Topic: #15: 'Mercy For The Devil'

[Governor Ronjar]

I think y'all will like this next part...




CH. 9





Jarn feigned sleep. It was relatively easy, given the amount of drugs he’d been given to keep him passive. Whatever these Earthers were pumping into his veins was giving him an upset stomach, but was not nearly so effective at keeping him unconscious.

The Over Warden was relatively sure his captors had healed him. Commodore Ford had been bent on killing him, but had not possessed the stomach to commit the act with his woman doctor in attendance. Despite Ford’s hatred for him, the weakling had allowed his healers to tend to Jarn’s legs. Jarn had tentatively been testing them over the last few hours. Pretending to be resting fitfully, he twitched and stretched, moving his limbs as he did so. His arms were bound and a strap held his chest down.

Nothing covered his previously injured legs.

This was a small advantage to be sure, but one he’d implement none the less if given the opportunity. Only one question remained: How? He had to escape this space borne prison. How he would bring this about and what he’d do after eluded him.

The sound of the human ship’s alarums brought Jarn’s eyes fully open. He glanced about at the nurses and security soldiers flanking the long compartment they kept him in. The guards came to a more rigid state of attention and the medics began to nervously banter in their untranslated language. The doors opened on both ends of the room, spilling in more armed soldiers. After another moment, a lone female, the head doctor, entered and began issuing stern orders in her odd accent. Jarn nearly closed his eyes once again, feigning incapacity.

Abruptly, Endeavour’s bulkheads began to reverberate with the squall of energy fire. They were in the midst of battle. The warden prayed to no entity in particular for one of the Earther’s translators. Was it his men out there attempting to reclaim him? Or was it Heedis’ men out to take his head home to place on a damned pike?

Jarn eased his eyes open for a glimpse about to find that the lady doctor had slipped up close without his notice. His eyes widened with surprise. She smiled back without warmth. “Pretending to be asleep, were we?”

At least she’d brought a translator. Jarn didn’t know where she was wearing it, or even if it was on her person. This Federation of Earthers and their subjects had very advanced technology.

Endeavour shook with the blast of a near hit. The wash of forces sweeping across the alien ship’s hull felt all too familiar. Nuclear weapons. Not Kovarn warships, and not Klingon. Heedis’ men had found him.

“Does Ford fight for his right to execute me himself?” He croaked up at her while she looked up to study the readings on the unintelligible board over his bed.

“You’re not going to be executed. The Federation has no laws allowing such forms of capitol punishment.” Keller responded. She did not bother to look down at him. She didn’t seem afraid of him, a quality he’d known in few women. He liked this doctor.

“How fortunate for me,” his gravel-voice mocked back. “Heedis cannot match this ship, and will only last against it till Ford’s patience runs out. Then I will be taken to one of your soft, comfortable prisons. Not the worst I could have asked for…”

“You deserve far worse.” She muttered, turning away.

Jarn bent and quickly snagged her arm in his steel hand. Rifles were instantly pointing his way. Jarn ignored them. “You’re Ford’s woman, aren’t you…?”

The human lady gaped back in shock, if only for an instant. He’d guessed right.

“What do you know about me?”

“Oh… The commodore squealed about you when he was a guest at my compound. He begged for you…” Jarn’s wicked crooning caused the doctor to turn fully back toward him, blocking the soldier’s line of fire for a moment. Two men had separated from their positions to advance on his, weapons up and placed firmly to their armored shoulders. Keller beat them to the punch. Quite literally.

Jarn’s head cocked back painfully as Keller’s palm connected with the bridge of his nose. The Ya’wenn jailer instantly tasted the metallic tang of blood. The pounding sensation in his face told him she’d just broken his nose.

“Mayhap that will teach you some manners, Warden.”

Doctor Keller whirled away from him; his hand no longer wrapped around her wrist. Jarn tried to cradle his nose, but bound, he could do little more than writhe. Another series of shockwaves began to pummel the Endeavour. The great mammoth yawed from side to side, throwing men off their stances and causing Keller to stagger into the neighboring bed. Jarn kicked down with his feet, forcing the bulk of his body to rise up on the bed. The tension in the straps binding his arms slackened.

The green sparkle of Ya’wenn transporter beams began to light the room, setting off shrill alarms and frightening Jarn to his cold hard core. Heedis’ men had made their way aboard! Had they breached Ford’s shields? How many ships had they brought?

It was a ten-man team that coalesced into being there in the forward center of the medical ward. The Warden could see that each of them carried subspace beacons on their shoulder armor. Ford’s shields remained intact, else they would simply have beamed him away without the effort of incursion. Those beacons would ensure they were able to retrieve him through any small fissure in Endeavour’s shields. They had to lay hands on him first…

The Starfleet grunts were quick on the trigger. Though outnumbered temporarily, they managed to even the numbers by dropping four men before the shock armored Ya’wenn could even turn to react. The blue energies of their stun beams caused the troopers to wobble and stagger to the carpeted deck with a series of thuds. Medics scrambled and jostled to get out of the way. More than one ran for nearby weapons stations. This took them to the furthest ends of the sickbay. The cacophony of noise; shouting, firing and impacts; echoed within the infirmary.

The Ya’wenn troopers fired back, ducking and scooting behind cover as it presented itself. One man made an immediate rush for Jarn and was cut down. The man landed so rigidly that the warden knew better than to think him dead. He was just temporarily immobilized. Once his stim packs kicked in, he’d be back on his feet and after Jarn.
Jarn kicked himself further up in his bed. His sizable hands pulled free of the binds holding them. A stun beam sizzled past him as an alert human security man took note of his efforts. This attempt to restrain the Warden served only to distract said Earther while the nearest of Heedis’ men shot him down. The Ya’wenn’s weapons were not set for stun. That particular human rolled back onto his backside, a smoking crater of mangled flesh and burned bone where his face had once been.

Jarn, his arms free, tore away the heavy strap that had pinned his massive chest and rolled onto the soft deck. He landed atop Keller, who looked up at him in wide-eyed shock. Both laid eyes on the rifle laying just an arm-length away. Jarn propelled himself toward the gun with a powerful pushup style lunge. Keller’s foot caught him across the temple and sent him rolling into the legs of his former biobed. Jarn glanced back at the tiny human female in open shock, just in time to catch another foot to his already smashed nose. Jarn bellowed out and clutched his beefy hand to the ruined pulp of his face. Motion triggered his senses, undefined in his torment, and he forced his reddening eyes open. The woman was scrambling for the Ya’wenn assault rifle. It was Jarn’s turn to deliver a vicious kick. His broad, unclad foot impacted dead center in the left side of the doctor’s ribcage and sent her sprawling into a fetal position beneath the nearest bed. He’d barely heard her scream over the din of the unseen battle raging within the med bay.

Jarn smiled, unknowing of the teeth he was now missing, and rolled closer to the unclaimed rifle. Keller, her face darkening from the burning lack of oxygen in her system, propelled herself off the legs of the bed above her and smashed her full mass into his. Jarn barely rocked back from the hit, but he was just that much further away from the rifle. Keller’s tiny fists found his nose, his temples and his eyes. Her raspy shouts of defiance scared the hell out of the rebel leader and he found himself scrambling back from the vixen lest she do further damage to him.

Keller didn’t follow. She now had the rifle. She aimed, using both hands to point it at his face, and pulled the trigger. She didn’t know there was a safety trigger on the fore grip…

The weapon made a plaintive squall of noncompliance. Jarn smiled and began to leisurely lean forth to take the weapon from her. Keller looked at the weapon in betrayal, then reversed her hold on it and brought it down with both hands onto the warden’s left leg. The barely healed fusion of bone bent beneath the impact, sending tears immediately to his bloodshot eyes. Jarn lurched ahead and hit her full force in the side of the head, sending her reeling.

The stunned soldier lying beside the two of them came up on his elbows, his sidearm unholstered. Jarn intercepted the probing pistol and began to wrestle its owner for control. The two of them tied up, strength testing against strength as they pried for leverage. Keller was returning to a sitting position across from them. Jarn watched as she groggily looked over the alien rifle in her lap and detected the two triggers. She claimed a look of immense satisfaction as she raised the weapon and put it to her small shoulder.

Jarn lifted the pistol in his and the trooper’s hands and bore down on the covered trigger beneath the other man’s finger. The beam of silver energy pierced the human and tossed her back like a rag-doll hurled by a child. The soldier beneath Jarn stiffened in shock. Jarn had the pistol away from him a second later and was rolling for the bulkhead. He aimed at the center of the trooper’s helmet visor and squeezed the trigger.

The briefest glance told the alien warden that the battle in this compartment was about to peter out. Heedis’ troopers were just too few to make much more than a quick grab for him and that had obviously failed. Jarn didn’t know where he could go from here, but he knew he’d gain nothing by remaining.

Jarn reached out and grasped the white sweater the human female wore and dragged her back toward him from under the narrow beds. He crawled, trailing her behind as he made for the exit at the far side of the sickbay. Keller was still alive. She’d be a valuable hostage against her lover.





Endeavour shuddered a final time from the impact of microwave energy cannon as her stalwart helmsman drove her out of range. Ford leapt from the conn and circled round to the tactical station where Nechayev was reading over the security update system. The weapons officer did not need to be asked for a report.

“Ve have multiple intruders on Deck Eight, Section Fourteen. Sickbay. Definite veapons fire. One squad of guards already on station. Two squads responding to ‘de area.” The Russian told the CO and the XO whom both crowded around him. Ford looked up from the readout, noticing the slim, dark skinned beauty leaning against the science console just behind the point Surall was peering into her scopes.

Chevy looked quickly away from the vision of Anya, bound to ignore her. She smirked sardonically and leaned down to pretend to look over the science officer’s shoulder. Nechayev looked sternly back to his captain.

“Sir, let me take another team down ‘deer to access ‘de situation.” The security chief’s accent was thickening with anxious energy. Ford shook his bald head.

“Negative, Weps. Stay on the guns. Is Goodwin down there?”

“Aye, Keptin. He’s just reaching ‘de area.”

“Then order him to meet me in Corridor Fifteen, Section Two outside Sickbay.” Ford headed for the after equipment locker and withdrew a type two and a power pack from within. “I’ll resolve the situation myself. XO, you have the conn. Blow that sumbitch out of my sky.”

Ronald did not try to talk his skipper out of going down there. There was something in his eye that told Davenport that it was not the Government Ya’wenn soldiers down there that worried him. He felt…knew…that Jarn was now up to something. That sneaky, dark souled bastard wouldn’t be able to pass up this opportunity to start something…

“Aye, Cap’n.” Davenport said simply, nodding before turning back for the conn. “Helm, bring her around to 111 mark 14. Keep us out of transporter range. Stand by to make your maneuvers sharply to bring us to bear on the enemy ship.” The exec looked over his shoulder to the weapons officer, just as Ford slipped out of view through the closing lift doors. “Ready the Mark Fours.”
***



--thu guv!

[Governor Ronjar]

I finally did some research on the actor I had in mind when picturing Jarn for this series.

For a better mental image, picture him as played by actor Clancy Brown, who played as the Kurgan in Highlander and as rebel leader Zobral in the ENT episode 'Desert Crossings'. I didn't have a name for said actor till I Wikied him up tonight.

--guv!!

[Andromeda]

Nice to see the good doctor having some tough stuff.

[kadh2000]

There's an apparent flaw in the logic of the baddies here.  Suppose they get Jann.  Then what?  Does Ford let them keep him?  Do they expect Federation ideals to be so high that they'll get away with the prisoner?  I can only conclude this has to have been a suicide mission from the start.  There only recourse would have been to kill him upon capture and take their lumps.  Of course, with him dead, Ford would have no real reason not to let them go. 

Btw, nice episode title.

[Governor Ronjar]

The Ya'wenn captain is crafty...an knows he's crafty...

...this is where his mistake has come from. He fully believes he has a plan that will get him, his ship and Jarn away from Ford.

What WAS his plan? Hell, I don't know. Ask him.

 
--thu guv!

[almost named this 'Sympathy for the Devil'... Didn't fit at all. Mercy was closer, begrudgingly though it was rendered.]

[Grim Reaper]

The stones version is good, the GNR version is better.

OT though: I like this one a lot. Nobody is flawless, which makes it all the more believable.

@Kadh I thought the same thing but I thought the baddie would have a (small) fleet in waiting outside sensor rage, that he could call when he'd gotten Jarn. But I'd already bring them in the moment I was detected.

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 10





As the motion of his ship’s decks shifted perceptibly to port, Ford cocked the charge manifold on his phaser and checked his indicators. The pistol read full charge, setting four. Setting four was a basic disruption level. It would slash through organic material without slowing or losing power, burning away tissues while doing enough kinetic damage to keep the wound from truly cauterizing. He’d need level five or six against an armored opponent, but then, he wasn’t expecting to shoot an armored combatant.

He fully expected Chief Petty Officer Goodwin to have all of the intruders detained by the time he arrived. He also fully expected that his good friend Jarn had somehow capitalized on the situation and was loose.

Anya leaned against the turbolift’s bulkhead and studied him curiously.

“You’re going to kill him off now, right?”

“If I gotta.”

“I think you’ll want to when you find him.”

There was assuredness in her tone. The commodore looked back to her.

“Why?”

“He has her.”

“Keller?”
“You call her by her last name? How stand-off-ish.”

“Andrea, then? How the hell can you know?”

“Woman’s intuition, Commodore.”

The doors opened onto Deck Eight, allowing him no further time to converse with his imagination. Ford ran full tilt down the curving hall till he entered within sight of his security cordon. Several bound Ya’wenn, doffed of their helmets but still retaining their black armor sat on their knees in a line, faces toward the inner bulkhead. Their unclad hands and feet were bound with zip-ties. CPO Dawayne Goodwin turned stiffly in his drab grey combat armor, rifle across his broad chest as he noted his CO’s approach.

“We got ‘em, Skipper.” He told Ford.

“Jarn?”

“Unaccounted for. I have men making another sweep.”

“Casualties?”

Dawayne motioned back to the blackened sickbay doors. “The med staff took the worst of it. Three dead, two wounded. Doctor Keller is unaccounted for also. One security injury. Minor.”

A security crewman stepped out of the sickbay compartment to address his seniors.

“Jarn’s not here, Chief. And we still haven’t found the CMO.”

Ford looked sharply to his most trusted security officer.

“Jarn has her, and he’s on his way to somewhere he can negotiate from. What’s the best cover he could hope for between here and—“

The grunt nearest Goodwin looked up, her hands pressed to the sides of her wide helmet as she listened to updates from the main bridge security station. “There’s weapons fire aft of here, sirs! Section Fifty-Two near Junction Sixteen. Ya’wenn particle weaponry and phasers!”

Both men were off in a dead run. Goodwin slowed only to deliver rapid hand signals to those he wished to stay or follow. Ford led a group of six men down the long, circular hall then down a long radial corridor. Signs denoting Junction 16 edged into view and the commodore slowed his pace, phaser low but ready in his right hand. His men took up defensive positions before and to the rear of him. The reinforcing group came up on two more grunts flanking either side of the hallway, their bulk smashed in behind bulkhead braces.

Ford walked forth carefully and calmly.

Jarn was there. He had Andrea. The huge Ya’wenn criminal had his lady held up by the throat before him. He hid his face behind the mass of her smaller head. His dark eye glimpsed out from behind tatters of her unkempt red hair as he leered back to Ford. He was the very picture of the caged animal.

The two of them were in the very observatory that Ford and Keller had come to talk in just minutes earlier. The length of the hull and the black, dead of space shone behind them. Stars moved and changed direction with the maneuvers of the massive ship around them. The thrum of the engines and the beat of weapons fire and alarms faded in their perceptions.

Ford raised his pistol and took aim.

Coughing, barely able to breathe for the grip on her throat, Keller nodded to Chevy, telling him to take the chance. Fire. Ford held off, refining his aim for the subtle movements of the hull. Jarn tightened his hold on the doctor, cutting off her gasps with a wet click and making her eyes bulge. Anya lounged behind Jarn, leisurely leaning back in one of those blue loungers. The glint in her eyes told of her rapt enjoyment.

“Take your finger off that trigger, Captain…” The monster graveled at Ford. His black and silver pistol dug into the base of Andrea’s chin, aimed up. “I’ll turn her head into meat paste.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Jarn.” Ford countered. He could feel his men tense. There was no real opening to shoot. Jarn had Andrea up off her feet, a full foot and a half off the deck. She grasped his muscled arm to take the unbearable strain of his hold off her neck and throat. Her face was totally red. Soon, it’d turn blue. She’d already been shot once. She’d be fine… “There’s no where for you to go on this ship, and I’m not letting you go.”

“You have shuttles!”

“And they ultimately answer to me.” The commodore replied, forced calmness flowing through his voice. “You take off, I order it to bring you back or land where I want it to go. You know that won’t work.”

“But I’ll still have your woman, Ford. You won’t do anything to me or try any tricks with my foot on her throat!” Jarn bellowed out. He was sweating. He stepped back, closer to the semi-circle of chairs behind him. He had a limp. Ford took it all in, waiting for his chance. He adjusted the grip he held on his weapon, letting the sweat beneath his palm cool and dry.

“How we gonna do this, Jarn?”

‘Buying time…that’s all I’m doing… Waiting for him to f*ck up…’ he thought.

“First, Captain…order your men to back the frell off. They leave my sight. I can see all the way down that hall behind you and down both corners down here… They leave…and we talk more about how I’m leaving this ship! At the first tingle of a transporter, she dies!”

“Skipper?” Came Goodwin’s warning question. Ford glanced down to where the CPO knelt at his side. Ford nodded.

“Move out, Chief. This is between us.”

“Skipper…”

“Move, Chief.”

Goodwin turned and began issuing gestures to his grunts. With obvious distaste and misgivings, they obediently fell back and yielded the deck to the CO and his nemesis. Ford returned his full attention to Jarn. He forced his mind, even his vision, to block out everything else. Andrea…her darkening face…Anya…the cruel sneer as she waited for Ford to cave in Jarn’s skull. Ford smirked.
***





Endeavour’s newest weapons systems slowly protruded from their deep chasms of armored hull. They peeked out past their parted hatches, showing themselves for the first time since their installation and testing. They were wide barreled energy cannon, built for massive starbases and space stations. They were made to cut swathes through large fleets of large-scale ships. They weren’t made to be emplaced aboard a starship.

Endeavour made a final correction to her flight path as she bore in on her target. The Ya’wenn cruiser saw this new closing maneuver as her next opportunity to free her captive troopers, perhaps try once again to obtain the leader of the rebellion they battled back home. She, herself, bore in on the Endeavour at her fullest speed.


Commander Davenport held firmly onto the armrests of the conn as he anticipated the order to open up on the enemy ship. He felt badly for the necessity to end this fight. He thought about hailing them to end this conflict before it ended so badly. The Ya’wenn would only want to end this after they’d obtained Jarn. The skipper did not trust them to hand the prisoner over to them. And he had reason not to trust them. They were not likely to keep their charge long enough to get him to trial. Nor were they obviously planning to give him a real trial. They were going to torture him and kill him. That wasn’t justice. Capitol punishment was one thing, and while not practiced in the more evolved political body of the Federation, was acceptable to many. Torture and show executions were abhorrent. Such things belonged in medieval times.

Hailing them would prove of little use. They would continue to demand what Ford would not give them. They’d go on demanding it till they got it by force… or learned that they could not get it at all.

“Target locked on…” Nechayev reported, standing tensely by at his console to the right of the conn. Ron nodded, still eyeing the quickly growing enemy ship. Their particle cannon were primed to fire again. Missiles launched out from their flanks, again aimed to destabilize the shields and beam men in or out.

“Main phasers to point defense, fire torpedoes, minimal spread.” Davenport called out in timed fashion. His photons shot out, impacting on the enemy’s hastily patched together forward deflectors. The paper-thin shields flared and died, showing caved in hull and rent open compartments from the impacts. “Helm, maintain firing arc…”

The Mark IV phaser cannon were designed to be emplaced on a large turret, built to swivel and track. No such space abounded on a comparatively small starship, even on an Excelsior. Therefor the weapons’ ability to hit depended primarily on the ship’s orientation to the target.

Bronstien watched the main screen, ignoring the precise measurements rendered by his instruments. He flew by sight and feel alone. His hands worked over the contours of hard controls and by the heat of computer generated touch pads. “Easiest thing in the world…” He boasted idly, his attention centered.

Explosions rocked the ship as missile after missile detonated at medium range against Endeavour’s defensive phasers. The viewer was alight with flashes as they closed the distance. Ron grit his teeth. “Fire!”

Great, rushing sounds of energy being channeled toward a purpose echoed throughout the ship. The deck jerked spasmodically beneath the crew. Monitors blanked out and lighting dimmed at the activation of the huge guns’ prefire chambers…

The heavy phaser cannon fired, first one, then the other soon after. Each lashed out long, unending lances of crimson hell onto the incoming vessel, which was unable to defend against the attack. The forward section of the sharp-nosed cruiser blew away into glowing ribbons of bent metal. A cloud of white-hot plasma boiled out from the wounds as the beams carved ten-meter deep swaths of bright destruction beneath their touch.

The cruiser banked away, half out of control, half under the frenzied, panicked direction of it’s pilot. The beams slashed down the port quarter of the ship, burning away hull, sensors and maneuvering thrusters as easily as a cutting torch melts butter. The port nacelle of the ship imploded on contact, billowing out fresh torrents of ionized gas from within the ship’s engine core.

Finally, the barrage ended.

The Ya’wenn cruiser was completely disabled.

“Got him!” Nechayev howled, fist raised into the dim air. The lighting was only beginning to recover from the power surges. Ron looked upon the now derelict piece of flotsam that was once a ship with pity. At least they weren’t destroyed.

Now they could talk…

“Mister Smith, hail that…wreck.”

“Hailing them now.”

Nechayev allowed a relief officer to claim his post and circled round the railing to step before the conn. “Permission to go below!”

“Granted, Lieutenant.”

As the weapons officer exited the bridge, Commander Slik slid up from his station and stalked aft to take over the weapons post. Be bid the officer there to take ops and stood tall behind the weapons console. Ron glanced up to the Gorn officer. The reptile seemed all but bristling, eyes wide and shining brightly.

Slik noticed the ape’s scrutiny and looked down.

“That was…an exhilarating show of…power.”

Ron nodded, looking back to the main viewer. There was an unmistakable feeling of pride and…yes…power… blooming within the executive officer. It was not something to be proud of…but he could not deny wielding such destruction had been…appealing.

“Yes it was, Lieutenant. Yes it was.”
***



That's CH. 10 Part 1...

My posting has outrun the replies, but I'm ready to be done with this one. Hope its liked.

--thu guv!

[Grim Reaper]

Hell yeah me like! Not to keen on the cliffhanger though ;-)

[Andromeda]

This situation never ends well.  In movies whichever is the hero survives.  The girl may or may not die.  The bad guy may or may not escape.  But at least one person always dies and the hero isn't it.  in real life does this ever end with the baddy getting away permanently?  Of course in real life they don't have him absolutely confined.  Jarn must have outside help for this to work, right?  I like the shot in the face to end it. 

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 10 [part 2]

Seconds prior…

“Alright, Jarn, we’re alone now. Now what?”
Ford didn’t expect the criminal before him to do much more than demand a way off the ship. But he was waiting for that one chance to get off his shot. Andrea’s eyes were rolling up into her skull even now. He prayed that moment would not be too much further away. The stars behind Jarn had just stabilized…

“I’m not going to dawdle all frelling day, human. Take me to the shuttle port of your ship. The moment I feel a tingle of a transporter, this bitch’s head comes off. You try to trick me, and I’ll kill her for spite. I’m leaving this ship, and if you’re lucky, the bitch gets by with only the taste of my—“

The lighting flared, then died throughout the section as a tremendous squall assailed their ears. The deck rumbled and then lurched like a drunkard as the Mark Four phasers beneath them fired. Ford lost his footing, even though he thought he’d been ready. He hit the unlit deck hard, taking the impact on his shoulder and side. The commodore strained his eyes for sight of his target, but the warden had already fallen and was not silhouetted against the windows aft of him. Ford cursed and began to scramble onto all fours.

The commodore could just now make out Jarn. He was on his widely spaced knees, glancing around in confusion as though he thought he was about to be beset with further captors. Ford raised his pistol and squeezed off his shot.

The azure beam punched straight through the flesh at the criminal’s shoulder and hurled him back. His big hands lost their claim on Keller and she tumbled away with the roll of the deck.

Ford was now fully on his feet, stance low as he charged in. He fired again, catching the tough jailer in the chest, dead center. Jarn buckled and crashed backward into the blue chair behind him. He remained conscious, so vengefully alive, and shoved his pistol at Ford to fire as well.

The brilliant shot caught Ford in the thigh, searing skin and muscle away and snapping the bone. The human screamed out in fury and agony as he slammed his good foot down onto the deck, committing one last adrenaline powered leap. He thrust his shoulder out, unknowing in the flailing light where Keller had wound up falling and unwilling to fire again for risk of hitting her.

Ford’s shoulder found Jarn’s throat and the two of them went down in a heap of meat and sweat. Jarn tried to raise his pistol, his target being the side of the commodore’s head. Ford grappled that arm with both of his, then slid over the huge alien to bite a bloody hunk clean out of Jarn’s gun-hand. Jarn barked a cry of pain and dropped the pistol. His left hand struck Ford in the kidneys, the ribs and the head. His thunderous strikes bounced the smaller being’s cranium about like a tethered ball, but Chevis would not relent. His hands found Jarn’s throat and his thumbs pressed in with murderous force and delight. Jarn’s eyes bulged and he began to kick backwards to throw off the human’s balance.

Ford’s good leg and ruined thigh wrapped about the man’s barrel chest in desperation as Ford continued to exude force unimagined on his victim’s windpipe. Jarn’s vision tinged with red and he fought to prize the insane being’s hands from his throat. His chest burned for the pleasure of cooling air that was tantalizingly out of reach.
Ford’s eyes had glazed over and his face was a wrinkled, ashen and red mask of death as he glared down into the Ya’wenn’s eyes. He bore in with all his weight onto that throat in his hands. He had the life of the man who’d leveled him in his grasp. The man’s life…and ultimately his death belonged to Chevis D. Ford…so long as he could maintain this control.

Fear and desperation fueled the big alien and he abandoned the futile task of trying to rip Ford’s hands free. He reverted to beating the human’s head in, striking mighty blows to the left and right of Chevy’s round, hairless head. The world jarred and swirled in Ford’s senses as each hit assailed him. He felt his strength failing… his control weakening over his own hands. He freed a hand from the task of depriving this beast of his life and struck back, hitting Jarn right between the eyes. Jarn’s orbs blinked hard, rolled. He drove a thunderous right into Ford’s temple, a blow that finally toppled the smaller human.

Jarn dragged clean, cold air into his lungs and glanced down both halls to make sure Ford’s men were clear. They apparently had no idea of the fighting going on here. The noise and turbulence of before had died. Maybe the intense sound of all that machinery had drowned out his and Ford’s weaponry. This was becoming Jarn’s best opportunity. He looked for his pistol…

…and caught Ford’s right foot right in his broken nose. The word became a tumble of red and intense pain as he flailed out at his now unseen attacker. Ford’s boot impacted again and again on the Ya’wenn’s face and chest. With vehement cursing the likes of which could not be written, Jarn fought his way to his feet and fell upon his opponent, firing away fist after bruising, crushing fist. Some connected with flesh. Some punches found only floor. Within his right-hand, the middle knuckle snapped and protruded from his grey flesh in bloody tatters of jagged bone. Ford kneed and punched and bit and head-butted in return, cursing and growling in animal fashion as he did.

Jarn’s vision began to return, showing him still atop his human enemy. He adjusted his full weight atop the fiend, then powered down on him with a new hail of fists. His punches rained down as he supported himself on his aching knees. Ford elbowed him in the crotch, causing something to burst. Jarn could barely feel it all over the swelling pains in his skull. Sickness assailed some portion of his mind and stomach. The human ignored the pummeling he was taking and hammered his balled fist in on Jarn’s eyes and cheekbones. The socket there popped and sank with gritting agony at the third such strike. Jarn threw one final punch, rebounding Ford’s bloodied, pulp-like head off the stained floor with a hollow thud. He rocked back onto the balls of his feet, ignoring Ford’s last strike to his manhood as he reclaimed his vertical base and backed away.

With his broken leg, Ford could not follow as Jarn backed off, nor could he sweep the man’s legs at that angle. He fought to roll over and crawl toward the jailer, coughing and spilling thick blood from his mouth as he went. Jarn stooped to retrieve the human’s phaser from the deck. He staggered back another step.
Ford looked up at the man, rolling to lay on his left side as he flexed his right hand. His left leg howled from the pressure on his destroyed femur. He fought to ignore it…and the tingling numb sense of nearly passing out. He fought for consciousness. He brought his functional right leg close to his body and grabbed his boot.

Jarn aimed the pistol, leering down at his fallen enemy. Blood, dark and oozing, dribbled from every cut and contusion on his wide face. His left cheek had sunken, and slivers of impacted bone poked up from the flesh there. His left eye was entirely black from hemorrhaging within. Both eyes were swelling shut. He grinned at Ford in grizzly fashion. Anya sat behind the jailer, reclined and seemingly uninterested.

“Now, Captain…” Jarn’s gravel was now more bubbly from the fluid in his mouth and the ruined teeth. “This seems the reverse of how you found me this morning…”

“Enjoy it while…it lasts, bitch.”

“Which of us is going to walk away from here today, Ford? Not you…”

The security men had yet to show. Where were they? How far back had they fallen back? They’d stop Jarn from leaving surely, but Ford would ultimately still be dead. So would Andrea, lying close beside him. He looked back up to the criminal. “Neither of us.”

“I think you’re wrong, Captain.” Jarn adjusted his final aim and placed his finger on the trigger. Ford tensed, his hand grasped. Anya suddenly looked off to her left, down the corridor…

A phaser beam sliced through the Ya’wenn jailer. Another hit him in quick succession. Ford threw his boot-sheathed bowie knife. The blade buried itself in Jarn’s neck, stabbing clean out to the other side. A final phaser blast dropped the criminal lifeless to the deck.

Ford rolled onto his back, sore, burning with pain and glad to still be breathing. He looked down the length of his damaged body, moving his right foot to see Lieutenant Nechayev walking cautiously up the alert-flasher-lit hall, phaser held at the ready should Jarn stir again. Behind him was the security force that had accompanied Ford here.
“Sorry for ‘de delay, Keptin,” The lieutenant said, bending down to kneel next to his commander. “’De new phasers triggered the emergency bulkheads at sections fourteen and fifteen again. Ve had to find another vay around.”

“Better late than never, Weps.” he coughed with a smile. Behind Nechayev, Anya winked.

Ford allowed his body to sweep him into blissful unconsciousness. The commodore was glad for the way the fight had ended.  He just wished he could’ve reached that knife sooner…
***




Commander Davenport scowled at the soot covered Ya’wenn commander pictured on his main viewer. “I don’t give a damn about what decision got this fight started, Captain! You opened fire on us! Anything you got in return was justified!”

“This entire incident has been an insult to Ya’wenn sovereignty!” The Captain-Commander shouted in impudence. He had no cards left and he knew it. All he could do now was level threats for the future. “You have all but started a war here today, human! You will drag your people down with you into damnation with your insolence!”

“You wanna start a war with the Federation?! You just go ahead! We’ll hand you your asses on a galactic scale! You can end this bullsh*t today and call it even, or you can keep on pushing! Just try to take another shot, and I’ll see you IN HELL!!!”

The injured Ya’wenn soldier staggered and flopped down into his own command seat and blinked back. The aft turbolift doors parted behind Davenport and he looked back. Lieutenant Nechayev ignored the huge bulk of the Gorn at his post and came to stand rigidly before the XO.

“Commander, Jarn is dead. ‘De Keptin got him.”

Ron looked back to the sullen, and now overtly shocked Captain-Commander. The alien CO stared back in amazement. All that he’d ventured and all he’d just lost now meant nothing. Jarn was dead.

Ron faked a dark smirk.

“You can have the sonovabitch, now. I hope you’re happy!”

Davenport stomped back to the command chair and slammed down into it. Nechayev retook his post and Slik his. The XO glared over to Mister Smith’s corner of the bridge. “Comm, order the Constellation to return to this position after she deposits her present charge. She’s to haul this bastard back home too. Have Tenseiga escort her as well, per the commodore’s authority.”

With that relayed, Davenport looked back to Commander Eddrin.

“Now you sit tight and be quiet. We’ll get Jarn over to you once we’re done here, then you can go and do whatever the hell you want with whatever’s left of him.”

Eddrin nodded sullenly and the screen reverted to a blank star field.

Ronald leaned back and forced the tension from his keyed-up back. He looked over to Nechayev.

“Stand down to Yellow Alert. Maintain shields and set combat watch rotation.” He paused as the weapons officer set those commands into motion. Then the Russian again met his gaze. “I take it, since Ford didn’t come back up here with you, that he’s not in very good shape.”

The security officer smiled faintly and grimly.

“The Keptin fought a long, hard battle and came out, in the end, victorious. That is all that matters.” The Slavic would say little more. Davenport knew there was something more, but did not press. He turned round in the conn and looked out onto the nakedness of space.

“Sometimes, Lieutenant, you’re right. That is all that matters.”
***



Well Larry, it nearly took me till the end to get it in there...but Ron's line found it's way into the story!
Hope you laughed your ass off. [private joke 'twixt me and La'ra...]

Hope everyone enjoyed Jarn...

--guv!!
PS: Today the guv and his wife celebrate their forth Anniversary. This makes the guv happy!

[Andromeda]

Don't reallly like shifting to the villain's view, but the fight was more intense than I had expected.

[Governor Ronjar]

Yeah, shifting in mid-sequence like that doesn't look good. I didn't like it either, but it gave me the descriptions I needed without a scene shift [to the other character] which would have lasted only a paragraph or so anyway. Hope you found the brutallity of the fight fitting for Jarn's demise.

--guv!

[Andromeda]

Yes, I did. 

[Commander La'ra]

Ah.  A good old-fashioned Roger-style slugfest.  Like two wooden ships of the line duking it out, both participants take so much damage that only imperceptible movements on their part can be used to judge which mangled opponent is the victor.

Yeah, that's how Jarn needed to go out.  There's that little whisper that agrees with Ford, that it might've been better had he gotten to his knife sooner, ended Jarn with no help at all, but Jarn's done a lot to the Endeavour crew.  It's only right that a few shots from someone else helped end the problem once and for all. 

And yes, I loved 'the line'.  I also loved that Nechayev shot Jarn in the back.  Very appropriate to the guy who inspired him.

[Governor Ronjar]

Too bad there is no Emoticon for a jaw dropping like mine did when I saw La'ra had posted.

Hot Damn!

Now to wrap this one, and thise part of the series, all up.




Epilogue



Days later…

The new Over General, Jeedin Kaide rocked back from his comm screen in shock. He could not believe what the smiling, smooth faced Klingon on his viewer had just told him.

“Captain Rell… You and your affiliation have agreed to provide assistance if we adhered to our end of the agreement—“

“Which both you and your former leader Jarn have failed quite miserably in doing, General.” Rell cut him off. That damned smile never once faded. Kaide only now began to realize how much acid there was behind it. “You were provided with armaments and technical assistance, even tactical intelligence and my direct help…all in exchange for your forces tying up Starfleet assets in this sector. We kept our end of the bargain. Yet Starfleet is unperturbed and stronger now than ever before.”

“We could still accomplish this, Captain!” Kaide protested. He was desperate and he knew it. He also knew he was doing a miserable job at hiding it from the Klingon commander. Jarn had dealt directly with every illicit trade contact he’d possessed. Kaide didn’t even know who Kovarn had been sending their minerals to, let alone how to contact them again. The rebels needed Klingon support now more than ever… “We still have intact starship production and the mines are turning out high quantities. We—we could trade for cloaking technology—“

Rell actually laughed, looking away.

“Give the cloaking device to such unruly degenerates as you? I think not, my friend. No… I’m afraid our alliance is at and end. You do not possess the ties and contacts that Jarn had. You have no supporters, and even now more than three-quarters of your former fleet had turned corsair and fled you. The home government is closing in on your position and Kovarn will soon be in their hands. I think it best we sever all ties now…”

“But--!”

Rell’s smile fell. A sneering grimace of distaste had replaced his rosy veneer.

“We’re taking back all that we have given you.”

The transmission ended. Kaide looked in futile rage at the blank screen. He looked up, past his former boss’s desk, toward the opulent den of decadence that had been his primary residence. That den was empty now. His watery eyes settled on one of the few techs he still employed. The scientist looked back with measured disdain.

“You tracked his signal?”

The technician obviously did not think much of the half-baked plan Kaide had hatched. Trying to attack and board a cloaked warship…a Klingon cruiser at that… It was foolish. The tech handed his boss the data pad anyway. He hid his own acid smile as Kaide hurriedly looked the report over.

“Those coordinates are in this starsystem!” The ‘Over General’ exclaimed! The tech satisfied his urge to smile with a sardonic smirk. He crossed his arms as realization dawned on the acting commander of the Ya’wenn rebellion.

“Rell’s in orbit! Why would he be in orbit…why come here just to tell me he doesn’t—“

Kaide’s eyes bulged as Rell’s final words echoed in memory.

‘We’re taking back all we have given you.’

The rebel installation shuddered with the concussion of the first torpedo blast. The tech reclaimed his pad from frozen fingers. The scientist turned and calmly walked away while the old mining complex was beaten down around them. Reports began to flood the stunned commander’s comm panel, telling him of strikes against their outlying construction platforms. Kaide could only ball up under Jarn’s old desk and weep.

The rebellion was over.



END.


---thu guv!

Soon, hopefully, I will be posting a new Dath'mar story that I started at around the time I was working on #12... Said story took the backburner when I decided to put more time back into the Endeavour series. Problems at home have drained my enthusiasm for writing, but I force myself not to let this one drop. It's kinda important to me to finish this one. There's just a lot of detail in it.  Once I've finished this story, titled: Dirt, I will then move one to another project, likely the Tramp Freighter series. Said new series will not be nearly as prolific as Endeavour, but will hopefully be as well loved or more so.

             -Roger

[Czar Mohab]

So sad to see this come to an end. But, sometimes they must end so bigger and possibly better things can start and thrive for their own time in the sunlight.

Have I been reading? Yes. Have I been enjoying? Yes. Why haven't I said anything until now? Scheduling conflicts. I'd get maybe 10-15 minutes free, long enough to read one or two threads, not enough to say anything good.

So, with that said, I will review:

Excellent portrayal of Endy's new toys. Lights dimming, ship shuddering. Mostly why they are Starbase grade phasers, and I'm thrilled that you showed us why.

Ya'weenie roast. 'Nuff said.

I understand Doc's dislike of Jarn once she discovered him for who he was. The temptation to "accidentally" inject him with something really naughty must have been overwhelming, even for her. I think, had she known and Ford pulled the trigger (when she walked in on them), she probably would have been understanding. Most likely not forgiving or forgeting that her man was a cold blooded murderer, but understanding none the less.

Ford got his private room with Jarn. This makes me very happy. Especially since you didn't leave us all hanging. Jarn deserved what he got.

Also glad that the rebel weenies got some retribution. Makes me feel like that area of space will be a touch safer to travel in.

It was a nice wrap up to the saga. There doesn't have to be more to this; we can guess that Ford and Co. will have a nice life afterwards. You say you have 2 works coming for us. If you'd care to, you could always do a revisit to Endy, perhaps 5-10 years later where a new captain and crew try to live up to her reputation. Then you'd have 3.

Czar "Here's to the fine crew of Endeavour! " Mohab, who adds,