A Warrior's Welcome, Part 1
Posted on Thu 15th Aug, 2019 @ 9:53pm by 2nd Lieutenant Carlos Vasquez & Krell House of Mer'uk
Edited on on Thu 29th Aug, 2019 @ 12:08am
1,251 words; about a 6 minute read
Mission:
A Diplomatic Affair
Location: Half a Light Year From SB109
Timeline: MD6, 1315
Captain Krell was in command of the IKS Bej’joq, a Vor'cha class battlecruiser. Currently, the Bej’joq was assigned to patrol the Klingon-Romulan border and to make sure that the ship was always combat-ready, Krell would conduct battle maneuvers periodically. The Bej’joq was a proud and glorious ship with many victories under her service record.
Krell sat in his seat as the Bej’joq continued its sensor sweeps of nearby systems. He nursed a large cup of blood wine as he watched the viewscreen.
"Captain, I'm receiving a priority one transmission from the Klingon High Council for you." The Communications Officer said.
"I'll take it in my Ready Room," Krell said as he got up and headed to his cramped Ready Room/Office. Klingon ships were not built for comfort, they were just barely livable for a Klingon warrior. Krell spun the monitor around as he stood there, it displayed the Klingon emblem then the face of one of the council members, Pre'tt.
"It's agreeable to see you, Captain Krell. I have spoken with the other council members and we have agreed to give you a new assignment.."
Krell frowned, "But I have my ship, the Bej’joq. It's all the assignment that I need right now, it's my life."
"Well we are changing it for a while, think of it as a new experience. Maybe one that will help you get your family's seat on the council." Pre'tt assured.
"And what is this assignment that you will have me do?" Krell asked.
"You are to be an Ambassador in the Beta quadrant, not far from Klingon space. You will be assigned to a starbase, Starbase 109. It has come to our attention that it doesn't have an Ambassador and one is needed there immediately." Pre'tt explained.
Krell knew that there was no point in trying to change Pre'tt's mind in this matter and to argue or even talk much more about the issue would be disrespectful. A Klingon warrior followed orders of his superiors without question. Krell nodded, "I understand, is there anything else?"
Pre'tt shook his head, "No Captain, you will set course immediately for the station; you are our first pick, Captain, do us proud."
"I will," Krell replied and the monitor went back to the Klingon emblem then went black.
Krell contacted the bridge, "Set course for the Federation Starbase 109 and engage at warp 7. I'll be in here until we arrive."
"Understood." the helmsman said and got the coordinates from his nav computer. Several seconds later the Bej’joq was en route for SB109, Krell's new home.
Two days and ten barrels of blood wine later the Bej’joq entered Federation space. Krell again sat in his chair sipping on his blood wine. Everything seemed to be going well, except Krell would be losing his command. "Distance to Starbase 109?"
"We are approaching their minimum distance, Captain, six-light months."
Krell nodded, "Drop us out of warp and decloak." The Bej’joq did as ordered and became visible and slowed to full impulse. The Bej’joq would arrive at the station in roughly thirty minutes.
Without warning three K'Vort class Birds of Prey decloaked and began firing on the Bej’joq. "Shields!" Krell ordered as the Bej’joq was rocked by a volley of fire from the Buruk. The Hegh'ta and the Koraga began to flank the Bej’joq to weaken her shields.
Carlos had Phil Collins' "I Can Feel It Coming on the Air Tonight" playing quietly in his earpiece as he and Duffy Brandt flew in formation, awaiting the arrival of the Klingon ambassador to Starbase 109. The song was Gringo music, but it had endeared itself to him because of the simple, yet dramatic drum flourish near the end. It took skill, musicality, and creativity to come up with something that was that simple but worked so well.
Five kilometers away, in the Circulating Aerospace Patrol's electronic warfare bird, the pilot called Dawg was singing a different song. "Para bailar la bamba! Para bailar la bamba!Se necesita una poca de gracia! Una poca de gracia pa mi pa ti."
Beside him in the front of the vessel, the astrogator / coms officer called Fleas shook his head. "What the hell does that even mean?"
Dawg laughed, his white teeth shocking against his very dark brown skin. "Bailing pump! Bailing pump!" he sang to the same tune. "We need..."
"You need to shut up, is what you need," Dribbler snapped from the back seat. "The station's tachyon net is reporting multiple contacts under cloak and closing fast." She flipped the contact to the pilot's HUD.
Fleas glanced at it as he opened the flight's channel with his thumb. "Hind One, Hind Five. Multiple bogies coming in hot. Looks like one cap ship and some uglies. Bearing one-one-five mark two-niner-four."
"Decloak!" called Dribbler, and a moment later, HighTop called, "Confirm! Decloak event and Schwarzchilde burst. We've got... "
=^=This is the Bej’joq, we are under attack by three Klingon ships and request immediate assistance.=^= came the call for help. Krell stood, “Target the Buruk and fire disruptors!” A volley of disruptor fire hit the Buruk and weakened the shields. Direct hit! The Buruk is returning fire!”
The Hegh'ta fired torpedos at the Bej’joq hitting the shields on the starboard side. “Shield down to sixty-seven percent!”
“Fire photon torpedoes at the Buruk, full spread!” Krell ordered. The Buruk was nearly destroyed by the volley. Several red balls of energy erupted from the front of the Bej'joq and hit the Buruk.
A still-cloaked Romulan D'deridex class Warbird sat just outside the boundary limits for the Starfleet base, observing and recording the battle. "Tantok," the captain said quietly, "when Starfleet shows up, back us off slowly, but keep recording. I think the Republic's ambassador will find this battle of interest."
Carlos' eyes widened. "Hind One, Hind Two; did you read that? He said he's being fired on by Klingon ships?"
"Affirmative, Hind Two," Duffy Brandt came back. "The word was Klingon. In-house politics? Let's go see what we see." He suited action to his words and pushed his interceptor's speed higher. "I'm not a student of Klingon current affairs, but this seems a little too convenient for someone. Besides, we're supposed to be escorting him with honor. I'll contact the Major, she might wanna come forward."
"Yeah, we will need back-up, brah," Carlos said. "I'd stake my huevos against anybody's, but four of us and a Phantom against three Klingon K'vorts is making them feel more like omelets at the moment." He matched his speed and course to Duffy's. "No sense in us being stupid."
"Local Space, Hind One. We have a situation developing out here. Three Birds of Prey are attacking the ship we're here to escort. We could use some backup, fellas." Brandt said.
"Hind One, Local Space. We copy. CAP flight two is being vectored to you, ready squadron is scrambling. SAO reminds you Rules of Engagement Three are in effect; do not fire unless fired upon."
"Local Space, Hind Five; we have weapons fire around the cruiser. IFF paints her as IKS Bej’joq, and she matches the ship we were assigned to escort in. Request clarification." Despite the situation, Fleas sounded perfectly calm.
"Roger, Hind Five. Wait one." There was silence for a long moment.
"Hinds, Aardvark Actual," the contralto voice of the station's Senior Aerospace Officer came over the coms. "You are cleared for weapons free. Hey, Ant!"
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