Quick thinking on Garrett's part. She's definitely showing growth as a Starfleet officer. Jarrod nearly had a much too close encounter with the bat’leth. Admiration aside, I think he will be just as glad not to add a fatal amount of his blood to the lore of that particular blade. It seems certain they have stumbled across some of the aforementioned pirates. or at least close allies. Now that they've been smoked out, what's next?
“Captain to the bridge!” It was the undercurrent of alarm in Glal’s voice and the fact that he was shaken enough to have forgotten her brevet promotion that first worried her. The call summoned Trujillo from her desk and she stepped from her ready room out onto the bridge. “As you were,” she called, preempting the announcement of her presence as she moved to the center seat. The XO was completing a conversation with what sounded like Dr. Bennett over comms. “Understood, keep us updated,” Glal said, closing the channel. He turned to Trujillo, stepping aside to offer her the command chair. “There’s been an attack on some of our personnel on the station, sir. DeSilva, Jarrod, and Garrett were ambushed and have been transported directly to Sickbay. Two of them are going into surgery now.” “Who?” she demanded, sliding into the seat. “Don’t know yet. Details are still coming in, sir,” he advised. “Transport coordinates were from the commercial concourse.” The duty Operations officer called out, “Our data-link with the station indicates a security emergency has been announced on the commercial concourse, sir. Station constabulary are responding.” “Any sign of docked ships readying for departure?” Trujillo asked. “Yes, sir. A Xepolite freighter is powering up for departure and a Vulcan passenger liner is about twenty minutes out from docking.” Trujillo brought her swing-arm console into play, referencing information. “Ops, hail Harksea station control and inform them of the attack. Let them know until the suspects have been apprehended, no ships will allowed to depart or dock with the station.” Glal shot a troubled look in Trujillo’s direction but kept his own counsel. Garrett bolted through the parting turbolift doors, looking a disheveled mess. Her hair was unkempt, her uniform dusted with fragments of glass and splinters of wood, and her face and hands were spotted with tiny burns, some of them still oozing blood. “It’s Klingons!” she announced breathlessly, moving for the unoccupied Science station. Garrett began uploading telemetry from her tricorder to the bridge station. Trujillo turned towards her in the chair. “Ensign? Report, what happened over there?” “Lieutenant Jarrod saw a shopkeeper sharpening a Klingon sword and was trying to get information out of him on who it belonged to. I’d brought out my tricorder and started scanning the shop when we were attacked. My scans confirm they were both smooth-pate Klingons masquerading as other species.” “Initiate scans and find me those Klingons,” Trujillo ordered. “Incoming comms from the station, sir. It’s the station superintendent, Gem’lerr Bsor. Gem’lerr is his title, sir.” “Understood. Put him on screen.” The face of a bulbous-headed Aaamazzarite appeared on the viewer, his scowl presaging the anger of his words. “By what authority are you trying to shut down this station? This is a non-aligned system; Starfleet has no jurisdiction here!” “My apologies for the inconvenience, Gem’lerr. I am Commodore Trujillo of the Reykjavík. Three of my crew were just attacked aboard your station, and I am taking steps to assure that the persons responsible are unable to flee.” “My security personnel are attending that situation right now, Commodore. There is no reason for you to interfere with the lawful operation of this facility.” “So long as no one attempts to leave the station or dock with it prior to the attackers being apprehended, we will not interfere. I do offer the assistance of my security contingent in searching your station for these men.” Bsor was unmoved. “I repeat, you have no authority here. If you attempt to interfere with the operations of this facility, you will be targeted by our defensive systems.” Trujillo leaned forward in her seat, her expression hardening. “We are on an assignment to track down Klingon raiders posing as unaffiliated pirates operating in this region, Gem’lerr. I came to this station seeking information from anyone with potential ties to this group. The two men who attacked my crewmembers were disguised Klingons, and I will have them in my brig or my morgue before we depart this station. As for my authority, I’d encourage you to scan my ship’s armaments and those of the Zelenskyy. Six photon torpedo tubes and a brace of phaser banks is all the authority I require. If you try to take aggressive action against us I will respond in kind, and we enjoy a considerable advantage in firepower.” Bsor fairly vibrated with anger. “I will be filing a formal protest with the sector’s Federation attaché’, Commodore.” “You may do so at your leisure, Gem’lerr.” Trujillo made a cutting motion and Ops severed the comm-link. Trujillo sat back into her chair, irritation evident on her features. Glal approached her, speaking in a hushed tone. “Begging your pardon, sir, but we are overstepping our mandate rather boldly. Creating an interstellar incident here isn’t going to help our standing with Markopoulus or the Diplomatic Corps.” “Noted,” Trujillo replied brusquely. “I have them, sir!” Garrett blurted from her station. “They’ve gone into the station’s maintenance crawlways.” “Transporter lock?” Garrett took a moment to ascertain that. “Negative, sir. Too much interference from the power distribution grid that runs alongside those access tubes.” “Shall I communicate their location to station security?” Glal asked Trujillo. “No,” she responded after a moment’s consideration. “I’m not sure we can trust them, Commander. For all we know these Klingons are operating out of here with the station administration’s tacit approval. I want you to lead a security team in there and dig them out.” His tusks quivered in anticipation. “Right away, sir.” He moved to a console and arranged for a security team to meet him in the transporter room and then stepped into the ‘lift, moving with purpose. Trujillo toggled a series of commands into her panel, calling a sciences specialist to the bridge. She looked over to Garrett. “Ensign, as soon as you’re relieved, I want you back in Sickbay being tended to.” “Sir?” Garrett looked crestfallen. The commodore slid out of her seat and stepped over to the Science station. She grasped Garrett gently by the shoulder. “I need you at one-hundred percent, Rachel. This will all be much more difficult to do without you.” “Yes, sir,” the ensign relented, feeling her adrenaline rush begin to ebb. As Trujillo resumed her seat, a light began flashing on her armrest interface, a message tagged ‘discrete’ from Sickbay. She found herself hesitating to press the icon, knowing full well that Gael Jarrod was one of the two seriously wounded officers from the attack. Trujillo and Jarrod had been involved for just over a year and allowing herself that outlet had opened an entirely new emotional paradigm for her. Even the prospect that Gael might be dead caused a tightness in her chest like an icy hand gripping her heart. Trujillo opened the message, which read simply, ‘Please report to sickbay when you’re able.’ She glanced around, her eyes final settling on a junior lieutenant taking DeSilva’s position at Ops. “Mister Shukla, take the conn. If Commander Glal calls, route him through to me via communicator.” “Aye, sir,” the young man intoned, standing to assume the command chair as Trujillo vacated it. If it was his first time in the center seat, he gave no indication. Trujillo moved to the turbolift, joining Garrett at the doors as they parted. The two women stepped into the lift car, each a prisoner of her own dark thoughts as they descended towards Sickbay. * * * As Trujillo and Garrett entered Sickbay a nurse stepped forward to lead the ensign to a nearby examination table for treatment. Trujillo immediately saw Jarrod atop a biobed, his neck and lower face encased in a hemostatic collar. His uniform jacket was splayed open and the upper portion of his dark green undershirt was stained black with blood saturation. A quick glance at his readouts on the headboard display indicated stable life-signs, and she allowed herself to relax fractionally. She then spotted another figure in an isolated treatment alcove, but the person on this biobed was covered head-to-toe by a blanket. The diagnostic monitor at the head of the bed was deactivated. Dr. Bennett intercepted Trujillo on the way toward the bed. He wore the somber yet detached expression she had come to associate with physicians delivering unwelcome news. “I’m very sorry, Commodore. Lieutenant DeSilva expired moments after being transported aboard. She suffered three impacts to the upper torso from an Orion pulse weapon at close range. One of those shots caused devastating injuries to her left lung and another ruptured her aorta. We were unable to stop the bleeding or repair the damage in time.” Trujillo nodded distractedly, her eyes still fixed on the body. “I’m sure you and your team did everything you could, Doctor.” She hesitated, turning back toward where Jarrod lay. “He’s been sedated, sir,” Bennett advised. “The collar apparatus is necessarily restrictive, and most patients struggle to try and tear it off. It’s easier this way and gives him a chance to heal.” Bennett gestured towards the comatose officer. “Jarrod suffered a deep incision along his jawline that partially severed his tongue, as well as a significant concussion. He should make a full recovery, however.” “Thank you, Doctor,” Trujillo said, her voice lacking its customary timbre. She found herself caught between competing emotions, both of which seemed to mock her. While part of her mourned the loss of a valuable and talented crewmember, another part of her experienced the selfish relief that it was DeSilva who had died rather than Jarrod. Trujillo hated herself in that moment, loathing the concession of her personal relationship with Gael taking emotional priority over her responsibilities as a commanding officer. DeSilva deserved better, as did Jarrod. She stepped forward and reached out, stopping herself just a few millimeters from touching Jarrod’s hand. Trujillo chided herself for this crass self-indulgence and turned her back on Jarrod. Instead, she moved toward the exit, only to glance back just on the threshold of the doorway. The commodore paused, then forced herself to walk step by reluctant step over to where DeSilva lay. So vibrant less than an hour earlier, DeSilva’s life and accomplishments were now ended, obscured by a blanket bearing the Starfleet chevron and Reykjavík’s registry. Trujillo pulled back the covering, exposing DeSilva’s face, now ashen in death. There was no sign of the young woman Trujillo had recruited as a junior lieutenant to join her crew as Operations manager and later, second officer. Arwen DeSilva, native of Lisbon, the person who had saved Trujillo’s life from an ambush on Crastus. The woman who’d drank with Trujillo on Risa and fought alongside her at Gamma Taxel, that woman was gone. Her life had been ended prematurely, the victim of a pointless ambush on an unremarkable space station in an utterly forgettable corner of the quadrant. She had been sacrificed for a mission Trujillo had cobbled together because chasing pirates and hunting Klingons was more fun than sensor surveys. Though Trujillo’s footsteps to the exit were measured and steady, she fled the compartment all the same. * * *
you... you killed DeSilva... I'm in shock. I mean, when I read the moment she was shot at such close range, I knew it wasn't going to be an easy fix, even by 24th century medical standards, but still...
How we handle death informs how we handle life. Really nice introspective on Trujillo's reaction to all three casualties. I'm quite enjoying her handling of the station master and pursuit of the disguised klingons. Original series klingons, no less - probably somewhat rare at this point. Which should raise alarm bells... It's one thing for klingons to be flying about in nondescript gunboats pretending to be pirates. Klingon intelligence disguised as non-klingon civilians mean this is a much bigger operation with much higher stakes than she might have originally anticipated. She's right to mistrust the station commander - the empire is putting some serious resources into this operation. Thanks!! rbs
Trujillo's hard-nosed response to the station commander and the manner in which she so flagrantly overstepped her authority were very much on brand. And that was her being angry before she found out that one of her own had been killed. Nothing is going to hold her back now. The second part of this chapter was particularly sobering as we got a good glimpse at the emotional turmoil Trujillo will now have to navigate while chasing down the Klingons. Chilling but also a great set up for what is yet to come.
Glal’s summons to the brig had been a brief three-word summation over comms, ‘We have them.’ Trujillo fairly stormed into the security bay having prepared herself for additional casualties from the security team. Instead, she found two disheveled Human-looking individuals lying unconscious in separate holding cells and being examined by medical personnel. Glal and the security specialists were stowing gas cylinders of some kind into the armory vault and at Trujillo’s arrival the Tellarite paused to address his CO. “Two soft-shelled Klingons for you, Commodore. We’ve confirmed their species with blood and tissue samples.” “No injuries among your team?” she inquired, still hurting from the mission’s recent loss. “No, sir. They were heavily armed with disruptor rifles, pistols and various bladed weapons, but we didn’t give them the opportunity to use any of it. Once we had them located, we sealed off that section of the conduit and gassed them with neurozine. We drug them out of the service conduits and beamed back. Station security wisely opted not to intervene.” She raised an appraising eyebrow, impressed. “Fight smarter, not harder,” Glal quoted from behind his scraggly beard. He cast a glance at one of the newest prisoners as the medics and security specialists backed out of the cell and activated the forcefield barrier. The fields of the other holding cells containing the Klingon brigands had been set to opaque sound-proofed, denying them the spectacle of Starfleet’s most recent captures. “Agents of the Klingon So’taj, I’d bet my pension on it,” Glal grumbled. “It appears our Klingon friends may have directed significantly more resources into this little operation than we had guessed.” “It makes sense,” Trujillo concurred. “If their military wanted this to be a covert affair, it stands to reason the Klingon intelligence service would be involved.” Trujillo crossed her arms, looking thoughtful. “Is it fair to assume that if we couldn’t extract information out of the pirate crews then getting anything out of two of their intel types is a lost cause?” “Yes, sir. They’re rumored to be subject to torture as part of their training, to include bouts with their own mind-sifter device.” Glal performed a safety check of his phaser pistol, removed its power-pack, and handed the weapon and e-mag over to the armory chief. “We’ll go through the motions just the same, sir, but everyone involved will know it’s just for show.” Trujillo considered that for a moment. She then bade Glal to follow her and led him out into the corridor and into a nearby empty crew break room, assuring their privacy by sealing the door. “I presume you’ve heard?” Glal sighed. “Yes, sir. A damn shame. She was a fine officer.” “Indeed she was. In that vein, we need someone heading up Operations. I don’t like that post sitting vacant for too long. Ops is too integral to the smooth operation of the ship.” An inclination of Glal’s large head conceded the point. “Agreed, sir. Shukla would be my first choice, given that he’s the deputy Ops manager.” Trujillo appeared unconvinced. “He’s pretty new. He’s been aboard for all of what, two months?” “Almost five now, sir. He got top marks aboard the Guangzhou, and he’s coming up on a time-at-grade promotion to full lieutenant. DeSilva told me herself she was impressed with how he was coming along.” Trujillo appeared to mull that over. “I’d been considering promoting Naifeh to JG and moving him over to the post.” Glal’s reticence was apparent. “Naifeh’s a good pilot and he’s advancing well as a junior officer, but he’s lacking a lot of the prerequisite Ops data and personnel management training that Shukla’s already got under his belt. That, and putting a newly promoted JG over Shukla in the department’s chain-of-command would be a slap in Shukla’s face. I’d anticipate an almost immediate transfer request.” She nodded. “Sage counsel as always, my friend. Thank you. Shukla it is, then. I’ll let him know this afternoon.” Trujillo turned to leave but paused as Glal called, “Commodore?” She turned back. “How are you doing with this, sir?” Glal’s concern was a palpable thing. “Awful, actually, but I’ll muddle through.” Trujillo was caught off guard by her own admission. “It was just so damned sudden.” “It nearly always is, sir.” “Bridge to Commodore Trujillo,” the bridge called via the overheads. “Go ahead.” “Sir, the starship Exeter is on approach at high warp, ETA thirty minutes. Captain Kiersonn is requesting to come aboard to meet with you.” Trujillo’s jaw tightened noticeably. “Understood. Make arrangements to have him beamed over. Commander Glal will meet him in transporter room three.” “Well,” Glal noted acidly, “this can’t be good.” “This smells like Markopoulos,” she agreed. “He’s sent his little pet out here to check up on me.” Glal eyed her warily. “All due respect, sir, this would be one of those times when we want to play nicely with the other children, at least until we figure out what his angle is.” “So noted,” she sighed. “Please greet the captain and see him to my ready room.” * * * “Enter.” The doors parted to admit Glal, who stepped aside to bid entry to Captain Olaf Kiersonn of the Excelsior-class USS Exeter. “Thank you, Commander,” Trujillo directed towards Glal, who stepped out of the compartment with a mischievous wink that went unnoticed by Kiersonn. Trujillo stood, gesturing for Kiersonn to take a seat. “Please make yourself comfortable, Captain.” She extended a hand, mindful of Glal’s advice. Kiersonn was tall, just under two meters, with a slim frame and a well-kept grey beard. His grey hair was long, worn in a single braid down his back that was rumored to honor his Viking ancestry. He wore a stylish captain’s-jacket variation of the uniform tunic over his white turtleneck undershirt. “Thank you, sir,” he shook her hand and waited for Trujillo to resume her seat before he took his. “I presume this isn’t a social call?” Trujillo asked pointedly. “Not as such, no,” he replied, somewhat ill-at-ease. “As I’m sure you’ve already surmised, Admiral Markopoulos has dispatched me on a fact-finding mission to ascertain your progress with Operation Venatic.” “It’s all in my reports, Captain. If you’re checking up on me, I’ll assume you have access to those missives I’ve sent up the chain.” “I do, sir, and I’d like to offer my condolences on the loss of Lieutenant DeSilva.” Trujillo inspected him as she accepted his gesture with a nod. “Thank you.” Was this genuine, she wondered, or was he setting her up for bad news or a knife in the back? “You know,” she said, “the admiral dropped your name when he bought off on my mission proposal, Captain. I half expected you were here to nudge me out of my chair and assume command of the task force.” He shook his head. “No, sir. Exeter just finished a three-month refit, and we performed a max-speed run out here to test out our engine upgrades.” He appeared momentarily pained. “Permission to speak freely, Commodore?” She waved a hand. “Please.” “Yes, Markopoulos sent me out here in a blatant effort to light a fire under you, despite the fact that based on your reports you’re doing everything you can to locate the Klingons. He sent along provisional orders to have me assume command of the task force if I found that you weren’t up to the job. I have no intention of executing those orders.” He sat forward in his chair, hands clasped together in his lap. “Look, I know I’ve earned a reputation as the admiral’s errand boy, but those efforts, however detestable, have finally paid off for me. Exeter’s slated to start a five-year deep space exploration mission next month, hence our refit. I got what I want, and I don’t feel I owe the old man anything in return at this point. I’ll tell the cranky old bastard whatever you’d like.” Her skepticism was all too obvious. “Really?” Kiersonn held up his hands. “It’s true. I’ll be hundreds of light years away soon, far from the admiral’s clutches. I’m technically under Exploration Command right now; this was more of a last personal favor to him that jibed with our need for a shakedown. I’ve hated having to work under that man’s thumb. You may be on his shit list, but at least you have the self-respect that comes from knowing you’ve never had to lick his boots.” “So, what do you plan to tell Markopoulos?” His answering smile appeared genuine. “Whatever you tell me, Commodore, short of ordering him to piss up a rope.” She surprised herself by laughing out loud at that. “Wouldn’t that be a sight?” Kiersonn’s grin faded, and he grew more serious. “I do have something I’d like to offer, sir, if you’ve a mind to hear me out?” Trujillo presented the same wave of her hand. “Certainly.” “In going over your mission reports, I’ve seen that you’re having no luck getting answers from the Klingons you’ve captured. I may have a solution to your problem.” “An airlock?” she joked. “I have those, too.” “Better, sir. A Betazoid.” “A what now?” * * * Kiersonn had introduced Bemsal Craylee as his ship’s civilian bartender, a member of a species that Trujillo was unfamiliar with. The young man certainly appeared Human enough, with the exception of his black, iris-less eyes. Kiersonn had explained that Craylee’s homeworld had been contacted by Starfleet some thirty-years earlier but had since expressed little interest in diplomatic relations with the Federation. Still, some Betazoids chose to explore Federation worlds as tourists or students, eager to investigate the multispecies panoply that was the UFP. Most interesting of all, Kiersonn had explained that Betazoids were very powerful telepaths. Unlike Vulcans, they need not touch a person to read their thoughts or memories, and also unlike the Vulcans, some Betazoids had no moral qualms about using their abilities to extract information from unwilling subjects. Craylee was apparently one of his species with a more flexible moral framework. He would never use his skills to compromise a friend or stranger for his own personal benefit or gratification, but Craylee could not abide bullies. Criminals, pirates, and the like, those persons Craylee was more than willing to scan if it could potentially save lives. And so, Trujillo, Kiersonn and Craylee found themselves in Reykjavík’s brig, having chased out all other personnel due to the delicacy and dubious legality of their plan. True, there were no specific Starfleet regulations at present forbidding the telepathic scanning of sentient minds, due mostly to the fact that the various Federation species possessing such psionic talents had their own codified prohibitions against such. Still, they were skirting the edges of ethical conduct with this course of action. “Are you certain you don’t want to wait outside, Commodore?” Kiersonn asked. “It’d be another layer of plausible deniability, however thin.” Trujillo shook her head fractionally. “No, thank you. I’m responsible for everything that happens on this ship, this included.” Kiersonn smiled grimly. “I figured as much, sir. I wanted to offer just the same.” “Will they be in much pain?” Trujillo asked, still flirting with second thoughts about this. The captain laughed lightly. “They won’t even know it’s happening. That’s our other defense. They can’t very well refuse or object to something they know nothing about.” The young man loitered in front of each of the opaqued cell barriers for a few moments then returned to the two starship commanders. “What would you like to know?” * * * Arggentha Secundus, Myrovar System The Orion marauder blew apart with the detonation of Shras’ volley of photons, adding another victim to Task Force Scythe’s tally for the day. “By the gods,” Glal murmured from his bridge post, “those missile-cruisers can certainly lay down the fire.” Trujillo had to agree. The Andor-class ship’s torpedo spreads put Reykjavík’s healthy rate of fire to shame. It was for that reason that the rest of Task Force Scythe’s ships were essentially running interference for Shras, herding the pirates’ other misfit corsairs, skiffs, and brigs into the missile-cruiser’s weapons envelope. The ambush on the Klingon pirate base, an abandoned Tellarite asteroid mining station, had become a slaughter. The pirates, used to having the advantage of surprise, were wholly unprepared to be attacked by a well-armed battle force. Jamming local subspace frequencies had only added to their woes, denying them the ability to coordinate a defense against Starfleet’s onslaught. Even Kiersonn’s Exeter had joined in, her captain insisting that his crew needed live-fire tactical practice before undertaking their deep-space exploratory mission. In short order, a Klingon formation of seventeen assorted ships had been whittled down to a remaining five. With Shras and Exeter having blasted apart the asteroid sheltering them, their only recourse was seeking to escape the system’s gravity well so they could safely jump to warp and attempt to flee. Trujillo had reconfigured her swing-arm console to display a three-dimensional hologram of the battlespace in the air in front of the command chair. “Have Hathaway, Feynman, and Zelenskyy come to zero-seven-three-mark-two-two-four and cut off their egress from the system. I don’t want any of them escaping to rebuild this awful little band of malcontents someplace else.” “Aye, sir. Transmitting orders.” Trujillo toggled a comms channel open, broadcasting in the clear. “Klingon vessels, you will stand down and prepare to be boarded. If you resist, you will be destroyed. Your attempts to flee like cowardly petaQ amuses me. Only by surrendering will you live to see another day. If you choose to run or stand your ground, you will die just the same.” Glal, usually the voice of prudence, growled his approval from his post behind her. “The raider at three-three-seven-mark-one-nine-four is now in weapons range,” Jarrod announced from the Tactical station. “Torpedo spread, proximity burst to overwhelm shields and disable. Follow up with phasers if necessary. Fire when ready.” Torpedoes flashed, phasers blazed and another Klingon marauder was updated on the holographic display, it’s icon flashing from red to yellow, indicating its disabled status. “Find me another,” Trujillo ordered, fully engrossed in the running battle. Lieutenant Shukla, his Sikh turban a glaring reminder of DeSilva’s absence at Ops, announced, “Signal from al-Ashtar, sir. They report one of their torpedoes has prematurely detonated. They believe it may have struck a cloaked vessel.” This garnered Trujillo’s full attention. “Tell Captain Rith’vin to proceed with caution. Sciences, sensor sweep of that location, look for tachyon particle fields.” “On it, sir,” Garrett affirmed. “Mister Naifeh, set course for those coordinates and engage, full impulse. Ops, order Exeter and Vespula to continue the pursuit.” Glal moved to lean in, whispering to Trujillo over her shoulder. “We may have got someone’s attention.” “That’s what I’m concerned with,” she replied quietly. Trujillo glanced over at Sciences, wanting to prompt an update but satisfied that Garrett would alert her as soon as she had something. “Tachyon surge ahead!” Garrett exclaimed. “Collision close!” “Helm, hard over!” Trujillo ordered, activating her seat’s restraint system as Reykjavík’s extreme maneuvering momentarily overwhelmed the ship’s inertial dampers. “Vessel decloaking,” Garrett continued. “Reads as a Klingon K’tavra-class battlecruiser.” “Bring us around, nose-to-nose with them.” Trujillo said in a low voice. A larger, more powerful evolution of the venerable K’tinga-class battlecruiser, the K’tavra was the empire’s newest heavy warship. Bristling with weapons ports and sheathed in reactive armor, it looked every bit the part of a Klingon battle-wagon. The open red maw of the ship’s active torpedo tube only added to its menace. Reykjavík came around in a tight arc, using the momentum from her evasive maneuver to swing back to face this newest threat. “Stop engines,” Trujillo ordered. “Hold position here. Tactical, reinforce forward shields with auxiliary power.” Shukla announced, “We’re being hailed, Commodore.” Trujillo released her chair’s safety restraints, standing to face the main viewer. “On screen.” The image of a glowering Klingon warrior seated in his throne-like command chair appeared, the man’s greying hair and visible decorations giving testimony to his long career. It was not lost on Trujillo that reckless young warriors were not entrusted with the empire’s largest, newest and most destructive assets. Trujillo heard Glal’s involuntary intake of breath from behind her as recognition dawned on her and she fought to suppress a similar reaction. “I am General Kang of the Klingon Imperial Navy,” the man rumbled in a voice that had made whole worlds tremble in the not so distant past. “Explain your purpose here or face the full might of our forces.” Garrett’s voice rang out in the otherwise silent bridge. “Sir, additional Klingon warships are decloaking.” * * *
Kang!! Now there's a name to put a chill up the kilt... So there were some actual klingon warships hanging around nearby. This is going to be some fun diplomacy. The overwhelming romp was getting a bit too good to last. Kiersonn's attitude toward Markopoulos is a downright scream and very interesting early days with betazoids. I also appreciated Trujillo listening to her XO about whom to promote. Thanks!! rbs
Okay, things are about to get serious. Intimidating a station commander with no real teeth at his disposal is a very different game than facing off against what by all accounts might turn out to be a fully-fledged Klingon assault force. I have little doubt that Trujillo is up to the challenge.
To quote a certain, well known android: "Oooooh, sh*t! This just escalated big-time. Kang is a seasoned veteran with a full-blown battleship under his command. It would seem that Trujillo's turkey shoot is at an end. This is about to get dicey!
* * * “I bid you greetings, General,” Trujillo said after a second’s hesitation. Behind her eyes she was practically giddy, the result of a decades-long fascination with this very man and his exploits. Her senior dissertation at the academy had been about Kang’s role in imperial military politics leading up to the Khitomer Conference, and his opposition to General Chang’s cabal. She took a steadying breath. “I am Commodore Nandi Trujillo of Starfleet. My task force is here hunting down the last vestiges of a band of depredators that have been plaguing systems in this and adjoining sectors. We have discovered that these pirates are Klingon but have been posing as other species. As their actions are clearly not representative of the Klingon government or military, we would welcome your assistance in finishing off these bandits.” Kang bared his teeth, dropping his chin to fix his intense gaze on Trujillo. “You dare fire on Klingon warriors?” “I dare kill Klingon warriors when necessary,” Trujillo shot back, unfazed. “The birds-of-prey silhouettes on our hull are proof of that. But the men we seek are no warriors. They are nothing more than scavengers. These men prey on the weak, staging hit and run attacks on civilian cargo ships and raiding non-aligned colonies. They are without honor. I have captured several of them, and they have revealed the location of their base, which we have just destroyed.” “You speak of Klingon honor, but the words do not fit in your mouth,” Kang rejoined. “I need not embrace a thing to understand it,” Trujillo answered. “Kahless said, ‘Honor is thicker than blood, and once washed away, the stains remain forever.’” There, Trujillo taunted Kang in her head. Now you have a choice. Either openly side with the pirates and end this charade or hunt them down alongside us to prove their actions are illegal. “Four K’tinga-class battlecruisers and eight Birds-of-Prey have decloaked, Commodore,” Shukla reported. “They’ve been added to the tactical plot, sir.” With a flick of her wrist Trujillo moved the tactical holo-display that she was now standing partially within. She brought it up to eye level to observe the dispositions of the new Klingon arrivals. The imperial warships were evenly dispersed, having taken positions next to the two Starfleet squadrons. Glal spoke up from behind her. “Hathaway’s formation has cut off the last of the pirate ships, sir. They are requesting you re-confirm your order to fire in light of our… new situation.” “Tell them to hold,” she replied. Trujillo took another step forward toward the viewscreen. “What shall I tell my ships, General? Do we blast these raiders out of the stars, or shall you?” For the briefest of moments, Kang appeared discomfited. He recovered quickly, shifting his weight to motion to someone off screen. “We will collect our wayward brothers, Commodore. Meanwhile, it would be in the best interest of… diplomacy… for you to come aboard the T’Kuvma so that we may discuss these things.” All eyes on the bridge seemed to lock onto Trujillo as she said, “I agree, General. Send coordinates for transport.” * * * “I already know what you’re going to say,” Trujillo said, hand raised as if in a warding gesture as the two of them strode down a corridor towards the transporter room. “So do I, sir,” Glal shot back. “This is a terrible idea. The last Starfleet captain to beam aboard a Klingon ship under similar circumstances was thirty years ago, and he ended up on Rura’Penthe mining dilithium.” “It will be fine,” Trujillo countered. “Ambassador Dax says Kang’s a pussycat.” “That is quite literally the exact opposite of the ambassador’s assessment of General Kang,” Glal growled. “Oh, I must have read it wrong,” Trujillo said with a dismissive chuckle. This was bravado, pure artifice, and Glal knew her well enough to realize this. She chucked him playfully on the shoulder. “Right now, he’s undoubtedly saying, ‘oh shit, it’s Nandi Trujillo!’” Glal didn’t dignify that with a response. “Come on, Glal, this isn’t the first time I’ve been toe-to-toe with an angry Klingon official.” He grunted in response, then offered, “Yes, but this isn’t some jumped up provincial governor. This is Kang, Dahar Master. The man who bloodied the Romulans at Tolutlis, annexed the whole Pralok Cluster, and tangled with Kirk and lived to tell the tale.” They entered the transporter room and Glal dismissed the on-duty technician with a mere look as Trujillo ascended to the platform. Glal stared disapprovingly from behind the operator’s console. “No beaming explosives onto their ship this time,” Trujillo admonished the Tellarite. “That would have worked,” he replied sullenly. “If this little tête-à-tête goes wrong, defer to Captain Kiersonn. That means no shooting unless he orders it, understood?” Glal’s silence spoke volumes. “Damn it, Glal,” she sighed, venting a fraction of her anxiety. “I can’t give this meeting the focus it deserves if I’m sidetracked with what you might do. There’s too much at stake. If I’m removed from the equation, Kiersonn’s next in line to command the task force. Following his orders protects you and the crew from any political repercussions from whatever follows.” He came to a semblance of attention behind the console. “Understood, sir. In the event you are killed or captured by the Klingons, I will not attempt a rescue or to exact retribution without direct orders from Captain Kiersonn.” She shared a meaningful look with him before nodding slightly. “Thank you, my friend. Energize.” * * * She materialized in the heavier gravity and higher humidity of a Klingon transporter bay. A single warrior stood ready to meet her, the only person in the compartment other than the transporter operator. The woman barked something at Trujillo that the Universal Translator in her combadge rendered as, “Follow!” The Klingon turned and headed out the reinforced hatch with Trujillo trailing behind. The corridors here were octagonal, dimly lit, and bustling with warriors and technicians going about their duties. Conduiting snaked across the bulkheads and ceiling, with no thought given to aesthetics or comfort. Trujillo followed the woman to a turbolift, where the two of them stepped into the lift-car, noticeably smaller than it’s Starfleet counterparts. The smells of Targ-hide leather armor, stale sweat and the musk of unwashed warriors was almost overpowering in the close confines of the car. Trujillo took a moment to prepare herself for meeting Kang. She knew he would be a larger-than-life presence and realized that her own fascination with the man might serve as a disadvantage in these circumstances. So little was known about Kang himself beyond the state-sponsored propaganda, most insights limited to snippets of his writings, the musings of Klingon expatriates and the conflicting impressions of Federation officers and diplomats who had interacted with the mercurial warrior in battle or over the negotiating table in the preceding decades. Yet another hatch screeched open to admit the Klingon adjutant and Trujillo to what appeared to be General Kang’s office. The bulkheads of the large compartment were adorned with battle flags and a host of martial memorabilia, to include bladed weapons from a score of worlds. What appeared to be a humanoid skeleton stood within an elaborate display case, next to the crystalline head of a Tholian which was itself housed in a specialized pressure-tank to prevent its shattering in the humanoid-friendly environment. A pair of Romulan disruptor pistols were displayed next to a mid-23rd century Starfleet phaser. Kang stood from behind an enormous metal desk that appeared comprised of the same metals as the deck and bulkheads, so much so that it seemed to extrude from the floor. She was thrown off guard by the realization that he was of average height for a Klingon, and Trujillo experienced a wistful pang of regret that she’d expected him to be taller. His long hair was tied into a single braid and was shot through with streaks of grey that gave testament to his decades of experience. Kang waved the escort out of the compartment and resumed his seat, observing Trujillo silently. She nodded to him. “General,” as she gestured to the assorted mementos. “May I?” A slight inclination of his head communicated his assent. Trujillo paused to inspect an Alshain sword held aloft in a suspensor field, the blade still stained with dried lupanoid blood. She pointed to it and inquired, “Is this the one you used against Polemarch Olikk Z’Orberik?” He eyed her warily. “It is. You know of that battle?” She turned to face him fully. “I know of that entire campaign. You and Koloth led a battle fleet against the Alshain Starforce in their last stand at the Nonshaa Passage. That battle stripped the last systems of the Pralok Cluster from the Exarchate’s hands. It’s said that you led the boarding party aboard Polemarch Z’Orberik’s ship, and slew him in single combat, despite his having broken your bat’leth with his sword. This sword.” “It is true,” Kang said in that uniquely sonorous rumble of his. “His blade was forged of duranite, and what he’d meant to be a killing blow shattered my weapon as I parried. I was forced to wield one half as a mek’leth, and was able to strike his arm, making him drop the sword. I recovered it and used it to remove his head.” “Remarkable,” Trujillo murmured, turning to look again on the sword. “I wish I could have been there.” She smiled wistfully. “Starfleet frowns on displaying such prizes, a pity really. My victories must live only in here,” she said, tapping a finger to her temple. “With the exception of the kill marks emblazoned on your ship’s hull?” he asked sardonically. “That they tolerate, grudgingly,” she admitted with a smirk. Kang stepped out from behind his desk. “You did not come here to fawn over my trophies, I think.” “No,” she conceded, “but when else might I have the chance to see so much history, or to hear the tales of their taking from the source?” Trujillo turned again to face him. “But you are correct, General. We have other matters to discuss.” He waved her towards a high-backed chair facing his desk. She moved to it but did not sit. “It is our tradition that the senior officer sits first.” Kang nodded at this and sat, followed by Trujillo. “Speak your mind, Commodore.” “Those Klingon pirates I have not slain are in my brig, men and women who have attacked colonies and ships as though they were common criminals. Yet they went to great lengths to hide their true nature.” “Piracy among my people has flourished of late,” Kang answered. “A function of the empire’s growing restlessness in the… peace that has befallen us since Praxis.” She noted that he’d said ‘peace’ as though issuing a curse. “Yes,” she replied, “and if these were simply Klingon brigands from lesser houses or from the fringes of your society, I might agree. However, the sophistication of their ship’s systems and the devices used to alter their life-signs are clearly beyond the capability of mere pirates. Two of the Klingons in my custody are So’taj agents and are evidently involved in this business.” Kang sat back in his chair, emitting a surly growl as though he found the entire conversation distasteful. “What of it?” he asked finally. “I’m not going to show you the disrespect of pretending that we don’t know this is a covert operation to test the defenses of the colonies in these sectors. On behalf of the Federation and Starfleet, we are surprised and disappointed that the empire is skulking about in the shadows.” As anticipated, this had the immediate effect of angering Kang, who’s fist crashed down atop the table. “Ha'DIbaH!” he shouted. It took every ounce of self-control Trujillo possessed not to flinch in the face of his outrage, despite her having intentionally ignited it. He rose from his chair, driving his hands palm down onto the tabletop and leaning across to glare balefully at Trujillo. “We are the empire! We do not cower in shadows!” Trujillo stared up at him, seemingly unmoved by his outburst. “Tell that to the men in my brig, General.” A long silence followed in which Trujillo fought to control her breathing and bring her heartrate down. “I know this to be false,” she replied after the pause. “They have talked. If they hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here mopping up their base of operations. So, tell me, General, on your honor. Who is telling me the truth? You, or them? Does a Dahar Master soil himself by association with spies and saboteurs?” Kang sank slowly back down into his seat, the fury in his eyes diminishing gradually like a forest fire extinguished by rain. “The High Council is a pack of fools,” he said finally. Trujillo held her tongue, not willing to risk another wave of his indignation. The fact that she had survived one was miraculous enough. “They are so fearful of losing Federation assistance in saving Qo’noS from the remains of Praxis that they allow spies and outlaws to set the stage for our next expansion.” She judged that his anger had been sufficiently quenched to allow her some leeway. “If the empire cannot afford both, perhaps it would be wiser to wait for a time when the fate of Qo’noS is no longer in jeopardy?” His eyes came up, still fierce, still smoldering with intensity. “It is in our blood. It is what we are. Fight to live, expand or die. The call of the hunt is bred in the bone for my people.” Trujillo offered a fatalistic shrug. “The Federation will object to the empire conquering new worlds while we supply the equipment and knowledge to maintain the equilibrium of your home system.” “So be it,” Kang intoned, sitting straighter as his course became clear. “Your prisoners, I would have them.” “Now that we’ve confirmed their identity and they’ve given me all the information I require, I have no further need of them. They are yours.” Trujillo tapped her combadge and ordered Glal to have Reykjavík’s prisoners transported aboard T’Kuvma. Ever dutiful, Glal requested and received the proper countersign indicating all was well with Trujillo. Sensing the approaching conclusion to their meeting, Trujillo stood. “Be advised, General, if the So’taj continue with this subterfuge, Starfleet will go on hunting them down as we’ve done here. If the Klingon Empire wants to return to subjugating other sentient species, it will have to be done in full view of the Alpha and Beta quadrants. You should be prepared for the inevitable consequences.” “Is that a threat?” he asked from behind hooded eyelids. “You may consider that both threat and promise from your friends in the Federation, General Kang. Do you have any message for me to deliver to my government, sir?” He considered that, but then demurred. “Not at this time. My government’s response will be tendered through the proper diplomatic channels.” Trujillo reached for her combadge. “I will take my leave, then.” “You are an unlikely ambassador,” Kang offered by way of farewell. “Sometimes to avoid conflict, you must send a representative fluent in the language of war. Our diplomatic corps is the carrot, Reykjavík is the stick. This is what we do.” She had no idea if the allusion translated well into Klingonesse, but found herself not caring overmuch. He inclined his head as she called her ship and the transporter beam swept her home. * * * “You’re alive,” Glal remarked as Trujillo regained molecular cohesion. She blinked and pursed her lips. “Yes.” She sounded genuinely surprised. “You must have caught him in a good mood.” Trujillo stepped down off the dais. “Or I proved amusing enough to him that it wasn’t worth the diplomatic kerfuffle my unfortunate demise would have caused.” “We’ve transported over the prisoners. Are you sure surrendering that leverage was the best strategy?” Trujillo swept into the corridor with Glal hot on her heels. “I told Kang they’d spilled their guts.” Glal winced at this. “You know he’ll torture them to death to discover who talked and what they divulged. None of them will be able to provide those answers.” “Indeed I do,” she replied darkly. “Pity that, cold-hearted raiders going under the knife. I am awash with regret.” “So… are we done here, sir?” he asked. “Not by a long shot. Now the ball’s in Kang’s court. He as much as admitted his government’s complicity in the operation, but it sounds like the High Council’s set all this in motion.” “So, now we wait?” “Aye,” she affirmed. “Now we wait.” * * *
Lots of great lines in this installment - love the conversation with Kang and well-handled with the infamous Dahar Master. Kang has to be deadly and fun in one package - well done with a tricky series character! Sweet Harry Potter callback (Prisoner of Azkaban) Thanks!! rbs
It's quite obvious really, Trujillo should've been born Klingon. She does more than just speak their language. And she was quite right, that conversation was tremendously entertaining. Curious to find out where we go from here. The confirmation that those raids are sanctioned by the High Council is concerning, but clearly, Kang is not a fan. He may turn out to be Trujillo's most important ally. Or most deadly foe. Either way, it's gonna be a fun trip.
What I liked most about this, was that instead of Nandi being "oh, f**k, that's Kang!" and being intimidated, she went all 'fangirl' on him!!
The meeting between Trujillo and Kang was exceptional! Two warriors from opposing sides, taking the measure of each other and conveying the respect due the other. Kang is probably my favorite TOS/DS9 Klingon; you captured him very well. Methinks those prisoners will end up Targ food.
Oh, she was still intimidated by him, perhaps more so for knowing what he's done in the past. Still, she couldn't let him see that!
* * * Gael Jarrod hesitated just short of pressing the annunciator button at the door to Trujillo’s quarters. Things had been inexplicably awkward between them since his injury and DeSilva’s death. She had come to visit him in Sickbay while he recuperated from his injuries, but those meetings had been perfunctory, impersonal encounters, all duty but little substance. The crew had known for nearly six months that he and Trujillo were romantically involved, so he was at a loss to explain her distancing herself from him. The only reasoning that made any sense was that Trujillo blamed him for DeSilva’s death. Jarrod felt having the burden of Trujillo’s reproach on his shoulders would only magnify the guilt he already carried. As gut-wrenching as that possibility would be, knowing would be better than this agonizing emotional limbo he found himself in. He steeled himself and pressed the button. After a brief pause, she called, “Enter.” The doors parted and Jarrod found himself face-to-face with Trujillo. She was garbed in her uniform undershirt and vest, a cup of tea in hand. “Lieutenant?” “Good evening, Commodore.” He looked down, drawing her attention to the fact that he wore civilian attire. “And it’s just Gael at the moment.” He looked up to meet her eyes. “Is Nandi in?” She closed her eyes and sighed, biting her lower lip. “Yes, of course.” She stepped aside to allow him access to her quarters. He stepped inside and moved toward the sitting chairs, turning to face her. “We should talk.” This elicited another sigh, this one seemingly directed at herself. “Agreed. Please, have a seat.” He sat and she moved to seat herself on the couch across from him. “Have I done something wrong?” Trujillo leaned forward to set her cup down on the table separating them. “No, not at all.” “I can’t pretend to understand the stresses that you’re under at the moment,” Jarrod confessed. “But it feels like you’ve thrown a switch, and suddenly I can’t seem to find my feet.” He held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I’m in zero-g and I don’t know where up is.” “I’m sorry,” she murmured, then louder, “no, it’s nothing you’ve done. I’m… I can’t— I can’t seem to articulate what I’m feeling at the moment. With all that’s happening I’ve had to wrap up our relationship, place it in a box, and put that box away until I have the head-space available to process it all.” Jarrod considered that. “Okay, that’s fair. I just needed to know I hadn’t screwed up in some way that you weren’t prepared to call me on.” “No, nothing you’ve done, Gael. This is all me trying to untangle Nandi from the captain, trying to fathom where one ends and the other begins.” He nodded, standing. “Okay. This is me giving you the time and space you need to do that." She followed him to her feet. “Thank you,” she said, and she meant it. * * * Lieutenant (junior grade) Jagvir Shukla entered Trujillo’s ready room at her invitation, reaching out to shake the commodore’s hand as she directed him toward a chair facing her desk. “This meeting is overdue, Lieutenant. I apologize that our business with the Klingons has delayed this matter.” Shukla took the offered seat, his face evidencing curiosity but little else. He was tall, well built, and cut a striking image with his well-kept full beard and piercing brown eyes. He wore a traditional Sikh dastār turban in operations-grey, matching his undershirt and shoulder flash. The dastār bore the Starfleet encircled arrowhead on the front, complimenting his uniform appearance. “Can I get you something, Mister Shukla? Coffee, tea, or something stronger?” “Coffee would be excellent. Thank you, sir.” “How do you like it?” “Black, two sugars, please.” Trujillo rose and moved to the replicator station. As she input beverage orders she noted, “I’ve been reviewing your service jacket, Lieutenant. Your former CO’s are unanimous in their praise. I was most interested to note that Captain T’Pran gave you high marks for your service aboard Guangzhou. I’ve met T’Pran, and she is not overly effusive in her praise.” He smiled at that. “I would concur with your assessment of the captain, sir. However, she is an excellent starship driver and I learned a great deal from her.” Trujillo returned with Shukla’s coffee and a cup of green tea for herself. Handing him his beverage, she slid into her seat, asking, “What brought you to Reykjavík, if you don’t mind my asking?” “Opportunity, sir. Guangzhou was due for a prolonged refit cycle after which she was going to be assigned a six-month rotation patrolling the Romulan Neutral Zone. Nothing much happens along the RNZ, and as much as I liked that ship and crew, I felt it was time to move on. After researching my options, I saw that the deputy Ops post was due to open up on Reykjavík in six months. The timing work out perfectly, and with Captain T’Pran’s recommendation, I was able to attend the accelerated divisional leader’s training course and complete it just as your billet opened.” Trujillo raised her cup towards him. “A win for all parties, aside from Guangzhou.” “Thank you, sir,” he replied before taking an experimental sip of his coffee. “Your successful graduation from that course combined with your time-at-grade enables me to grant you this,” Trujillo said. She opened a small box and produced two rank insignia for a full lieutenant. She stood and moved around the desk to hand them Shukla, who stood as well. “By order of Starfleet Command, you are hereby promoted to the rank of full lieutenant, with all the rights and privileges thereto. Congratulations.” Shukla’s demeanor was appropriately serious, but Trujillo thought she could see a hint of a smile forming at the edges of his mouth. “Thank you, sir. Would you do the honors?” “Of course,” Trujillo replied, unfastening the shoulder clasp of Shukla’s uniform tunic and replacing his junior-grade rank pin with its senior counterpart. Refastening the clasp, she then followed suit with the rank insignia affixed just above the departmental stripe on his left forearm. “Much better,” she affirmed with a smile that finally ignited one of Shukla’s own. “I apologize, sir. I realize this is only because of Lieutenant DeSilva’s passing—” “Belay that,” she ordered with a raised hand. “Your promotion was earned regardless of what happened to DeSilva. That said, her passing does find us in need of a new chief operations officer. I’m prepared to offer you that position, should you be interested?” “I am, sir. We only served together for a few months, but the lieutenant made sure that I was prepared to step into her role should the occasion warrant it. I would never presume to take her place, but I will do my best to live up to her legacy.” Trujillo extended her hand again. “Well said, Mister Shukla. Welcome to the senior staff.” They shook, sealing the arrangement. * * * Despite the yawns and bleary eyes from officers who had just gone off duty a few hours earlier, the hastily assembled group stood to attention as Trujillo swept into the conference room. “At ease, this meeting is now in session.” She took her seat with the others following. “We received the following transmission twenty minutes ago in a fleet-wide missive from Command. It appears the Klingons have given us our answer.” Trujillo activated the viewer, revealing what appeared to be a large painting of a Viking longboat sailing the bay of the Terran city of Reykjavík to be a viewscreen. An image of the Federation/Klingon border expanded outward to reveal a region of disputed territory contiguous to Klingon space, with overlapping claims of control displayed in a riot of colors. A computer generated voice announced, “At 1427 hours Zulu-time today, Imperial Klingon military forces initiated attacks on eight separate star systems in three contiguous sectors bordering on the empire’s coreward frontier. This contested territory is presently claimed by several non-aligned species or governments. Antedian, Ornaran, Boslic, and Tyrellian colonies were among the planets assaulted and occupied by Klingon troops in this offensive. Command has ordered all Starfleet craft within four parsecs of the border to yellow alert in preparation for any aggression by the Klingons directed at Federation colonies or outposts in the region. “These assaults happened simultaneously with attacks on Klingon annexed worlds that have been in a state of semi-revolt over the past decade, to include Troyius, Krios Prime, and Vault Minor. Fleet Tactical believes this is a move by the Klingons to crush internal rebellions within the empire that have been sapping their military strength and preventing the empire’s expansion.” The transmission ended and Trujillo turned in her chair to face her senior officers. “Seeing as Task Force Scythe is already assembled in the vicinity, we’re being dispatched to the border to monitor the situation, and if necessary, safeguard our assets there.” Garrett raised a finger and Trujillo called on her. “Are we looking at a potential resumption of the old neutral zone, sir?” “No, nothing that dramatic, at least not yet. We’re being sent to monitor the situation and dissuade any aggression towards the Federation.” Dr. Bennett sat forward, his clasped hands resting on the tabletop. “Sir, with respect, tens-of-thousands of sentients are dying out there right now. I hazarded a look at the local subspace traffic this morning, and those colonies are crying out for help from anyone who’ll listen.” “I’m aware, Doctor. However, were we to become involved in this conflict, even peripherally, we could easily spark another war between ourselves and the Klingons. For that reason, Command has issued explicit orders for us not to intervene or to aid those under attack by Klingon forces. We are to observe and report, and that is all.” The faces around the table gave testament to the popularity of those orders. Kura-Ka spoke up, the engineer’s voice carrying through the vocorder in his breathing mask with a subtle distortion. “How does the Federation reconcile our support of ongoing Terraforming projects on Qo’noS while the Klingons have resumed conquering entire sectors?” Trujillo offered a resigned shake of her head. “That’s all being decided far above our heads, Commander. We have our marching orders, distasteful as they are.” She turned to address the room. “We’ll set course immediately for our patrol zone, with the ships of our task force distributed to provide maximum long-range sensor coverage. Are there any further questions?” None were voiced. She stood and they followed suit. “I’m heading off duty, XO has the conn. This meeting is concluded and you are dismissed.” * * *
Certainly topical, if unintentionally. My favorite part of this offering is the handling of the complicated relationship between Trujillo and Jarrod. These kinds of scenes are tricky to write and can easily come off trite or worse. Very well handled. And it provides an interesting counterpoint to the larger story. Thanks!! rbs
Ripped right from the (admittedly depressing) headlines. This chapter reminded me that the Klingons were originally based on the Russians who were the bogeymen of their day. At the risk of getting too political, it's interesting that the Federation seems to have a higher tolerance to Klingon atrocities than the West has when concerning contemporary Russia. Praxis is a real interesting callout since it served as an analogy to the end of the Cold War both in real life and in Trek. I think there is a view in Trek that Klingons be Klingons, but really, those guys weren't very nice back then, and excusing their behavior due to cultural differences is probably not fair to the people suffering at their hands. On a lighter note, I also really enjoyed the opening scene here. It's tough to be a captain and also navigate the waters of being involved in a romantic relationship with a crewmember. No wonder most captains try to avoid it. Makes for awesome drama though.
Any C.O. takes a risk whenever he or she enters into a romantic relationship with a subordinate. Trujillo is dealing with the natural tension such relationships bring, particularly when said relationship might distract from command duties. At least Gael was wise enough (and brave enough) to broach the subject and understand/accept the situation. Kudos to Shukla's promotion to full lieutenant and Chief Ops Officer. A Klingon's gonna do, what a Klingon's gonna do. But is that really acceptable? Where is the line drawn? At some point, they will be emboldened to annex a Federation world and the gloves will come off, but perhaps a stronger deterrence (or a threat to withdraw from the project on Qo'noS might get the Klingon's attention. Great writing, as usual!