A Good Day To Die

The harsh light of the small screen flashed like lightning strikes across the hazy gloom of the small room. And the rough, harsh voice barking from the terminal's speakers smothered even the deep, permeating hum of the powerful engines propelling the huge warship across space.

"Commander Ja'rod, Son of Lursa of the House of Durass; you have been singled out for this glorious command in the name of the mighty Klingon Empire. You will execute this mission with the strength and resolve worthy of song and tales and return a hero of the Empire... or not at all."

The face on the small screen that spoke those grave words was wrinkled as much by age and scars as by anger and determination, the white curly hair and thin beard making the dark-hued face even somber. In the steely eyes burned a fire that could be heard roaring through each word spitted between bared fangs:

"This Azimuth Horizon is a great power to control, dominate. We will seize this power, so that no one can use it against us... and use it ourselves to crush our enemies!"

The fluttering lights of the small computer terminal's screen flashed on the rough, yet disturbingly roundish features of the younger Klingon warrior staring in silence at the image, etching every bony angle of the pointy furrowed brow and the jutting chin within the frame of long, coarse dark hair and beard. The one named ja'ro sat in silence, listening to the older man with all the respect due to the Chancellor of the Klingon High Council as he continued:

"Your task force will take control of this region of space and annex it to our territory. Do not let the hyppocritical Federation try to stop you, first with twisted words to fool you and then with potshots to scare you before they may muster enough courage to really fight for their own claim and finally flee before your own. They are not friends! They are enemies! "

Ja'rod nodded at these words; he still felt deeply in his heart the scars left by that last batle he had to concede to one of their warship barely a week ago, that left his own ship crippled as his pride. Not this time...

"Do not let this miserable religious cult, born out of their own decadent corruption, waste your time with their meaningless religious prattle before they try to stab you in the back. They are not worthy warriors! They are enemies!"

A sneer contorted the task force commander's features. he despized fools who beleived such nonsense instead of the only truth: salvation was meaningless; only death with honor meant anything in this life and the next. And he would show them...

"And especially, do not let whatever scheme the Romulans have hatched for their own perverse ends trick you; they are not allies! They are enemies!"

At this, the heir to the Durass name frowned but still said nothing.

"Ja'rod, son of Lursa of the House of Durass; you will crush all our enemies and bring power to the Empire! Q'APLA!"

The screen went dark and silent. It had been a recording, sealed for until they crossed the border, so that no transmission could be traced back to them by the surveilling Starfleet outpost. It was the third time he listened to it, this one last time as they were about to engage in the final phase of their glorious campaign, one that would finally bring back honor and power to his House, when,even before his birth, his uncle had tried to seize, then overthrow the Council and rule the Empire. But Durass had failed.

He would not fail.

Getting up, Ja'rod strode out of his office from the back of the immense bridge of his ship. It was so vast that it looked and felt like the command center of a station rather than a battleship. it took him a short walk just to reach the jutting pedestal a tthe front end where his command throne dominated the crescent-shaped pit where anll the bridge stations were, under the immense main viewer. Sitting in his high-backed command chair, he looked at the customary tactical display on the wide screen, showing their current sector, their position nearing its center like a small flashing red dot... and two others coming together at an opposite angle. loudly he barked:

"Report!"

Below him in the pit, right at his feet, his first officer answered promptly in Battle Language:

"Approaching designated target area. We are claoked, all tactical systems and propulsion at full. Long range sensors detect two vessels on approach to sector; Federation transponders confirmed."

"Show me."

From the sensor data and its own memory banks, the computer reconstructued the actual representation in real time of the two signals; one a small, fish-like vessel with stunted nacelles and the other a much larger aucer with lowered nacelles behind it that the first mate immediately identified:

"USS Spectre, lax half-Betazoid, Half-Human Captain Daniel Summers known to be in command, Ak'ra class battlecruiser: three torpedo launchers each with five photon tubes, all facing forward except two aimed port and starboard, three phaser arrays type X, standard shield and armor, flight deck pod carrying possibly up to a hundred fighter shuttles, Kaneda class. it also has a crude camouflage plating system useless in combat."

"A lot of things are useless in the Federation," grumbled Ja'rod, "including the Federation itself. What of the other? Isn't it the infamous USS Lotus?"

"Yes, Ja'Qi; USS Lotus, unfamiliar Half-Romulan, Half-Vulcan captain V'Rell Gould last reported in command, 'Ntrep'd class heavy scoutship: recently heavily refitted, especially in tactical and propulsion systems, exact modifications unconfirmed. Still sporting transphasic torpedoes and regenerative ablative armor."

"What is the tactical summary on this... armor?"

"Extremely resistant to all known weaponry, based on replicator technology. Thus, limited in use as they can only maintain it from material stocked on board as it dissipates under fire. This exceptional protection comes at the cost of reduced offensive power. Phaser arrays and other emitters get covered so that only torpedo ports are left operational. No handicap to maneuverability however."

Ja'rod nodded, tactics and battle plans already flashing behind his dark eyes.

"Possible reinforcements?"

"Nothing from coreward has been detected. Two other ships have been detected rimward, as of yet too far away to be identified. Estimating speeds of warp 9.9 at best, it would take them then at least well over four hours to answer any distress call."

The commander clasped his hands loudly.

"More than enough time to send them all to their earned place among the dishonored on the Barge of the Dead. Open our encoded and scrambled channel to the task force on short range burst."

"You may speak, HoD."

"This is Ja'rod to all ships; prepare for glory!"