Fan Fiction: Chance May Crown Me

[Archived Post]

SPOILER ALERT - You may not want to read if you have not completed "Second Star to the Right/Behind Enemy Lines missions...

*****

"If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me..."
Macbeth Act 1, scene 3

"You have not experienced Shakespeare until you have read him in the original Klingon..."[/I
][I]Chancellor Gorkon

***I was born a slave. But I shall not die one. It has been three years exactly since I earned my freedom. And yet....

And yet....

"jIH 'el HoD!"

Ulena, captain of the IKS Bom vo'QeH pulled herself into a sitting position on her bunk, the metallic chatter of her medals obscuring the smooth caress of worn leather against the duranium slab. "You may enter, Krossos."

The door slid aside with a hiss, and the faint odor of depressurized ozone. She frowned slightly, annoyed that her engineer, J'Beq, had been experimenting with the environmental controls again.

Krossos son of Gorta pulled his immense frame through the narrow door. He did not seem to mind. Then again, he had been serving on ships for more than forty years, with the scars to prove it. How he had ended up in the slave pits of Narendra VII was still a mystery.

Krossos' skin seemed as black as the void under the lights, his silver beard bathed in a red glow. It did not escape her notice that he was not wearing his battle armor even though as first officer, he had the second rotation. Nor had it escaped his that she had spoken in Federation Standard, even though her command of tlhIngan was near-perfect.

Krossos growled. "We have had a communique from Qo'nos."

"From General Worf?" He nodded. "Excellent. I want all hands to battle stations within the hour."

He smiled. "Orders, Captain?"

Ulena shrugged her jacket closed, deftly sliding her sash back into place. Black hair went back into a ponytail. "Your orders, Krossos, is to get me that communique. My office, five minutes. And have Rhedak join us."

Krossos growled. "I still do not trust the Romulan. It is dishonorable to allow that veQ to live, much less serve as a member of this crew."

Ulena sighed, pushing past him as she stepped into the corridor. "This is getting tiresome, old man. Do I need to drag your sorry carcass across the ring again?"

The older Klingon growled dangerously, then abruptly let out a barking laugh as he joined her in the hallway. "I'd like to see you try, little green girl." Together, they set out for the bridge, Krossos taking his customary position at her left.

Ulena relaxed slightly; the moment of danger had passed. "I did it once, I can do it again. But at your age, you should be careful..."

Krossos snorted. "You were lucky, little one. Had I been at my full strength, I would have crushed you, woman or no..."

Ulena chuckled, wiping the beads of perspiration off the nape of her neck with a casual flick.

Damn him. Damned J'Beq. He kept resetting the Song of Fury's controls to Klingon standard - far too hot for the Orion's taste. She should have killed him after the last time. The suggestion that she could disrobe alone should have earned him a trip to Sto'vo'kor.

Then again, good engineers were hard to find.

She paused in midstride, the ghost edges of a grin forming as the perfect method to enact revenge occured to her. "Krossos?"

He turned back.

"Have J'Beq join us. I think we may have need of his talents."

***

[Archived Post]

“General, what you ask is simply not possible.”

Ulena steepled her fingers in front of her face to hide a grimace from the aged Klingon on the viewscreen in front of her. Worf, son of Mogh. Decorated general of the Empire. Former Federation ambassador to Qo’nos. And former Starfleet officer.

She was acutely aware of the officers seated around her desk, listening in. A quick glance at Rhedak, her Romulan tactical officer, reminded her how treacherous the ground beneath her feet really was at this moment. As a non-Klingon - and a woman commanding one of the Fleet’s battlecruisers - she could not afford to offend one of the Great Houses.

She owed him an explanation. She glanced at Krossos, who nodded slowly. Her eyes went next to J’beq, who inclined his head as well.

“General…” she began, “There are…complications…with my crew undertaking a mission into Federation space at the moment.”

Worf growled. “The attack on the Utopia Planetia shipyards.”

Ulena stiffened sharply, her eyes narrowing. “The Chancellor swore that my involvement would be kept out of the Council chambers.”

“And it was, Captain.” Worf growled. “But what they do not speak of in the Council is often sung in the taverns of the First City. Especially glorious battle.” There was an unmistakable tinge of bitterness in the General’s voice. For the first time, she wondered if he had he lost friends on both sides of the battle.

Worf leaned forward. “Fortunately, you will not be travelling to Federation space. I have arranged for a Pakled freighter to meet you here” - a series of coordinates flashed up on screen - “and you will escort them into Klingon space.”

Ulena frowned. “That is dangerously close to Syndicate space, General.”

Worf grinned. “You are Orion, and you command a Vor’cha battlecruiser. They should be no match for you.”

She sighed. “They won’t be. That doesn’t mean we won’t be monitored very closely. And Pakleds are dull-witted and slow. Perfect targets for a Syndicate raid. I would hate to have your...precious cargo damaged in a firefight.”

Worf glowered into the viewer. “Let me be clear, Captain…if the cargo is damaged – or tampered with, in any way, the House of Martok will hold you personally responsible. Am I clear?”

Ulena nodded. “Perfectly, General.”

Worf nodded curtly “You have your orders, Captain. Carry them out well. Or don’t return. Qa’pla!”
“Qa’-“ his transmission cut off before she could finish, “-pla.”

She turned to her senior officers. “What do you think?”

Krossos crossed his arms sourly. The scarred verteran looked angry. “It is a punishment. For the death of Martok’s grandson.”

J’Beq picked at a coolant stain on his uniform disinterestedly, but his eyes were sharp under his fiery, unkempt hair. “We do not have a choice. We cannot refuse. But there will be no honor if we die doing this.”

She turned to her third officer. Rhedak, the aged Romulan, who alone with Krossos had been with her since the day she had won their freedom. He pursed his lips, then shook his head, unable to say whatever was on his mind.

So be it. He would tell her in due time. For now, the decision was hers. “J’Beq, instruct the bridge to lay in a course for the coordinates the General has given us. Warp 7.”

“Aye, Captain.”

She rose from behind her desk. If Worf, son of Mogh wanted to send her to her death, she would make sure it was a good one.

[Archived Post]

Captain's Battle Log:

It has been nine hours since General Worf sent us on this fool's errand. We have nearly reached the coordinates he provided us, but he has chosen to leave us in the dark about the purpose of our mission. The crew is restless; they suspect treachery at every turn. R'uul and Rhedak have tried to keep order, but the Klingon crew respect neither the Gorn nor the Romulan.

They are anxious for battle, which has made them restless. Domon, one of the Klingon officers, has arranged sparring matches on the lower decks to keep the crew occupied - I will have to speak to Krossos about promoting her.

Rhedak has continued to avoid me, for reasons I can only guess at. On this day - of all days - I will not push him to share his thoughts. Of the slaves that led the rebellion, only R'uul, Rhedak, Krossos and I remain....
*****

2406

"Again."

The Orion slave girl narrowed her eyes as she stared at the Andorian that circled the opposite end of the stone ring. She noted with satisfaction that her last thrust with the stone shard had lopped off one of the Andorian's antennae; blue ichor now poured freely down one half of his face.

If she was lucky, it would blind him for the few crucial seconds it would take to kill him.

She glanced at Korrd reflexively. The slavemaster would beat her severely if she struck before he gave the signal. Assuming he didn't use the Agonizer built into the collar around her neck. Then, she would just wish she was dead.

Korrd nodded. She darted forward before the Andorian could take the initiative. Her weapon - a crude stone shard culled from the ring's floor bit deep into the Andorian's side before sliding out again. The Andorian picked her up with a roar and threw her directly into the containment field.

Blue fire erupted across her back. For a moment, the pain was so intense that she assumed that the field - or Korrd, displeased with her performance - had triggered her Agonizer. Blackness swam before her eyes.

A voice that sounded like hers echoed from some distant point "I...will...not...yield." Surely those words had not come from her. All her body wanted to do was shut down. But as her vision cleared, she found herself on her feet facing the Andorian, who was staring at her with equal parts rage and glee.

The Andorian closed the distance between them; a handful of dust was in her flying from her fist into the Andorian's good eye. There was a loud scream of rage, and then he was on top of her, his hands locked around her throat.

Somehow, her scrambling hand found the edge of the shard which she had dropped. She swung. For one terrible moment there was more pressure and a torrent of liquid that splashed hot across her arms.

Then the pressure lessened, and she could breathe again. She retched, inhaling dust and the cool, sweet air.

Then there was a loud crack, followed by an eternity of blinding pain that finally, blessedly, gave way to darkness.

[Archived Post]

"You are awake. Good."

The Orion slave opened her eyes slowly. She had been placed face-down on one of the duranium slabs that passed for bunks in the slave quarters, still bloodied and dressed in her combat outfit. Her throat felt like fire, and her back felt like it had been opened with one of those daggers the Klingon guards were so fond of carrying.

An aged Klingon dressed in well-worn fatigues stood over her. "The Andorian?" she finally managed.

"Dead." the Klingon said without remorse, turning away from her to do something to the ground at the center of the cavern. He was, she realized belatedly, installing a plasma heating until. "You slit his throat," the Klingon said over his shoulder, "It was an honorable death - for this place," he added bitterly.

The Orion rose to a sitting position, wincing. "Thank you. For the heater."

The Klingon laughed. "Thank Korrd. He said you fought like a wild targ."

The Orion rose slowly to her feet. She noted the absence of any insignia or rank on his clothing. "You are not one of the guards, then?"

"No." he said curtly, "I am here for other reasons - which are my own." The last part was spoken in a tone which would suffer no further questions.

"Ulena," she said, extending her hand.

He gripped her forearm in the traditional greeting of Klingon warriors. "Krossos." He looked her over, deciding something, before nodding. "You will heal. The Andorian did no lasting damage."

He turned abruptly away to leave; she halted him by placing a hand on his shoulder. "Wait."

He looked at her expectantly. She noted that he did not look at her lustfully, the way many males did. That told her enough about him to convince her she was making the right choice.

She smiled.

"Have you eaten?"

[Archived Post]

"Narendra VII was not the Empire's first choice for a colony in the system. That honor belonged to Narendra III." Krossos told her as they made their way through the warren of underground tunnels that made up the slave quarters. They moved in semi-darkness, their way illuminated by a series of conduits that converted the heat from the surrounding rock into light.

Unlike the slave quarters above, the lower levels of the complex were warmer, which suggested to Ulena that they were deep within the planet's crust.

"The planet's atmosphere is almost nonexistent. There is no vegetation, minimal water. You would freeze to death in four minutes if you set foot above. Only close to the mantle, as we are, does it get warm enough to sustain life."

Ulena nodded. "You are telling me escape is impossible."

Krossos paused. He turned to face her in the light, and Ulena thought she sensed grudging respect from him in the instant before his face closed again. "It would be...unwise to use what little energy you have attempt to escape that way."

Was he actually helping her? She filed it away for further thought.

They walked in silence for a few hundred meters, until she thought of something else he had said. "You said 'belonged to Narendra III'. Past tense. What happened?"

Krossos growled.

"The Romulans attacked the colony. Our warriors fought valiantly, but were defeated." He placed his palm gently against the tunnel wall, as if drawing strength from the heat within. "When I was a boy, we sang often of the valor of Narendra. And we remember the name Enterprise."

They passed out of the tunnels into the cavern that served as the main concourse and mess hall. By Ulena's estimate, there were nearly a thousand sentients in the hall. Cardassians, Breen and Jem Ha'dar occupied the tables nearest the tunnel. They ate methodically, in silence.

Just past their tables was the hum of the Federation, the Orion, and Gorn, who trusted each other marginally better than they trusted the occupants of the farthest tables; the Romulans, who had somehow found the area furthest from the light globes that hung from the celings. They too ate in silence, but Ulena felt that their gaze on her was calculating, and perhaps predatory.

"Come, tonight you will eat with Klingons..." Krossos said, guiding her to a long table set up on a dais. Three dozen officers sat around the table, which seemed to be piled with every Klingon delicacy imaginable. Korrd himself sat net to a elegant, muscular gentleman.

"Kimet." Krossos supplied in her ear, "the colony administrator." She had been among Klingons long enough to hear things, enough to know that Kimet was not a man to be trusted. Or crossed.

She followed Krossos to the far end to the table, where they found places on the benches opposite each other. "I thought all Klingons hated the Enterprise. Every story I have heard makes them sound very...dishonorable."

An immense Klingon with a scraggly beard and greasy, ragged hair belched in the seat next to her. "Kirk was a criminal. Without honor," he spat.

Krossos leaned forward. "A different Enterpise., one with honor. They defended the colony, and paid with their lives. They restored the honor of that vessel's name."