Author's note: It's been a long night, I don't know If my story is disqualified or not! For either being four minutes late, or laced with openoffice junk. I saw this competition yesterday, and started my short story today, and finished, maybe 23.47 Central time. Round about that time, I went through my own little dilemma as my mouse-pad on my keyboard went wonky. (Right-click function replaced the sole left-click function) I had to rely solely on the tab function on the keyboard. Despite these incredible mistimed setbacks, and the junk that came with the paste- which, perhaps to my error, I choose not to remove due to the lateness- and my possible disqualification. I hope you enjoy the story. I chose to see the Federation from a Klingon perspective. When i was choosing on this challenge, I was choosing between a Dominion occupation, A Janeway run in with a group of 22nd century terran imperialists or a Shinzon disillusionment story. I went mad and decided to write this instead. Enjoy. EDIT: Can a monitor possibly remove the format quotes? I'm not that great with computers and it never hurts to ask. EDIT: Fixed.
N'm'pec ran his fingertips over the blade. It has been in his family for ten generations. It had impaled Romulan usurpers on Kolso Two.
N'm'pec have you considered our offer?
Tasted the powerful, unforgiving conditions of a nebula, on the hull of Starship, impaling Kelvins from another dimension. It has been used to behead a Federation captain, after he had captured a Federation away-team; he remembered the human trickery falling down, and the "Federation" could do nothing, but to stop the planet becoming a victim of the Klingon Empire.
We can restore the glory of the Klingon Empire together.
It was last used at a competition, thirty years ago, by himself, which he lost.
I can't, it's too much of a risk, I could be killed... I have to see my son.. N'm'pec out.
He pulled the Bat'leth into him, but his gut stopped the move and it fell to the ground clumsily. The Klingon master heard the whoosh of the door in the other room, as the Bat'leth toppled on the floor. He looked down to retrieve it as quickly as he could, as he heard the ceaseless talking enter the door.
He struggled to bend down and pick it up. His Klingon lungs contracted and his predatory eyes widened as he gazed at the despicable sign of the Federation, on a PADD under some papers. He squeezed his wrist together. The talking grew closer as he kicked the blade under the table.
"What are you doing here, father?"
N'mpec's son stared at him, before looking above him and widening his eyes, seeing the Bat'leth missing from the holster.
"Son, how was the Bat'leth tournament" His son swallowed, pressing his arms together
"I did.. I did very well..." The Klingon boy stood at attention. "I was fir... third."
"Very good!" N'm'pec laughed forcefully and smiled through clenched, sharped teeth; a balled fist hitting his son in the back very hard. Stamping to his son's side, and squeezing his shoulder and pushing him down. "I'm very, very proud of you... my son, the warrior! Better than I expected! Tell me, tell me, some of the moves you used to perform this surprising feat!"
"Uhh, The Chot' La'chor..."
"The Chot La'chor! You'd be the first in the family to perform such a move... Nor my grandfather's great freedom in the vacuum of space against the Kelvins, nor when my ancestor's controlled the Klingon Empire, has a move like that, been performed!" N'm'pec growled, his large gut rumbled, walking his son over to the table. "It.. is... a very famous move."
"Father..."
"What is it, son? Tell me, you didn't not attend the tournament... you didn't disappoint me!" N'm'pec put his foot under the table and kicked out the Bat'leth. His son's eyes widened with relief, but fear.
"It is you, which disappoint him, N'm'pec!" N'm'pec watched as his wife came through the archway; her dark brown locks flowing over what appeared to be armour, as her arms bent, lifting several cases. His wife growling in anger at him. "You are fat, worthless and impotent... it's why, I left you... I am surprised that you managed to drag your fat self from the blood hall and break into our quarters, and then I remembered, you have been putting all your worth in our son, like a weak old woman..."
"Son, your mother is carrying heavy boxes! It's enough she goes out, doing her... science." N'm'pec stumbled over to one of the boxes, lifting it out of her hands, before it falls open, creating a stream of junk across the floor, small glass implements fall and smashing across the ground.
"That was an entire years' worth of grant money!" His mother shouted. "Partook, help me, see if you can salvage something... N'm'pec step back, before I impale you with a broken tricorder..." N'm'pec stepped against the wall: feeling useless, staring as the two picked up what remained from the broken suitcase. He felt guilty, breathing hard, as he caught the dismissive stares from his ex-wife and son. He looked over to the table and marched over there, grabbing the PADD. Holding the Federation symbol to each of them.
"Gril'ka... you may think little of me, but what of your son: so introverted, that he sits in the dark reading Federation words, letting himself become corrupt and manipulative like them, while the Klingon world around him collapses" N'm'pec smiled in success, before Gril'ka retorted.
"You stupid man." She leapt out and grabbed the PADD. "He does not read this in the dark. The only person in the dark is you: drinking your life away, singing about your own believed importances, with equally unimportant men strangled by their empty titles and obselete traditions. The Federation is offering Partook, a chance, you can never give him. He could have a life, you can never give him."
"The Federation? What?"
"They are considering letting me into the Science Academy on Lycos Five.. You have to be a citizen of the Federation, but they may make a special admission for me... aren't you finally proud of me, father? Mother said our family can finally lift itself from the past."
N'm'pec stared in darkness and said plainly "They stole our Empire from us, I won't let them take my son!" Partook dropped his smile, as Gril'ka held him defensively.
"You are drunk!"
N'm'pec, desperate, grabbed onto his son's shoulders tightly. "Son, you must not go! The Federation took our Empire from us.
Remember the stories of the Hur'q, how they came with friendliness and wishes of abundance, and they gave it to us and we became weak; the Empire is heading in that direction now. If it will wain and fall, I don't want my son be the tip of... Consider gods with smiling faces." N'm'pec felt his arms being grabbed suddenly, he looked around, the faces of two Klingon men held onto him. "Get off me."
"Get him out of here..." Gril'ka declared.
"Get off me, I'm the head of the house of N'm'pec!" Gril'ka smiled sweetly, mouthing 'Thank you' to the men, as they too flashed toothy grins as the man's fat legs dragged across the floor and he toppled in the hallway, as the men attempted to throw him. N'm'pec heard the door behind him swoosh closed. N'm'pec stood up eventually, tapping his communicator and swallowing. "Duras, I've considered your offer.. I'll meet you when it's dark."
N'm'pec had a long meeting with the Captain of the space station. He had watched as he nodded and nodded, as they had sipped their Raktajino together. N'm'pec wanted to meet this new Captain, he had heard stories about how his Bird of Prey had gone toe to toe with Romulan warships and emerged unscathed: how he tractored Romulan hulks to combat bases along the borders, only for inspection teams to find Romulan crews decapitated or mutilated. The murmurings of his crew had suggested the Captain did it himself. Whatever N'm'pec had heard, he knew the man sitting opposite him, was a man with passion in his heart, so knew he was staring across at a man pitying him. The meeting was to be originally be three hours, but N'm'pec could no longer off any more suggestions passed two, knew he was trying to blood a rock. Obviously, despite this man being a hero; he came from a family of relative poverty and had taken this job to fund his family. The job involving listening to this himself. When the Captain lifted himself up, N'm'pec said to himself "I won't be an old fool any longer!"
Two Klingon boys watched the yellow sun, descend over the mountains, as N'mpec's large form snuck past them in the darkness. Knocking over a vase, the two boy's turned their heads, but he slipped deeper into the shadows. The smell of Kho'tri, a Klingon drug filled his nostrils as he stepped into the smoke filled room. The walls were lit by a harsh brightness above them, brighter and more directed than Narendra's sun, onto the table below. He saw a trio of Klingon's hand, tossing tokens into the centre, betting with gold, latinum, and other valuable pieces of ore. "Duras?" N'm'pec called out, scanning the dark sides of the room, before one individual at the table leaned forward.
"Take a seat, N'm'pec" He had never met him before and he was a young man and beside him sat the tactical officer of the Station above. N'm'pec considered him very odd, as part of this instance, he sat alone and was intensely logical. He had a son here and remembered the tactical officer teach his son a lesson by gutting his Targ in front of him. "I trust you know, Karloff... He is the tactical officer here" He lent barely forward, and forced a small wave from his fingertips as N'm'pec took a seat.
"Duras, I'm ready to consider your offer..."
"I don't think you have any option my friend... I think you have to bet, or you will no longer be any in the game..."
"How dare you..I'm an important man in the Klingon Empire."
"Is that so..." Dur's hand, shot out a hexagonal card to every part of the table, except N'mpec's part. "Is that why your wife is laying in bed with every Patch's since she came here..." N'm'pec almost leaned forward, before Kacoffo lay a pair of broken glasses onto the table.
"I bet this." Kacoffo declared. "My grandfather himself took these as a prize from fighting Captain Kirk. Unfortunately the Patch's broke them." The man declared to a man beside him, as Duras continued to talk to N'm'pec
"Your wife used to be inferior to you..." Duras grabbed the pair and threw it onto the pile at the centre of the table. "You used to have respect in an Empire that expanded to survive, then to keep yourself in the halls of power, your through your hat in with a religion that thrived in weakness; a morality based on honour, rather one based on power and strength. Like the Empire, your family pulled itself apart... I'm giving you a chance for your son to not become as weak as you..."
N'm'pec leaned down and fidgeted with a chip, staring at the small disk, afraid to meet the eyes of Duras in front of him.
"Honour is the morality of a failing power," One Klingon leant forward, a raspy voice as he twirled a Kho'tri stick in mid-air, the intoxicating fumes filled the air. "Without the Federation, we would have no need to justify our inferiority!" He nearly slammed his hand on the green table, before Duras flashed his beady eyes at him, he let out a growl and leant back, the smoking Kho'tri stick, if not obscured by the black smoke lit by the lamp above.
"N'm'pec.. The Federation have grown weak and complacent." Kacoffo leant forward, his face emotionless, but he swayed his palm calmly, almost mockingly. "While all over the Empire, the people have grown resentful of the Great Houses. They are motivated, just needing something to unite them."
"...but for any Emperor to ascend the thrown" Duras threw his cards to the centre."but for an Emperor to ascend to the thrown. It needs to be supported by one of the old houses... that much is certain."
The raspy Klingon placed some cards into N'mpec's hands, he stared at straight set of hexagonal cards. "What do I get from this?" He asked.
"Respect" Duras declared. N'mpec's hands fell, the cards falling onto the table. There was a united laugh round the table, as the pile at the centre was pushed in front of him. The broken glass of the glasses glowing at the centre. "And you will get more than that. You can be Chancellor in this new Empire. We are planning to move, soon the Klingon people will be united again."
"The Federation has pushed us here. They are convinced we are weak. They are convinced they have made us fat. That we are doomed to suckle their teat. Whatever Klingon morality we hold to our hearts: Strength, Honour. They are without neither! They seek to fill us, so we cannot get up. But the Klingons are angry, and soon as they have an enemy, and a great man to lead them, they will be destroyed!" The raspy man declared, nodding to Duras, who in turn nodded.
"We can beat them?" N'm'pec asked under his breath.
"We have been disunited so long" The tactical officer declared from the dark "But the entire population of Klingons alone, is double that of the whole Federation.. there is Klingon words further away from us, twice the length that Starfleet has ever traveled.. We will be a formidable force" Kacoffo declared.
"Think about the Empire" Duras leaned in. "Think about your son."
N'm'pec breathed in. "I will support you"
N'm'pec was told to get on a transport the next morning leaving at at specific time. With his son, he would head to the Empire, while Duras would move. N'm'pec did not know the specifics of the plan, but that something will happen in the morning, prompting N'm'pec to move. Duras left in the early hours of the morning, so N'm'pec could not consult the man. He decided to head to the station in orbit. He knew his son was there, presumably studying something, he didn't disturb him, feeling some compulsion not to see him, despite what an important man he was.
He slumped on a lone platform, he could not help but open a bottle of bloodwine and have one to himself, while he dreamed about the man he could be tomorrow A shudder, and the sun beams filled the small corridor, for a second before being blacked out and N'm'pec was thrown to the ground. Struggling to get up a greater shudder as two Klingons in uniform ran past him shouting: He had fallen asleep and it was now morning, he tapped on his communicator. "N'm'pec to Jotal, have you head out yet."
"We are prepping for evacuation! You and your son have a seat on this transport, we are leaving in ten minutes"
"I.. I don't have my son with me"
N'm'pec ran his fingertips over the blade. It has been in his family for ten generations. It had impaled Romulan usurpers on Kolso Two.
N'm'pec have you considered our offer?
Tasted the powerful, unforgiving conditions of a nebula, on the hull of Starship, impaling Kelvins from another dimension. It has been used to behead a Federation captain, after he had captured a Federation away-team; he remembered the human trickery falling down, and the "Federation" could do nothing, but to stop the planet becoming a victim of the Klingon Empire.
We can restore the glory of the Klingon Empire together.
It was last used at a competition, thirty years ago, by himself, which he lost.
I can't, it's too much of a risk, I could be killed... I have to see my son.. N'm'pec out.
He pulled the Bat'leth into him, but his gut stopped the move and it fell to the ground clumsily. The Klingon master heard the whoosh of the door in the other room, as the Bat'leth toppled on the floor. He looked down to retrieve it as quickly as he could, as he heard the ceaseless talking enter the door.
He struggled to bend down and pick it up. His Klingon lungs contracted and his predatory eyes widened as he gazed at the despicable sign of the Federation, on a PADD under some papers. He squeezed his wrist together. The talking grew closer as he kicked the blade under the table.
"What are you doing here, father?"
N'mpec's son stared at him, before looking above him and widening his eyes, seeing the Bat'leth missing from the holster.
"Son, how was the Bat'leth tournament" His son swallowed, pressing his arms together
"I did.. I did very well..." The Klingon boy stood at attention. "I was fir... third."
"Very good!" N'm'pec laughed forcefully and smiled through clenched, sharped teeth; a balled fist hitting his son in the back very hard. Stamping to his son's side, and squeezing his shoulder and pushing him down. "I'm very, very proud of you... my son, the warrior! Better than I expected! Tell me, tell me, some of the moves you used to perform this surprising feat!"
"Uhh, The Chot' La'chor..."
"The Chot La'chor! You'd be the first in the family to perform such a move... Nor my grandfather's great freedom in the vacuum of space against the Kelvins, nor when my ancestor's controlled the Klingon Empire, has a move like that, been performed!" N'm'pec growled, his large gut rumbled, walking his son over to the table. "It.. is... a very famous move."
"Father..."
"What is it, son? Tell me, you didn't not attend the tournament... you didn't disappoint me!" N'm'pec put his foot under the table and kicked out the Bat'leth. His son's eyes widened with relief, but fear.
"It is you, which disappoint him, N'm'pec!" N'm'pec watched as his wife came through the archway; her dark brown locks flowing over what appeared to be armour, as her arms bent, lifting several cases. His wife growling in anger at him. "You are fat, worthless and impotent... it's why, I left you... I am surprised that you managed to drag your fat self from the blood hall and break into our quarters, and then I remembered, you have been putting all your worth in our son, like a weak old woman..."
"Son, your mother is carrying heavy boxes! It's enough she goes out, doing her... science." N'm'pec stumbled over to one of the boxes, lifting it out of her hands, before it falls open, creating a stream of junk across the floor, small glass implements fall and smashing across the ground.
"That was an entire years' worth of grant money!" His mother shouted. "Partook, help me, see if you can salvage something... N'm'pec step back, before I impale you with a broken tricorder..." N'm'pec stepped against the wall: feeling useless, staring as the two picked up what remained from the broken suitcase. He felt guilty, breathing hard, as he caught the dismissive stares from his ex-wife and son. He looked over to the table and marched over there, grabbing the PADD. Holding the Federation symbol to each of them.
"Gril'ka... you may think little of me, but what of your son: so introverted, that he sits in the dark reading Federation words, letting himself become corrupt and manipulative like them, while the Klingon world around him collapses" N'm'pec smiled in success, before Gril'ka retorted.
"You stupid man." She leapt out and grabbed the PADD. "He does not read this in the dark. The only person in the dark is you: drinking your life away, singing about your own believed importances, with equally unimportant men strangled by their empty titles and obselete traditions. The Federation is offering Partook, a chance, you can never give him. He could have a life, you can never give him."
"The Federation? What?"
"They are considering letting me into the Science Academy on Lycos Five.. You have to be a citizen of the Federation, but they may make a special admission for me... aren't you finally proud of me, father? Mother said our family can finally lift itself from the past."
N'm'pec stared in darkness and said plainly "They stole our Empire from us, I won't let them take my son!" Partook dropped his smile, as Gril'ka held him defensively.
"You are drunk!"
N'm'pec, desperate, grabbed onto his son's shoulders tightly. "Son, you must not go! The Federation took our Empire from us.
Remember the stories of the Hur'q, how they came with friendliness and wishes of abundance, and they gave it to us and we became weak; the Empire is heading in that direction now. If it will wain and fall, I don't want my son be the tip of... Consider gods with smiling faces." N'm'pec felt his arms being grabbed suddenly, he looked around, the faces of two Klingon men held onto him. "Get off me."
"Get him out of here..." Gril'ka declared.
"Get off me, I'm the head of the house of N'm'pec!" Gril'ka smiled sweetly, mouthing 'Thank you' to the men, as they too flashed toothy grins as the man's fat legs dragged across the floor and he toppled in the hallway, as the men attempted to throw him. N'm'pec heard the door behind him swoosh closed. N'm'pec stood up eventually, tapping his communicator and swallowing. "Duras, I've considered your offer.. I'll meet you when it's dark."
N'm'pec had a long meeting with the Captain of the space station. He had watched as he nodded and nodded, as they had sipped their Raktajino together. N'm'pec wanted to meet this new Captain, he had heard stories about how his Bird of Prey had gone toe to toe with Romulan warships and emerged unscathed: how he tractored Romulan hulks to combat bases along the borders, only for inspection teams to find Romulan crews decapitated or mutilated. The murmurings of his crew had suggested the Captain did it himself. Whatever N'm'pec had heard, he knew the man sitting opposite him, was a man with passion in his heart, so knew he was staring across at a man pitying him. The meeting was to be originally be three hours, but N'm'pec could no longer off any more suggestions passed two, knew he was trying to blood a rock. Obviously, despite this man being a hero; he came from a family of relative poverty and had taken this job to fund his family. The job involving listening to this himself. When the Captain lifted himself up, N'm'pec said to himself "I won't be an old fool any longer!"
Two Klingon boys watched the yellow sun, descend over the mountains, as N'mpec's large form snuck past them in the darkness. Knocking over a vase, the two boy's turned their heads, but he slipped deeper into the shadows. The smell of Kho'tri, a Klingon drug filled his nostrils as he stepped into the smoke filled room. The walls were lit by a harsh brightness above them, brighter and more directed than Narendra's sun, onto the table below. He saw a trio of Klingon's hand, tossing tokens into the centre, betting with gold, latinum, and other valuable pieces of ore. "Duras?" N'm'pec called out, scanning the dark sides of the room, before one individual at the table leaned forward.
"Take a seat, N'm'pec" He had never met him before and he was a young man and beside him sat the tactical officer of the Station above. N'm'pec considered him very odd, as part of this instance, he sat alone and was intensely logical. He had a son here and remembered the tactical officer teach his son a lesson by gutting his Targ in front of him. "I trust you know, Karloff... He is the tactical officer here" He lent barely forward, and forced a small wave from his fingertips as N'm'pec took a seat.
"Duras, I'm ready to consider your offer..."
"I don't think you have any option my friend... I think you have to bet, or you will no longer be any in the game..."
"How dare you..I'm an important man in the Klingon Empire."
"Is that so..." Dur's hand, shot out a hexagonal card to every part of the table, except N'mpec's part. "Is that why your wife is laying in bed with every Patch's since she came here..." N'm'pec almost leaned forward, before Kacoffo lay a pair of broken glasses onto the table.
"I bet this." Kacoffo declared. "My grandfather himself took these as a prize from fighting Captain Kirk. Unfortunately the Patch's broke them." The man declared to a man beside him, as Duras continued to talk to N'm'pec
"Your wife used to be inferior to you..." Duras grabbed the pair and threw it onto the pile at the centre of the table. "You used to have respect in an Empire that expanded to survive, then to keep yourself in the halls of power, your through your hat in with a religion that thrived in weakness; a morality based on honour, rather one based on power and strength. Like the Empire, your family pulled itself apart... I'm giving you a chance for your son to not become as weak as you..."
N'm'pec leaned down and fidgeted with a chip, staring at the small disk, afraid to meet the eyes of Duras in front of him.
"Honour is the morality of a failing power," One Klingon leant forward, a raspy voice as he twirled a Kho'tri stick in mid-air, the intoxicating fumes filled the air. "Without the Federation, we would have no need to justify our inferiority!" He nearly slammed his hand on the green table, before Duras flashed his beady eyes at him, he let out a growl and leant back, the smoking Kho'tri stick, if not obscured by the black smoke lit by the lamp above.
"N'm'pec.. The Federation have grown weak and complacent." Kacoffo leant forward, his face emotionless, but he swayed his palm calmly, almost mockingly. "While all over the Empire, the people have grown resentful of the Great Houses. They are motivated, just needing something to unite them."
"...but for any Emperor to ascend the thrown" Duras threw his cards to the centre."but for an Emperor to ascend to the thrown. It needs to be supported by one of the old houses... that much is certain."
The raspy Klingon placed some cards into N'mpec's hands, he stared at straight set of hexagonal cards. "What do I get from this?" He asked.
"Respect" Duras declared. N'mpec's hands fell, the cards falling onto the table. There was a united laugh round the table, as the pile at the centre was pushed in front of him. The broken glass of the glasses glowing at the centre. "And you will get more than that. You can be Chancellor in this new Empire. We are planning to move, soon the Klingon people will be united again."
"The Federation has pushed us here. They are convinced we are weak. They are convinced they have made us fat. That we are doomed to suckle their teat. Whatever Klingon morality we hold to our hearts: Strength, Honour. They are without neither! They seek to fill us, so we cannot get up. But the Klingons are angry, and soon as they have an enemy, and a great man to lead them, they will be destroyed!" The raspy man declared, nodding to Duras, who in turn nodded.
"We can beat them?" N'm'pec asked under his breath.
"We have been disunited so long" The tactical officer declared from the dark "But the entire population of Klingons alone, is double that of the whole Federation.. there is Klingon words further away from us, twice the length that Starfleet has ever traveled.. We will be a formidable force" Kacoffo declared.
"Think about the Empire" Duras leaned in. "Think about your son."
N'm'pec breathed in. "I will support you"
N'm'pec was told to get on a transport the next morning leaving at at specific time. With his son, he would head to the Empire, while Duras would move. N'm'pec did not know the specifics of the plan, but that something will happen in the morning, prompting N'm'pec to move. Duras left in the early hours of the morning, so N'm'pec could not consult the man. He decided to head to the station in orbit. He knew his son was there, presumably studying something, he didn't disturb him, feeling some compulsion not to see him, despite what an important man he was.
He slumped on a lone platform, he could not help but open a bottle of bloodwine and have one to himself, while he dreamed about the man he could be tomorrow A shudder, and the sun beams filled the small corridor, for a second before being blacked out and N'm'pec was thrown to the ground. Struggling to get up a greater shudder as two Klingons in uniform ran past him shouting: He had fallen asleep and it was now morning, he tapped on his communicator. "N'm'pec to Jotal, have you head out yet."
"We are prepping for evacuation! You and your son have a seat on this transport, we are leaving in ten minutes"
"I.. I don't have my son with me"
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