Before the War........The
Flotsam Paradise was a unique luxury liner. A converted Gorn Freighter owned by a wealthy human financier, it was the only vessel in known space that made a run all the way from G'hdar in the galactic east to Lyrantan in the galactic west, and -- with a few serpentine turns -- managed to touch the capitals of all eight Great Powers before this route was finished. With a crew trained for years by the finest etiquette schools, with vaulted ceilings and gold-plated silverware, it was faultlessly staffed and elegantly appointed. It was decadence beyond compare.
Klingon Captain Nail of the Deep Space Fleet didn't really fit in here. All around him were the wealthy and the powerful of every species, dressed in finery that cost more than he'd made in his life. He tugged his leathers around him -- a touch too tight in the shoulders -- and hoped no one noticed his pants were *just* a touch too short. He'd had no time to pack proper clothes and wouldn't have been able to afford them even if he had. But that didn’t matter. He still knew he was one of the most important people on this ship.
Most VIP's dropped millions of credits for a once-in-a-lifetime voyage aboard the
Flotsam Paradise. Nail had won his ticket in a box of Cheerios. This had brought some complaints from some of the rest of the ships clientele as they feared breakfast cereal contests let "the wrong sorts of people" into their company, but these whiners had soon mysteriously vanished. There were other complaints too, as some prospective passengers pointed out that the
Flotsam Paradise's holding company had used Fruit Loops for their contest and not Cheerio's, but these whiners had also vanished (just as mysteriously) before they had time to draw too much attention to small details.
Nail laughed at both groups. He'd never eaten Cheerios or Fruit Loops and had no desire to mingle with the rich, but Lord Krueg had handed him a forged golden ticket (and the required two box tops), given him a mission of great import, and now he was onboard. He was going to save the future of the Klingon Empire and the non-cereal eating whiners with too much money in their stuck up noses could just be quiet about it. The only thing that bugged him about this cruise was the ridiculous subspace radio host that followed him around and tried to interview him over how he felt about winning such a "fab-U-lovely!" contest. As soon as Nail and his companions had taken over this ship that host’s show was going to get cancelled. With extreme prejudice.
As he strode through the aft recreation chamber, admiring the stars shining in the gothic vaulted ceiling panels and the smiling women swimming in the vertical Olympic pools, Nail nonchalantly took bits from his uniform's ornaments and quickly assembled them into a sidearm. (He made sure to avoid the methane chamber while clipping the power cell in place.) His assigned station for the takeover was just ahead in the gymnasium. Several VIPs liked to spend endless hours in the sauna, washing away the guilt of having sold too many arms to the wrong Klingon House. Now they were going to find they had new business partners. Nail's compatriots were about to storm the bridge and the weapons lockers. He would grab the wealthy passengers. Those VIPs who could sell House wIysuhl the things it needed would be allowed to and those who could be ransomed would be. Those alien politicians that could help his house would find that to be in their best interests. Those passengers who fit into none of those categories would meet the final Nail in their coffin.
The Klingon laughed at this little pun, and patted his weapon. He checked his watch and laughed again. Time to make the doughnuts.
He stepped into the sauna dressing room, turned white as a sheet, and quickly stepped back out again to tremble against a wall.
"C-C-Crap!" he stuttered. "Crap Crap Crap!" Climbing out of one of the sauna booths that lined the far wall, seven feet tall and covered with scales, teeth and muscle, was the largest monster Nail had ever seen. "G-G--Gorn!" he mumbled. Nail had never seen one of these monsters before. He knew the
Flotsam Paradise started its run in G'hdar, but the big lizards were such famously territorial homebodies that he'd never dreamed one would actually be onboard.
Nail looked at his tiny, low-powered "purse disruptor" -- the only kind with a power signature low enough to sneak past security even when dismantled -- and groaned. He'd heard the rumors of full artillery fire bouncing off the scales of these monsters. Maybe those tales were exaggerated, but then again maybe they weren't. "I'm going to need a bigger gun," he concluded. He quickly turned on his ring communicator (smuggled onboard within a box of crackerjacks) and called for backup.
"Bastard One to wIysuhl-Three," he whispered. "Bastard-One to wIysuhl-Three, come in wIysuhl-Three!"
"Quiet!" hissed the answering voice. "No using the house name! You are supposed to refer to me as Control!"
Nail ignored the rebuke. He was proud of his house and proud of his actions, what need was there for secrecy? "We've got a problem," he replied, in a voice loaded with as much seriousness as he could manage.
"What are you talking about?" asked the angry hiss. "The takeover of the ship is already underway. You must secure your area at once!"
Nail groaned again. "Oh, Control, you don't want to *see* the bill I'm going to send you for this!"
A half-naked Skorian girl climbed down out of a vertical pool and smiled invitingly at Nail. She could do that, Skorians were born white as a sheet. Nail knew her ardor would cool as his color returned and he couldn't figure out a way to use her to kill a Gorn, so he waved her away. Then he realized She didn't even notice he was holding a tiny gun. No one seemed to notice.
Dressed in full combat leathers and standing in a room filled with bikini clad women, Nail felt very naked.
-S'Cipio
Topic: ***KCW Official RP Thread*** (Read 3939 times)