CH. 2
Dath’mar stalked off the command deck and followed the zigzag trail of the former main gunner’s blood to the main turbo elevator that serviced this level. The bridge compartment of this newer ship was larger than that of his old Gro’mokh, making the trip from the hatch to the lift shorter. He remembered having seen the original layout of his old bridge when the ship had been given to him. He’d laughed at its inefficient design and had it torn out and altered while on a shakedown cruise. Former commanders and yardmen had done similar to the Pang, but her alterations had been even more lavish than his own. Pang’s bridge was huge for a Klingon warship. The removal of dated equipment had freed up much space on this forty-year-old cruiser. Only half of the original security foyer leading to the turbolift still remained.
The captain entered the elevator car that waited, jabbing a button for the lower decks. This car’s floor showed no sign of fresh blood. Another must have carried his gunner to the infirmary. Dath’mar did not relish killing or injuring crew just to make a point. He was loath to slay another Klingon. His imprisonment on Kovarn had shown him far too many of his own kind dead. Many had died by his own order, desperately attacking the enemy. He knew, though, that leaving Motek alive would also leave him an enemy at his back. But he would deal with it. And should Motek one day gain the upper hand over him and slay him, then the better man would have shown himself, wouldn’t he?
The lift car dropped down the length of shaft that descended into the main body of the Pang’s command pod. Halting at Deck 6, it lurched back into motion, racing laterally down the long run of tube that connected the forward pod to the stardrive section of the ship. The trip was not long, but Dath’mar’s nails bit into the palms of his hands with impatient pressure. The lift halted again and went back up two more levels. It deposited him on the engineering level.
The bark of the cloaking alarm sounded as the captain made his way down the wide, spacious corridors. His prisoners had been collected then, and the rest floated dead in space. The lighting dimmed, making the CO blend into the shadows thanks to the ash he’d ground into the leather of his uniforms. The enjoyable flow of cool air ended as, once again, the ventilators shut down. They wouldn’t start up again till the dioxide levels rose or till the ship decloaked. The doors to engineering parted with a high-pitched drone.
Working officers and men looked up from their busy tasks as the captain strode among them, stalking like a wolf on the prowl. They were wary of him. Likely the story of Motek had already reached the engine room. No matter how big the ship, rumor spread faster than fire. Dath’mar found the man he sought standing between the intermix core and the portside impulse reactor.
“Hekk!” The captain hailed the old man. There was no fondness or friendly content to his voice. Nor did he intentionally let on irritation. That bled out on its own. “The fore torpedo launcher remains out of action.”
Lieutenant Hekk was a tall, grizzled old man. His hair spilled from his crest like a wide river of whitewater. His hazel eyes showed years of experience. The captain had yet to push him very far. There was no need. The man had been an engineer for longer than most had served the Fleet.
“Yes, Captain. The structural mainframe beneath the loader mechanism and the accelerator both buckled when we were hit. My attempts at shoring the deck and sealing the gap have failed.”
Dath’mar took a moment to consider in silence.
“Why?”
“The internal blast ripped away most of the surrounding frame work that holds the compartment together. The entire level is a hazard. When I shore up one area, every other falls out of alignment.”
“Your plan?”
“I am fabricating new internal braces to shore up the rigidity of the compartment. Before this, I can do nothing further.” The ancient man’s withered voice explained. He was a concise man, at least when speaking of his business.
“How long?”
“Another thirteen hours to brace up the framework. Then we can evaluate the remainder of the work ahead.”
The captain nodded his understanding. He did not like being without one of his most substantial weapons while so close to enemy territory. The Ya’wenn would reinforce the area soon, again flushing him away or forcing him to fight at a disadvantage. The Pang had taken a beating over the last few months. Vengeance did not come without price.
“What of the other systems?”
“The shield generators are requiring constant supervision. During our combat alert, I had two teams standing by just in case they failed. Thankfully, they came up when ordered…this time. The plasma transfer coils to the main disruptors are near to fused; you fired them so much. They need replacing; a job that will take the better part of two days out on our own. And both impulse reactors are beginning to try my patience. Added to all the minor inconveniences, our capacity is becoming sub-par.”
The Whitehair did not hold back. Dath’mar respected him for that. The ‘minor inconveniences’ he mentioned were the other devices and machinery that was damaged or out of action aboard ship. The main sensor array atop the bridge was in shambles from the structural shift caused by the torpedo detonation in the launcher. Dath’mar had caused this damage himself by ordering the weapons officer to over load their weapons past 200% while fighting the Ya’wenn. Other things ranged from the grav plating being damaged to the main life support generators being offline. The outer hull was patched reasonably well and structural integrity as a whole remained near to 92%.
But this ship needed much repair.
The commanding officer considered his options. Returning to Goesa’vaina would take nearly a week. Admiral Sharp had gotten the Starfleet Command to allow his ship and others the freedom to pass through Federation territory between Ya’wenn space and home base, but it still took time. He did not know how long he would be tied up there with his ship under going refit. It might take him months to get back here to exact further revenge.
How much of the work could be done out in space, were they to retreat to safer areas?
“Can you get our systems back up on your own?” Dath’mar inquired, looking the Whitehair in the eyes. Hekk chewed on something and looked distant.
“I might, were we to come to a halt so I could get to the outer hull with work-sleds. Then I could access and handle the heavier modules.”
“Then it will be done. Prepare your teams for the first duty shift tomorrow.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Hekk called him ‘Captain’, never ‘Lord’. He liked that about the man. The captain turned and stalked back out of the engine room. Now he had to consider where to take his ship so that the engineer could pull her apart. He knew their general location very well. But so many weeks inside that damned, whirling plasma phenomena had befuddled his direction sense. He’d have to consult charts. Once into the elevator again, he set it toward the officer’s quarters and then opened the intercom circuit.
“First Officer! Pull the charts on this immediate area of space and send them down to my cabin. I will review our position.”
“Yes, my lord!”
“Status?”
“We have our specimens in the brig, Captain. Two male Ya’wenn and a female. Highest was the ship’s third officer, so the Qas DevwI’ claims. We are back under cloak and under way on course 377 mark 121 at one half thrust. Impulse drive operating on warp power, auxiliary reactors shutting down. No contacts in immediate viscinity.”
Dath’mar killed the comm link and was silent the rest of the trip back to the command pod. The lift dropped a deck and practically opened right before his cabin doors. He ignored the maintenance hands on duty as they worked on an open access panel near the life support junction. He knew what they were doing. The air conditioning on this level was dead. It was hot or cold on the entire deck depending on the ambient temperature outside the hull. Right now, it was frigid. He ignored that too.
Dath’mar activated the main light in his cabin’s antechamber and sat down at the round dining table that dominated the main body of the room. He picked up a bottle of Warnog from the low cabinet to his right and pulled its cork. After a long pull from its contents, he picked up a waiting data pad and addressed his assistant’s list of pressing details needing his attention.
He was not at it long before the door’s buzzer went off. He didn’t look up. He knew that the two sentries posted at all times outside his quarters would deal with any trouble.
“Come.”
The door opened to allow the chief navigator entry to his room. Lieutenant Ger’shall was a shapely woman. Her hair and scent reminded him of Li’hoela… He tried to ignore that fact as he did many other things. At least he pretended to ignore…
“I have the charts of this section, Captain.” Ger’shall told him.
At this, Dath’mar looked up to meet her gaze. Her long, wavy, light brown hair was almost exactly like his late science officer’s. Her face was rounder, her eyes lighter and wider. Her hair, though… It was the same. In her thick arms she carried three heavy data pads. He pointed for her to lay them atop his table.
“Leave.”
“Yes, my lord.” She sounded dejected. What had she expected of him? Small talk? Invitation to shirk her duties and imbibe Warnog with him?
The door opened to the corridor beyond, framing the wide, heavy frame of the ship’s surgeon. The huge man grinned leeringly at the shapely navigator as he stepped aside for her to pass. He left her only enough room to squeeze past, thus rubbing her assets against him along the way. Finished with his minor acts of lechery, he waddled uninvited into the anteroom.
“You have an office for this, you know.” The surgeon prodded.
“Your point?”
The doctor sat down far too close for Dath’mar’s comfort. He glared up at the indolent man as he and his bulk smiled that intolerable, smug smile. He was always testing, prodding. “Point? Oh, I have no point. Merely suggesting you might find your office better suited to dealing with business. One’s quarters might actually be seen as a refuge from such bothers…”
“My service to the Empire is no ‘bother’, Surgeon. And where I conduct my business is none of yours. What did you come down here for?”
“Your shining smile and gracious company.” The fat soldier grinned back up till he saw the stone glare he’d earned. His countenance faltered all of a moment. “I came to tell you that our esteemed guest down in security has expired. His time with the mind-sifter was most draining.”
“Commander Banks is dead?”
“His real name was—“
“He deserves no Klingon name. It is as well he died with that ridiculous human face intact. Did he offer more intelligence before his passage to Grethor?”
“You left him with no intelligence at all after seventy hours in that chair. I found it quite interesting as a study case. I have never observed a subject that had experienced Force Five invasion.”
“Study the corpse as long as you will, then blow it out the nearest lock.”
“Had ‘Commander Banks’ been working for Fleet Intelligence or Internal Security rather than the Kla’davin, would you still hold him in such regard?”
“He was a traitor. Nothing more.”
“His assignment began before the Praxis explosion. It is likely—“
Dath’mar looked up from the data module he was activating and shot the surgeon a deadly stare. “Enough, Surgeon. State your real purpose. You could have filed Banks’ death in a report and not wasted your fat breath to get here.”
The surgeon issued his own glare.
“I came to remind the captain that he was ordered into this area of space to fight the Ya’wenn, not his gunner.”
“You come here to question my disciplinary measures?”
“You nearly killed a fine officer! It was luck that his blood pooled in his limbs when pressure from the heart was lost. Otherwise I would not have gotten enough into him in time to save his life!”
“He was blatantly insubordinate!”
“Motek is a skilled officer and an asset to the ship!”
“That is the only reason I didn’t vaporize him!”
“You could still have handled it differently! We have a brig! Broken bones are easier to deal with than severed arteries!”
Dath’mar’s pistol appeared from the depths of his leather holster and plopped onto the tabletop. The captain took a long, exasperated breath and measured the shiver of fear showing in the doctor’s eyes. “I am near to dispensing with another key officer…” He warned.
The pistol was wide and stubbier than any Klingon issue weapon. Its huge barrel glowed with a soft blue light from inside when activated. A red tracer light twinkled at its top. The power module was heavy and robust. The surgeon stared at it for a second. But still he did not back down.
He wisely changed track, however.
“Motek can be back at his station in two days time. I’m ordering no training or activity beyond manning a station till I’m satisfied the vascular graft has set. You’ll be interested to know that I am also now treating him for a Ya’wenn virus. You should clean your blade more thoroughly.”
Dath’mar found a small amount of dark humor in dealing with this man. This alone kept the doctor alive at times. Were he not to entertain the captain, Dath’mar would surely have killed him by now.
“I hear we have more guests.” The surgeon went on with a new topic. Dath’mar did not respond. He merely looked over the long list of stellar hazards in this section. Then he correlated them on the star map included in the pad’s memory. There was plenty of open space, but he also wanted some interference to confuse scanners at long range. He saw where he would likely send the Pang.
“What have you in mind for the Ya’wenn prisoners?”
The surgeon would not relent. He continued to probe for conversation.
Dath’mar dropped the data module with a loud clatter and jabbed his angry eye into the doctor’s face. “Do you ever cease your prattle?”
“Not till I’m done.”
“For now, they sit. They know we have each of the others. If the Qas Dev did their duty right, they can’t see one another, nor can they speak back and forth. When I am ready for them, I will question them. Till then, they sit.”
The surgeon merely nodded. Psychological warfare was a required subject for Imperial Medics. Cutting off the prisoner’s communications with the outside world left them vulnerable. This pressure could be used, guided.
“They’ll be fed?”
“Sparingly.”
For whatever reason, that answer seemed to set the huge man at ease. He finally resigned himself to silence and allowed the captain the leisure of getting back to his work. Dath’mar stood after a few moments and traveled to the comm panel on the far wall.
“Bridge.”
“Kurvis.”
“Set course for coordinates 113705 by 27716. We will take advantage of Starfleet’s generosity and conceal ourselves among them while we make our repairs.”
“Yes, my lord. Speed?”
“Standard.”
“At once!”
When Dath’mar turned back to the table, he found the Surgeon aiming his own pistol at him. The captain lowered his hands level on either side, ready to respond. Was there to be a fight here? Or was the doctor just trying to get even with him with a moment of pause?
It turned out to be the later. This became obvious when the large Klingon twirled the gun on a finger and presented its handle to his commanding officer. The doctor’s wide spaced eyes were gleaming smiles. “Why do you carry such a weapon, Captain? It is not Klingon.”
Dath’mar took the weapon slowly and replaced it in his holster. Both the weapon and its leather holster had been fashioned on Kovarn. “I like it.”
“A trophy?”
“A reminder.”
***
Anybody remember 'Commander Banks'?
--thu guv!
Topic: Dirt (Read 25713 times)