A Most Honourable Assignment

Posted on Mon Feb 24th, 2025 @ 11:44am by Captain Robert Burke

1,150 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: EPISODE 1: SHAKEDOWN
Location: Klingon Space
Timeline: MD029

::ON::

The Imperial Klingon Ship Jaj had a long and glorious history.

One of the first D5 battlecruisers to emerge from the DaQ’yan Forge a century and a half before, he had been in almost continuous service since. K’urer’Sh the Lowborn felt the worn metal sides of his command chair as he rotated it from the Main Viewer to look at the glowering face of his Lieutenant.

He knew that the officers around him doubted his appointment, despite his achievements. K’urer’Sh wore no house insignia on his brushed duranium alloy bandolier, the weathered metal showing only the insignia of the Imperial Fleet and Klingon Imperial Intelligence. Qul’Tec, son of Goblek, of the House of M’Hwanney, the Gunnery Officer fancies himself master of the vessel. The Peta'Q has done nothing noteworthy in his life, the Intelligence Operative thought as he stared his Gunnery Officer full in the face, teeth slightly bared, challenging for a reaction.

The Gunnery Officer met his eye for a moment, then looked away. Not today then, Ut’ass the Helmswoman hasn’t offered her support yet.. And nor would she, she was loyal to him. For the good of the Empire, K’urer’Sh had a dossier on all his senior officers and subordinate department heads. He had leverage on Ut’ass and her compromised family. His gaze slipped from the face of his Gunnery Officer and in to the gloom towards the back of his Bridge. ‘Communications Officer. Your console warbled?’ he growled into the loamy light.

Straightening, the slight and scrawny officer looked up and past his superior’s face. No challenge there, K’urer’Sh thought with amusement. The warrior was young, barely out of naval school. A new recruit to the glorious Imperial Fleet. A Fleet that lacks a purpose any longer.

A thought that would be best unsaid.

The Empire was more vulnerable than at any point for many years. Ironically, peace was proving more deadly than hot and cold wars with the Federation.

‘A priority message from Imperial Command, Commander. Your eyes only,’ Vosek snapped off a quick salute as he was addressed, his voice deceptively deep for one so slight.

Rising from the monolithic centre chair of his Bridge, K’urer’Sh tugged at his belt, getting his knife to sit comfortably in his sheath before walking down the central platform to the amber-lit door at the rear of the room. ‘I shall take it in my war room. Ut’ass has the command.’

Walking with a slight limp, K’urer’Sh suppressed a snaggle-toothed snarl as he made his way down the grimy deck of his ship. Years of use had worn the deckplates smooth, his thick boots made dull thudding sounds as he strode his way to the rear. feeling the eyes of his Gunnery Officer boring holes in his back, he turned, and leered a challenge that went unanswered once more.

Peta’Q.

A hiss of vented gas greeted his entry to the long corridor that linked the Bridge module with the Engineering section of the ship. Turning sharply to his left, K’urer’Sh keyed his personal access code into the amber-illuminated panel, the Klingon runes glowing as the terminal croaked and warbled with each entry.

Allowing the door to grind shut behind him, the Klingon relaxed. Here he was alone. Here he could marshal his thoughts. Here he need fear no enemy.

The ingrained intelligence training of his profession took over, his eyes roving across the space.
Nothing out of place at first glance.

The orange overhead lighting flickered a moment, and R’uer’Sh growled in annoyance. Another surge in the power grid. He’d have to have words with the Engineering Officer again. A whelp. Barely old enough to have entered the Academy, let alone graduated. Signs of the time. Signs of decline.

He sat in his chair heavily, with an old man’s groan. Activating the terminal in front of him, the harsh glare of the screen threw the lines in his face into sharp relief, emphasising his age and trials to a degree the aging warrior cared little for. His hair had long been shaven to show his ridges, a sure sign of his vanity, and the silver remainder was pulled into a tight warrior’s tail.
Orders from Imperial Intelligence Headquarters.

K’urer’Sh let a frustrated hiss through his teeth before opening the message. No doubt they’ll have us patrol the southern reaches, hunt down a pirate or two. An Orion nest if we’re lucky.. He looked over his chamber. Prizes and mementos collected from a long career were displayed prominently.

Proudest amongst them, hung on the wall to his right where no warrior could miss it, was his ceremonial batleth. It, however, was no common batleth, but one forged from the smelted hull of the USS Runnymede, a formidable Constitution-class cruiser, defeated during the Klingon-Federation war.

It had been a glorious victory, one which had allowed him his officer’s commission despite his lowly background.
Ironic I owe our greatest enemies my fortune.

Shame it was useless as an actual weapon, he thought with a wolfish grin. What I wouldn’t give for a sample of Tholian crystalline armour. Those pressure suits would make a great weapon. An old man’s fancy.

Finally running out of things to distract himself, K’urer’Sh popped the seal on a bottle of bloodwine and poured it into his personal flagon. Briefly considering he should have checked for poison powder rubbed into the porcelain of the goblet, he dismissed it as paranoia. Taking a great gulp, he smacked his lips in satisfaction and turned to his terminal.

Activating it with a press of his thumb to the machine, he saw the Triskelion symbol of the empire flash up. It had gone several redesigns over the years of his service to the Empire, and was currently in fashionable black and red. He wondered who would labour over such changes. Probably a subject race, he mused, without much interest.

He read the orders. The usual salutations and encouragement to honourable actions in defence of the Empire recited by rote by bored bureaucrats in some office on the Homeworld. The rest of the message...

Now that was interesting.

He felt a fire lighting in his belly, something he hadn’t felt for a long time. Longer than he cared to mention. Finally, something to do. He got to his feet, clapped his hands and laughed before striding to his Bridge.

‘Helmsman!’ he roared as he entered, catching the Officer of the Watch off-guard.

‘Set course for the border!

‘We have an appointment with the USS Hecate!’

::OFF::

Colonel K'urer'Sh
Commanding Officer
IKS Jaj

 

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