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PostPosted: Wed Jun 07, 2017 5:12 pm 
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AND TURN OFF THAT FRAKKING MUSIC!


Let's keep our universes on their respective leashes, thank you very much. :D



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PostPosted: Wed Jun 07, 2017 8:38 pm 
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PostPosted: Wed Jun 07, 2017 10:01 pm 
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Oh that is good, that is really, really good . . . .. .

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PostPosted: Thu Jun 08, 2017 5:45 am 
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couldn't get one with the US Capital on it.

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PostPosted: Thu Jun 08, 2017 7:50 am 
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https://imgflip.com/i/1qiwer

Does this work?

Try this...


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IMG_1366.JPG [ 61.42 KiB | Viewed 490 times ]

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PostPosted: Thu Jun 08, 2017 11:19 am 
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close enough

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PostPosted: Thu Jun 08, 2017 2:09 pm 
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MikeKozlowski wrote:
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AND TURN OFF THAT FRAKKING MUSIC!


Let's keep our universes on their respective leashes, thank you very much. :D


Mike



Why do you think I was demanding that the music be turned off? :D

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PostPosted: Thu Jun 08, 2017 2:40 pm 
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MikeKozlowski wrote:
Quote:
AND TURN OFF THAT FRAKKING MUSIC!


Let's keep our universes on their respective leashes, thank you very much. :D

Mike


If GalaxyQuest is a Trek movie, BSG is what Voyager would have been had Moore been assigned to it, not DS9.

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PostPosted: Mon Sep 11, 2017 1:41 pm 
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Kirk hadn’t gotten much sleep, but the typically uncomfortable Starfleet Lodging bed was only part of the problem.

It was the quiet.

Not a sound to be heard, just the artificial quiet of a residence that wasn’t even yours. His apartment was a few miles away, with a comfortable bed, and the murmur of San Francisco outside. Something about it just kept your mind on track, kept it in its little boundaries and kept you from thinking about things that you shouldn’t.

She was gone, Kirk thought. I saw her go.

You were wrong, Jim, the voice came back, quiet and friendly. You made a mistake. She’s still there. You got a new Enterprise, and you thought it was all over. Nope.

Starship captains don’t make mistakes. They can’t make mistakes.

Wanna bet? Ask Steve Garrovick. Ask Matt Decker. Ask Ron Tracey. Oh, wait, you can’t. Ron’s been in an asylum for twenty years, and the other two are dead. Think about it, Jim…how many times were you in a position where if the breaks hadn’t gone your way, you would have ended up just like them - or worse, a desk-bound laughing stock until you finally got the message and quit…when they weren’t pitying you and whispering to themselves, “There but for the grace of God….”

Mistakes happen all the time, Jim, and if you’re lucky beings just die and you die with them. If you’re not…well, you get to live with it. What’s our average lifespan today - 120? And as healthy as you are, with your good genes, 130, 140 no problem. That many more years to reflect on what YOU did wrong -


STOP -

- and it was a long, long night.

The alarm sounded as planned at 0800, and Kirk knew he’d slept, but felt as if he hadn’t gotten a wink. Not the first time, not the last. Out of bed, check the message center - Shuttle departing at 1730, show time 1700 - plenty of time to get things together.

Shower, shave, breakfast, such as it was. Bones was already down in the dining hall, tucking into a pile of scrambled eggs and sausage, with orange juice and real Starfleet coffee to wash it down. Kirk just ordered oatmeal from the replicators - normally he had a pretty substantial appetite in the morning, but it just wasn’t there today. Bones nodded as he sat down.

“Morning, Jim. You look like hell.”

Kirk winced. “Good to see you too, Doctor.”

Bones smiled. “Get some coffee in you - doctor’s orders.” McCoy waved down a steward carrying a blue carafe, and pointed at Kirk. The man came over and with a practiced flourish flipped one of the massive handleless Starfleet mugs over, and poured a rich brown-red stream of aromatic coffee into it, snapping the carafe up without spilling a drop, and giving Kirk and McCoy a big grin and nod before moving on. Kirk picked up the mug and sipped carefully, the hot coffee rolling down his throat. Almost at once he started to feel better, more alert, that scratching behind the eyes fading out. More placebo than fact, he thought, but it works.


“You all right?,” McCoy asked around a mouthful of sausage.

“Depends,” Kirk replied. “A lot of the past decided to show up last night.” McCoy nodded equitably. “Not just for you, Jim. Spock’s embarrassed because he doesn’t remember most of it, I don’t remember much more than he does, and Scotty feels like hell.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Kirk looked into his coffee cup as he sipped for a few seconds, so it took a moment before he realized that McCoy was glaring back at him. “Bones, what’s -”

“Now you listen to me, Captain Kirk.” The Georgia drawl was back, but there was nothing pleasant or welcoming about it. “Scotty thinks he let all of us down - not to mention that to him, Enterprise was even more - well, real, than it was to you. That ship was everything to him, and now after it’s been dead and gone for six years, suddenly her ghost appears and you expect him to be understanding about it? Hell, even Spock was surprised.”

Kirk took a deep breath. His old friend was right; he usually was. “Bones….I’m sorry. It’s just a lot to process. This whole story…Khan, David, Carol….Enterprise. It’s like the past just keeps rising from the…” Kirk paused for a second, unwilling to say the last word, but Bones stepped in. “I get it, Jim. You hang the good moments up in your mind for everyone to see, and the bad…well, you try to bury them. Doesn’t always work, and in your case…well, it’s been a few decades of things that would have filled the life of a dozen other men. Sometimes, it comes back. Face it - deal with it - survive it, just like you always have. Like we always have.”

Kirk smiled gently and replied, “Understood, Bones. I -”

“And while you’re at it,” McCoy said with a grin, “Pass the pepper.”


Kruge took a deep breath as the chill of a transport wore off, and saw K’voch standing at the base of the transporter platform, with another Senior Lieutenant behind him - a squat, stocky officer Kruge had never seen before.

With the red/gold epaulet of Fleet Security on his left shoulder.

K’voch came to attention and said, “Welcome, Commander. This is Senior Lieutenant Karzz…our new Security officer.” Karzz snapped to himself at that, saluting smartly and holding it as Kruge stepped down off the platform, sizing him up. Kruge took his time returning the salute, then asked, “Where is Senior Lieutenant Kast? I trust that since he is not here, he is either ill or dead.”

Karzz politely replied, “Kast was notified of a sudden illness in his family, and Fleet graciously gave him leave to join them.”

Kruge didn’t miss a beat. “Kast has never spoken of a family.”

Karzz smiled, or at least tried to. “Our shipmates have many things in their lives they do not speak of. In any event, he will not be rejoining the Dragon before your departure. Which, I am led to understand, will be soon.”

Kruge’s upper lip twitched, but he held his temper. “We will perform one more orbit, and then we depart. See to your stations. By the way - where is Senior Lieutenant Kast? I should like to send my hopes for his loved ones’ swift recovery.”

“Sadly, Commander, I am told that he cannot be reached.” Karzz inclined his head, then stood straight and saluted once more, turning smartly on one heel and striding out. Kruge said nothing, but K’voch finally broke the silence. “Someone suspects.”

Kruge nodded. “Admiral Kumerian. In fairness, he is a brilliant officer and a good judge of character - especially mine.”

“What do we do? Kast knew everything, and should they decide to question him…” K’voch let that trail off. They both understood that if Fleet Security decided to have a chat with Kast, it would be neither brief nor pleasant. Kast was a good warrior and loyal, but even the best had their limits.

“We continue. You know the old saying about no battle plan ever surviving contact with an enemy? Well, that -” Kruge pointed down the passageway - “is the enemy. Let us therefore make a new plan. In the meantime, bring our friends up from the surface on the next pass - use the cargo transporters, lock them out from the rest of the system. As soon as they are aboard, we shall depart.”

“And Karzz?”

“I have no doubt he shall do his duty. And I shall see to it personally.”

To Be Continued….

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PostPosted: Mon Sep 11, 2017 2:10 pm 
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Klingon duty: To die well?

I wonder how many nights Kirk's ghosts come around to visit. He has a lot.

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PostPosted: Mon Sep 11, 2017 3:30 pm 
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That was like a scene right out of Wrath of Khan. Kirk's exhaustion, Bones' abrasive concern. Well done.

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PostPosted: Mon Sep 11, 2017 10:27 pm 
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A Klingon who puts death ahead of duty is a taHqeq.

I don't think Kirk has too many ghosts. David, certainly, because the choice was David, Saavik or Spock, and David took the choice away. But ghosts represent mistakes. Things you could have done differently. Most of those lost under Kirk's command were casualties, but not realistic alternatives.

Of those who haunt him, Gary Mitchell and Finney are probably paramount. Or, perhaps, Elizabeth Dehner.

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PostPosted: Tue Sep 12, 2017 4:05 am 
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Johnnie Lyle wrote:
A Klingon who puts death ahead of duty is a taHqeq.

I don't think Kirk has too many ghosts. David, certainly, because the choice was David, Saavik or Spock, and David took the choice away. But ghosts represent mistakes. Things you could have done differently. Most of those lost under Kirk's command were casualties, but not realistic alternatives.

Of those who haunt him, Gary Mitchell and Finney are probably paramount. Or, perhaps, Elizabeth Dehner.


Without question, he's haunted by David - he knew about him, was never a part of his life, and when he does meet him discovers that the lad is remarkably like him...just in time to see him die. But then Carol Marcus would have to be one of those ghosts too, because he never knew what he could have had if they'd stayed together.

Mitchell, oh yes. And Dehner too, if for no other reason that collateral damage. But Finney? I don't know about that one. He might have felt bad about the initial report that sent Finney on a downward spiral, but an instance bad enough to go to the bottom of the promotion list (yet still remain in StarFleet) must have been pretty grim indeed. And then Finney's I'm-not-dead-yet stunt (that not incidentally threatened Enterprise as well - had Finney's plan worked, the computer glitch almost certainly would have led to a catastrophe in the near future) on top of that? I don't think after that point Jim Kirk ever lost a moment's sleep over Ben Finney. :)

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PostPosted: Tue Sep 12, 2017 5:00 am 
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I keep saying it, but this has gravitas. It's like reading a Nick Meyer movie.

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PostPosted: Tue Sep 12, 2017 8:31 am 
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I suspect some of the people that died under his command do haunt him.

Once this is done, any chance of getting a pdf version?

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PostPosted: Tue Sep 12, 2017 8:52 am 
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jemhouston wrote:
I suspect some of the people that died under his command do haunt him.

Once this is done, any chance of getting a pdf version?

Jem,
Absolutely.

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PostPosted: Tue Sep 12, 2017 3:05 pm 
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MikeKozlowski wrote:
Johnnie Lyle wrote:
A Klingon who puts death ahead of duty is a taHqeq.

I don't think Kirk has too many ghosts. David, certainly, because the choice was David, Saavik or Spock, and David took the choice away. But ghosts represent mistakes. Things you could have done differently. Most of those lost under Kirk's command were casualties, but not realistic alternatives.

Of those who haunt him, Gary Mitchell and Finney are probably paramount. Or, perhaps, Elizabeth Dehner.


Without question, he's haunted by David - he knew about him, was never a part of his life, and when he does meet him discovers that the lad is remarkably like him...just in time to see him die. But then Carol Marcus would have to be one of those ghosts too, because he never knew what he could have had if they'd stayed together.

Mitchell, oh yes. And Dehner too, if for no other reason that collateral damage. But Finney? I don't know about that one. He might have felt bad about the initial report that sent Finney on a downward spiral, but an instance bad enough to go to the bottom of the promotion list (yet still remain in StarFleet) must have been pretty grim indeed. And then Finney's I'm-not-dead-yet stunt (that not incidentally threatened Enterprise as well - had Finney's plan worked, the computer glitch almost certainly would have led to a catastrophe in the near future) on top of that? I don't think after that point Jim Kirk ever lost a moment's sleep over Ben Finney. :)

Mike

Dehner and Kelso more than Mitchell. Mitchell was a casualty of war, but Dehner and especially Kelso died because Kirk chose poorly in how to handle Mitchell.

Finney is absolutely somebody Kirk thought about, because he failed to detect the man going bad. That almost cost Kirk his career, ship and life.

Interesting that Terrell didn't come calling.

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PostPosted: Thu Sep 14, 2017 1:41 am 
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Having just rewatched Wrath of Khan on the BIG screen (damned impressive that), Kirk has only one ghost - what could have been, and wasn't.

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PostPosted: Thu Sep 14, 2017 3:43 am 
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Johnnie Lyle wrote:
Having just rewatched Wrath of Khan on the BIG screen (damned impressive that), Kirk has only one ghost - what could have been, and wasn't.



Well put.

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PostPosted: Sun Oct 08, 2017 7:45 pm 
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Kirk trotted down the corridor, weaving through the other shuttle passengers and shooting a quick glance at his wrist chrono only to discover for the fourth time in the last couple minutes that he was, indeed, still late. Half turning, half skidding around one final corner, Kirk saw the holosign that said



17 DELTA
DEPARTING
SSM
ID REQUIRED

The wisdom of advertising a Special Shuttle Mission was lost to Jim Kirk, but on the other hand there were plenty of SSMs launching from here every day - VIP transports, special maintenance teams, couriers, even photo opportunities. One more, he considered, probably didn’t stand out.

The shuttle from Blue Ridge, tucked neatly into the ops bay, was one of their standard personnel shuttles, gleaming white and christened BIG MEADOWS in perfect 304mm Starfleet Standard font, sitting quietly three pads down from everyone else in the busy terminal. Kirk slowed to a more or less dignified, purposeful walk as he came up to the Security CPO and showed his ID. A quick scan, the smile and salute, and Kirk ducked into the open hatch. Everyone was there and looked up as he came in, but only Scotty held his gaze for a moment with a mildly disapproving look. Sitting down next to Spock, Kirk quickly buckled in and sat back to catch his breath.

The pilot was polite and professional, giving his safety briefing the way he clearly had several hundred times before and blessedly unimpressed with his passengers. Just as well, Kirk thought as the shuttle lifted off with a bump, then smoothly accelerated away with a slow, steady increase in gees. Almost involuntarily, Kirk closed his eyes and relaxed, the lost night’s rest still weighing on him. His brain reflexively started to run through all the things he’d have to do once he got aboard, and just as suddenly remembered - he wasn’t in command this trip. Someone else had the conn this time, someone else had all the responsibility.

Now that was an odd feeling. It was one thing to let someone else ferry you around for a couple hours in a shuttle or hopper, but…dear Lord, how long had it been? Back on the Farragut. A lifetime ago.

They cruised northwest across the Pacific, passing hoppers and other shuttles in silence, flashing anti-collision lights and beacons tracing their paths across a black velvet backdrop. The NorthAm Pacific coast glided smoothly below, greens and browns and whites all discreetly veiled by clouds that slid past to reveal the Aleutians, and then Siberia and the lush forests that seemed to roll out forever beneath them - and then a bump as the reaction motors forward fired, and Kirk looked up and saw a blue-silver mushroom shape starting to grow in the forward windscreen.

The speakers buzzed slightly and the pilot announced, “Gentlemen, we are about ten minutes out from Irktusk Station, please secure your seats, buckle in, and we will be landing aboard Blue Ridge through the aft hangar bay. Thank you.”

The usual rustling of beings and gear, the whine of seat servomotors, the rattle of seat harnesses, and the Big Meadows began to slide obliquely to the right, now pointed towards a drydock a few kilometers past the station - reflecting a little bit of sun and star, but unusually dark. Normally, the drydocks were brightly lit - to help the repair and maintenance crews mostly, but otherwise to keep someone from hitting them and ruining their day - but this one was almost…hiding. The perimeter lights were on, and there were quite a few interior lights from the ship inside coming into view, but the overall effect was as if the ship inside really didn’t want to be seen. Scotty caught it too, leaning across the aisle and asking, “There really is a ship in there, I hope…”

Spock was still looking at the screen on his PADD as he replied, “It seems reasonable that someone has decided that there is no need to call any more attention to our departure than absolutely necessary. Of course, any attempt to hide a vessel coming in at seven hundred and twelve thousand, five hundred metric tons, may be considered ever so slightly futile to begin with.”

“Bothers me a little,”, McCoy said.

Kirk leaned forward to see McCoy. “Why’s that, Bones?”

McCoy folded his arms with a dubious look. “A ship that dark usually has something wrong.”


It seemed to be only a few heartbeats, and they were lined up with the drydock. Blue Ridge was clearly inside now, her aft shuttle bay doors opened and the brightly lit interior standing out - a dark gray deck with sequential lights running, first a pulsing blue/white glow that, as they came closer, resolved into a long series of individual lights rolling from the fantail forward. The landing alignment lights - three lights on the outer fantail itself - suddenly snapped on, red-green-red, and the speakers buzzed.

“Big Meadows, this is Blue Ridge Approach, call the ball.”

Blue Ridge, Big Meadows copies.” The shuttle rose slightly, skittered slightly to port, and the central green light suddenly became a flare that settled down to a circle with a smaller red bar to each side. “I have the ball.”

Big Meadows, Blue Ridge copies you have the ball. Maintain heading and level, do not reply.”

Blue Ridge was growing in the windshield now, shadows becoming dimly lit shapes that bore a vague resemblance to the Dreadnaught she came from, but with bumps and protrusions going in all directions, the third warp engine standing out above everything else.

“Lord almighty,” Scotty breathed. “She’s a big ‘un, isn’t she?”

Kirk grinned. “I’ve seen prettier.”

There was a bump as they slipped through the atmosphere field across the shuttle bay doors, and Big Meadows reared upwards slightly, then settled gently onto the deck. “Welcome aboard the Blue Ridge, gentlemen. We’ve got some folks waiting for you and to get your baggage sorted out.” With that, the hatch popped open with a hiss of hydraulics and they unbuckled from their seats. Kirk was first out, followed by Spock, Scotty, and McCoy as they stepped down to the deck. Berenice Marchal was standing at parade rest, coming to attention and saluting as Kirk’s feet touched the deck.

“Captain Kirk - gentlemen - welcome aboard. Captain Dillon has asked me to show you to your quarters.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Kirk answered, adding with a smile, “we don’t need anything fancy.”

Marchal smiled back, replying, “As it turns out, we have a full set of flag quarters but no command staff aboard this trip, so Captain Dillon thought you’d like the upgrade to the first class suites.”

“In that case,” McCoy smiled graciously, “it would be rude to turn down the offer. Lead on, Commander.”

“With pleasure.” Marchal gestured forward, saying, “We’re going to go forward through the R and R deck, so we can give you the five-credit tour. Through this hatch right here -”

-And they stepped into a literal cathedral of technology, the hull arching a few stories overhead, with galleries lining the sides, dozens of machines - plasma lathes, 3D fabricators, jigs and frames with crew members surrounding each one, the sounds of activity and construction echoing through it. Kirk turned to see Scotty grinning from ear to ear, looking like a kid in a candy store. “I take it you approve, Mister Scott?”

“Aye indeed,” Scotty shot back. “Turn me loose in here long enough and I might never come back. I’ve never seen anything quite like this away from a full dress orbital yard or starbase.”

Marchal laughed back over her shoulder. “Glad you approve, Captain Scott - it’s why we’re here and once we’re underway, you can play down here to your heart’s content.” Scotty’s only reply was a long, appreciative look at all the gear on the R&R deck, and a quiet, “You can count on it, lass….”




It is axiomatic that Klingon life is not quiet. Klingons are - surprisingly - a naturally loud people, and the concept of an ‘inside voice’ does not seem to have developed in their culture. There are several excellent multi-volume works that discuss the many possible reasons for this, but never mind. The Klingon personality is not inclined to silence, the native animal life is raucous - to put it gently - and their technology is much louder than others.

It therefore stood to reason, many centuries ago, that silence could be disturbing. Many a Klingon commander noticed that if the immediate environment was quiet - without sound - their warriors became…well….nervous. This is why Klingon interrogation facilities are as silent as technology and ingenuity can make them - sound absorbing walls and floors, utterly noiseless hatches, and very little conversation allowed outside the interrogation rooms themselves.

All of which made Senior Lieutenant Kast, formerly Security Officer of Imperial Klingon Ship Dragon, very, very nervous. The only sound in the tiny cell was his own breathing, but after a few hours here - and he wasn’t at all sure by this point how long that had been - he was starting to think he could hear his own heartbeat. Not feel, mind you, but hear it.

No. Remain calm. You are a warrior. They know nothing.

Kast tried to stand up, only to discover for the hundredth time that the room was just too low for him to stand up completely…as it was too narrow for him to extend his arms, and the shelf that extended from the rear wall was just too skinny and too short for him to sit or lie comfortably. Kast fought down the urge to scream and pull the shelf from the wall, but -

- The hatch opened with a metallic SNAP. Kast looked at it in confusion for a moment, waiting for someone - something - to show itself, but nothing did.

Remain calm.

Slowly, carefully, with skills and reflexes honed by years of practice and training, Kast carefully stepped through the hatch.

“Good morning, Senior Lieutenant.”

Kast spun to his left, to see a gray haired warrior standing calmly a few feet away. He looked positively benign for a Klingon, a true smile on his face.

But it’s not morning - is it?

“I was beginning to wonder when you would come out.”

“Who are you? Why am I here?”

“I’m afraid you do not ask any questions here, Senior Lieutenant. I do.”

“WHO ARE YOU??”

“The warrior who asks the questions.”

It all sank in to Kast, with the brightness and violence of an unexpected solar flare. He briefly, so briefly it was not worth even noting, considered making a run for it, or going after the warrior.

No.

He knew where he was, and he knew escape was impossible. The only option remaining to him now was -

Honor.

Death, with honor.


Kast straightened to attention and looked the warrior straight in the eyes. “I shall tell you nothing.”

The warrior inclined his head, and smiled once more, a smile that would have warmed the heart of a child, a smile that spoke volumes. He stepped forward, taking Kast by the elbow and turning him towards the long passage that stretched out before them. Patting him on the back, the warrior said gently, “Of course you will.”


To Be Continued….

Mike

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