Topic: Dirt

[Grim Reaper]

Nice plan! I like that you sketch an impossible task and then give a possibly usable solution. But even the best laid out plans fail at first contact. So GIMME MORE!

[Scottish Andy]

I too am impressed with the plan and the confrontation with the mutineer. I like seeing these "bog standard" Klingons being forced to think outside the box and come up with solutions none of them ever thought of before. You told that very well!

As for the plan, Larry screwing things up for Dath'mar with the 'No casualties' rule was funny. I liked this line:

“Praxis! Every difficulty I hear is laid upon the altar of Praxis!”

While I t think the ground may indeed be scared of the Gorn, it'd probably be scarred by their mining efforts. 

You are really fleshing these characters out quite nicely, Guv. Keep it up! Looking forward to more.

[Hstaphath_XC]

To Hsta: I'm hoping that the idea of destroying the Gorn frigate, at least prior to this CH., was implied as a given...and therefor not brought up for discussion. Just thought I might clear that one up...

Yes, MUCH clearer now.  Excellent work, as usual, THANKS! 

I will note that I do recall a TOS episode where Klinks used fake distress calls to lure the Enterprise away from a planet they were interested in.  Scotty had been left in charge of the Bridge, IIRC.

[Governor Ronjar]

I remember it. Was where the idea actually originated. Was hoping to kinda imply that such was not the norm for the 'bog standard' Klingon who's mind is muddled by misconceptions of honor.

Glad yall are liking!

--guv

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 8





“I have found our pilot.”

Dath’mar cast a slow glance back at his First as Kurvis returned to the bridge.  He was relatively certain as to whom the XO was referring. The knowledge did not bother the silent captain. Let that officer prove himself again or die in the trying.

Dath’mar nodded his understanding and returned his stern eye to the stars streaking past on the main viewer. The captain was not truly seeing what his eye looked upon. His mind’s eye was looking upon the scope of the task ahead of them. The onerous mission to save a colony, and thereby helping to preserve their floundering Empire, without inflicting casualties upon an enemy that would not pay them the same favor. There was challenge there, without doubt. His orders seemed a cruel joke. There was no glory in completing the mission this way. Warriors throughout the Empire would jest about the Pang, who sneaked in the dead of night as a thief and stole the property of the Empire’s neighbors.

Giving such orders as these made La’ra seem the fool. Dath’mar knew better. La’ra had bested Kruge, brought down his Great House. La’ra had survived Captain Sharp of the Endeavour. No, the Brigadier was no one’s fool. His reasoning was sound, even if the methods he ordered employed were unorthodox. Surely, the veteran officer would have made a better suggestion were he not somehow hemmed in by his options.

Dath’mar, however, was not about to lay claim to having envisioned this quest. He still considered such methods beneath him and his crew. Their goal was honorable. Their methods for achieving it would not be.

The problems of completing their mission swirled within the captain’s head. He stared a hole clean through the main viewer in his concentration. The enemy’s defenses would not be so easy to subvert. Even should their escort vessel be drawn away by their planned rouse, the Gorn planet would not be so easy to wriggle past. Being hampered in the ways he could carry out his mission, Dath’mar would have to discover a new way to ensure the survival of his ship. He held no faith in the idea that the Gorn would be defenseless once their main power was cut.

‘I must maintain control of their weapons once they are disabled.’ Dath’mar thought. Kurvis wished to send ground forces to take over their gunnery emplacements. That meant three teams to take over the gunnery control centers. They would have to remain in those centers until the cargo had been extracted. The Gorn would fight like demons from Grethor to reclaim them from enemy hands. They might even destroy those centers out of spite.

‘My warriors will be hard pressed to retain those centers while using only stun-force weaponry.’ The captain’s face turned sour as he realized what they would go through down there. He would have to lock their weapons on stun to ensure they adhered to their orders. He was hesitant to commit such an act. Orders be damned.
Three nine-man groups would be the typical prescribed method for assaulting and holding such emplacements as those weapon control towers. Twenty-seven warriors. Men he did not have to spread around. He already needed nine to assault the reactor installation, and two groups of three to sever the power conduits. Dath’mar pondered. He could save the men meant for the conduits, instead blasting them from orbit. Surely La’ra would not begrudge him the use of his disruptors. The captain felt the urge to smile. He felt he could trim down the existing groups and create the assault units to hit each of his targets. Another briefing in that tiny room below would be necessary to inform the officers of his changes.

“Now crossing Gorn border.” Kurvis updated the captain. The First Officer stood with hands behind his back next to the navigator, Ger’shall. Ger’shall had been ingenious to offer her idea earlier. This was rare for an officer so young. Even now, she showed her youth as she sat at her station and monitored the ship’s passage. Her wide, high-cheeked face shone with inexperience and childish repose. She would not likely be much use in a ground fight or a boarding, but he already knew she could hold up during a ship-to-ship firefight. This was a start. Combined with a good head on her shoulders, she might have a grand career.

“Set for maximum stealth.” Dath’mar called out to his crew.

Kurvis nodded his ascent and turned for the helm.

“Reduce speed to warp factor four! Weapons, secure all scanning! Switch completely to passive scanners!” The XO’s path took him to the engineer’s post at the foremost bulkhead. “Cut secondary power and secure reactors. Activate exhaust buffers.”

Each of his commands received the necessary responses, leaving both he and the captain satisfied that their ship was completely and totally invisible. The Gorn were renown for their persistent patrols and adept watch stations. It would be no mean feat to reach their first objective undetected.

“Estimated time of arrival to Tres’in Nebula, three hours, forty-six minutes.” The helmsman reported. She looked back for the captain’s response. He ignored her. Kurvis smiled and headed back that way.

“Very well, Bekk. Maintain your course and speed.”

The captain was all too aware of the younger officer’s desire to please him in the performance of their duties. Such did not always bear forth good results. An officer too eager to get the attention of the captain took risks, hurried or ignored regulations. His method had always been to allow his First to take care of such men and women. Kurvis was perceptive.

Dath’mar leaned into the thin upholstery of his command chair and forced the tension from his bones. He fought to clear his mind for a time. There would be plenty to worry over soon enough. He had enough to do, maintaining his imposing figure and pretending to be bored.
***





IKS Pang slowed to a halt at the furthest reaches of the blue and silver Tres’in Nebula. The giant, swirling formation of gasses reached out for three light years, and its irradiated matter shown out against the stark galaxy like a beacon. The fields stretching forth from the Tres’in were not greatly powerful. But they clouded every sensor frequency utilized on this side of the galaxy. Thus was the reason the Gorn kept their assets away from this area of space.

And thus would it make a grand place for a ‘Romulan’ ship to take detailed, long-range scans of the Gorn’s outer colonies. The energized stellar emissions would mask active sensor waves, allowing a scout to operate for a long time without being noticed. There would be no immediate response should the Gorn suddenly take notice.
For these purposes, the nebula also worked well with Captain Dath’mar’s plan. It’s distance meant that it would take a very long time for that escort to get here. And the nebula’s existence meant that their volunteer pilot might also survive his mission.


Before the lone, tall captain, a single, bland looking grey shuttle sat on the hanger deck in silence. Its pilot stood before him. Lieutenant Second Motek was completely armored, his disruptor and d’k’tagh in place. Dath’mar looked at him coolly. The lieutenant would like to employ either or both of those weapons in his death. The captain bore both his hand-built disruptor and his blade. He felt no fear for the man before him.

Motek stood waiting. Likely he thought himself to look impassive. Any could detect the anger writhing inside him. Dath’mar took a slow step toward the boy. The other tensed, looking for sign of attack.

“Are you prepared for your mission, Lieutenant?”

Motek’s eyes narrowed even more than before.

“Yes, my captain.”

“Your electronics package will emulate Romulan scanners. Direct their beams toward the Chetell system and amplify your emissions to cover the distance. Scan for short durations so as not to appear false. Run for cover when it becomes obvious you have drawn their attention. Seek refuge within the neb—“

“You counsel me to run like a targ!”

Dath’mar stepped closer. He was now close enough to strike should he want to. Motek held his ground, eyes widening. The captain leaned forth just a bit. His eye pierced the officer. “I’m giving you operational orders to survive your mission. Is this clear, Lieutenant?”

“Perfectly clear, Captain.”

The reply was slick with hatred.

“Once we have begun our operation, the escort will turn back. This is when you will make your return to Klingon space. Do so quickly. Bring my shuttle back intact.”

Dath’mar took a cautious step in reverse to clear the distance between he and his budding adversary. Motek took an aggressive step in, drawing close once more.

“Should I return from this inglorious suicide attempt, I ask that you grant me one thing.”

Dath’mar stared back, considering.

“What?”

“I demand you meet me in the circle of equals. A duel. Blades in the sparing chamber.”

Dath’mar remained stone-faced. He took his time in answering, as though deciding, weighing options. He already knew his answer. “You will have your duel, Lieutenant. Station!”

Motek saluted his captain, despite the rift between them. He had been honored by the acceptance of the duel. He had something to look forward to upon his return. It would fuel his will to return from his mission. “Qa’pla!”

“Success!” Dath’mar replied, returning the salute lazily.

Motek glared for a final time and reached aside to open the shuttle’s side hatch. The door swung up and open for the lieutenant, who clambered inside and began the process of powering up. Soon, the shuttle was lifting to revolve toward the after bay door. Dath’mar remained immobile, staring at the small craft that hummed and whistled next to him. He motioned high for the enlisted warrior in the control pod to open the main door.

The hatches reeled themselves aside, revealing the panorama of space looming beyond the field protected portal. The shuttle boosted ahead, its hull shimmering as it passed through the hanger’s forcefields and then again as it exited the Pang’s cloaking shield. The shuttle made a sudden turn, taking it from the captain’s view. The doors slid closed.

The mission had truly begun. He did not trust the youth out there, but Dath’mar was reasonably sure that the boy would fight Fek’lhr himself to return here for his promised chance at revenge. The captain did not look forward to it. He regretted the notion the notion that he would have no choice but to slay on of his own men. He had seen far too many of his people killed before him, uselessly, for him to relish the idea of killing another, even for honor. He’d chosen not to kill the boy when he’d had clear reason to days ago.

The future would be what it chose, he decided.

Captain Dath’mar left the droning hanger bay as the ship’s engines again powered up and accelerated to faster than light velocities.
***





The Surgeon slowed as he neared the Captain’s door. The lock showed to be on. This was not often the case unless Dath’mar was sleeping. Likely the man was in there, prone on his rack, gathering up rest needed for the coming trials. It was many hours from the Tres’in Nebula to Chetell. It would be several more hours worth of passage, likely under some form of pursuit, between their destination and their home skies. The doctor almost thought better of awakening his commanding officer.

Just as quickly as doubt had occurred to him, it inexplicably died. The Surgeon pressed the enunciator key beside the security panel. An insectoid buzz sounded on the other side of the hatch.

“What!” Came the captain’s voice through the tiny speaker.

“I have come to see you, Captain.” The fat Surgeon declared, as though this were reason enough to disturb his commander’s slumber and be admitted. The light on the panel did turn yellow. He smiled and keyed the hatch open.

As usual, the fat man entered through the personal office. He found it devoid of life, and so continued on through the dimly lit cabin to the sleeping compartment. There lay Dath’mar on his foldout bunk. His targ lay on its side, tucked in beside the long-limbed warrior. The animal looked sleepily the doctor’s way, narrowing its black eyes to see the new intruder. The captain’s own eye glared back in annoyance. His hand still caressed the tawny back of his pet.

“What do you want, Surgeon?”

“I have come to learn that you have entrusted the fate of this ship and her mission to a man who has sworn to kill you. I’m wondering what sort of thought process leads a man to come to such a decision.”

The Surgeon said this with a light tone of humor and sarcasm. His head bobbled from side to side with his words, emphasizing his opinion of the captain’s logic. His jowls were split with a wide grin between his thin mustaches.

“You care to question my orders also, Surgeon?”

Some of the levity drained from the fat man, but not all.

“Oh, certainly not, my captain.” The doctor searched the dimness for a seat and found one against the starboard bulkhead. There he planted himself. “That would be a wonderful way to derail my stellar career in medicine and earn me a knife in the gagh basket. But I would like to know why you trust him to do this.”

Dath’mar’s eye drifted to the ceiling. His targ continued to stare at the intruder for him.

“I have agreed to duel him upon his return.” The captain’s voice droned dully. “This alone will drive him better than a training sergeant. His hatred for me will guide him back here, and with him with him will come success.”

“And his success means our success.”

“It makes ours all the more likely.”

The doctor’s perceptive eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the warrior lying on the bunk. Dath’mar, like so many, rested fully armored. His pistol lay within easy reach on the counter beside the rack. There was and abnormally melancholy air hanging over the captain. His face appeared almost mournful. The surgeon shifted uncomfortably in the thin metal chair beneath him. He didn’t totally like or understand what he was detecting in his normally immovable commanding officer.

“You don’t like the prospect of killing that boy, do you?”

The first answer was a simple one.

“If he loses his duel, he will die.”

“That was not my question. You will not enjoy killing him. Will you?”

“It is a sad thing for a Klingon to kill another over mere…pride.”

The surgeon’s lips curled into a vehement sneer. These thoughts echoed his own.

“This happens every day. All over the Empire.”

Dath’mar continued to look to the ceiling.

The surgeon’s mind caught on a fact that added detail to the mystery of Dath’mar’s malaise.

“You could have killed that boy on the bridge when he questioned your orders during combat. Yet you merely stabbed him…wounded him. Can it be that our dire and dismal captain has seen enough of his own brethren die?”

The captain’s eye came back to rest on the fat doctor. His face was bland.

“I have seen enough of them die without use, Doctor. To be forced to kill him over a matter of his misplaced pride---“ The captain suddenly halted, now glaring with anger at the fat man. “You draw me into far too open conversation, Surgeon! Enough of your prodding!”

The fat man stood up from his chair. It was no longer any comfort to him. He laughed down at the captain who still nailed his hide with the evil eye. “Perhaps I draw you into open conversation because our stone-faced captain needs a friend on this ship of strangers. You do not fraternize with your First. You have not taken a woman from among the crew or officers. All you have other than me is that hairy plate-lunch at your side… By the way… What did you name that flea bag?”

“’UQ QetwI’.” Dath’mar looked back to the wall. The surgeon would have bet his last Drakar that he’d seen the ghost of a smile on the captain’s lips. So he did have a sense of humor…

“Running Dinner indeed.” The fat man turned to make his escape, lumbering back the way he’d came. “I shall leave you to your repose, Captain. Sleep tight.”
***

[Commander La'ra]

Finally!

Sorry, Guv, but for some reason my internet doesn't like 'Dirt'.  Every other thread I try and bring up on the board works, but this one stalls halfway through until just now.

You already know my opinions on pretty much every part of this story, but wanted to let ya' know I was still readin'.

Hsta:

I bet I could throw together a kickin' song parody to go with that if anyone wanted me to...

I want ya' too!

[Hstaphath_XC]

Excellent!!!  Just can't get enough Dirt and I'm glad to see I'm not the only one to take advantage of the forum outage to get some work done.   There were a couple of jarring instances of repeated words, but I'll let the wordsmiths here post the mark-up editing comments.  I'm simply enjoying this exceptional tale as it unfolds.

As for La'ra, roger that.  Working on Rommie's song parody now.   

[Governor Ronjar]

 There were a couple of jarring instances of repeated words, but I'll let the wordsmiths here post the mark-up editing comments. 

Repeated words? I am confused.

--thu guv...

[Hstaphath_XC]

Repeated words? I am confused.

Like in this paragraph:

The mission had truly begun. He did not trust the youth out there, but Dath’mar was reasonably sure that the boy would fight Fek’lhr himself to return here for his promised chance at revenge. The captain did not look forward to it. He regretted the notion the notion that he would have no choice but to slay on of his own men. He had seen far too many of his people killed before him, uselessly, for him to relish the idea of killing another, even for honor. He’d chosen not to kill the boy when he’d had clear reason to days ago.

Oh, and I think you meant that he would have no choice but to slay one of his own men.   

[kadh2000]

Good stuff. 

[Governor Ronjar]

Funny that the grammar check wouldn't pick that up... Oh, well. It is fixed in the home copy. Thank you.

Glad y'all continue to enjoy.

--guv

[Governor Ronjar]

Now...to the nitty-gritty...


CH. 9





Twenty-seven hours of listless waiting and slow preparation found the Pang and her warriors slowly coasting toward Chetell III. For the first fourteen hours of the journey from Tres’in, the mighty cruiser had maintained a steady velocity of warp factor seven. This was a moderately fast speed for their purposes, but with proper care, did not broadcast their presence further than three light years away. Their circling course had been carefully constructed to keep the largest planetary bodies between Pang and the waiting Gorn.

Thirteen hours out from her destination, the battlecruiser began to scale back her speed. Dropping first to warp five, then four, three and so on over the passing hours, her crew lessened their outgoing energy emissions and traceable telltale signatures. Seven light minutes outside the Gorn mining system, the Pang finally dropped out of warp speed, resigning to coast the rest of the way in with a final surge of full impulse power.

No engine breathed aboard the stealthy cruiser. Her main reactor had been scaled back in power production. It only made enough energy to fuel the cloak. All else was fed by battery. Nearly all outboard systems had been secured. Maneuvering thrusters remained silent. Active sensors were dead. The life support system was set to the barest minimum. Only the smallest amount of energy escaped from the navigational deflectors; they remained necessary since even the smallest space rock could endanger them at such high sublight speed.

Pang had coasted, half-drifting, into the core of the alien star system. Her entire crew was at their posts. Each watched their instruments for the slightest sign of betrayal to the enemy. In such situations, everything became the enemy. Their systems, the faulty ones and the misused. Their own mistakes. Unforeseeable happenings outside their ship and beyond their control… Successful incursion demanded complete vigilance.

Dath’mar stood bent behind the science console, leaning lightly against the back of Lieutenant Commander I’rell’s chair. His vision scoured her panel for any sign of errant signals and unwanted emissions. The science officer kept a watchful eye as well, even as she also watched for sign of enemy wariness.

“The Gorn warship maintains its orbital path.” She updated in a small, light voice.

Dath’mar nodded. The crimson from the glyphs on her board bathed his angular face. He seemed a vision born of blood. I’rell noted this with amusement and a slight trace of fear. The captain possessed a fatal persona that made her suspect he wanted nothing more than to drop his cloak now…to open fire on the Gorn and turn this into an open battle. His mannerisms did not speak this. Nor his expression. These remained unreadable as ever.

The very air about the man sweated pent up violence.

“Now nearing apogee in our course for the planet, Captain.” Called out Ger’shall. The navigator looked up from beneath her sweaty curls of light brown hair to see her captain’s reaction. “Beyond this point we begin to pass Chetell III and will have to reverse course to correct for orbit.”

The First Officer quietly stepped closer to Dath’mar. The captain kept his eye fixed on the alien escort. The Gorn ship had yet to slip around the curvature of the colony world from them. Pang remained within direct line of sight of her. One small mistake now would spell disaster. For Pang. For Galt. The Empire.

Sweat dripped from the executive officer’s bearded chin. The unrecycled air on the bridge was stifling. The ventilators had been disengaged for seven hours now. Heat convection from engineering circulated the air in an effort to keep it oxygenated. This made it stale and warm. But this method consumed less energy and created a lesser signature than the life support generators.

“The Gorn ship is facing away…” Kurvis observed of the enemy. He was anxious to make orbit. Backtracking to achieve orbit would only mean more of a chance to be detected. Once in orbit, planetary reflection and magnetic fields would help to obscure the Pang.

Dath’mar continued to watch the circling alien craft. Its orbital path was most inopportune. It’s course seemed designed by fate to keep the little vessel in sight of Pang for the longest period of time possible. The captain watched. The Pang drifted. The Gorn ship circled slowly.

Dath’mar finally shook his head and stood up straight.

“Slow the ship.”

With a pronounced nod, Kurvis turned for the flight control stations.

“Helm, braking thrusters. Trigger minimal reverse thrust and increase steadily to one half power. Execute!”

Bekk Akara nodded her understanding and bent to work. Her normally luxurious dark brown hair was pulled into a dank, tangled mass behind her glistening neck. The helmsman dripped as she worked. The Pang began to slow, lethargically at first, resistant. Then her velocity began to drop steadily.

Dath’mar and I’rell watched the reptiles’ ship intently on their scopes. The captain was prepared to order attack stations at the slightest provocation. A battle against that tiny craft would be short indeed. The angular, needle-like Gorn ship never tottered in its orbit. Her power emanations remained steady.

“No reaction from target.” Came from I’rell.

“Maintain alignment…” Dath’mar murmured. He was not yet satisfied.

There came a shining wave of emerald energy from the Gorn escort, depicted on the sensor images as a cone waving out from the little vessel. Both watching soldiers tensed as the scan passed over their position. Kurvis drew up still behind his commander. They waited for further indication…

The wave of energy passed on. It swung thirty degrees past Pang and concentrated. An active pulse of a different sort shot out from the escort, pegging an area of unoccupied space with detective energy. The Gorn received no return. Both scanners shut down. The escort kept on circling the planet.

Dath’mar looked to his exec.

“They are alert soldiers.” Kurvis remarked.

The captain gave the barest of grunts and stalked away for the command dais. He ascended its summit, but did not yet sit. He looked back out over the stations about him. “Watch the Gorn. As they pass around the colony’s perimeter, we will close. Not before.”

Each of his officers turned to him as they heard his words. They nodded their understanding, Kurvis included. The First would have to test his own patience. Dath’mar flopped into his chair with little sound and glowered at the brown and white colored world on his viewer. He seemed to be staring curses at the planet and its inhabitants.
Were his stare a virulent plague, the populace of Chetell III would all be gone.

I’rell turned her seat away from her post to look to her commanding officer. He glared her way in challenge. The science officer was becoming less and less affected by his shadow. She looked up to him with a mild defiance he found he liked. “Lieutenant Motek will begin his broadcast within the minute, Captain.”

Dath’mar nodded, then glanced to his First. This look was all Kurvis needed from his captain. “Science officer,” his thick, melodious voice said.  “Open long range subspace detectors and begin listening for our gunner’s rouse.”

I’rell nodded and returned to facing her station. The heat swelled. The officers blinked sweat out of their eyes and remained on the watch. None spoke. Even the few pieces of running machinery seemed to be muting their voices. Dath’mar looked idly on at the screen before them all.

Kurvis turned suddenly, his wet mane flinging with the motion.

“Contact! Intense sensor emissions now reaching Chetell, Captain. Motek is right on time!”

Dath’mar looked at him, measuring. He nodded.

“The Gorn?”

Kurvis cast his gaze back to the science panels. Both operators worked to enhance the images they had of the now receding escort ship. The little vessel continued on, seemingly oblivious to the energy waves rebounding in the system. Were the emissions too weak? Had they over thought their plan in their efforts to avoid seeming specious?

Time crawled by in the excruciating stillness. The Gorn continued on under the Klingons’ watchful eyes. The Pang sat near motionless amid the swirling and shooting bodies of the system. Dath’mar closed his eye, trusting in his crew while he rested his mind for a time.

The Gorn warship passed out of view of the drifting battlecruiser.

“The enemy has moved out of sight…”

At I’rell’s voice, Dath’mar’s eye opened and he straightened.

“Helm, rotate the ship and push us into orbit, minimal thrust.”

“Yes, my lord!”

The stars on the main viewer jostled as the ship’s visual recorders fought to maintain a steady image against the Pang’s spin. The unusual motion quieted and the planet centered there began to enlarge slowly. Pang was again in flight.

Kurvis leaned in on the sensor station. His shoulders knit together in frustration.

“Motek continues to broadcast. Soon he will disengage and wait for a quarter hour to be—“

Motion burst past the left-hand side of the viewer. There was a flash and a hint of pseudo-motion from behind Chetell III. The captain looked over to his exec. “First!”

“A warp trail, Captain!” Kurvis could not contain his exuberance. His great fist crashed down on the console, causing a squeal of protest from the machinery within. “The Gorn have gone to full battle speed, my lord! They bear for the Tres’in Nebula!”

Finally, the captain truly relaxed. The bulk of their worries had just been lessened. He closed his eye once more, face inclining toward the dark ceiling bulkheads. “Put us in orbit helm. All stations…maintain stealth.”
***

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 9 [pt.2]

With the Gorn escort gone, the Pang had gained to opportunity of watch down on her enemy with impunity. She established a geosynchronous orbit, parking directly above the colony site. Commander Kurvis took on the task of guiding the science and gunnery officers as they scoured the lands below them with visual and passive detection systems. With patience and skill, they were able to fully map the installation below and target its most critical resources. Pang now knew where the critically needed nitrates were stored.

Dath’mar had watched on in typical silence, offering a word here and there in support. Otherwise, he remained out of their way.

Time passed more swiftly now that each had their respective tasks at hand. The First Officer made repeated trips down to the assault staging area, briefing his men on the latest intelligence as it was forthcoming. The Qas Dev who remained on board were to be the leaders of the strike teams. The captain had ordered four teams to be readied for deployment. Seven warriors, including the First, would assault the reactor installation. Four men would strike each of the gunnery control towers. They would be dressed in the heaviest armor available in the armory and bear all the arms they could carry. The captain had forbidden all melee weapons save for daggers. Dath’mar knew the zeal of the warrior. The marines could not be expected to control themselves to the point of not cutting the Gorn to pieces.

Kurvis returned to the bridge after his fifth inspection of the troops below. He had already donned the heavy armor meant for pitched ground combat. The typical Klingon soldier did not favor the more bulky build of the assault gear, but its superior protection could not be argued. The First carried his rifle slung over a shoulder. Dath’mar looked him over from atop the command dais.

“The Qas Dev are at full readiness, Lord.” Kurvis reported. There was swelling pride within the commander. The captain nodded in return, his eye unblinking.

“You don’t care to take a heavier rifle, First Officer?”

Kurvis blinked and unslung the weapon from his shoulder pad. He had in his hands the standard rifle, little more than the quite powerful, venerable pistol unit with an attached stock. The stock bore additional power cells and an optical sight for long range shooting. The First looked the rifle over and shrugged. “I find the standard weapon quite satisfactory, Captain. I doubt I’ll find opportunity to fire further than one hundred qams, and while not as powerful, this weapon will shoot for a longer period of time.”

Dath’mar looked back to him with some doubt, but did not argue with the First. Kurvis waited for an objection to arise, and when none was forthcoming, he looked to the viewer at the forward bulkhead. Chetell III stood silent and still before them. Pang’s parking orbit held her aloft directly above the compound they intended to invade. The First Officer stepped off the dais and halted at I’rell’s console.

“Status of planetary defenses, science officer?”

“Gorn weapons systems remain unpowered.”

Kurvis glanced at the tactical repeater on the console’s right hand corner.

“The frigate?”

“She continues to bear for the anomaly. She has increased her speed to warp factor nine point three.” I’rell looked back at the exec with raised brows, her expression mock-aghast. Kurvis nodded in appreciation for the achievement. That escort vessel had been of a previous generation’s design. To see her moving so fast spoke well of her crew’s ingenuity.

Lieutenant Motek would be hard-pressed indeed to escape them.

The First Officer looked a few more indications over before turning his back to the science systems. He retraced his steps back to the command chair and stood silently aloft should he be needed. Dath’mar had closed his eye. His pose within the broad command throne betrayed his wakefulness. During their deployment within the Kovarn Reach, Kurvis had never known the captain to close his eye for any length of time while on the bridge. This was a new side to their commanding officer. Had he retreated into his own mind? Or was he trying to allay boredom?

“How long till the escort reaches Motek?”

The fact that Dath’mar had said the officer’s name rather than simply mentioning the shuttle told volumes. The captain held more than the average concern for the errant warrior. Kurvis made a note of this, adding it to the fact that Dath’mar had not simply killed the man already. The exec glanced to the science station once more.
“Gorn will reach the shuttle in roughly three hours, my lord. They have been traveling toward the Tres’in disturbance for sixteen hours.” The Gorn had taken a more direct route at a faster pace than had the Pang. They would meet with Motek in far less time than it had taken the Klingon cruiser to reach this world.

Dath’mar looked out to I’rell, who sat rigid at her post, watching her screens and pretending not to listen to them. “Has Motek begun to make his escape?”

“Negative as yet, Captain.”

The lieutenant’s acceleration to his ship’s maximum warp was to serve as the signal for attack. Motek was not expected to take his craft into the Tres’in. While this would take the escort out of sight of the planetary system and cut it off from communications, the tiny Klingon craft would not survive more than a few minutes of the nebula’s corrosive gasses. Raising shields was not possible amid the disturbance’s interference. Motek’s only real choice was to make a run for the border and hope the vengeful escort was more interested in rescuing the colony than on destroying a tiny interloper.

The captain glanced back to the viewer, and again to science. Kurvis watched. So, the great stone-heart had lost his patience… The First hid his amusement and stared ahead. Dath’mar seemed almost to nod, his gauntleted palm slapping the top of his armrest. “Kurvis, ready your men for transport!”

“Success, my lord!” Kurvis replied with a sharp salute. Dath’mar nodded without returning the gesture and watched his First head out the aft hatch.




Dath’mar returned his chair to facing forward, considering the sleeping colony below. It was near to midnight down there. The night would be moonless and pitch black. A perfect time to attack. And he had had more than enough waiting. It was time to move!

“Helm!” The captain projected with his battle-voice. His sharper tone seemed to snap officers out of their lethargic states. “Move us to within minimal orbital range for transport! Prepare to make evasive turns at my command!”

“Yes, Captain!”

“I’rell, watch for alertness from the enemy!”

“Battle Alert, Condition One!”

Red battle lamps lit in every corner in every compartment as the computer sounded the shrill, electronic alarm. All hands were already at their posts or near to them. The alarm served more as a wake-up call and signal of coming action. Dath’mar looked over the smaller regiment of bridge officers which sat about him. They all sat straightforward at their stations. Their hands were poised and ready. The planet on the main screen edged closer. The tactical display next to the screen came online, showing their dangerous proximity to the all-encompassing mass of the planet. They were now limiting their maneuverability in a way that made most combat commanders shrink away.

The time was coming.






Commander Kurvis passed through the final reinforced set of blast doors, entering on the starboard side of the assault transporter bay. His men awaited him in anxious, nervous rows. Their eyes were wide, glinting in the crimson light with the lust for battle. He saw here not a trace of inexperienced fear in his men. He had selected only the best of the marines and crew to come along on this mission. He swept down their ranks, giving them a final assessment. Unsatisfied, he halted before them.

“Turn and check your partners’ equipment!”

Each of them turned with parade precision, looking to each other in preassigned pairs. They began to pull at armor tabs and straps, check over weapon and equipment settings. This took only a matter of seconds. They then turned back to Kurvis and stood at attention.

“Equipment secure, Commander!” They shouted as one.

“Command requires us to stun our enemy this day, Qas Dev! Check your settings and lock weapons to setting number two!”

They took a quick glance down. None of them needed to reset their disruptors. They had already done this. Kurvis noted a wry smirk on two of his soldiers. His eyes darted over to the only member of the assault party that he bore concern for. This soldier was the only female in the group. Her sex did not cause him concern. In the Imperial Fleet, all were warriors. Her training was liken to all those who stood about her. Kurvis had personally seen to this.

The First’s concern for her did not stem from a misconception about her training or readiness. Nor did her sex bother him. He worried over the amount of equipment she carried. As the technical specialist selected for the strike, Sergeant Orna bore a modular scanner, tricorder, toolkit and a computer interface borrowed from human design meant to break into enemy security systems. All these added another forty kilos to her already cumbersome gear. She did not have to carry the portable deflector generator laying on the transport pad behind her, but her encumbrance would surely be a detriment.

Kurvis looked stolidly at her, accessing her survival chances once battle was joined. No warrior worth his mettle feared death so much that it would incapacitate them. None loathed the chances of dying a glorious, honorable death. It was, however, his duty to ensure that this honor was not laid upon his soldiers unduly.

Orna noted his scrutiny and looked back at him in quiet defiance. She was the shortest of the warriors assembled. Her eyes dared him to speak. Kurvis smiled a wolfish grin and began to pace again, bathed in red. The lights had quit flashing and now bore down on them in bloody hue.

“The Gorn are renowned for their stamina! A single stun blast will not incapacitate them! Set your weapons, now, for concentrated beams. Check your targets! Fire long bursts into them to ensure they fall!”

His teams had bent their heads, uncoupling their barrel assemblies to bypass the flow baffles that made the rifles fire bursts and closing their weapons again. Kurvis nodded to them all in satisfaction. He pointed to the leader of the second squad, meant for the northern control tower. “Group Two, portside transport quad! Group Three, next quad!”

With violent stabs of armored fingers, the First placed each of his four-man teams on their waiting transporter platforms. Then, with a nod to the sergeant he’d glared at so measuringly, he led his own squad onto the central portion of the wide, multi-facetted alcove. This bay was built to beam down hundreds of troops in very short periods of time. Doing so drained the ship’s energy reserves, but today, no such capacity was yet required. Only a couple hands-full of warriors were going to grace the alien world below. The real task for Pang’s transport handlers would be coming later. Kurvis just hoped the old transporters could handle it…

Kurvis took his place amid the forefront of his men and glowered back to the officer manning the controls inside his protected pod on the far end of the room. The officer returned the nod, saluting, fist to chest. His voice echoed into the hollow chasm about them. “Qa’pla!”

“Success!” The Qas Dev’ shouted back in unison. Kurvis tore the proud smile from his face. The transport officer keyed his comm to the bridge.

Today would be a good day to die.





The intercom panel on Dath’mar’s seat blinked yellow as the report came from below.

“The First Officer and his teams stand ready for transport, my lord!”

The captain’s hand descended slowly on the control as he took the time to relish what little he could in the moment. “Begin transport!”

A sharp, low, double-pulse alarm began to bleat in their ears as the assault transporter energized decks below and far aft of the bridge. Dath’mar could imagine that he heard the drone of the heavy subspace buffers as they hurled the disassembled atoms of his soldier kelicams out to the planet below. He could imagine their pent up anxiety, fear and lust as they began to dematerialize close to the enemy.

“Transport complete!” Came the update from below.

‘Now to get the Gorn’s attention…’

Dath’mar stood before his chair, full of energy.

“Drop the cloak! Fire disruptors!”





The space close about the battlecruiser Pang shimmered and wavered as subspace fields parted and fell away in layers. The long necked warship became a dense, substantial thing once more and swiveled a few degrees as she brought her forward weapons to bear directly on the colony below. Flanking both sides of the round, lower portion of the command hull, port and starboard primary disruptor banks lashed out with thin, emerald beams that lanced down at the unwary enemy. The twin shots angled out away from one another, aimed for different striking points.

The beams came down with the force of ages old atom bombs tearing each through tons of bedrock to hit the targets beneath. The impact points exploded violently, throwing into the air hundreds of tons of dirt and suddenly liberated stone into the sky. The plasma transfer conduits under all that protective stone severed with those direct hits. The Gorn had not had the time to raise the outpost’s deflectors.






Dath’mar narrowed his eye and looked aside as his science officer’s voice called out.

“Both energy transfer conduits destroyed, Captain.” I’rell told them. “Gorn switching to back up systems!”

Dath’mar would have normally taken the liberty to relieve the enemy of said backup systems. Such would soften them for swifter defeat. But those backups were situated amid the Gorn’s buildings and structures. Hitting them would kill possibly hundreds. La’ra’s displeasure would be paramount. Sneering in disgust, the captain refrained from ordering their destruction.

“Ensure maximum shields!”

Hekk was here, on the bridge, directing his crews from the portside console. The old Whitehair looked back to him with a proud nod. “Deflectors are at one hundred ten percent with ample reserve. We-“

The first reprisal blast struck the Pang.

The bridge officers held on to their station corners and armrests as a long line of rail gun projectiles spat up at them like tracers. The riotous cacophony of their repeating impacts assailed the ears and set off emergency alarms. Hekk almost lost his balance, his lanky limbs flailing out for support.

“Forward screens have taken a direct impact!” Lieutenant Shenna called out, the first to report. “Shield holding at sixty-seven percent!”

The second wave of the Gorn’s return-fire swept the cruiser’s defenses, causing her to sway side to side. The thunder of hundreds of meter-long projectiles impacting the outer screens was deafening. The Pang’s structure groaned from the forces she absorbed.

“Shields now fifty-two percent!” Shenna looked back, eyes wild with battle passion. “Do I return fire?”

“No!” Dath’mar felt sickened at the issue of such an order. “Helm! Prepare evasive!”

A third barrage of cannon fire rose through the atmosphere before them, bearing straight for the Klingon vessel. Dath’mar watched them come. How much more weapon power did the Gorn have left in their emergency batteries? And how long till his men secured the control positions?

Pang heaved at the abuse of further impacts.
***

Hope this does not fall short of expectations. Gimme any and all feedback, please.

--thu guv!!

[Hstaphath_XC]

...Hope this does not fall short of expectations. Gimme any and all feedback, please.

Good heavens, Guv... don't change anything that you are doing, just keep running with this story!

My wife tried to ask me a question while I was reading this earlier and I actually told her, "not now, honey-- the game's on!"   

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 10





The first Gorn dropped with barely a sound as Kurvis and his warriors swept forth from the entryway they’d beamed into. The chamber about them had been dimly lit and huge, built of heavy steel with a ribbed inner structure. The Gorn male they’d first found had been unarmed and had seemed curious when he’d come about the corner. Likely, the whisper of Klingon assault transporters had caught his attention and set him to investigating the cause of the sound. Imperial transporters were designed to minimize buffer time, eliminating much of the droning noise caused by the beams of other nations. Such had obvious tactical advantages.

Kurvis led his team at a trot through the corridors of the enemy installation, guided by the tricorder in his hand. They made excellent time. The ground rocked only once during the entire time they transited the distance to the stairwell they sought. This would be the Pang’s guns speaking up. Likely the power leads to the Gorn weapons had been severed. 

The open cavern of the dark stair loomed before the assault team. The Qas Dev could now hear the distinct electronic chatter of the enemy’s rail cannon returning fire on the orbiting Klingon cruiser. No return fire was forthcoming; Dath’mar was showing restraint.

Kurvis motioned silently to his men and led them down the stair. The Klingons kept to the sides of the path, hugging the corners. Each kept their ears alert for sounds of movement. Sergeant Orna held her combat scanner aloft, scouring the way for sign of their enemy. The party reached the bottom of the stairway and drew to a halt. The sergeant directed a more intensive scan ahead.

The sharp-eyed woman looked to her commander. She held up three fingers, then clenched her hand in a fist and pointed ahead. She ended the signal by sticking up her thumb and three more fingers. There were three Gorn guards, stationary, forty qams ahead. Kurvis nodded and looked to his men. He directed the four bearing assault rifles to take point and fan out from cover to cover. These men passed him and the sergeant. With one man covering the rear and dragging the shield generator on its rollers, Kurvis and the sergeant rose to follow.

No guard abounded outside the power plant’s main control room. This was certainly a civilian operation. Kurvis squatted in the narrow passage leading to the entrance. One of his men withdrew a plasma charge and attached it to the heavy doors. Once the bomb was set, the four point men withdrew to a safe distance and set the shaped device off. It flared with a searing noise, and the warriors averted their eyes to save their darkness-attuned vision. When Kurvis looked back up, the molten doors were crumpling in upon themselves.

Grenades were next to go in. The four point men activated and tossed in two grenades apiece. The squall of stun bursts deafened them in the echoing confines. Kurvis waited, rifle up, anxious. He heard the thud of heavy, scaled bodies striking the permacrete deck. Had they already succumbed? Eight stun grenades was suspected to be sufficient to drop up to ten unarmored Gorn warriors… Kurvis had been hoping for the enemy to surprise him.

The point men covered the control room entrance and entered one by one. Kurvis stood, disappointed. He’d wanted at least some kind of battle. With his back covered by the sergeant and his rear guard, the executive officer walked forth and stepped past the cooling puddles of metal heaped in the door’s archway.

Three Gorn males lay heaped on the floor, just as he’d expected. His men were attaching an anti-breach charge on the remaining exit. The next person through that door would get a shaped charge in the chest. Kurvis waved the remainder of his assault force into the compartment. This room was a wide chamber packed with reactor controls and power flow management systems. It was the main heart of the outpost and its defenses.

Sergeant Orna went immediately to work, setting her packs down and hooking her intrusion gear into the computers’ interfaces. Kurvis pointed to the destroyed doorway. His men jumped into action, setting up the shield generator and arraying themselves to cover the hall leading down here with their rifles.






Pang stopped shuddering.

Dath’mar looked to the now docile planet down below, then glanced to the tactical screens to either side of the main viewer. No more fire was snaking up from the surface. Kurvis and his party had been successful. The glowering captain looked starboard to the communications console. “Report!”

The lieutenant there, the young man named Jark, looked back with his comm transceiver pressed to his ear. “Sir! First Officer Kurvis confirms capture of the power plant. Three captives, no resistance. There is still fighting within the gunnery control stations.”

Dath’mar nodded and cast his eye to science.

“Report!”

Commander I’rell kept her eyes glued to the displays on her red-lit console. “I read total power cut-off to Gorn defenses. Their shields remain active on battery.”

Another nod, and now the captain looked to his weapons officer.

“Gunner! Bring their shields down.”

“Yes, my lord!”

With a gleeful smile full of bared teeth, Lieutenant Shenna gripped the controls on her console and set her targeting reticules firmly on the half globe of plasma and electromagnetic fields that protected the colony below. She squeezed the triggers with zeal, sending down a burst from each of the cruiser’s six main disruptor cannon. The bursts shot down in pairs. The first two bolts shook the shield bubble, illuminating it and making it visible even from space. The second pair struck and caused the field to oscillate dangerously. The third collapsed the field entirely.

Dath’mar felt like smiling, but refrained. He stood from his throne-like chair and advanced to the edge of his dais. “Engineer Hekk, begin transport! Communications officer, order ground parties to maintain their posts till withdrawn. Science officer, watch for reinforcements!”

The captain’s officers replied in turn and bent to their tasks. Thus far, all had gone according to plan. The captain knew he could not expect things to remain as such. He stepped down from his dais to plant a hand on the back of the gunner’s seat. His voice lowered to near inaudible level. “Gunner…you may reactivate the overload suppressors.”

Lieutenant Shenna smiled a bit and glanced down with slight embarrassment.

“Yes, my lord,” Was her reply, and equally quiet.

“Impressive.”

Muttering his compliment, the captain stepped past the gunnery chair and closed on the main viewer and the flanking tactical screens. He devoured the intelligence scrolling past in glyphs and iconography. The retrieval…and theft…of the ore was proceeding faster than Hekk’s projections had predicted. They were emptying the storage bunkers with a rapacious appetite. So much the better. The sound of leather stirring drew his eye to the science officer.

I’rell looked up from her scopes.

“The Gorn escort has reversed her course. She returns at flank speed.”

A nod.

“As expected.”

“Their ETA back to us is fifteen point one-three hours. They have managed to urge another tenth of a warp factor from their drives.” There was the slightest bit of admiration for the Gorn’s crew in her voice. The captain was not so impressed. It had been far too simple a task to lure them away from the planet they had been charged to protect.

At any rate, the Gorn warship would never be able to make up enough ground to intercept. They were stressing their engines in a futile gesture.

“Any further response from the surface?”

I’rell returned her attention to her panel and peered closer. At length, she looked back to her CO. “No, my lord.”

Dath’mar nodded once more and looked back to the wide, hexagonal viewer. Soon their objective would be complete and they could return to home space…leaving this inglorious mission behind them. Only the honor of helping his Empire warmed Dath’mar’s blood this day. His logs of this mission had been sparse. He did not want his name forever attached to this disgrace. He only wanted this mission resolved as swiftly as was possible.







Commander Kurvis looked over his sergeant’s shoulder as she fought to manage the alien software that even now fought against her for control of the Gorn’s power production systems. Orna was actually sweating as she manipulated the keyboards arrayed before her with a speed the First Officer found amazing. She said nothing, and gave no detail in any way as to what she was doing. Kurvis would not have understood her explanations anyway. He was no computer programmer.

He turned to examine the static defense maintained by his soldiers. His riflemen manned the shielded, but open hatch leading back the way they’d entered. They had drawn consoles and tool chests into the way to add more cover to their position and aimed their heavy rifles down the darkened way, ready to repel any attempt at retaking the control room.

Kurvis fingered the waiting transport pattern enhancer bolted to his shoulder armor. He was anxious to leave this place. His instincts told him real trouble was about to come to them. The enhancer he fingered would be their quick way out. No transports in or out of this underground chamber were possible without a pattern-enhancing device. This fact had been their reason for having to start the attack from above. Kurvis had expected a much more challenging battle. Instead, there had been no battle at all. He had been disappointed… but he would prefer no battle to being trapped within this small chamber, defending against a horde of angry Gorn clawing to get in…

The First Officer wondered if the Gorn needed an enhancer to beam in here…

A great hiss interrupted the commander’s musings as the heftiest of his armored men was hurled across his field of vision. A flurry of green scales had come to life where one of the stunned, and formerly bound, Gorn had laid. That reptile was up now, moving with stunning speed as he launched himself into the group guarding the entry.
Kurvis reacted without pause, leveling his rifle and firing off a long red burst of stun energy. The beam smashed into the lizard’s back, knocking him down amid the Klingons he’d just scooped up from the deck. One of Kurvis’s men disentangled himself and back-pedaled, already bleeding from cuts on his face. The soldier fired in concert with the First Officer, both men bearing down on their firing studs as the enemy flailed and fought. Together they again subdued the great beast.

The Exec stepped forth and hauled the heavy reptile off the top of his men. One would soon be dead. The Gorn had torn his throat to shreds and broken the neck. That warrior lay writhing in his spreading blood, eyes wide as he stared about in fear and pain. Kurvis blessed him with a stun burst to speed him along the road to Sto’vo’kor.
The remainder of his men seemed intact. The first one assaulted was even now rousing from the corner to which he’d been so effortlessly tossed. The senior corporal made sure to stun the other Gorn once more to ensure no further surprises arose.

Commander Kurvis glanced to Sergeant Orna.

“Status!”

“I retain control over the antimatter reactor, sir… All defenses remain down.”

The First nodded in satisfaction.

“Good…be sure it remains that way.”

“First!” Came the shout of the corporal. Kurvis looked his way and found him reading a tactical scanner where he knelt by the shielded doorway. The short-haired warrior looked back to him with an expectant zeal lighting his eye. “They are coming!”
***





Dath’mar pressed close to Engineer Hekk’s space and watched silently for a time as the lanky mechanic managed the endless seeming transmission of matter from below. The old man seemed icy cool despite the still oppressive heat of the bridge’s air. His aged hands worked with tireless precision that inspired amazement. This man should be of much greater status than a lowly chief engineer aboard a second rate cruiser. The captain let the old man work until he could bear no further silence from the man.

“Status!”

“Forty percent complete.” Hekk’s report was equally terse.

“Time remaining?”

A shrug. The old man looked as though time had not been a factor to him. He glanced up at the console’s chronometer. “…Ten minutes. Perhaps more.”

The old mechanic had impressed his superior with the speed at which he’d worked.. The captain nodded and stepped a pace closer to the command dais. He would leave the engineer to his task. “Comm Officer! Report landing party status.”

Lieutenant Jark was pressing his transceiver close in bent concentration. He hesitated a long moment before looking back to his commander. “My lord, I believe the First Officer’s party has just contacted an enemy—“ The communications specialist again went silent as he listened to voices so loud Dath’mar could almost make them out from four meters distant. Jark grinned and nodded. “Confirmed, Captain. Kurvis’s team is under attack by a team attempting to reclaim the reactor control room!”

Dath’mar growled and turned back to the viewer. His arms crossed sullenly. At least some one was getting to battle today. His undeniable jealousy and yearning for battle were unsettling him. He allowed little of this to be displayed visibly to his officers.

“Very well,” he replied to the lieutenant. “Keep me appraised on our teams’ disposition.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

The captain continued to glare into the visual display. Motion to his left drew his attention. With subtle movements, he looked to port and caught a glimpse of his engineer sneaking a look at him with amusement. Dath’mar pinned his sight fully on the old man with sudden motion, causing the engineer to gape a bit. The CO allowed a tiny sneer of a smile to let the old man know he’d been caught.

“Mind your panels, Whitehair.”

Hekk grinned back and went back to his work.
***





Kurvis hugged the contours of the curved support column beside the main entrance as yet another barrage of Gorn auto-fire opened up on the defenders. The deflector generator strained and wined as its beleaguered field rebounded the solid projectiles back toward their points of origin. The howls of the frightened Gorn as their bullets ricocheted about them caused the young First Officer to chortle in laughter.

“These Gorn civilians are pathetic!” He said aloud. Two of his men laughed with him. Kurvis knew over confidence could easily get the better of him and his crew should they begin to think too little of their opponents.

The First took a glance at the Gorn lying on the floor. They would keep a few minutes more before needing to be stunned again. Stunning them too often would prove just as lethal as shooting them at full power. Lacic acid built up within the muscles of every biological creature hit with a stun beam. Gorn physiology proved quite fragile when subjected to too much of this acid.

The force field generator was the next to take up the XO’s attention. Its status screens showed that the machine was not handling the continuous onslaught of rail-gun fire very well. With each renewed assault, the overload coil surged and drew more and more power from the charge capacitor. Soon…the device would simply be depleted. Then would begin a true battle in earnest.

Kurvis expected a worse turn of events long before this, however.

Thus far, the enemy had not attempted to breach the rear door. Tricorder scans detailed armed Gorn just on the other side. They possessed scanning devices of like design to the Klingons’. They knew of the bomb set on this side, just waiting on them to try and force the door. Soon, the enemy would unveil some plan to circumvent this contrivance.

Another chatter of bullets rebounding off the deflector made Kurvis look back to the nearer doorway. The blast that came next rocked him back on the heels of his feet. The enemy had just deployed a more powerful weapon!

“Plasma cannon!” His tac specialist shouted. The corporal leaned out into the clear before another shot could be fired and lashed out down the corridor with his disruptor. The stun bursts sliced dull black marks across metal and concrete, connecting with little. The Gorn were losing their fear of the obviously non-lethal weaponry being deployed against them. They didn’t even bother to duck.

“Intensify fire!” Ordered the First as he stepped out boldly to try and halt the enemy from breaching the shield.

Kurvis’s aim found the guard who wielded the plasma cannon. The female had the tubular weapon propped on her shoulder and was even then pulling the trigger. The exec’s shot found her first and slung her half way around. Her next shot slammed into the corridor wall half the distance to the control room entrance. The blue charge obliterated a man-sized hunk of permacrete and sent a torrential storm of grey projectiles and dust in all directions. Kurvis continued to blast away, now joined by his men who leaned away from cover. The force shield before them shimmered and flared with strikes from debris and rail projectiles alike. None could see down the hallway. The Gorn’s movements were obscured.

A dark blot of movement made the First look down suddenly. A device, obviously a grenade, rolled up and touched the ionized perimeter of the shield. Kurvis hurled himself and the nearest man away from the danger.

The explosion tore through the metal floor at the base of the entrance and slew the remaining defender even as he unknowingly hurled fire back at the Gorn. Kurvis felt the blow of the detonation like a seven-foot wide hammer across the shoulders as he and the corporal beneath him were slammed into close-by machinery.

Kurvis tried to call out to his men. He was uncertain that they’d heard him, uncertain that he’d even spoken. He was now quite deafened. He looked about the whirling smoke and dust, stunned by the ringing in his head. He had to rally the defense swiftly, regain control…
***

[kadh2000]

I really like the story.   It's a very good idea and the characters are well-defined.

There is something that's been bothering me for a while, and I finally figured it out:  the writing is very heavy.  It's overdone for the story.  Too often you use complex words when simpler words would do better.

Two simple issues that jumped out at me: 'no guards abounded': an awful phrase.  Abounded means there were lots of them.  Then there's the shaped charge on the door.  Wouldn't that kill a Gorn or two or more if they went through it. 

Also, despite stun weapons being used against them, if these are Gorn civilians, they have bravery and organization and one heckuva  leader out the wazoo.

[Grim Reaper]

I like the pacing and think the slow buildup together with the cliffhanger climax make for very enjoyable reading indeed!

[Andromeda]

I have to agree with Kadh about the bravery of the civilians. 

This is an exceptional tale.

[Governor Ronjar]

Yup. Some prety badass civilians. No arguments there. But they are also reptiles, and reptiles are known to eat their young when time get lean or if they're not gonna survive anyway... So, I'm not so worried about them seeming badass.

Aside from that, I've seen some contry folk round here that would have already eaten both sides for breakfast. They're civilians too.

--guv

[Governor Ronjar]

CH. 11





A warning siren began to cry out just a second before the machinery beneath the engineering console ignited and began to belch a screen of noxious smoke. Hekk and his subordinates jumped away from the growing flame that began to consume the lower portion of the machinery.

The pistol-shot blasts of three separate overload modules giving way one after another assailed the bridge crew’s hearing. Hekk paled at the sight of the readings now flickering on the panels across his console. The old man rushed back into the licking fingers of flame to grab up a fire suppressor. Joined by his engine mates and the navigator, the Whitehair began to battle down the fire.

Captain Dath’mar strode quickly across the deck to quell the alarms from the science console. He looked back and watched in angry, hate-filled silence as the mechanics beat the conflagration back and killed it. He knew all too well what the Chief Engineer’s expression had read.

“Engineer! Status!”

Hekk looked back with a fang-filled growl. His feral nature had roused. Had the captain been close by, he’d have been struck. “That was the primary control relay for the transporters giving way! We have lost transporters!”

“Back ups?”

Hekk pressed back in on the smoke-screened station and bent in to press at its inactive keys. “No good… I think the heat of the fire has destroyed both controls!”

“Can you reroute?”

Hekk looked back at Dath’mar through the swirling tendrils of smoke and the gloom of battle alert. The hooded crags of his brow intensified his disgust. “I can reroute… If you want me to tear out control modules and wiring harnesses for the next four hours! I have no idea how far in or how extensive the damage is and I don’t have the men to do this quickly! Most of the status sensors went out with the control systems. The damage is not limited to this deck, certainly… I had been worried about this. These old systems—“

Dath’mar held up a halting hand as he approached the old engineer.

“How much of the ore has been taken?”

Hekk’s eyes dropped to the decking.

“Less than fifty percent…”

“And can we resume transport before our teams on the surface are all killed?”

Hekk looked back up. He was a dedicated engineer and mechanic. But as a Klingon soldier, he was also a combatant and a trained warrior. “No.”

‘I don’t have the men to relieve or reinforce my warriors below…’ Dath’mar growled nearly inaudibly. He looked back to the science console behind him. I’rell gazed at him. The smoke had permeated the entirety of the bridge compartment and was making the woman blink with wet eyes. “How long till the Gorn repair the transfer conduits to their weaponry?”

The science officer didn’t bother consulting her screens.

“A matter of minutes…a half hour at the most. Their teams are converging on the sites even now.” I’rell reported.

Dath’mar refrained from cursing. His men below were not likely, no matter their level of skill, to last more than a quarter hour down there with all of the enemy numbers massing on their position. The Pang could fire upon the guards from orbit, but Imperial cruiser weaponry was not renown for leaving survivors…even when set for stun force.

This mission had in the sounding of a single alarm become a failure.

Captain Dath’mar soberly looked back to his engineer.

“Can you restore control to the personnel beams?”

“Perhaps…”

“Do so quickly.”

As Hekk charged with lanky stride from the bridge, the captain retired to his chair and sank down in disgust. The cold, wet sickness of failure began to fill his guts. His crew endeavored not to look his way. The ire of an angry commander was not a thing to be tempted.
***





Kurvis rolled onto his back and struggled to regain his stance even as the first set of flapping clawed reptile feet charged around the wrecked doorframe. The first Gorn within the control room was knocked clean off his feet by a long lance of crimson energy as Sergeant Orna cut him down. The sergeant had abandoned her now non-functional intrusion gear and was up in a crouched stance, bent over her huge assault rifle.

Orna fired continuously into each Gorn as they emerged into view. Each subsequent attacker took five full seconds for her to drop. It was a losing proposition. There were simply too many of the avenging lizards for her to deal with.

Kurvis rolled back onto his booted feet and joined his fire to hers. Together, the two of them began to fight back with greater effect. This lasted only till the Gorn opened fire again…

With the electric cough of coil-fired projectiles, the hulking Gorn dropped the sergeant and the young corporal before he could even rouse himself into the battle. Kurvis lurched aside, trying to present a moving target. He knelt, almost dropping, behind the scant cover offered by the furthest fuel control panel. He considered increasing the charge of his weapon, but cast the idea away. If he stopped firing, he’d be dead. A sudden jerk as his leg was snapped aside told him he’d taken a round in the thigh. He could not tell whether it had penetrated his armor.

Desperate, Kurvis dropped his left hand from the fore stock of his weapon, still firing as he snatched a waiting grenade from his web belt. He primed the device and tossed it underhanded toward the Gorn massed in the burnt doorway. The silver weapon bounced amid the soft bodies of the unconscious Gorn lying there. Three rounds hit the First in quick succession, dropping him to the floor.

The flash of the grenade was the last thing Kurvis comprehended before everything began to tingle…


--thu guv!!