Interlude I: Reflections on Acheron
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Klingon-Federation Neutral Zone, somewhere near the Mutara Nebula
September 6, 2281
The Klingon science station Vrai't was pungent with the charnel smell of death.
Whoever had attacked the Klingon outpost had been quite thorough, and had obviously had the time to indulge the dark side of their imagination. Spatters of lavender blood dotted the walls and the smashed remnants of computer consoles. Smoke still hung in the air, a reminder of the recent presence of the Klingons' mystery attackers. The only sound to break the eerie silence was the soft clank of boots on deck plating.
Lieutenant Commander Kieran Forester wrinkled his nose and grimaced at the smell as he studied his tricorder. His off hand tapped the butt of his phaser restlessly as he collected his readings, scowling as he studied the display. His scans weren't yielding much in the way of useful information; he wasn’t learning anything Menahga’s sensors hadn’t already told them. Kieran sighed in annoyance as he closed the tricorder and returned it to its belt holster.
"Ugh." He grunted in displeasure as he nearly tripped over the corpse of a Klingon. Like the several other corpses in the room, this body had been horribly mutilated by the attackers. The Klingon's armor had been sliced to ribbons, and most of his midsection was simply gone, as if something had ripped his stomach out. Kieran's gaze moved to the dead Klingon's face; the corpse's features were twisted in horrific agony.
"Anything new, Commander?"
Kieran turned away from the Klingon corpse towards the voice of his captain. "No, sir. Their computer systems are off line, and my tricorder's not telling us anything we don't already know." He turned away from Captain Richthofen to regard the dead Klingon. "Poor sorry bastards," he said softly.
"I wouldn't waste my sympathy, Commander," called out Richthofen's voice behind him.
"Sir?" Kieran asked, his head tilted in confusion.
Richthofen was standing next to him, staring down under a furrowed brow at the dead Klingon. "These... people... are the enemy, Commander. This fellow here--" he prodded the Klingon with his boot "--would have liked nothing more in life than to disembowel you with his mek'leth. However, thanks to the winds of fate, it is you standing over his corpse and not vice versa." His voice softened ominously, and he went down to one knee, his gaze sweeping over the Klingon's face. "Even in death, that rage, that bloodlust, never disappears from their eyes." He looked back, raising his head to look at Kieran. "They'll never stop hating us until one of our races is extinct. It will one day come down to a simple matter of us or them. You realize that."
The unspoken question was evident in Richthofen's tone. Kieran swallowed, suddenly feeling uneasy. "I don't know, sir, I... suppose so." He felt his face heating, and his eyes broke contact with his captain's. "I just... I'm not sure I'm comfortable thinking in such absolutes. It’s... there's always an exception." Kieran's eyes dropped again to the dead Klingon. The corpse's lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling. Kieran looked for that spark of hate, that last cooling ember of rage, but he saw nothing. Only the cold remorse of death, the same woeful emptiness he would expect to see in any dead man's eye.
Richthofen nodded, his features relaxing. "I assume you're referring to the Klingon on Khatora? Khelorik, the one that helped you rescue the Starfleet prisoners?" Kieran stayed silent, but the look in his eyes was all Richthofen needed. He chuckled sardonically. "Don't give the Klingon more credit than he's due. You came at him with a squad of Starfleet marines and he found a way to buy his life from you. Don't let yourself be fooled, Commander. He'd have just as soon killed you as looked at you. You, and every other human, for that matter."
Richthofen rose to his feet. He walked away from the dead Klingon, Kieran following in his wake. "Starfleet is ostensibly an organization dedicated to research and exploration. Why, then, have we had to fight off Klingon incursions almost from the very moment of first contact? The Mal Satz Conflict of 2232. The Battle of Donatu V. The Four Years War. The Organian conflict. Countless other skirmishes and raids over the past seventy-plus years. They've shown no desire to peacefully coexist with us, and they hide their hatred behind flimsy excuses of dwindling resources and overcrowding. Someday, the Federation is going to have to realize the truth before we wake up and find Klingon warships orbiting Earth. There will be a reckoning one day, and if we aren’t prepared to take drastic action, it could be ours."
Kieran was torn. His mind raced, and he was speechless for several seconds as a tumultuous flood of thoughts and feelings stormed through his mind. Cobalt eyes met hard steel gray. In that second, Kieran could see the uncompromising resolve in Richthofen's soul, the strength and force of will that fueled him and that had made him a man Kieran had come to respect and admire in the short time the younger man had been on Menahga. He’d never really considered himself a hawk, per se… but in eight years of Starfleet service, he’d seen and learned enough to seriously consider what the captain was telling him.
An incredulous voice sounded in the back of his mind. The tiny voice was washed away, however, by a sudden flash of anger. Anger, and something else... a dark feeling, something that he couldn't quite describe... something that felt right, yet something that a part of his mind told him was wrong. Kieran squared his jaw, and the words forming on the edge of his lips finally spilled, unable to be contained any longer. "I... suppose I never thought of it in those terms, sir. It's not a pleasant thing to consider... the thought of an entire race destroyed at the hands of another, but I... we’ve never been able to trust the Klingons. They’ve proven that much over and over."
With that admission, the mood seemed to lighten. Richthofen smiled and clapped Kieran on the shoulder. "Good to see the Academy still graduates a realist from time to time. We’re a dying breed." His steps halted, and he regarded Kieran with a somber expression, a change from his sudden joviality a moment ago. "Many of the brass would never admit it, but the Federation needs men like us to protect their utopia. My crew and I realize that, and I think you do, too, under all that idealism they try and drum into your head as a cadet and a junior officer. You stick to your guns, Commander, and you’ll go far--"
He was interrupted by the insistent beeping from the communicator on his belt. In one smooth motion he took it out and flipped it open. "Richthofen here."
"Captain, this is Commander Rozhdestvensky. We've found something down here you'll want to see."
"Acknowledged, Commander; Commander Forester and I will be down momentarily. Richthofen out."
As the two men moved to exit the command center, Richthofen paused and turned to face Kieran. "Commander," he began, then paused. After taking several seconds to consider his next words, he continued in a quiet tone. "What do you know about a man by the name of Rittenhouse?"
) However, I've been looking over some old work and brainstorming for new projects in United Trek, and after playing around and making some revisions to this old vignette, I decided to repost it. So, here it is. Feedback is appreciated.
Are top of the baddies list and more so in this time frame. A nice feel for the TOS era but dark and foreboding future too hopefully [likely] involving the Klingons
