Star Trek: Bounty - 10 - "Take Arms Against a Sea of Tribbles"

[BountyTrek]

Part Four (Cont'd)

A short distance away, the Bounty’s crew had watched on with rapt attention, and no little relief, as Klath had come through for them. Even Sunek, though he would never openly admit it if asked, gave a nod of appreciation as the Bounty’s weapons chief concluded his explanation.

The sense of relief among them rose as it became clear that it might not be the day of their executions after all.

Jirel mustered a grin and glanced over at Denella.

“Good plan,” he whispered.

The Orion smiled and nodded back, but then her expression turned substantially more sour as she saw the attack commencing.

In one swift action, fast enough to catch everyone else completely off-guard, Karn dashed the short distance to the table where Toran’s potential weapons of execution had been laid out, preparing to mete out justice to the Bounty’s crew.

He grabbed a mek’leth from the selection, then swung back around in a fluid motion to bring it to bear. And he charged. Straight for Toran.

“Look out!” Denella found herself crying out.

It was a futile and meaningless gesture. The other Klingons were already keenly aware of what was happening.

As if in slow motion, the guards on either side reached for their own weapons. Toran went for the bat’leth that was sheathed on his back. But it was obvious that they were going to be too late. That Karn’s blade was going to cut the High Council member down.

Karn swung his mek’leth at Toran’s neck.

And it impacted with a solid metal object, mere inches from its target.

From out of nowhere, another bat’leth had entered the fray. One that had been particularly sharpened over the last few days.

And in the nick of time, Klath had come through for Toran as well.

****************************

The two bladed weapons collided in a kaleidoscopic shower of fiery sparks, and Klath forced Karn’s blade backwards with a hefty blow.

Toran stepped back from the melee. His own weapon was now drawn, but he merely observed the fight for the moment. With a single raised hand, he stopped his guards from thinking of intervening as well. The High Council member was clearly intrigued to see how this would play out.

In the middle of the great hall, Klath and Karn growled with effort as they strained for the upper hand, with Karn pushing back on Klath’s larger bat’leth with all of his might.

They broke apart, and Klath instinctively assumed a defensive posture.

He knew that Karn was at a slight weight disadvantage given the size of his mek’leth. But he also knew that the smaller weapon was easier to wield and quicker to bring to bear. So he knew he had to be ready for a swift attack each time they broke apart.

Karn charged again, and the blades collided in another shower of sparks. The two Klingons drew closer as they strained against each other.

“You ruined everything!” Karn spat, “My father deserved his vengeance!”

“He deserves nothing,” Klath grunted back, “For such dishonourable actions. They bring disgrace to the Empire.”

“As do you!” Karn hissed back.

With a fierce growl, they broke apart again. Klath swiftly parried the next blow that came in, before sweeping his two-handed weapon around in a wide arc to force Karn back onto the defensive.

Both of them were beginning to physically tire, but the blood lust that was coursing through them was enough to spur them on. And they continued to swing and parry, each move met with an equal countermove.

All around the great hall, their audience stood in rapt attention. From Toran’s intrigue, to the confusion of his guards, through to the evident concern etched on the faces of the Bounty’s crew, everyone’s focus was on the fight.

Of all of those watching on, K’Veth stared most intently. A mass of conflicting feelings raced around inside her mind, as she tried to figure out something that seemed vitally important.

Who did she want to win?

Instinctively, she felt as though she should be wanting her brother to be victorious. They shared the same blood, after all, regardless of how their house was seen in the Empire. But after all that had happened, and all that she had seen of Klath, she realised that she didn’t want that at all.

Another crashing blow from Karn’s mek’leth was met by a deft two-handed block from Klath. More sparks burned through the air as the polished blades made heavy contact.

Karn whirled away and backed off, panting heavily from the exertions.

“You are well practised,” Klath noted, as he took a second to catch his own breath, “If only you had not chosen this path in life.”

“I was never given that chance, was I?” Karn retorted, “Thanks to the High Council, nearly a century ago. What hope was there for me, or my father?”

Klath considered this for a moment, recalling his own recent flirtation with the concept of hope, and the way it had deserted him so quickly after Toran had dismissed his case. Perhaps there was some truth in Karn’s words. But after a second, he shook his head defiantly.

“There is always hope,” Klath countered, “Provided the warrior remains true to themselves.”

“Another lie,” Karn snarled.

He sprang forwards again and their blades clashed. They grappled for a moment, then broke apart once again. As soon as they were apart, Karn charged back in, his mek’leth raised above his head.

Klath recognised the manoeuvre. It was the same one that he had criticised him for when he had used it against Denella back on Mentok colony. And once again, his rash action would prove his downfall.

He deftly evaded his charging opponent, before swinging his bat’leth back around and driving it into his side as he passed by, knocking him to the ground. The mek’leth fell from Karn’s grasp and skittered away.

Without hesitation, he brought the other end of his weapon to bear, the edge of the blade arcing down towards the helpless Karn’s exposed neck. His adversary, sprawled in a heap on the hard floor, was defenceless.

Completely defenceless.

In a split second, he stopped the bat’leth, close enough for it to graze Karn’s skin. The younger Klingon stared up in wide-eyed shock. Klath kept the blade pressed against his neck for a moment longer, then looked up at Toran, and at K’Veth.

And he stepped back.

“You have heard their confession,” he grunted at Toran, “They are yours to punish as you see fit.”

The towering Klingon snapped a gesture at his guards, who both immediately marched across and grabbed a conspirator apiece in their grips.

As Karn struggled and K’Veth remained stoic in the face of her own impending fate, Toran kept his attention on Klath.

“You defeated him fairly in combat,” he said eventually, “You had the right to kill him.”

“I did not mean to kill him,” Klath countered, “Merely to disable him.”

“Perhaps you have grown soft in your exile.”

“Perhaps.”

The two proud Klingons stared each other out across the great hall for several moments, as the rest of the gathered audience of Klingon, Trill, human, Vulcan and Orion eyes watched on. Eventually, Toran continued.

“I see you fight well, son of Morad. And it would appear I owe you my life.”

Klath’s expression didn’t change, even as Toran looked a little more regretful for a moment.

“You understand that this act cannot change my decision,” he continued darkly, “There is nothing more I can do for you and your case.”

“That is your decision,” Klath nodded, “But I only fought to defend your honour. Regardless of what the High Council may think of me, I would always do that.”

Toran mustered a nod of understanding at this, before turning to Karn.

“Son of Mortath. You brought a plague to my house, and now you have tried to assassinate me with your blade. The son of Morad may have shown you leniency, but I will not be so gracious.”

He waved a dismissive hand at his guards as Karn continued to angrily squirm in their grasp.

“Take him away.”

As her snarling brother was dragged away, K’Veth felt Toran’s gaze fall upon her, and felt a fresh rush of shame course through her. She found herself wondering, based on what she had learned about Klingons during a lifetime in exile, whether today was a good day for her to die. And how one even knew if that was what today was.

“As for you--”

“Toran,” Klath called out, a little more intensely than he had been intending to.

The burly Klingon turned back to him, displaying further irritation on his face at this somewhat presumptive piece of interruption from the disgraced Klingon.

“The…infestation. It is still present?”

The irritation gave way to a deep scowl of anger at the mention of the menace in the stores of his estate.

“My men will deal with it,” he replied icily, “For the sake of my honour, hopefully before my allies arrive. Even now, they draw ever nearer to Brexis II.”

Klath nodded, then drew himself up, presenting his bat’leth in front of him and bowing his head. For now, he forced himself to temper the blood lust that was rising inside him again.

“Toran, son of Kradon. I do not expect you to agree, and I have no honour in my name to make such a request. But, as it was my vessel that brought the enemy to your gates, I humbly offer myself, and my own blade, in order to rid you of them.”

He paused, and kept his head bowed.

“You do this to try and gain more favour?” Toran responded.

Klath finally looked back up, and shook his head firmly.

“You have already made it clear that there is nothing more I can do. I merely wish to fight this battle for myself. To undo the damage that we have inadvertently caused.”

He gestured over to the other Bounty crew members, who were silently watching the scene unfold on the other side of the hall with their full attention. Even Natasha didn’t react to the threat of another tribble hunt in the offing.

“You feel that this is the Klingon way?” Toran asked.

Klath considered the question for a moment, then simply looked back at Toran and shrugged his burly shoulders.

“I am not sure,” he admitted, “But I feel that this is my way.”

Now it was Toran’s turn for a moment of consideration. It was true that he had enough men to try and deal with the plague, likely before his allies arrived. But it was equally true that he had always been a more open-minded member of the High Council.

“What you suggest is unorthodox,” he replied eventually, “But…this has been something of an unorthodox day.”

With that tacit sign of approval, Klath nodded back, hefted his bat’leth into his right hand, and then turned towards the exit. Toran gave his remaining guards a signal to suggest that they should let him leave.

Then, Klath glanced over at K’Veth, still being restrained. And he felt the need to act.

“Although,” he said to Toran, as his eyes remained locked on K’Veth, “It may be more prudent for me not to go into battle alone.”

Toran looked from Klath to K’Veth and back again. Then he sighed with a hint of a snarl.

It was turning into a very unorthodox day.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

A very amusing unorthodox day. And Klingons love their orthodoxy like no one else. Definitely gave me a smile - particularly the interaction between Klath and Toran.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[BountyTrek]

Part Four (Cont'd)

Moments later, Klath strode purposefully through the courtyard of Toran’s estate, with his bat’leth still clasped in his hand. Alongside him, K’Veth clutched a similar weapon that had been reluctantly provided to her by one of Toran’s guards.

Several other guards watched them make their way across the courtyard with curiosity. But they didn’t bother to challenge the two unfamiliar armed Klingons. Toran had made sure that word got out to allow them to proceed.

As they neared the stores on the far side of the courtyard, Klath felt his blood lust rising all over again, as they approached their battleground.

“Why have you done this?” K’Veth asked as she walked alongside him, “I have made my own mistakes, and I do not want pity.”

“And you will not get any,” Klath affirmed, “But you must atone for what you have done here, K’Veth. You must recover your respect. And this battle will be a step towards that aim.”

“It is the Klingon way?” she asked, echoing Toran’s query from moments earlier.

Klath paused for a second, and suppressed a flinch, keeping a lid on the swirling passions that continued to thunder around inside of him.

“It is the only way.”

She nodded in understanding as they walked on. Then, she looked at him again.

“And this will recover Toran’s respect?”

He stopped on the spot, causing her to do the same. He turned and looked her squarely in the eye.

“You misunderstand,” he replied, “This is not a quest to recover Toran’s respect for you. This is a quest to recover your respect for yourself. It is the only way to live, as a dishonoured Klingon. There are things that the High Council can never take away from us, and that is one of them.”

K’Veth nodded in fuller understanding, as the two Klingons stood toe-to-toe with each other in the middle of the courtyard.

“That is what you did with your life?” she asked him, “Recovered your respect for yourself?”

“That,” Klath replied with complete honesty, “Is what I continue to do, every day.”

With that, he snapped his attention back to the stores, and resumed his march. K’Veth fell in line alongside him once again.

“Tell me,” he continued, “In all his teachings, did your father ever tell you of the story of General K’Vusk, and the Battle of Iota Geminorum?”

“No.”

“Then I will tell it to you. It is a glorious story. But first…”

They reached the door to the stores.

“...This will be a glorious battle.”

She nodded again, feeling her own blood lust rising inside her chest.

Like Kahless and Lukara, the two of them stood proudly in front of the yawning darkness inside the stores.

Together, they raised their weapons, and charged forwards with a bloodthirsty pair of roars.

The tribbles didn’t know what hit them.

****************************

“They’re not gonna make us eat them this time, right?”

Sunek felt it was a question that needed asking, even as the Bounty’s crew stood around in the great hall and waited patiently for Klath’s return.

Denella shrugged back, while Jirel winced slightly at the memory of his last Klingon supper.

“Don’t worry,” he replied quietly, “I’ll make sure we make our excuses before dinner is served.”

Elsewhere in the group, Natasha looked significantly less amused as she leaned on the stone wall of the hall. Now the drama of Klath’s confrontation was over, her sense of righteous indignation had returned with a vengeance.

“We could have just transported these ones away, you know,” she pointed out, “Everyone knew they were there now. There was no need for subterfuge any more. And what those two are doing to those animals now is--”

“Ugh, doc, come on,” Sunek groaned, “Do you ever shut up?”

“And that’s Sunek saying that,” Jirel chimed in with a lopsided grin, “Sunek.”

The Vulcan glared unhappily at the Trill, even as Natasha tutted in disgust at the pair of them, refusing to back down just yet.

“I’m just saying, if everything we’ve been through here proves anything, it’s that some Klingon traditions are just plain stupid. And I’m including ‘dealing with tribbles by murdering them all’ somewhere near the top of that list--”

“Hey,” Jirel replied, “Maybe save the rest of that speech until we’re definitely out of earshot of the dozens of heavily armed Klingons, hmm?”

“Or just save it forever?” Sunek offered, “That’s good too.”

Natasha’s grimace deepened by several degrees.

“This is just the way they handle these things,” Denella pointed out, a little more equitably, “And, in fairness, it tends to be pretty effective.”

“Yeah, well,” the other woman continued to grumble, “There’s effective, and then there’s--”

She was interrupted this time by the main doors to the great hall opening with a thud. Everyone gathered in the room turned to see that the warriors had returned from the battlefield. Klath and K’Veth walked in, side by side.

Both of them were exhausted from their exploits, dripping with sweat as they clutched their bat’leths. And both of them were covered in tribble blood.

They walked up to where Toran sat on his throne-like seat, with his guards flanking him.

“It is done,” Klath said simply.

Toran nodded back. Klath looked over at the rest of the Bounty’s crew, and took in the range of looks that were staring back at him.

The openly amused look from Sunek. The understanding nod from Denella. The slightly queasy look from Jirel. And the disgusted scowl from Natasha.

He could have predicted each and every one. But he didn’t really pay any attention to them.

Because he felt satisfied.

End of Part Four

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Loved the banter among the Bounty's non-Klingon crew while Klath and K'Veth were out getting their kling on.



Thanks!! rbs

 

[BountyTrek]

Part Five

Klath had cleaned himself up by the time he joined the rest of the Bounty’s crew at the foot of the ship’s rear ramp, as they prepared to leave Brexis II.

Toran had given them his word that they could safely return beyond the boundaries of the empire without the need for an escort, provided they kept to their assigned course. It wasn’t an offer that anyone had been interested in turning down.

As Klath arrived with the group, they were not entirely surprised to see that only K’Veth was with him.

“Karn?” Denella asked on everyone’s behalf.

Klath shook his head.

“My brother attempted to kill Toran,” K’Veth added, “He will be punished. But…Toran has no use for me. And, after our battle in the stores, has no wish to punish me either.”

“She requires transportation,” Klath stated flatly to Jirel, “I told her we would be able to provide it.”

“Back to Mentok colony?” the Trill asked.

“I cannot go back to my father now,” K’Veth replied with a shake of her head and a tinge of sadness in her voice, “And I cannot stay in Klingon space. I…do not know where I am going.”

Jirel considered the Klingon woman for a moment, aware that she had, no matter how reluctantly or accidentally, nearly framed them for treason. But he eventually offered a supportive shrug. He could recognise a lost soul when he saw one.

“Well,” he replied, “That sounds like our kind of passenger.”

K’Veth nodded, and headed up the ramp with Natasha and Sunek. Denella and Jirel lingered with Klath for a few more moments.

“What?” Klath asked simply, as he saw them looking expectantly back at him.

Denella stifled a smile at the nonplussed look on her friend’s face.

“So,” she said, “I’m still not totally clear on each and every Klingon custom and ceremony, as you know. But is it traditional for a shipmate to give their noble warrior friend a supportive embrace for getting through all this?”

“It is not,” Klath replied quickly.

“Fair enough,” Denella nodded and smiled wider, “Then once we’re out of sight of the Empire, I owe you a hell of a hug.”

Klath nodded stiffly, indicating that he was willing to accept those terms. To Denella’s side, Jirel took a step forward, earning himself a sharp glare from the Klingon as soon as he did so.

“Hey, don’t worry. Not gonna hug you either. I just…wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Firstly, for being a jerk earlier,” Jirel sighed, “I need to get used to the idea that everyone’s gonna leave the Bounty eventually.”

As soon as he said that, Klath looked over at Denella with a trace of amusement. This was clearly something that they had discussed together as well.

“You do know,” he said patiently, “Starfleet does not give out field promotions to chief engineer.”

“Hey,” the Orion shrugged, “A girl can dream.”

“And secondly,” Jirel continued, “Because of everything that happened here. I guess I’m saying that I’m glad I didn’t lose a friend today, but I wish you hadn’t got stuck back here with us.”

Klath took a longing look around the innately Klingon confines of Toran’s residence, feeling the final traces of the surge of hope he had allowed himself to feel earlier dissipating away.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I wish that as well.”

“Ok,” the slightly hurt Trill sighed, “Soon as we get a spare afternoon, I’m teaching you how to mince words--”

“Jirel,” Klath cut in, turning back to him, “There may be nothing I want more than to return to my people. But that is not possible. And so…there is nothing else I want more than to remain aboard this ship. There is more than enough honour for me here.”

Jirel’s face creased into a full smile. Realising that, if he wasn’t careful, he might actually start to tear up, he stole a glance at Denella and nodded at the Klingon.

“See that? The guy’s fishing for hugs here.”

Denella mustered a wide smile of her own, then switched to a more concerned expression as she saw something over Klath’s shoulder.

“Um, Klath…?”

He turned around, and was surprised to see Toran striding across the landing pad towards them, his ever-present battle armour clinking with every step. As he reached them, he offered all three of them a curt nod.

“You are leaving now.”

It was partly a statement, partly an order, and in no way a question.

“I felt it necessary to warn you,” he continued, “Never return here, Klath, son of Morad.”

Klath felt the pain of the warning hit home like a d’k tahg being plunged into his chest, but he kept a stoic front and nodded back. He had accepted his fate now.

“Also,” Toran added, “I feel I should…apologise to your colleagues for their incarceration. I am relieved we were able to clear the matter up.”

Jirel remained silent, still a little fearful of the enormous warrior in front of them. But next to him, Denella piped up.

“You knew, didn’t you?” she asked, earning a surprised look from Toran, “That we were innocent.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Cos, when our time was up and our QaS DevwI' still wasn’t back in the hall, if you really thought we were guilty, you’d have just killed us there and then. Instead, you kept on talking, like you were trying to stall for long enough for Klath to actually show up.”

Toran stiffened slightly at this accusation, but eventually gave her a slight nod.

“I had my suspicions that you were not responsible for the infestation,” he conceded.

“Why?”

Toran’s mouth curled into a slight smile. A rare sight since they had first met him.

“Because,” he replied, “You are not very good liars.”

Denella smiled and nodded back. Jirel looked a little offended, before recalling Sunek’s speech about the Tribble Liberation Front and reasoning that Toran had a point.

“But,” Toran continued, “You do have courage. I may have been stalling, but if your QaS DevwI' had not returned when he did, I would have had to carry out the executions regardless.”

Denella suppressed a gulp and glanced over at Jirel’s rather pale-looking face.

“Good to know,” she offered with a shrug.

With that, Toran turned his attention back to Klath, and Denella took the hint. She grabbed Jirel’s arm and pulled him back up the Bounty’s ramp, backing off to a respectful distance.

“Klath, son of Morad,” Toran grunted, “Your crew are most certainly…unorthodox.”

“They are my friends,” Klath grunted back, a little self-consciously.

Toran nodded thoughtfully for a moment.

“The Vulcan talks a lot,” he replied eventually.

“Yes. He does.”

Toran nodded again, as Klath began to get the impression that the High Council was attempting small talk with him. As if he was struggling to find what he really wanted to say.

“You assisted me greatly today,” the Councillor continued, “My guards have checked the entire residence twice over. The plague is truly vanquished.”

“It was a proud battle,” Klath offered back, still not happy at having to engage in such small talk, regardless of who he was engaging in it with.

“I am sure it was. And not one that you were obligated to lead. I told you it would not alter my decision. There was no honour to be gained from it.”

“Perhaps not in the eyes of the Empire,” Klath countered, “But there was for myself.”

Toran regarded the disgraced warrior in front of him. Then he looked up at the two Bounty crew members still standing on the ramp, just within earshot. And he nodded.

“I…believe I understand.”

He looked back at Klath, and his expression hardened again.

“Klath, son of Morad. I have not been able to assist you today. You and your house will still carry the burden of dishonour across the Empire. For now.”

Klath had prepared himself to accept one more humiliating speech before leaving. But Toran’s last words gave him cause to question himself, not entirely sure how to react.

“The situation in the High Council is somewhat fluid at the moment,” Toran continued, in a slightly quieter tone, as if he wanted to keep this information from everyone else, “Chancellor Martok is privately keen to reappraise much of what happened under Gowron, and there is growing support for such a move. And part of that concerns the Civil War itself.”

Klath remained a picture of stoic silence, but he couldn’t help but feel a fresh rush of emotion inside as Toran continued.

“There is an increasing belief that Gowron was overly severe in punishing any act of perceived dishonour from his side during the war. A clear attempt to distance himself from the treachery of Duras, and make himself appear even more honourable in comparison. A Chancellor so pure and noble that he would not think twice of exiling any of his own men who failed to meet his standards.”

Toran sighed and shook his head.

“None of it was challenged at the time. But there may come a moment when those matters are looked into again. Our recent history may be up for some interesting revisions.”

“I see,” Klath managed.

“So,” Toran concluded, “I cannot help you today. But, given what you did for me, I felt that before you return to exile, you should know that in the future, someone else may be able to.”

Klath felt a familiar feeling growing inside, even as he responded with a simple nod. Toran nodded back, then took a firm step back from him.

“And now, my guards will be watching. So, I must do this. It is…the Klingon way.”

“Yes,” Klath replied, prepared for what was to happen, “It is.”

Toran’s scowl darkened as he held his hands up and clenched his fists tightly.

“biHnuch!”

Coward.

As Toran turned his back to him, Klath played his own role in the theatre by bowing his head in shame and turning to leave under the shadow of his continued exile. It wasn’t the first time he had been on the receiving end of that tradition. Toran himself had already done it to him when he had first arrived on Brexis II. But for the first time, he didn’t find himself overwhelmed with shame.

And as he walked back up the Bounty’s ramp to the waiting Denella and Jirel, he realised why that was.

Because there was still something else inside him besides the shame. A feeling that, however faint it may have been, was still there.

He still had hope.

****************************

“Klath’s gonna kill you, you know that?”

Jirel looked down at the object on the table in Natasha’s cabin and shook his head.

The Bounty was cruising back to neutral space at warp, leaving the Brexis system and the Klingon Empire far behind.

Before they had left, Natasha found time to treat Jirel and Denella’s concussions, in what she found was becoming a traditional trip to the medical bay whenever the Bounty was finished with one of their straightforward deliveries.

Elsewhere, the ship was in a state. It turned out that when you took a ship into orbit and then blew all the outer hatches in order to deal with a tribble infestation onboard, it tended to leave a bit of a mess.

Anything that hadn’t been securely nailed down had been tossed and thrown around by the sudden redistribution of air around the ship, and it was going to take some time to clean up. To say nothing of the damage to the ship’s internals that the tribbles had caused.

So the Bounty wasn’t just leaving Klingon space, it was heading for a friendly port for some much needed repairs.

Shortly after they had gotten going, with Klath having returned to his cabin to rest, Natasha had said that she had something to show the rest of them. And she had led them to her cabin, where they had soon seen what she was referring to.

She had found time to replicate a modest cage that sat on the table, filled with comfortable bedding material and a water bowl. And inside the cage, there was a chirping brown and white spotted tribble.

To Jirel’s side, Denella and Sunek looked on with similar levels of distrust on their faces, even as Natasha opened the top of the cage and gently lifted the tribble out, petting the chittering creature’s fur as she did so.

“It’s gonna be no trouble, trust me,” she insisted as she stroked it, “You won’t even know it’s onboard.”

The others shared a round of disbelieving glances as the tribble continued to coo contentedly at the fussing it was receiving.

“It’s just,” she continued, “Given how many of the poor things have died over the last few days, I thought it was only fair we saved one of them.”

“Um,” Denella sighed, “Not to needlessly point out the obvious, but how exactly is it gonna be no trouble? They’re born pregnant, and that thing’s siblings just ate half my ship back there.”

“Yeah,” Sunek added, “Trouble is kinda their deal. One tribble becomes ten, becomes a gajillion, becomes nightmare fuel when they make the noise they make when you blow them all out into the vacuum of--”

“You’re not gonna need to do that with this one,” Natasha jumped in quickly.

“How come?”

“Found it in the pile earlier,” she explained, “Thanks to a very rare genetic abnormality, this is an infertile tribble.”

“Huh,” Denella offered, “That’s…nice?”

“Well, not for the tribble,” Natasha shrugged, “But, outside of immaculate conception, it means that we don’t need to worry about any nasty surprises. One tribble is all we’ve got onboard, and one tribble is all we’re ever gonna have onboard.”

She fussed it some more and smiled, before looking back at the unimpressed trio and holding it out to Jirel.

“Wanna pet it?”

“Not even a tiny bit.”

“Aw,” she smiled, fussing the chirping tribble some more and addressing it directly with a put-on childish voice, “He doesn’t mean to be so nasty, Spotty.”

Denella and Sunek both stifled smirks, even as Jirel stared daggers at Natasha, who remained a picture of innocence as she looked back at him.

“Spotty?” the Trill replied with a dark look.

He had told her about the slightly cruel and deeply unimaginative nickname he had picked up during his time working at the Tyran Scrapyards a few weeks ago.

At the time, he had accidentally revealed that morsel of personal information while the pair of them had been tied up to a cabrodine bomb in the Bounty’s cargo bay. And he had feared that she was biding her time, waiting for the right moment to use that against him, as revenge for all of the ways that he had irritated her since she had joined up with his ship.

Apparently, she had found the right moment.

“Yeah, Spotty,” she repeated, still feigning ignorance as she gestured to the tribble, “Y’know. Cos of the spots.”

Jirel’s glare intensified further, even as Denella and Sunek both shrugged and reached out to fuss over the tribble. Both of them were entirely oblivious to the deeper meaning behind the name, but both clearly not oblivious to the surface level comparison.

“Well, I think it suits it,” Denella nodded, struggling to contain her amusement even as Jirel gently simmered next to her.

“Yep,” Sunek added, “It’s all covered in spots, completely neutered, kinda useless, a little bit on the chubby side. Kinda reminds me of someone.”

The Vulcan made no attempt to disguise his own amusement, as Natasha allowed herself a moment to look back at Jirel with the slightest look of victory on her face.

Jirel just shook his head and sighed.

“Klath’s gonna kill you…”

****************************

Elsewhere onboard the Bounty, Klath was entirely unaware of their additional passenger. He had enough problems of his own.

He had found that, even though he had retired to his cabin to rest after his exertions on Brexis II, he was struggling to follow through with that plan.

He couldn’t sleep.

Inside him, there was still a swirling mass of emotions which were refusing to go away. And he was struggling to make sense of them all. Part of it was the sense of hope that had been kindled inside him again by Toran’s parting words. But there were deeper passions than just that. Something he had come to realise he had been feeling for some time, separate from the hope of the mission.

He wondered whether they were being caused by being back in Klingon space, surrounded by the Empire. And whether they would disappear as soon as the Bounty returned to neutral space. But whatever they were, they were proving troublesome.

He had even tried running through some calming Mok'bara exercises, even though he wasn’t much of an expert in the practice, but that hadn’t helped him much either. He had struggled to follow the controlled breathing technique that was required for the exercise, and couldn’t maintain a calm and balanced centre.

And so he had resorted to pacing around his cabin, his mind still a whirlwind that showed no immediate signs of calming down.

Out of nowhere, the door buzzer sounded out. He grimaced unhappily and sighed. He didn’t want company, especially when he was in this sort of state.

But, again, it wasn’t exactly easy to hide away on the Bounty.

“Enter,” he begrudgingly boomed out.

K’Veth walked slowly into his cabin, allowing the doors to swish closed behind her as she kept her focus on him.

And Klath suddenly felt the extra feelings he was dealing with coalescing into something stronger and more definable.

A feeling that he had heard a lot about, in song and in stories. But one that he had only experienced himself on a few fleeting occasions. A feeling far stronger than just simple lust or desire for the Klingon who was now standing so close to him. A feeling that made his heart beat faster and his brain flood with an aggressive mixture of pain and endorphins.

A feeling of par’Mach.

He didn’t know if it was genuine. Or if it was just down to his proximity to a Klingon female for the first time in five years. Or even if it was just a result of an excess of energy and emotion from their long and fierce battle side by side with the hoards of tribbles back on Brexis II.

But right now, he didn’t care either way.

K’Veth didn’t say a word. She simply stood and stared at him across the cabin, baring her teeth slightly as she did so.

Neither Klingon really needed to say anything. It had been clear for some time that, whatever it might have been that they were feeling, it was clearly mutual.

Klath stepped over to her, meeting her stare with an angry glare of his own. He shot out a limb and grabbed her right arm tightly, pulling it close to his face and taking in her scent.

She forcefully grabbed his right arm and reciprocated the gesture, snarling aggressively at him as she did so.

Klath’s mouth curved into a slight smile as he snarled back.

Like Kahless and Lukara many centuries ago, they found themselves consumed by the passions of the aftermath of the battle.

They stood together and felt their hearts beat as one inside their chests.

And then, with both of them powered by feelings and emotions neither could fully explain, the two disgraced Klingons, heading back into lonely exile, dutifully took part in another long and noble Klingon tradition.

The End

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Nice Klingon lust scene

I really liked the tension at the end with Jirel - that's going to blossom later on. He doesn't really get enough respect...

And, of course, a great tribble romp - Thanks!! rbs

 

[BountyTrek]

Nice Klingon lust scene

I really liked the tension at the end with Jirel - that's going to blossom later on. He doesn't really get enough respect...

And, of course, a great tribble romp - Thanks!! rbs

Thanks again for reading and reviewing throughout! The Klingon Lust Story will be resolved in the next story, amongst other things. In a suitably PG-13 way.

I was going to give everyone a break from the Bounty for a bit. There's three more 'episodes' in what I've envisioned as the first 'season' and the final two still need a lot of redrafting work that I need to find time for. But the next one is almost ready to go, so I might post that to get it out of the way.