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Star Trek Hunter Episode 27: Sword of Destiny

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Star Trek Hunter
Episode 27: The Sword of Destiny
Scene 14: may’ tlhop


27.14
may’ tlhop*​


“These continuing hostilities cannot be justified under the Khitomer Accords when more than half your fleet is not on the border, but actually deep inside Federation space, Chancellor Greta!” Federation President Emory Ivonovic was clearly outraged, but trying to keep a lid on his temper. “Cease your hostilities and withdraw to the Khitomer borders and we can end this without more bloodshed. You came here in search of glory, but there is no glory without honor. And there is no honor in betraying your allies!

“You claim you started this fight to control instability along our shared borders. But you are the source of that instability. The borg are coming, Chancellor. And if we are still at war when they arrive, they will take us apart. You have degraded our strength and wasted yours against a friend while a true enemy approaches. That is not the act of a great leader, Chancellor.”

Ivonovic turned off the recorder and sat back in his chair. He was uneasy, feeling trapped in this highly guarded compound in Caracas, Venezuela – Earth was not safe anymore. The entire Federation was at risk. The Federation president turned and looked at his most trusted aide and Chief of Staff, Seiv th’Stavin. As he had several times over the past few years, Ivonovic found himself wondering how an andorian had ended up as one of his most trusted friends.


“Are you certain you want to transmit that?” th’Stavin asked. “A broadcast of that nature might be taken by the klingons as a sign of weakness.”

“It is an attack with the only weapon I have available,” said Ivonovic. “Everyone is hiding behind this fiction that somehow everything will go back to the way it was before we, the romulans and the klingons all decided to crap all over the Khitomer Accords. I don’t think we’re going to be able to put this egg back into its shell.”

“You humans in particular tend to suffer from a strange desire to go backward when forward is the only direction available,” th’Stavin observed.

“Tell me what forward looks like and I’ll consider going there,” said Ivonovic. “Klingons on Rising Sun? A perpetual stalemate on Vulcan? Klingons and romulans slaughtering each other in the space over Saketh? And if we cannot move forward with the Saketh project, what is that going to do to the romulans?”

“You need to understand what is going on with the klingons,” said th’Stavin. “I don’t think Chancellor Greta really had any great desire for war. She couldn’t stop it, so she got out in front and seems to be leading it. But this war has completely gotten away from her. Chekov understands this. It’s at the core of his strategy.”

“Chekov has a strategy?” Ivonovic asked. “I was beginning to regret pushing for him to be in charge of the front. With the klingons chasing him back and forth all over the Federation, I don’t even know where the front is anymore.”

“That’s because you think you’re at war with an empire,” said th’Stavin. “But that’s not what’s happening at all. The Federation and the Romulan Star Empire are being preyed on by 41 greater or lesser families – noble houses. Each vying to establish its own territorial gains within the Federation or the empire – or both. Chekov is making them stomp all over each other’s feet. No sooner does a house establish what it thinks its gains within our space should be than Chekov leads a dozen other families into that territory and they start fighting with each other over the spoils. You know the numbers – since Chekov took command we have lost 58 ships. The klingons have lost 127 – but most of those were destroyed by other klingon vessels. If you want to end this war, you need to find the lever that will give Chancellor Greta enough power to make her nobles fall in line and do what she tells them to do…”


At that moment, something buzzed quietly on President Ivonovic's desk and a light flashed. He looked down and read aloud, slowly: "The sixth and seventh fleets, under Rear Admiral Red, have engaged the klingons at Vulcan." He looked up at his andorian chief of staff. "And a task force including the U.S.S. Atlas has been sent into romulan space to assist with the defense of Saketh."


th'Stavin nodded, his antennae moving the opposite direction from his head. "Now you know where the front is, Mr. President. Chekov will commit every available resource to prevent the klingons from taking either Vulcan or Saketh. If we lose either one of those worlds, we lose the romulans. And if we lose the romulans..."


"We lose the war," Ivonovic concluded, grimly.




*may’ tlhop (thlingn Hol - Battlefront)


27.14 (of 23)​
 
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Star Trek Hunter
Episode 27: The Sword of Destiny
Scene 15: pum Hegh


27.15
pum Hegh*​


The 101st United Earth Governments Space Marine Brigade, who had taken to calling themselves “Sauron’s Orcs,” had landed on Rising Sun. Led by Colonial Nancy Hope, the marines found themselves quickly surrounded and within weeks they were driven off Soda Toer and into the caves at the base of the cliffs under Goodstead – a group of villages on the continent near the Soda Toer Archipelago. These warriors, most of them from North America, were among the toughest Earth had to offer. But they had taken heavy casualties and were woefully outnumbered.

Eventually, less than 5,000 surviving Earth Force Marines found themselves in three large groups huddled in a cavern system that ran along the base of the cliffs. They were facing well over 35,000 klingons camped on the beachhead around them. The U.S.S. Eye of Sauron had taken heavy damage while beaming the brigade down to the surface and had to retreat. Col. Hope did not know when she could expect space support.

Fortunately, her troops were not under assault from space. With Star Fleet and Imperial Klingon Vessels constantly cloaking and de-cloaking in orbit, neither side had been able to establish space dominance or air dominance.


Through a series of feints and strategic use of the tides, the 101st Earth Force Marines had held their ground at the base of the cliffs against repeated klingon probing attacks for more than a week before the romulans were able to land their forces.


“Give her room!” Col. Hope snapped. Two of her marines immediately took a half-step to the side, away from the romulan officer they were escorting, instantly aware they had gotten just a little too close. The romulan general did not change her expression or her gait.

“Colonial Hope,” she said in crisp, precise English. “You are to take your troops and attack the klingon forces. You have twenty minutes to prepare your forces.”

“I take it you are General Hokitha,” Hope said. “You seriously expect my marines to attack entrenched klingons on my order in twenty minutes?”

“Are you a coward, simple, or simply hard of hearing?”

“I am in need of more information before I give that order, General,” Hope said. “We are allies. I am not in your chain of command. I do not take orders from you.”

“Do you know nothing about klingons?” asked Hokitha. “They will not wait for you in their trenches and mow you down with disruptors. Humans would. Cardassians would. We would. But not klingons. Not if your forces charge forward with battle cries instead of sneaking around like humans usually do. Attack them like klingons. Then, once the klingons are committed and charging toward you, order your forces to take the best cover they can find. Is that sufficient information, Colonial Hope?”

“And when we take cover, your forces will attack?” asked Hope.

General Hokitha locked eyes with Col. Hope for nearly a full, silent minute. Then: “Tell your humans to point their phasers at the klingons. Do not point them at the sky. You have 18 minutes.”


It took all of those eighteen minutes to transfer the orders and confirm that they were understood. Col. Hope’s words travelled with the orders. “You know you are charging into the face of certain death on the promise of help from people who have been your enemies all your life. This is no time to be human. We are not human. We do not fear death or pain. We are Sauron’s Orcs! Now go out and fight, you orcs! Let the klingons know they have met their match. FIGHT YOU ORCS!!”

She would have added a battle cry to that, but she couldn’t think of one. Since the marines had started calling themselves ‘Sauron’s Orcs’, Col. Hope had read everything she could about orcs so she could use that assumed identity to help build morale. But she could not remember any orcish battle cries either from Tolkien’s literature or World of Warcraft. Fortunately, the marines did not need her help in that department. Apparently they had somehow conflated orcs with gorillas and began making deep, hooting yells and grunts – “Oooh! Oooh oooh oooh Oooh oooh oooh” – working themselves into a fever pitch. Then, with indistinct hoots, grunts and screams, they burst out of the caverns at the base of the cliffs and barreled toward the klingon positions.

General Hokitha had accurately predicted the klingon response: the klingons left their disruptor rifles in their hardened encampment and charged toward the charging marines with disruptor pistols and blades.


Getting soldiers to charge into battle, even into a hopeless one, is not exceptionally difficult. Getting charging soldiers to stop, take cover and pick their targets on cue took discipline. The kind of discipline the 101st Marines prided themselves in. Once the klingons were fully engaged, the orcs dropped to the sand and started picking their targets. With nothing more than a few scrubby bushes for cover, the orcs’ chances for survival in this battle dropped by more than half in the face of a charging horde of klingons.


Until disruptor fire from above and to the left started mowing the charging klingons down.


“Don’t get distracted, keep firing!” Hope ordered as she noticed the firing rate from her brigade dropping – they were looking for where the disruptor fire was coming from instead of picking targets.

The combination of accurate phaser fire from in front and disruptor fire from the klingons’ left flank caused the klingons to group more heavily toward the center of their line, where they were immediately subjected to fragmentation bombing. Less than a third of the klingons who had left their trenches and committed to the charge survived to reach the orcs. There was still a pitched battle, but thanks to the help from above, the Marines of the 101st Brigade had a fighting chance.

Above the fighting, a vast flock of large birds with disruptor rifles attached to their beaks circled, picked individual targets and dodged sporadic return fire from a small number of klingons at the back of the line.



With help from their newfound romulan and avian allies, just under half of the Earth Gov forces that had taken part in the original landing had survived. With insufficient numbers to mount any attacks, they divided into small units to work cooperatively with the romulans and the nikamsitiri to conduct night raids and guerrilla attacks on the klingon forces, most of which were still concentrated in the once beautiful cities of Soda Toer.



*pum Hegh (thlingn Hol - Death From The Skies)


27.15 (of 23)​
 
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An impressive cinematic scene with 35,000 Klingons charging out of their trenches with sword and pistols. The squadrons of avian soldiers above converging on the exposed units, the handful of UFP Marines charging with their own small arms arsenal, and the Futuristic grapeshot exploding in the middle.
Epic.
tumblr_nwwsqm6SAi1rzu2xzo1_400.gif


-Will
 
Will The Serious said:
An impressive cinematic scene with 35,000 Klingons charging out of their trenches with sword and pistols. The squadrons of avian soldiers above converging on the exposed units, the handful of UFP Marines charging with their own small arms arsenal, and the Futuristic grapeshot exploding in the middle.Epic...
Click to expand...

Another reader suggested I should have added some targs to the romulans, humans, klingons and nikimsitiri - then I would have the Battle of the Five Armies....

Thanks for the kind words!! rbs
 
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Star Trek Hunter
Episode 27: The Sword of Destiny
Scene 16: rlp


27.16
rlp*​


Months of rigorous training under Flight Chief Thyssi zh’Qaoleq, along with the occasional lesson from Star Fleet’s most famous pilot, Captain Kenneth Dolphin, had given Jennifer Hopper confidence as well as new skills. Disguised as space debris (which there was no shortage of in orbit of Vulcan) the young flight specialist and her first officer made the transition from space to stratosphere on a glide path along with a patch of flaming debris. Flight suit training was not standard for Star Fleet pilots, but it was required for the U.S.S. Hunter’s flight team.

The debris they were flying with might have come from several different spacecraft. The atmosphere specific flight suits had been made to order by Pomm Irons. The mission plan was totally Napoleon Boles. The U.S.S. Hunter’s 1st officer wasn’t the most pleasant person to spend time with, but there was probably not a more innovative officer in the fleet. And Jennifer, whose grandfather was an officer in the Romulan Star Navy, felt that Napoleon, the gruff half bolian, really understood her. Misfits. Outsiders.

The debris swiftly ablated in the Vulcan sky, along with the outer portions of their flight suits and finally the micro-inertial dampeners built into their suits. In order to avoid detection, they delayed deploying their triangular fixed wings until they were over the Forge. The fixed wings above them and landing skids below deployed simultaneously. While the Hunter’s small rescue team were traveling very fast, the heat of Vulcan’s hottest desert provided additional lift. The wings had been reinforced specifically for this sort of high speed landing. Additional parachutes had been added as well and Hopper and Boles used these for rapid deceleration. They skidded several hundred yards before coming to a stop on the sands of the Forge - blazing hot even in the early pre-dawn hour.


A two mile walk across these sands was almost too much for Commander Boles, despite being half-human. Bolians were not well adapted to the heat. Which was one of many reasons they had chosen the pre-dawn hour to land. Historically, there had never been any sort of relief from the blasting heat of the Forge at the T’Karath Sanctuary in Mt. Langon. But with a growing number of humans, andorians and other refugees sheltering from the war in this holiest of sanctuaries on Vulcan, a large cool room had been installed and an even larger such room was under construction.


“If I allow you to go through with this, I will be violating the agreement I made with Chancellor Greta that keeps this sanctuary from becoming a target.” An aging klingon with graying hair and a gray beard stood among the vulcan priests. He was dressed as an acolyte, but appeared to have more authority than even the most senior priests.

“And you cannot keep these people here. The klingons will violate that agreement to get their hands on them,” Boles replied. “Not to mention the romulans.”

“I am aware of this,” said Worf. “I was the one who alerted Star Fleet to this situation. My point is that we can only do this once. A single use of this technology is an anomaly. More than once and it will be recognized. We will be very fortunate if it is not recognized the first time we use it.”

“Have they observed the unaltered phenomenon?” Boles asked.

One of the vulcan priests responded. “It has happened 14 times since the klingon assault forces landed. It is a naturally occurring phenomenon. They have come here four times to investigate. They did not find the transit chamber. But we have only sent test masses to T’Khut of less than 10 kilograms.”


As her first officer went over the rescue plan with the vulcans who ran this place and the klingon who made it possible for them to continue running it in spite of the war, Jennifer Hopper tuned out and went looking for someone. The person they had come to rescue was being treated in a private room in the infirmary. She visited this room and found that Premiere Messick, the head of the Vulcan High Command in Exile, was barely conscious. By far the youngest vulcan to ever hold that title, Messick had negotiated a number of environmental truces between the House of Shozek and Senate of New Romulus on Vulcan, which had resulted in the klingons taking control of the Regar Sea Restoration Project under Counsellor Shozek.

Messick’s teenage son was tending to him. Both father and son had long, dark red hair and thick red beards - colors not native to vulcans - gifts from a distant Italian ancestor. The son asked very quietly, “Are you the pilot? I was told you were young.”

“Jennifer Hopper. You are Paul?”

“Paul Appian.”

“Did Commander Nikato make it here with you?” Hopper asked.

“The romulans wanted him even more than they wanted us. He took a different route into the Forge to throw them off our trail,” the premiere’s son replied. “Centurion Javel was with him. But romulans aren’t as well adapted to this kind of heat as vulcans are. And if the storms damaged their equipment, they might have gotten lost. This is the stormy season.”

“I thought you were negotiating on behalf of the Senate,” Hopper said.

“The Senate is divided. There is a large faction that resisted turning the planetary capital over to the klingons. And the klingons are no more capable of getting us safely off-planet than anyone else. The meeting was bombed. General Shozek was badly wounded too.” Paul Appian looked down. “We’re not very popular with anyone at the moment.”

Hopper put her hand on the young vulcan’s shoulder. “I’m just amazed you had that conference at all.”

Appian looked up at her and smiled. “It’s the most hopeful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Klingons and romulans have been bitter enemies for a thousand years or more. And in the middle of the biggest war they’ve ever fought, they sit down at a table to try to save the environment of a planet they’re fighting over. General Shozek is a klingon warrior through and through - and he’s also one of the most reasonable men I’ve ever met.”



*rlp (thlingn Hol - council)



27.16 (of 23)​
 
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Star Trek Hunter
Episode 27: The Sword of Destiny
Scene 17: puv


27.17
puv*​

Tis, Craul and Wast wove a crazy pattern to avoid the disruptor fire. The pursuing klingons now had an overwhelming advantage in numbers. The number of ultralights whipping around back toward the large birds had increased again - 16 ultralights now.

The klingon ultralights had the advantage in speed.

The nikamsitiri had the advantage in maneuverability.

Both flew in nearly complete silence except for the noise of their disruptors.


In the first few weeks after the Battle of the Goodstead Cliffs, while the 101st United Earth Force Marines had broken into smaller units to carry out clandestine attacks against the klingons, the nikamsitiri had ruled the skies, raining down disruptor fire and grenades on the Imperial Klingon Forces whenever they ventured outside the cities.

That air superiority was short-lived.


Before the klingon invasion, ultralight aircraft were a rare luxury item on the Colony of Rising Sun, manufactured exclusively at a single workshop in Soda Toer. Planetary Governor Mor’rgoth had conscripted the workshop and the craftsmen - turning them into trainers and the workshop into a mechanized factory for mass production. And klingon warriors fell in love with fighting in the air.


16 klingon warriors shot wildly at the trio of nikamsitiri they were pursuing - wildly because they had to steer their tiny aircraft with one hand while leaning out of the cockpit to shoot at the birds with disruptor pistols. The nikamsitiri were far more accurate as their romulan-made disruptors were custom mounted to their beaks and operated by mouth movements. And the birds were naturally far better fliers. The klingons attacked simultaneously from four sides and from above.

Tis, Craul and Wast confused their attackers by grouping, then flying apart at the last minute just as the klingons approached. Wast bore down on one ultralight, bringing it down with a single, highly accurate disruptor blast while two more klingons bore down on her from above. She twisted aerobatically, bringing her disruptor to bear on the attackers, bringing them both down with rapid, impressively accurate fire - but one of the klingons managed to catch her in his glide path, crashing into her with his ultralight and hurling her to the ground with him.

There was nowhere for Tis and Craul to escape - no forest, no cliffs, no tall buildings. Both birds dived for the ground, hugging the contours of the land, skimming the hilltops at less than 3 meters. Five of their pursuers tried the same tactic with various success - three of them crashing into the ground at high speed because of the limited mobility of their aircraft. The ultralights simply weren’t designed for this kind of flying. But they served their purpose. The remaining klingons were able to attack from above, bringing both birds to the ground, killing one and severely wounding the other.



*puv (thlingn Hol - flying)


27.17 (of 23)​
 
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Star Trek Hunter
Episode 27: The Sword of Destiny
Scene 18: ‘ul


27.18
‘ul*​


Jennifer Hopper quickly returned to her first officer and asked permission to search for the missing romulan officers.

“The only aircraft you can conceal from the klingons are our propelled dirigibles.” One of the priests was responding to a question from Commander Boles. “The storm front will be here in approximately 14 hours. Flight will become increasingly dangerous. And once the storms are here, you won’t have many chances to use the transport chamber.”

“Please ready the craft,” Boles said, then turned to his pilot. “If you’re not back in 14 hours, I will join Premiere Messick and his son in the transport chamber. We will only get one chance at this, so if you aren’t back when the transport charge is ready, you will be stranded here. Probably for the remainder of this war. And it will be too dangerous for you to keep Nikato in this sanctuary.”

The elderly vulcan priest turned toward Hopper. “Once the storms start you must land. A direct lightning strike to the dirigible could be fatal. Avoid the hilltops and the valleys. Electricity travels through the sands so shelter on the rocks if the storm catches you.”

“On, not under?” asked Hopper.

“During the storms, sand turns to a thin mud and everything slides, including rocks. Sheltering under them is not advised.”


Hopper had trained on ultralight aircraft, but she had never before flown a dirigible. The three, independently adjustable, battery powered propellers gave some semblance of control, but the buoyancy of the aircraft and its tiny mass made it very much the plaything of the wind. While it was a bright, sun-drenched day in the Forge, to the west, violent, towering storm clouds were spreading darkness and lightning at the edge of the desert.

As the winds grew stronger and more erratic, the tiny balloon was buffeted, making it increasingly difficult for Hopper to maintain the planned search pattern or to keep her eyes on the sand. The winds were whipping up sand devils, some of which sparked with electricity.

A bolt out of the blue ended her search before she was two hours out from the sanctuary. She had no idea where the lightning came from - it seemed to come from everywhere. The frame of the dirigible was designed to route lightning away from the balloon and insulate the gondola, but Jennifer’s hair was standing on end from static. The lightning melted the batteries, leaving the propellers inoperable. Part of the frame broke and penetrated the bag, causing the heated gasses to escape and the dirigible rapidly lost altitude.

Hopper closed the canopy and hit the releases moments before the airframe and bag nosed into the sands. The gondola hit hard and rolled into the broken airframe and the canopy popped off, whacking Jennifer hard in the head. She fought hard for consciousness, her head bobbing and drooping. The gondola rolled and came to rest on its side, leaving her head hanging down at an uncomfortable angle. She had come to rest several feet away from the airframe, which was attracting multiple lightning strikes. Jennifer passed out to the roar of repeated thunder.




*’ul (thlingn Hol - electricity)


27.18 (of 23)​
 
Ooh, now a cliffhanger. What will become of Jennifer? Will she make it to the transport chamber in time? Will she find her Romulan officers? Will she get a charge out of sleeping in the sand during a storm? Will she be found or have to save herself?

These questions and more will be answered in the next episode of STH.

-Will
 
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Star Trek Hunter
Episode 27: The Sword of Destiny
Scene 19: ’Iw


27.19
‘Iw*​


An odd chuckling sound filled the early pre-dawn darkness of the Carolyn Kirk Saavik Wildlife Preserve and Cultural Heritage Site located on the large central island of the Soda Toer Archipelago on the federation colony of Rising Sun. Hundreds of voices - thousands of voices - were chuckling mirthlessly.


The sound grew in intensity under a glorious sunrise, the reliability of which had given the planet its name. Thousands of humans and romulans were kneeling in the fields. They had fallen to one knee after having stepped into chucklehorn burrows. The romulans were in uniform as were the majority of the humans - members of the 101st United Earth Marines who had taken to calling themselves “Sauron’s Orcs.” A few other humans were in civilian clothing but wore caps bearing the initials RSR (Rising Sun Rangers).

These warriors were dead, but their bodies continued to fight for air - air that could now only be used for chuckling. Their mouths and eyes were open wide - their faces frozen into manic expressions as their bodies were wracked with spasms, causing them to make a loud, chuckling sound for which the tiny, indigenous herbivores that had poisoned them were named.


Klingon ground forces had compelled a small number of andorians to walk across these fields as well, but, being light and agile, most of the andorians managed to avoid the hidden lairs, only to face a line of klingon warriors at the other edge of the field. Only a small number of humans and almost none of the romulans made it through this deadly gauntlet. Each had been provided a single, bladed weapon of their choice but after having been kept prisoner for weeks, the stress of crossing a mile of deadly terrain and seeing their comrades meet a horrifying fate, there was little fight left in them. Planetary Governor Mor’rgoth had restricted the weapons available to the klingon warriors who were waiting to engage these few survivors - they were only to use a d’k tagh or other sort of knife in order to make the fights more interesting for him to watch.

Colonial Nancy Hope, General Hokitha and a small number of nikamsitiri watched this carnage helplessly, chained to pitons that had been driven into the rock foundation of the ancient, pentagonal, open-air shelter that still served as Governor Mor’rgoth’s headquarters. The nikamsitiri were restrained by their necks and feet, their wings bound to their sides.

Mor’rgoth was in an uncharacteristically good mood, urging the allied humans, andorians and romulans across the field. “Do not delay! Every 13.5 of your minutes that go by I will kill another of your flying petaqs!” He made good on this threat with a massive battle ax, embedding it into the chest of one giant bird after another. It was a fatal wound designed to provide a long, agonizing death.

The klingon planetary governor turned to the largest bird. “But worry not, wing leader - or whatever you call yourself. You I will not kill. You I will…”


Governor Mor’rgoth was taken by surprise as the bird easily snapped free of its chains and in a fluid lunge seized the governor’s head in its beak, in a single motion biting and twisting the planetary governor’s head off and spitting it out. This gruesome missile bounced and landed a few feet away from his newly decapitated body.

Several nearby klingons advanced, weapons raised.


“STOP!!”


General LariS’s voice was sufficient to prevent a retaliatory attack. For the moment, the nikamsitiri wing leader remained still.

“Stay put!” LariS said to the bird, then stepped forward to the line where the combined romulan, human and andorian fighters were being slaughtered. “ENOUGH!! Let them through!” She turned to the fighters. “Drop your weapons. This fight is over. Colonial Koth, corral and care for the prisoners.” She gestured toward the thousands of animated, chuckling corpses. “And clean that up.”

A number of klingons milled about the former governor’s newly decapitated body and others about his severed head in confusion. LariS turned quickly and walked toward them.

“Do not lift your voices for him,” LariS said to them. “Mor’rgoth was our greatest general, but he will not be joining the honored dead in Stovokor. His heart was green with corruption. He did not fight for honor. He fought for the love of causing pain.”

LariS stepped in front of her prisoners, turned to face the klingon soldiers who were starting to gather. “I am taking Mor’rgoth’s place as planetary governor. General Keqi’S, you are promoted to Adjutant General. You will serve as my adjutant. Your first order is to secure all of our prisoners, planetwide, and ensure they are treated according to the requirements of the Khitomer Accords.”

“Gener… Governor LariS, the Khitomer Accords have been broken,” Keqi’S replied.

“Nevertheless, you will obey my order.” LariS spoke without anger, but her stern tone and expression made it clear that her orders were not to be questioned.

“Yes, Governor,” the newly promoted Adjutant General Keqi’S responded.


“Understand me,” LariS said in a loud voice, “and make others understand. This is my world now and I will have peace on it. If this world is to be held for House Surga as a protectorate of the Empire, we must make these people our people. Prisoners of war are to be held according to the requirements of the Khitomer Accords. Criminals are to be tried according to local customs, but under our supervision.”

She turned to the chained Col. Hope and General Hokitha. “General Keqi’S, why are these prisoners still in chains?”

“Karq,” said Keqi’S in return. She gestured to a nearby soldier, who, in turn, stepped forward and began the rather intricate process of freeing the two allied leaders from their chains.

“You will order the remainder of your forces to surrender,” LariS said to Hokitha. She turned toward Hope. “And you will do the same and advise all resistance fighters to surrender. They can expect fair treatment if they comply. They can expect death and seizure of their families’ property if they do not. The fighting continues in orbit, but on the surface of my world, this war is over.”

“And the empty shell of General Mor’rgoth?” asked Keqi’S.

“Compost,” said LariS. “Let his blood nurture the flowers.”


*’Iw (thlingn Hol - blood)


27.19 (of 23)​
 
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