight. She powered into feral punches with all her rage, this time her punches landed. It took all her effort, but he was hurt at the impacts. His response was an edged of hand blow to various joints, dismantling her ability to coordinate her limbs. The option he had held in reserve deployed when it was needed.

It was over like that, no sooner had she started actually hurting him did he decide to end the fight. Try as she might, there was no chance for her to recover in the next few moments as he ended her coup in its bare infancy.

She had underestimated him, realizing he had never shown off his skill for this reason. His tricks were endless, and the intelligence undeniable. He was a marvel, surely and there was but one chance for her to survive this day with any honor. She had to consort with him. Play this off as an elaborate ritual for her affections.

It sickened her to think of it, but she would kill this man with her teeth in his throat one day, and so she swallowed her pride.

"Anslo!" Her plaintive tone cried out, and she peppered in just a touch of sultry. The cry stopped Anslo just before J'alla was certain his boot would have lashed out to her face. She pressed the reprieve, buying seconds for her muscles to recover. "Anslo, I yield to your command."

It was a fine chess match. Anslo knew she was not actually offering anything. This was a performance for the hearts of the crew. She could recover from a tarnished image over time, and she already had allies. The leers on Htek's face and the bridge crew suggested they had imaginations that only went as far as J'allas bosom. If he killed or wounded her, "it wouldn't play" Tol said. Tol wouldn't shut up, discounting option after option, Anslo had never had training to control the interactions, so the two were locked in an argumentative state.

Tol finally spoke words that were useful, and Anslo made his play, a solid hesitation already marring his stature.
"J'alla, by every Klingon tradition and Law I should grind you under my boot. Sit in the airlock for a day, and beg for my mercy the whole time. Consider if I hear one drip of insincerity that I'll space you. If I am convinced after that time, you may come to me in person to make amends."

As the men laughed, she knew she hated him, his mercy was cruel and this ploy was exactly right to lower her to nothing in the crews eyes. Beg for mercy? No Klingon would ever. He might as well have slapped her with his gauntlet in a death challenge all over. Curious, how he was on trial for not behaving like a Klingon in the beginning, but now she was faced with her same dilemma.

So she decided to be damned for what she was, and to stop playing games.

"Then I shall die as a Klingon!" Her heroic moment was not what she wanted it to be, but she would take what power over her death as she could. Her prowess was formidable but this was not how she wanted it all to end. Not that she had ever pictured an end. Might and vigor powered her final attack, disabled though she was, it was fast, and came so close to slapping the victoriously impassive expression off of Anslo's face.

He stopped her by the wrist, and she waited for the blade to strike. After a moment she dared to look and saw Anslo smiling, and looking much the worse for it.

"I would no sooner jettison our food stores then remove us of you. Gods, you are Klingon to your very core, and I will not fault you for that. If Lord Htek wills it, I would be honored to share in our fealty to the crew."

They both looked to Htek, Anslo prayed the man was cognizant.

Htek chuckled, as he was thoroughly entertained. "When you are sad, act! When you must speak you mind, speak it. If you two have finished your business, we must all continue ours. Resume your duties."

Anslo glanced to J'alla, who had been waiting for his gaze. He spoke in a low tone before he let her go, "J'alla, I will be watching. Back to work now."

J'alla said nothing, expressing herself in other ways. Picking up her dignity and honor, she tried to walk with purpose but knew she had lost everything. If Anslo was to watch, she would perform, and lead him down a path to his death. Understanding the purpose of subterfuge for the first time, J'alla began to plot.

As Htek returned to his seat and the bridge resumed a normal pattern, Anslo sat as well, reviewing the specs before they departed. Silence returned, ice kept forming, and the fires in barrels glowed green from plasma heaters, orange flames licking the soot black ceiling.

Htek stomped a foot loudly, getting all the attention in the room.

"It's colder than a witch's bra in Rura Penthe, have Gathon fix the heat or I'll have his head."

Gathon had died almost a year prior when the ship took damage on a raid. They lacked a true engineer, which is why they tolerated such a state. Torak was their systems specialist, though his training was only in gunnery and energy systems. Tempering Htek's madness was why the crew tolerated him.

All eyes looked to Anslo, who merely replied, "I'll have the chief start right away."

-End-

Austen

 

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