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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 threw, 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 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.

Guess that means no money for him.

More Trouble

Yikes

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.”

An excellent chapter!

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’!”