Star Trek: Before Destruction - Chapter 9
*** NINE ***
The Imperial Throneship Thunder dwarfed by far the brave vessel from Federation space. Blinking running lights were the only sign that these ships were under power and at the ready to enter battle on any given moment. The invisible deflector screens of both ships dropped simultaneously, on cue, as they reached the pre-arranged transfer point. Like two silent statues, they remained motionless, dispassionate to the rest of the universe.
The Emperor stood on the dimly lit transporter platform with a guard on each side and a third directly behind, with his back towards the Emperor. All but the Klingon monarch had weapons drawn, as they prepared for the dissimilation of their atoms and their arrival on enemy's figurative soil.
"rIH ,jol!", the Emperor commanded his transporter chief in their native tongue.
The transporter field wave caught the four men, transferring them, body, soul and spirit, into the unknown. In literally 'no- time' for the Emperor, he found himself squinting in the bright transporter room of his enemy. Before him stood a tall, lean, blue- skinned Andorian, who bowed low to him and righted himself once again.
The Andorian took one step towards the transporter platform. "Emperor Tromok of the Klingon Realm, my lord bids you greetings and welc... "
The Emperor dove at the Andorian, knocking him to the floor and pinning him there. With a speed that belied his massiveness, he pulled a dagger from his wrist-band and held it to his opponent's azure throat. "What treachery is this?", Tromok spoke in a deep and deadly voice, "Where are my guards?". He and the Andorian were alone in the transporter room.
"They are suspended in transit," the Andorian whispered as the pressure from the blade on his windpipe, would not allow volume. "They are well, I swear. My master sent me, unarmed, to escort you to him."
"He betrays our agreement, and you will pay the price."
"He does not, Sir," the Andorian whispered as boldly as possible. "He allowed you three escorts on board. You have three and they are on board... technically," he said as his antennae began to droop.
"Now answer me this and choose your words with care, or you shall surely die. Why has 'your lord' practiced this deceit?"
"He thought it prudent to keep," he took a shallow breath, "to keep our guards separate to," another breath, "ensure that no hostile action might," The Emperor lessened the pressure to allow the Andorian to finish his speech before passing out. "might erupt between your guards and ours. He wanted control of the situation to be between you and him. 'At the top', so to speak."
The Emperor understandably did not believe that this was the whole truth, an element of it perhaps, but he knew there was more. The stakes were too high for him to back out now. In the least, he would lose his life. At most he would lose his honor, an experience he never wanted to face again.
The Emperor lifted himself off the Andorian and with his free hand, grabbed the man by the back of his shaggy white hair, pulling him to his feet. He forced him against the wall and replaced the dagger to its sheath hidden in his wristband.
"You will instruct your Master to let me speak to my ship. They will detect that I am alone and attack at any moment."
"The transporter has been modified to allow your guard's life signs to emanate from within the system. Your ship has not lost contact with them. They merely cannot get a direct fix on them," the Andorian said, still heaving air in and out of his lungs.
Tromok checked his rage that was building up within him... for the moment. He was in a trap with every exit leading to destruction. All but one. The one he was being maneuvered into by his enemy. 'It is said,' he thought to himself, 'that sometimes the only way out is through. Very well. I am still the predator here. The trap will be my own!' He felt the mechanism inside his glove, giving him the confidence of one who is prepared for the worst.
"Very well, lead me to your master," spoke the Emperor of Klinzhai.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The Emperor released him and let him step away to catch his breath until he was able to comply. The Andorian calmly turned and proceeded to the exit. Tromok followed, keeping no further than a meter between himself and his escort.
They made their way down the hall to a turbo-shaft, then up two decks and out to another hall, looking identical to the first. There were no other crewmen to be seen by the Klingon Monarch. No muffled voices, no other sounds than that of the ship itself and the footsteps the two made. He strained his ears to hear the rustle of clothing or the quiet breathing of an assassin possibly behind any door. He could detect nothing, but tensed himself against the unexpected anyway.
The Andorain stopped short of a double door entrance marked 'Conference Room One' and stepped aside to allow the Emperor to pass. He bowed low again and extended his blue hand, indicating to the Klingon that he may now enter.
It would be a sign of weakness to force the Andorian to enter first but at the moment of Tromok's hesitation, the double doors parted. They revealed a long table with a massive chair at the far end. The figure seated in the chair rose to reveal his own impressive stature. His short light brown hair with streaks of grey, his posture and stance, his purple robe and even his eyes spoke of nobility and power embodied within.
"Mocdar Jek Tromok, Emperor of all the realm of Klinzhai, welcome to my humble ship," he said with grace and a formal bow of his own.
The Emperor stepped through the door which closed behind him. "And who is it that bids me welcome?" Tromok rumbled.
"The man who offers a galaxy," he said and placed both hands on his hips. "I also offer you my hospitality. Please be seated."
The Emperor remained standing. "Klingons do not sit with the enemy. Their Emperor makes no exception." He too placed his hands on his hips, facing his foe. His cape fanned out over his shoulders and spilled down to the ground. "Unless I am convinced otherwise, I will stand," his deep voice challenged.
"Very well," the host smiled as if he regarded the Emperor as merely charming. "Might his Highness consider a truce until our positions are established?"
The monarch considered this for a moment, knowing some semblance of progress must be made. "Agreed," he stated and eased himself into the chair designed for a smaller boned human. He pressed a button in his gloved hand and felt a tiny comforting click.
"I assume that you have already decided on an offer for my weapon? Possibly several counteroffers, if the first is unacceptable to me?" the Host spoke, as he sat back in his own chair, draping his right leg over the cushioned arm. He looked thoroughly comfortable and nonchalant.
"Before we bargain," the Emperor looked steadfastly into his host's hazel eyes, "I would know your name," he demanded.
A smile that could charm a roaring volcano spread across the enemy's handsome face, "Of course you would," he said most amiably. "My name is well established throughout the known universe."
"Enough!" the Emperor stood to his feet, toppling his chair behind him. With lightning speed he produced a small disrupter that was hidden in the small of his back. He aimed it at his opponent's midsection. "I will kill you without your name!" he bellowed.
The smile never left the host's face, though he did raise an eyebrow at the Emperor's speed and shortness of temper. "It is my race's custom, granted an out of date one, to allow a last word to be spoken by the one who is about to be... 'deceased'."
"I have no constraints to such a custom."
"This 'is' my ship," the enemy simply offered.
"So be it. I am not without honor, however, if I detect the slightest flinch, you will be indistinguishable from the dust of your vaporized chair."
"Understood."
"Speak then, this 'last word'," the Emperor commanded.
"Your disrupter is... empty."
The Emperor depressed the firing button. Nothing happened.
"I ordered the Andorian who escorted you, to lock on to all close proximity power sources, which might be used in a weapon, and transport them to me." With his left hand he produced two small power cells of differing size from his breast pocket and set them on the table before him. "I know that this first energy pack is the one you assumed to be powering your disrupter. I am, however, at a loss as to what 'this' power cell was used for," he said, indicating the smaller of the two."
The Emperor felt an intense pang in his stomach, realizing the sonic synthesizer hidden in his glove, was as useless as the weapon that was still pointed at his host.
"No matter," said the Host, obviously in complete control of the situation. To stress the fact, he casually drew a weapon of his own, not aiming it but merely letting his guest understand that there may be a limit to his hospitality. "Please sit now, and you may yet find the answers to your many questions."
"I will sit." He dropped his weapon to the floor and slowly righted his chair, "but I am weary of the games you play." He was in a mild state of shock at being so easily outwitted by the man. "You demanded my presence. Very well, I am here. All I need now is to know your price." He sat and faced his host, concealing his fury and his shame.
"I have a price... and it is high, but I will not yet name it. And though I will not compromise, I am still curious as to what you intended to offer me."
"I offer you first, your life. Make no mistake, that will be the first thing you will lose if I do not return to my ship. Whatever else it costs us."
"No doubt, but continue," he said. His patience seemed to have no end, but the Emperor was not deceived. He knew a fellow warrior, and was feeling nothing but danger from the man across from him.
"I offer you second, a planet to rule under me. You will preside over all affairs that you deem worthy, and you may establish any laws of your choice, as long as you remain loyal to the Klingon Empire. Which is the third part to my offer. In so swearing your loyalty, an oath not to be taken lightly, I will provide two fully armed battle cruisers for your personal protection. You may use them as planetary defense against any intruder who is not also loyal to me."
"That is, indeed, a grand offer," said the host with a nod of his head. "If I were, per chance, a less ambitious man, I would consider accepting it." He stroked his grey temple with his middle finger. "It is good but it is not my price."
The Emperor's face shone red and his jaw muscles flexed visibly through his cheeks as he clenched his teeth. He knew his own patience was required, but to expect a Klingon, and not just any Klingon, to endure the arrogance of this man was requiring too much. "What is your price?" he asked between his teeth, debating if he actually wanted to know. If nothing else, he would agree to all concessions, make and receive payment, and then obliterate this pompous 'targ', if he had to destroy a planet from beneath his feet to do it.
"I, lord Tromok, am a ruler without an empire of my own. They say 'a king, less his kingdom rules an imbecile.'" His countenance grew suddenly cold as he forced himself to remember his past and likewise prepare for the revelation that he would now bestow upon the Klingon Emperor. "I had recently launched a campaign against the Federation, the very first stage mind you, only to have it thwarted by a man I would rather have fought beside than against." His own anger began to emerge as he spoke of his past. "I am hardly finished with Starfleet, but there is an old Klingon proverb that seems to be quite appropriate: 'If you cannot lead your own camp... lead your enemy's'." He stopped for a moment to see if his meaning was comprehended.
The Emperor barely heard the words spoken to him. "If you have mentioned your demand, I have not heard it," he said darkly.
"My price is the Klingon Empire!"
"Then you do rule an imbecile," the Emperor spat hotly. "I am supreme here, and you... you are merely an inconvenience." Tromok restrained himself from reaching for his dagger. "You are mad if you think you could wrest my throne from me. And if you intend to kill me to get it, you are welcome to try. My ships will destroy you, and many more are on the way." He looked at the weapon now aimed at him. "As hostage I am no good to you either. My men will follow my orders and consider me dead. My brother will of course, inherit my title. The end result will be the same for you... death."
"There are more ways to gain the Empire than you have named, and that is my riddle. Nevertheless, even that is not my final goal." He slowly raised himself from the chair, eyes and weapon never wavering. "You still do not know with whom you are dealing."
"Not for lack of effort, though I am sure it is a strain for one so boastful, to keep it a secret as long as you have."
The Host chuckled briefly at that. "I did not know the Klingon Emperor had a sense of humor," he said with a smile. "Do you also have a sense of irony?" he posed.
The Emperor said nothing. He wished to stall but never to play the fool.
"No answer?" he asked, holstering his weapon and leaning towards the Emperor with both hands on the table. "Then let me explain myself with a brief tale." His smile faded.
"Years ago... no," he started again. "A lifetime ago, there was a brave Starship Captain. The first Starship Captain." It seemed painful for him to speak but he continued. "Long before we had the Neutral Zone, Organian Peace Treaties or cloaking devices to complicate life, this lone Captain and a hand-picked crew set out in their new Starship on a brave mission: The Exploration of Space. It was given to him to extend the hand of friendship to other spacefaring races and invite them to take their place of honor in a United Federation of Planets."
"With nothing but a faithful crew and the shining Prime Directive, this Captain guided his noble vessel farther than any ship in the Federation had ever ventured. After weeks of exploration in this distant part of the galaxy, the Captain encountered, for the first time since the Hundred Years War, a race of beings who were as proficient in their technology as they were in their ruthlessness." His eyes narrowed as they penetrated the Emperor. "But now I am getting ahead of myself," he interrupted, then continued the tale.
"The Starship first had made contact with intelligent life on a planet not far from where we are now. The Captain spent weeks in peaceful negotiations and in the exchange of cultural information with the new-found alien friends who called themselves the Bak'i. When it became time to depart from the planet, the Captain bid them farewell and began his return to the Earth, with a promising new addition to the Federation."
"However, while the Starship was leaving, they detected three spacecraft approaching their new friend's solar system. Motivated by curiosity, the Starship turned around, back to the world they had just visited. Upon arrival, they found that the entire surface of the planet had been laid waste. Not one Bak'i had survived the terrible holocaust. Three armed warships had made short work of their entire world."
"When the Captain of the Starship attempted to hail the three invading warships, in order to understand the action that had been taken, the warships opened fire. They were Klingon warships."
The Emperor's face seemed to hint of recognition of the story, from a memory long forgotten, or perhaps one he wished had been so.
"It was a time when our shields had been stronger than our weapons. The battle raged for hours, particle-static beams and focused radiation, inflicting more damage on men than on machinery. The Captain was on the verge of hopelessness, when he managed to destroy one of the Klingon warships." The Host erected himself. His countenance became cold in remembrance of the lives lost afterward by slow radiation poisoning, during the long dark voyage home.
"With one ship lost to the void, and no outward sign of damage to the Federation Starship, the second Klingon vessel turned tail and fled. The odds were then even.
"Yes," the Emperor whispered, transfixed by his own images of the long ago battle. Though seeing it from another perspective than that of his enemy.
"Again the ships clashed, until the Federation ship's weaponry became useless, drained of energy and damaged beyond any hope of repair. The Captain ordered all power to his foreword shields, said a prayer, and began one final charge at his opponent. The Starfleet Captain expected to die in the collision of the two ships, but before the impact could be consummated, the ship from the Empire gave her ground and took flight to parts unknown." He folded his arms across his chest. "But not unknown to you, Emperor Tromok," he spoke in anger. "Do you still remember the words spoken from your own boastful lips, when the Starfleet Captain attempted to explain his peaceful intentions?" He let his guest search his memory for a moment. "Do you recall the vow I made to you, as you ordered your ship's retreat?"
"You?" Tromok said in astonishment.
"Then, you were merely the eldest 'son' of the Emperor of Klinzhai, now the Empire is yours, and I will finally make good on my vow." A cold smile slowly crept upon his lips, from the corners of his mouth. "Do you remember me now, Emperor of Klinzhai?"
"I remember," he rumbled and slowly rose to his feet. "I had not known defeat but for you." His voice became a growl, his muscles tensed, "You are the secret shame I have kept hidden, even from myself, for these many years."
The man reproduced his weapon, leisurely but with purpose. He slowly aimed it at the Klingon. "Then my name still has meaning in the Klingon Empire?" Strangely, the man lowered the weapon and placed it on the long table before him, as if to challenge the Klingon. "I told you that you would fear the day when next our swords would cross, that you would ever fear the name of Garth of Izar!"
With a roar from the depths of his soul, the Emperor toppled the long heavy table on to its side, sending Garth's phaser clattering across the floor. Deciding in an instant that the weapon was too far to reach, the Emperor threw himself the distance between his enemy and himself. He hit Garth in his midsection, like a projectile, taking him to the floor.
Garth was at the ready when the Emperor lunged at him and rolled with the momentum and mass thrust upon him, tossing the Klingon off and into the wall behind him. Garth was to his feet first but allowed his guest to also rise, savoring the confrontation he had long awaited, not desiring too soon an end to it.
"It is good to see the Emperor is still a warrior," Garth said, paying tribute to his foe.
"To the death," Tromok said as he lifted his bulk off the polished deck.
"Not so, your Majesty," he said mockingly. "I do not intend to kill you, and I am certain that you shall not kill me." Garth squared himself off from his opponent, now ready to continue the battle.
The Emperor feigned left, then right and jabbed quickly with his left fist, connecting only with air. Garth dodged the second blow as well, and responded with a hard chop to the Emperor's neck, bringing him to his knees. The Klingon, partly dazed by the chop that would have knocked an ordinary man out, looked up at Garth in rage. Tromok pondered to himself for a moment why his enemy took no advantage at a downed foe. He lifted himself again, growling like an animal gone mad.
Garth moved first, with a punch to the Emperor's heavy jaw, then one to his stomach, when, with remarkable speed, the Emperor caught Garth's wrist and placed a strong hand to his throat. The Emperor slowly, powerfully, squeezed his enemy's neck with a wolfish grin, and drew Garth close. "Now, you are mine!" he whispered.
Garth grabbed the hand at his throat and centimeter by centimeter, pulled it away, his muscles straining against Emperor Tromok's for control. Both with feet firmly planted on the deck, the struggle became one of brute force. 'Victory to the strong', as a Klingon would say.
They stood face to face. Both red with the exertion of their strength, neither giving in. One force irresistible, the other immovable and both committed to the defeat of the other.
"You will lose!" said the Klingon Emperor through clenched teeth.
"Not at your hand," promised Garth.
The seconds that they spent in battle were years of desired revenge nearing fulfillment. Neither would admit the thought of defeat into their minds, though clearly, only one would stand when they were done.
"Now," Garth strained, "the tide turns." And with his final effort, he forced Emperor Mocdar Jek Tromok to his physical limit, then pulled him with all that was in him. The might of the Klingon was used against himself as Garth yanked backwards with all his strength, fairly throwing the Emperor against the bulkhead, a full fifteen feet behind him.
The Klingonese monarch sank to the floor unconscious, as Garth slowly walked towards his downed enemy, gulping breaths as he came. He kneeled beside this fallen warrior, and pressed two fingers against the Emperor's pulmonary artery to be sure he still lived. Satisfied, he rose, gathered his phaser and depressed a button on his belt.
The only doors to the room parted and the Andorian, carrying a medical bag, entered through them.
"Revive him," commanded Garth, "And place the stasis cuffs on him or he may accidentally kill you as he regains his wits."
"Yes, lord Garth," the blue man replied. He reached into his medical bag and produced a Doctor's spray hypo. He placed a small yellow canister into the instrument, set the dosage to 20 milliliters, and injected the substance into the Klingon's neck. Grasping both wrists, the acting physician placed the energy bonds around them as the Emperor's eyes began to flutter.
The Emperor, not feeling at all well, opened his eyes for a moment, then realizing that they were not focusing, blinked several times to clear them. Immediately he became aware of his surroundings and of the fact that he was temporarily immobilized. He looked up to see the man standing across the room from him, to his astonishment. Tromok closed his eyes again at the man he saw. 'Surely,' he thought, 'my mind plays tricks!' He opened them once again and saw that the vision had not changed. Directly across from him, standing majestically in royal robes, was the Emperor of all Klinzhai.
The vision smiled. "You see," Garth said in the voice of the Klingon monarch, "I never had the need to strike any bargain, never needed anything from you, but 'you'."
"You can not do this!" spoke the Emperor, almost breaking before his enemy, as his heart sank, for he knew that if there was anyone in the universe who could wrest the Empire from him, it was this man. The man that wore his face.
"It is already done!" boasted Garth. "But be of good cheer, for I am not finished with you nor the galaxy yet!" He strode over to his double. "You see," he spoke, kneeling beside the former Emperor, "there is something I know about the Organian Peace Treaty that neither you nor my Federation seem to be aware of." He smiled a dangerous smile. "But that is another riddle," he said. Rising from Tromok and turning towards the exit, he began to laugh. He left the room, his laughter echoing down the corridors, silenced only when the doors shut behind him.
