First scene of Chapter Three is ready...figured I'd go ahead and post it.
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Chapter ThreeThe odd sensation of being transported faded away. La'ra's nose wrinkled, his hand moving to cover his nostrils. The smell of urine and rot dominated the grimy alley.
"Great Kahless..." Leral spat from behind him. La'ra snarled.
"Report!" He growled.
There were other Klingons in the alley. Six Marines, dressed not in uniform but clothing and armor that might be used by a mercenary or House-warrior, stood in securing positions. La'ra's group had followed once they'd declared the landing site secure.
"No threats in the area, Commander." The lead Marine informed. Ensign K'tal, his rifle held at a casual ready. "No observers...no life signs for some distance."
La'ra nodded. "Good."
"What is that horrid stench?" Leral asked.
"Corpse behind the trash receptacles." K'tal gestured. The warehouse they'd materialized behind looked disused. So did the waste bins. Most of the garbage here was lying on the ground. "Crushed skull."
"Indoors." La'ra snarled. Marines sprang up from their defensive positions, stood ready at one of the warehouse's entrances. The door yielded without too much effort, the armed and armored Klingons rushing through, weapons at the ready.
The warehouse was still littered with crates, most of which had long since been torn open and scavenged. The metal walls bore streaks of rust, the dust almost as oppressive as the odor of decay in the alley.
"Finally, a worthy stronghold from which to plan galactic domination." Leral quipped. La'ra chuckled, and even K'tal grinned slightly.
"It'll work for the next few days." La'ra declared. He looked to one of his team, a young petty officer burdened with communications gear. "Pick whichever spot you want, Woram."
The younger Klingon nodded.
"Shall I arrange ground transportation, sir?" One of the Marines asked. Klas. A n'er-do-well who'd been sentenced to service.
"Be discreet." La'ra warned. Klas sighed as if he'd been mildly insulted, and headed for the exit.
The Commander looked about. Windows had not been on the architect's priority list, but he thought he saw some outside light coming from what had probably been the overseer's office. He trotted up rickety metal stairs.
The office had been mauled terribly by many someones. Aged graffiti adorned the walls, and piles of dried material La'ra chose not to identify were heaped in the corners of the room. There was a black mark on the floor, probably the result of a transient's warming fire. There were windows, though. La'ra could see the city.
The sky was barely visible, stars obscured by the grimy dome that protected the settlement from a poisonous atmosphere. A magnetic rail that'd once been a path for high-speed trains wound it's way between long-abandoned warehouses. Even the permacrete on the connecting streets were cracked and rotting. In the distance though, there were the peaks of tall buildings. They seemed obligatory. No doubt most of what really went on the city occurred in bars, basements, and hidey holes.
Somewhere in this cesspit, there was a particular hidey hole, housing a particular woman. His data had been clear on that; the daughter only rarely shipped out with her father. She'd be here, at the Andorian's 'home port'. La'ra wondered how much protection she'd have. It didn't matter, really. He was here to watch her, not to accost or abduct her. He didn't like taking hostages.
"Commander." Someone called. Leral. He exited the office, gave her an interrogative look.
"Worams set up. We can raise the ship whenever you wish."
La'ra nodded and headed down the stairs.
Topic: Daggers in the Night (Read 32899 times)