Shell Game

Posted on Sat 24th Sep, 2022 @ 10:17am by Renato Solis
Edited on on Wed 26th Oct, 2022 @ 11:18pm

2,002 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: The Hunted
Location: Suv'wi
Timeline: MD 4

{Second Son's Outfit HQ- Angollan}

H'tek realized the vision he had lost was not returning.

“leghlaHchu'be'chugh mIn lo'laHbe' taj jej” the mantra was well worn in his mental treading. Truly, the sharpest knife lost its edge without an eye to guide it.

In a world of darkness, with only color shifting lights to tell day from night, the brooding and ancient warrior wondered what the future would bring. This small outpost was one of the last of a network he had built in part, which had once spanned the Alpha/Beta Quadrant. The loss of his health, cognizance, and legacy was never more keenly centered amongst his minds eye as it was his only eye remaining. In his youth, the occasional lapse in memory, or loss of control had been easy to play off, he lacked academic prowess but retained a mad dogs wit. Now the one word he dared not to let anyone think, "Feeble," was what his thought pattern leapt to, bypassing reason.

Steps on metal floor signaled the dulcet pings of soft leather boots. Anslo approached, and H'tek wondered if he had ever noticed the difference between the neo-steel Klingon boots and Anslo's animal leather on the metal hull before. He announced for Anslo to enter as the steps slowed. The doors opened, and H'tek saw his world go from dark to blurry gray-dark.

Entering without summons was usually a faux pas for any Klingon, but the recent influx of people who cared for him had taken even that small dignity. Somehow aware of the precarious place H’tek’s esteem was astride, a firm voice asked in strong tones, "Are you well, Captain?"

With a Grumble he muttered, and with a UT in his ear, Anslo heard two phrases, loQ 'oy'DI' SuvwI' bepbe'... (A warrior does not complain about physical discomfort.)

Anslo replied in kind, a' not'to'jtlhIn ganpu'. (And Klingons never bluff.)

H'tek smiled, the banter was familiar, friendly, grounding a frantic minds thoughts. He grabbed for his tankard, with flawless spatial memory of where the handle was it was thrust to Anslo, he asked in a single word, "Ale."

Anslo could smell the tankard already lost to despair in the room. He returned a flagon of water. H'tek spit it to the ground, knowing the smell of metallic recycled sewage water. He wanted the iron enriched wine he knew was also just by the impromptu bar. Making a point by throwing the flagon at Anslo’s head, it was precision. Anslo had to dodge lest a new scar adorn his face.

"tlhutlhmeHHIqngebqaq law' bIQqaqpuS!" (Drinking fake ale is better then drinking water.)

Anslo took the abuse in stride, this was mild in comparison to past fits of pique. "Sir, I worry for your health in this place, your strength has not left you but this place will not be where you grow stronger… The medical tools here are not state of the art, we can see someone else."

The brusque response was not an answer to Anslo's question. "Why do you entertain me still?”

Making sure he pronounced it right, Anslo spoke slowly. "reHtay' ghottuqDaj je."(One is always of his tribe.)

"If I am weak Anslo, I must ask you to perform-"

"Sir, no! We can restore your vision, or you will rise above this as you have all other challenges.” The words didn’t stir a response so he tried again, “Suvlu'taHvIS yapbe' HoS neH" (Brute strength is not the most important asset in a fight.)

H'tek was sullen still. Anslo was careful, but pushed the man to open up. "tIqDaqHoSna' tu'lu." (Real power is in the heart.)

“Perhaps once, before my madness set in. Now-“

“Sire, your madness saved us. Saved me, I was going to be gutted. My own people, and Starfleet let them. You saved me when you had no reason to, but something in your crazy brain knew I could help you. So I do not see madness, I see… You.”

Truly touched the sullen warrior began to beam just a bit internally from the praise. His humor always foremost in any reply, “Flattery is a lie you want to believe boy.”

“When Gowron sent you to your certain death time and again, it was your brigades, your squadrons that returned to report victory time and again like you were invincible, a warrior out of old songs and myth. I owe my fealty to you because you have well earned it. I dig the dirt you walk on to sniff the flowers which grow.”

That earned a laugh. " butlhghajboghnuv'e'eyIHo'." (I admire the person with dirt under his fingernails.)

H'tek held his hand up and grimaced at the wave of pain throughout his skull. Anslo's concern was palpable and he needed it to go away. Surprising his commander with a new line of questions, "J'ala tried to kill you, yet she remains in her post. Why?"

The reasons were myriad but he summarized it, "Despite… that… she commands respect among the crew, and they admire our struggle. She gives voice to the crew I don't command loyalty with, allows me inroads, legitimizes my position when I retain it.”

The grizled veteran chuckled, memories of his past ascensions to this very post flooding back to him. He had been a young fool, stabbed many times in his fools quest for glory. "rammeqmey, Anslo. (Motives are insignificant.) She will kill you if you dont kill her first."

"It doesnt serve me to do so, tlhIngannqoQmet. chavmeHHoHtlhInganpu'." (Klingons kill for their own purposes.)

"Ah yes, Ha'DIbaHDaSop 'e'eDaHechbe'chughyIHoHQo'." (Do not kill an animal unless you intend to eat it.)

Anslo barked a laugh he couldn't repress. He quickly added in vain, "It's her entourage, I busted a few of them up last week. They will act without her approval, it's getting tedious to look over my shoulder.”

H'tek grunted in disapproval, that was the life of a commander, but Anslo had proven himself so all he said was, "hIlabghewmeytIbuSQo'." (Pay no heed to glob flies.)

Anslo only shook his head in reply, then realized his associate was blind, and spoke aloud, "Yes sir."

"You are wise Anslo, "wa' DolnIvDaqmatay'DI' maQap. (We succeed together in a greater whole.) J'ala would make for an excellent commander, as you have been to me.

Anslo rounded on H'tek, "Sire I will help you rebuild! There is no victory for you to step aside. All that has been lost will be restored. I swear this."

H'tek was deeply moved by what emotions he heard from this. Post war Starfleet was brutal, and purged any possible criminal activity. As there were no good options, H'tek took his small fleet and set out for farther shores. He met Anslo at a port of call over the body of three Trill. They had rebuilt the empire shortly but H'tek lost too many ships and faced one too many setbacks as Starfleet pushed him out past the frontiers. The lapses in sanity had first occurred when the Dominion war ended, and the warzones, supply lines, contacts had all rapidly changed. Trying to rebuild but a lifetimes worth of clever moves was pointless, and siding with Gowron had ended in another pointless loss. Without his war council's loyalty they left with as much as they could take when he started losing his lifes work little by little every day. Things had stopped worsening when Anslo had taken over operations, but the damage was done, the rot had gone too far.

"Anslo, you will command the Suv'wi. J'ala will be your second. I hold much of her fortune in my vaults, she will not cross me. I will be your masthead, and you will rebuild what we have lost.”

Anslo choked in emotional reaction, his breath catching. To be in command was not his wish, but to protect H’tek, he made the vow in silence his friend wouldn’t go down without a damn good fight.

Already, with spatial sense and insight so keen, he knew where to place his hand to cuff Anslos shoulder.

The old battle poem they teach to kids was unheard of to most non Klingon ears. Treating Anslo to a piece of his heart was the offering to cement this new bond. In a low tone, as practiced and trod upon as nostalgia in winter, the old man performed his old favorite.

The warrior looked ahead, somehow locking hit in with Anslo despite the obvious issues seeing. His voice was deep and sonorous.

“Yet if my line should die,
It dies with its teeth in the enemy's throat,
It dies with its name on the enemy's tongue.
For just as mere life is not victory,
Mere death is not defeat;
And in the next world I shall kill the foe a thousand times,
Laughing,
Undefeated.”

Knowing when the last word was won is a vital skill in diplomacy, and with such grace as to be totally silent, Anslo left the soulful combatant to his reverie. Once the gray-lights faded to austere black the attuned ears gathered no whispers. Alone again, perhaps alone always. Reaching for the tankard that wasn’t there made him curl a lip in self disgust. Somehow that was the moment which changed him. He refused to die fat, old and drunk; Fat and Old would suffice just as nicely.

“Mariksa, Champion, Balderdash.” In a dark room three words spoken created light. His personal AI, a secret weapon unknown to any answered.
“My liege?”
“Enough of the honorifics. Address me as “Sir.”
“Sir?”

He couldn’t see the odd face anymore but the annoying high pitched voice was true as ever. He didn’t miss seeing the bland featureless humanoid whose species had never been relevant enough to discern.

“List the commanders who still contribute to the coffers.”
“Partha B’odstava, Xzaerynus, Pel Grimmat.”

H’tek curled his lip again, had it truly dropped to so few? Once, there were was a fleet, all contributing to a central fund and retiring in wealth. The true success of this operation was the payouts, and the vaults ran deep. Contributing was the only way to have access to it, but if the commanders had lost faith…

“How many ships remain in our active registry.”
“Fourteen sir. One K’vort, Two B’rel, five K’tinga, Six Raptors and numerous support craft in reserve on our other three remaining outposts Stellton, Bakkal, and Makkree.

With a grunt he tallied it up, his commanders had taken their ships as payment and simply stopped contributing after any repairs had been done at cost of the organization. Their quota was impossible to attain in this new climate, he didn’t blame them really it was the business. He felt holding onto their shares was only fair though. He asked the question, what he had been avoiding this whole time, the true measure of his strength, the measure for vitality to return.

“Status of the accounts?”
“Raw assets across three accounts amount to 14.7 million GPL.”

Ten percent of what should have been there. Partha alone held shares for nearly half of that. It was evident that to rebuild his old friend would need to be very generous. H’tek was not one to beg but wondered how else he could have this favor done for him. The specter of his mother whispered in the dark, a touch of madness perhaps, but it spoke all to true.

“We give grace, and need not answer why, for it comes to us when we need it most.”

H'tek took the precious feeling of his mother and held it for as long as it lasted. A moment later he commanded, “Send message to Partha, tell him… It is time to restore what the locusts have eaten. It is time for his house to rise.”

And for the first time since his sight had been taken from him, he felt a genuine smile come over him. Partha would come through, and from that small alliance, the rest would follow.

-End-

 

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