Kul and Traise

[XR-377]

The first encounter of Kul and Traise were seen in the Foundry Mission: “Distressed Calls” for the Federation Faction by @XR-377. These were the before times… if I find a video I may link it.

Roma Nova

Stardate: 89422.5

There was always the buzz of life in the atmosphere of the Staging Area. The constant movement, the sticky damp air, calls of distant animals, the heavy smell of sweat and dirt. Compared to the sterile hum of a starship it breathed of life and old fashioned dirty adventure. In these moments where John could stop, look around, and enjoy it… he reveled in it.

Behind him, through a thick crowd of movement politely passed his confidant and partner with her black hair done up in a workable pony tail that frayed in the heat along the way to her shoulder. There was something admirable that she was able to wear white, and a skirt, in this place and still have it look good. He looked back, leaned up off of the boxes he had been propped against and turned as she moved up to him and passed over the PADD clutched in her hand.

“The shipments are confirmed and you, as well as the crew, ship, and Task Force, have earned the official thanks of the Romulan Republic.”

Captain Traise finished flipping through the report, “Signed by D’Tan himself? Not bad, but considering he is signing everyone’s these days I suppose I should take the complement with a bit of humility.” He grinned.

“Doesn’t make it any less important, and you know it. Especially for the fleet.”

The grin never stopped as they started walking through the camp, “While I’m damn pleased we finally have an official embassy here, I’m oddly tempered by the fact it means they were able to slap me with an office.” He handed the PADD back, “Tell me, do you think it still counts as an office if I do my best to never actually be there?”

“You just can’t wait to get back to the Albion can you?” she scolded him like one plays with a child. “Giddy to see how she fairs after the servicing are we?”

“Heh, as much as I would like to keep playing scientist in the dirt nothing compares to soaring through the stars with your first true love.”

“You know, that would almost be romantic if I didn’t know you were talking about the ship.”

“Who said anything about a ship?” The parallel smiles as they walked side by side were shallow compared to the mutual enjoyment they allowed themselves with casual and corny flirting. “Although, I would be lying if I didn’t say I was looking forward to having the full crew back together again on one boat. I can’t believe I actually got accustomed to those big long hallways and that tiny city calling me Captain.”

“I sense it’s more than just camaraderie in your sentiment towards the D.”

“Eh,” he shrugged, “The Forerunner is fine. Excellent in fact. But I can’t say I am pleased with how long it took to debug those MACO engines. The Asynchronous Warp Field is damn fine now that we’ve got it working. And punch of that Heavy Graviton Beam, whoow, still gets me excited thinking about it.”

She didn’t say anything as she looked at him with knowing eyes, he had to finish the thought in its entirety when he finally brought himself to doing it.

“Aaah, the Albion is just… the best ship. She just fulfills every need I have as captain and more. Don’t get me wrong, the Forerunner is sleek as hell. And as much as I’m sad she is only here now because we lost the Farseer, we sure as hell refined the bugs out of her. The Forerunner is a fitting replacement.”

“So you did need to get her replaced?” A deep dark voice called out from their side. Traise knew it immediately and stopped, it took Ilana turning to look. The imposing form of a Klingon in full Honor Guard armor stood with bandoleers shining in the sun. “A shame you lost the ship, but she did put up quite the fight. It was a good death.”

“Kul vav ghajbe’…”

“Johnathon Traise.” He stepped forward to the pair, his smile cordially. To his side was the stern face of a shorter Klingon woman, her garb was far less formal but screamed of being more utilitarian than the standard Klingon uniform. “And you must be Ilana Sugun, we never had the chance to meet personally before.”

She glared over and up at him, black eyes defiant. “I can’t say I’m happy to rectify that.”

“Oh, a capable medical officer and feisty. A good choice in a mate. I approve.”

Traise’s eyes pierced.

“What? You didn’t expect me to go through all the work of stealing your personal logs and not spend time reading them? This is fortunate though, it allows me to introduce my mate, Lorthu. She too is an expert in medicine.”

The woman stepped forward and to the side, but kept her place behind her Captain. Both women mirrored each other in this position, they knew this was a conversation for Captains.

“What are you doing here, Kul?”

“Why the same thing as you, raising relations with the Romulan people. I am sure you see as I do the potential the Romulan Republic shows for the Galaxy.”

“Why, because they could be used to destabilize the Federation?”

“John, you should know better. You know you and I both see the same potential in these people and events. Stop trying to distance ourselves by claiming differences.” The Klingon was far more relaxed, and rolled his neck in a stretch while crossing his arms. “I had hoped to take advantage of Argo’s lack of interest in Mol’Rihan but it seems you worked fast and deprived me of that. Good work. In fact, we are both slated for the same award ceremony and banquet,” he tossed over a Romulan PADD proving his claim, “I look forward to the conversation.”

There was a pause as John ran through the different scenarios in his head. He could call him out on being an enemy of both the Federation and Task Force Argo but they both knew this was neutral middle ground and neither would throw the first punch. He could comment on the loss of his crew members a year and a half ago in their first conflict and remain stern but he knew the display would have no effect on Kul. The opposite, witty and clever banter, would simply be enjoyable to him… to them both. That was something John didn’t like. He could ask about what it was Kul was really after that day; his log, the virus base code laced in his computer banks, but knew he wouldn’t give the answer.

It was in that moment of silence that he realized Kul was standing there playing the same game in his head, but he had had first move. It was John’s turn.

“The Kargas Counter Attack.”

“Ah yes,” John could almost hear the words ‘good choice’ as a follow up. “I am sorry we didn’t get to speak more during that, but, at the time my duty was… to the greater cause.”

“It was never about Argo, was it? It was all about Riles.”

The Klingon grinned, betraying the right answer had been spoken, “While true it was Argo and their enemies that first lead me to Kargas, it was the position the Strike Force was in with Riles and Wrot’Ka that really… gave me momentum. Someone needed to step up and lead Kargas, the glory ended up being mine. As a matter of fact, with this whole ‘i-ssue’ involving your ‘Razor’ I’m surprised you haven’t stepped up to do the same? Still just a Master Captain are you?”

“This isn’t a contest.”

“Too bad, you won’t make this interesting.” Traise pulled out a cloth, wiped down the Klingon’s PADD of prints, and handed the thing back to the man. As he held it firm for a few seconds after the Klingon had hold there was another grin from the imposing alien betraying a countered plan. “Perhaps you still will. After all, I judge it was your own instincts that brought you here to act on New Romulus and incidentally thwarted my plans. The best kinds of rivals are natural ones.” He handed the PADD back to his woman and turned to walk away.

“Again, I look forward to our banquet Captain Traise. However, I do hope you dress up. Especially if I am to wear a cape to the event. Perhaps in one of those stunning white federation diplomatic coats?” There was a casual wave from the back of his hand as he confidently strode away.

Ilana looked over to Traise as he seethed, “What was it he said to you? That first time, in your ready room?”

There was this terrible sense of admiration that hung in the corners of his mouth when he spoke out loud of the irony, “Moriarty to my Holmes…”

[XR-377]

Memories of Distressed Calls

Stardate: 89520.6

The Captain entered his ready room and thanked it for its silence. Orders had been given, the ship was under way, next stop was Risa for at least two weeks rest. Two weeks well needed rest.

It wasn’t that he had pushed the crew, he had, but it was the combination of things. The timing of the summer festival and this years ramped up activities was just perfect timing and a wonderful excuse. First it had been all the months waiting for Razor. Knowing that one day he’d come charging back and they’d have to do something. Being so alert, for so long, for naught.

He tossed his PADD on the couch as he passed, not minding how it bounced to a stop.

And then there was the whole paperwork limbo and ship splitting. He’d said it was for the Albion’s servicing, but he knew it was to be in two places at once. Have his cake and eat it too. The Romulan situation couldn’t be ignored, not by him. He had to trust his gut and go for it, and he found the right loophole. It gave him time on the Forerunner, and testing also for the Honshu and it’s Borg tech. A provisional command for Commander Sierra to stretch. But again, two places at once. Traise trusted Sierra to do what he would if Razor did show when he was gone in Tau Dewa.

He eyed the fish up as they spun in their column. Ilana’s damned fish. Both parties rolled their eyes at one another.

And if the Diplomatic grinding on New Romulus wasn’t enough, there was that damnedable alternate universe fiasco, for a full week, during the most important part of negotiations and work. How he pulled that off without filing a report for so long was one of his achievements he couldn’t see accomplishing in retrospect, let alone doing again.

He ran a hand along the desk as he circled around to the chair.

After New Romulus was the new duties as Romulan Liaison, but that was mostly his headache and he did enjoy the challenge. Getting re-settled aboard the Albion again. The embassy work using the new contacts and resources to push the Fleet’s Yard to higher readiness.

He plopped into the chair, it lightly hissed air as he relaxed into it.

And there was the whole deal with the President. As annoying, painful, and bothersome as it was, John couldn’t help but smile. Not many people can say they took a bullet for a president.

His eyes fell upon his models, upon the one of the Albion-A, the Miranda class.

And none of that counted Kul. Kul vav ghajbe’. “Kul the Fatherless.” That had been something he wasn’t expecting on Nova Roma. Something he had almost let himself forget. But, apparently, Kul didn’t.

As the ship soared through the stars, light flickered on the year old gold model and John’s memories fell to the last time he saw the one it replaced.

Stardate: 88120 (A year and five months prior)

As soon as they were through the door the Klingon seemed to lose interest in the Captive Captain. He had pushed him off to the side, walking briskly into the room as if he would miss the chance if he didn’t act with haste. Once inside though, he took a deep breath, and let calm consume him.

He turned to Traise, grabbed the combadge off his uniform, and tossed it across the room carelessly. Afterwords with a shove he yanked off the simple cords that had bound his hands. On the couch he was pushed onto Traise rubbed his wrists and squinted at his opponent, trying once again to size him up both physically and mentally.

“You keep many mementos,” Kul looked about the room, his ungloved hands running along everything he found of interest.

“I’m sentimental.” John realized that without his translator the Klingon was speaking English, and his accent wasn’t bad.

The Klingon laughed, “Ha ha, yes. I suppose you are.” He stopped and stared at the model of the Miranda. “And this, Captain Traise, this was the first ship you commanded, yes?”

Traise continued to squint, but played a long. The day had been long since he and his crew were first ambushed, but, Traise couldn’t help but want to see this trap continue to be sprung. He didn’t learn that day’s lesson until long after it was done. “Yeah.”

“What was her name?”

“Albion.”

He caught the Klingon smile, as if this small bit of information was of some unseen value. In fact, John could see it in the corners of his mouth. This man was giddy. “White Shores… that’s what it means, I believe, yes? In the ancient Terran tongue of its origin. If I recall that dead language was what the Starfleet used as call-signs for Romulan vessels and cultural items in their days of reclusion.”

“You’re well educated,” John watched as the Klingon moved over and to the wall where the ship’s record information was kept.

“It pays to be informed,” he started scanning through the titles of the information kept on John’s personal terminal; occasionally he would smile.

“What is it you want, Kul?”

Kul stopped his browsing and in pulling out a data storage device started a transfer. Traise stood to confront the man ‘properly’ but in truth it was to get a better look at the thing. It couldn’t be too large. In fact, Traise doubted it could store more than a 3rd of just the Federation Historical records he kept on that terminal.

“I want what any man wants.” He paused, and paced back across the room. “Purpose.”

“And what might that be?”

Kul stopped at a display, on it was a 200 year old Klingon belt. A momento John had kept from the Albion, a relic from one its first captains. Stored like a trophy for generations of officers. Kul’s eyes stared intently at it, with a form of fire. “Honor, of course.”

“And you get that by robbing ships? Piracy, Marauding?”

“Hah, no.” Kul continued to stare at the relic. After an ounce too long of silence he posed a question, looking up at John. “Tell me, Captain, who is the greatest person aboard your ship?”

John’s response was instinctive, “You assume it’s just one?”

Kul laughed, “Ah, so tell me. Do you speak of a few of your officers or your crew as a whole.”

“Considering any one of my crewmen are better trained, more experienced, and more devoted to our cause than any one of your boys arguing outside…”

“I’ll take that as ‘as a whole’.” The large dark man loomed behind Traise’s desk, but chose not to sit. “Although by the ship’s motto posted in your bridge, ‘Overspecialization Breeds Weakness, Diversity is Life’, I suspect you take a great deal of pride in finding them. Using them. Seeing what others overlooked… or feared.”

John didn’t respond at first, he waited for more time. He was, after all, still stalling. “A ship isn’t the steel, it’s the people who man it.”

“So you define yourself by your crew, trust in them… their loyalty to you or the Federation?” He looked up to Traise as if the answer was hidden there on his face. “More likely comradely and purpose. Friendship… family.” Kul bent down to the desk, where the data core for the ship’s and captain’s log were hard stored. The black box of sorts. He pulled it out of the desk, violently, but with only one hand. Afterwords he set the slightly smoking thing on the desk where it flickered a few more times. “You know, there is a word for that in tlhIngan Hol?”

Traise perked up, it was one he knew, “tuq.”

“Yes,” Kul smiled, “House.” He continued his pacing of the room, “But a House…” he looked up at Traise, “…or a crew, can only find their worth via testing. Challenge.”

“Adversity.”

“Yes! Yes…” He turned and took a few steps so each man was opposing one another. “I have made it a hobby of studying your culture, one of my favorite readings, I saw was yours too.”

John’s eyebrow raised.

“Tell me, in the works of Doyle, what would Moriarty be without his Holmes?”

“Bored.” Traise responded flatly.

Kul regarded this answer for a moment or two, considering it. “I was going to say, ‘nothing’. Successful, unstoppable, but as such none would ever know of him. Speak his name. Without Holmes the ‘Napoleon of Crime’ doesn’t even exist as a story of note. Left to the shadows, as per the nature of his work.

“But me… no… I am after the greater honor of a Legacy,” he returned to the belt case, putting his hand on the buckle. “One does not get that by ruling in shadows. It’s not the Klingon way to live a comfortable life.”

“I still like my answer better.”

Kul looked to him and the two shared a knowing, kindred, terrifying smile.

It was then what Traise guessed was Kul’s personal away team burst through the door. They began speaking in Klingon, without the universal translator in his badge Traise was left feeling for words and the situation. The best he could get was that things were changing, fast, and to Traise’s benefit. After a few barked orders the officers went over to pull the data storage device and collected the black box. Kul barked once more and pointed and there was an incredulous look before the order was repeated… slower and more precise… The officer went to the wall and took down the golden model of the Albion – A.

Kul himself had taken up the belt he had been circling and clasped it on over his garb. He looked up at Traise while he did so, as if making a show of the display. “Well, Captain. I am told that in short order we will have company. Your friends and crew, no doubt. So, it is time for us to go.” Marching forward he manhandled Traise around so they both faced the door and grabbed both the man’s wrists with one hand.

“Then why are we going that way?” he was referring to the fact the only real way out at this point, with the sound of gunfire beyond the double doors to the bridge, was via transporters.

“Because I want to make a show of it,” he gripped Traise’s arms tighter. It hurt and he tried to struggle against the vice, “I want them to know what they are up against.”

Controlling him with one hand, Kul took Traise to the the door for his grand entrance.

“I want them to know what it is they face.”

Stardate: 89520.7

Back in the present, Traise’s thoughts rewound, more information with every revisit. Always more that he learned that revealed what was always there. In this case it was the image of the belt, the one Kul still wore.

He had made a show of it then, why?

John leaned his head back from its perch on his hand, and opened up ship’s records. He always liked getting lost in historical information, this time he chose some light reading on the Albion A’s history for during the vacation. After all, what good are mementos if you don’t know the stories behind them.

[XR-377]

The War is Over

Three Months after Cessation of Hostilities Between Federation and Klingon Forces
-3.0 Hours Until Operation Snake-Staff.

“Operation Snake-Staff.”

John stopped and turned his head, but he knew the voice, “Kul vav ghajbe’.”

The Klingon stood in a defiant stance against the constantly shifting backdrop of pedestrians within the rotunda of DS9. In his hand he held a PADD which he brushed through idly, as if it was of little consequence. John knew every word was deep classified and it drove like nails into his fingertips.

“How did you get that?”

“Please, Captain, you know Task Force Omega has always been a joint partnership with the Empire. This mission you depart on will be the culmination of most of its efforts.” He flipped through the pad again while he approached Traise; John caught the glimpse of a nano-bot schematic, “These make use of ‘the cure’ collected at Vorn if I am not mistaken.”

John only nodded, Kul only smiled.

“Who do you think helped retrieve it? I was owed some proprietary information for my service, don’t you think?”

The human gave up and sighed, relaxing his shoulders. His eyes trailed the Klingon’s movements like a lazy caterpillar’s back legs; ones who keep forgetting they are attached to a head going in another direction and begrudgingly bother to keep up.

“It’s ambitious. Bold. Blunt. And above all else…” there was a crack and the splintering of sparks and composites as the Klingon flexed his wrists breaking the PADD in two“…dangerous.” He handed the useless remains over to John. It was an empty gesture, John knew the Klingon would have made copies. “I will be the first to admit I am jealous. It will be a great honor.”

“It’s not done yet.”

“You assume it will fail?”

“I don’t assume anything.”

“Ah, but you wouldn’t have accepted the mission if you didn’t expect it to succeed.” Kul circled the human in a way he likened to a Targ rattling up a meal; it reminded John of a rat circling trash giddily.

“Are you done?”

The Klingon stopped, “You aren’t enjoying our conversation, Captain?”

“Well, that would imply we are conversing.” He returned his attention to his own mission PADD. He could hear the leather of the Klingon’s uniform stretch when the man tensed, the insult worked.

“Then perhaps you should say something interesting. I thought you enjoyed our witty rapports?”

“You’re a pirate and murderer. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Oh, so hostile!” chided the warrior. “We are no longer enemies. Or, haven’t you heard? The war is over.”

John started towards the Task Force Omega briefing room, but the Klingon’s tree trunk of an arm thrust into the wall in front of him. Passersby stopped by the noise stared briefly, hesitantly waiting for conflict before moving on slightly hurried.

The Klingon stooped in, his breath growled. “You aren’t making this very fun.”

“Good, it’s not supposed to be.”

“I know you. You appreciate this rivalry as much as I do.”

The ship launched for the mission in only three hours. He didn’t have time for this. John glanced up his brow at the glowering Klingon and tried to ignore the dent that his fist had made in the wall.

“Rivalry, Kul? Is that what this is to you?”

His adversary smirked, “A true villain is only marked by his hero.”

There was another sigh, “You don’t get it yet, do you, Kul?”

The Klingon was reproachful, a furry eyebrow arched, “What do you mean?”

John slipped the PADD away in the small of his back, “Kul vav ghajbe’, ‘Kul the Fatherless.’ Lt. General and Captain of various vessels; predominantly the Kri’stak and the Gre’thor 'etlh.” He Raised a finger as if to point this out, “Utilizes adapted Borg Tech, the name Translates roughly as ‘The Sword of Hell’, I’ve got to admit, it’s clever.”

“‘Honorblade of Hell’ would be closer, but, yes, I am proud of it.” His voice for the first time was hesitant; curious of Traise’s motive.

John’s head tilted, “Without the backing of a House you made a name and a career for yourself; first as a Marauder, before moving with aggression into the Federation Klingon conflict. Through a series of successful sortie’s and missions you maneuvered majestically through the complex intricacies of the Empire’s power struggles; largely utilizing a leadership position within Strike Force Kargas. There are already whispers that it won’t be long until your own house, the House of Kul, is fully legitimized.”

“You do care.” Kul’s tone was almost sweet. “You’ve done your homework.”

“No,” John shook his head, “No, homework would be something done casually, in passing. What I’ve done is research. Research and observation.”

The Klingon grew a smile and gestured for the man to continue. It was now John’s turn to circle.

“You don’t wear gloves and are keen to making subtle displays of your scar-less arms. This gives the implication in Klingon society of being unscarred and therefore untested in close quarters combat; while this couldn’t be further than the case. You’ve placed in at least three Bat’leth tournaments under your own name, but I suspect countless others under pseudonyms. You utilize this to get the drop on your opponents, which I assume works all well and good for you, but, it betrays something.”

“Oh?”

“It shows you never do anything without reason. Case in point…” John pointed at an antique Klingon belt Kul was wearing, one he once stole from Captain Traise.

Kul was suddenly rigid.

“You see, that belt has a bit of a history with the Albion. The Albion – A, as it were, the Miranda you stole a model of when you snagged that. But, I’m betting you knew that already.”

John allowed himself a casual appraisal of Kul before he continued his analysis.

“You see, in the closing days of the first war between the Klingon Empire and the Federation the USS Albion and a Klingon vessel were both caught in an anomaly while in orbit over a planet which curiously has been scrubbed from most records within both the Empire and the Federation. But I digress…”

The human paced behind the wall of a man, eyes darted to catch him when he appeared back into view.

“Lore aboard the Albion went that, in order to escape, both ships and their crews needed to set aside their differences and work together. Despite some predictable resistance at first both groups came to collusion and were able to free themselves and defeat whatever… space entity or some-such that were common back in those early days of exploration.” There was a dismissive hand wave at the comment, but, ever the slightest twinge of envy in his voice.

“At the end of their shared endeavor, and before they returned to being enemies, the Captains of both vessels met and exchanged gifts, so that they could always remember the camaraderie they shared in the brief moment when they allowed themselves to work together. The tale went on to inspire in the Federation among those who knew it, and for many members of the Albion’s crew, past and present, served as a reminder of what can be accomplished through unity. However, the story of what happened to the Klingon ship and crew was far less… ennobling.

“You see, when they returned to Qo’noS and shared what transpired, relating their victories alongside of their enemies, they were brandished traitors. Their ship was struck from the record and their Captain and his entire house suffered discommendation; three generations were to live with this shame. Needless to say, trying to find any records or names from this period are a little difficult.

“But, what I did find was a hospital record from an outlying system which was not opposed to keeping records on ‘objects’… you know, because those without honor were not considered Klingon.” The man’s smile was met by cold eyes with coals melting away their core. “It was an account of a woman dying in childbirth. She apparently screamed of many things on her deathbed. Her dishonorable Grandfather of whom she refused to name. The Forgettable man who sired her child. A house, her house, which lost all honor and that in her death she would drag her family’s shame with her into Grethor. Her shrieking was fierce enough to make an impression on the staff, enough that they recorded it; and that the child survived. A male.

“What happened to this child, you ask? He was sent to an Orphanage closer to Qo’noS, but their records indicate that he ‘escaped’ at the age of twelve. And, something tells me,” Traise said as he took a chance in poking the Klingon’s chest, “you already know this half of the story.”

Kul slapped the hand away, hard enough to bruise, “Why tell me this ‘fairytale’? You have no proof of anything. If it is even worth anything.”

Traise slapped his own face, a look of self-depreciating stupidity painting itself flamboyantly across it, “Doy! I forgot the most important part. I never did tell you what it was those two enemy captains gifted one another all those years before to start this mess, did I?”

There was no response from Kul; he knew his enemy, he knew that Traise did now too.

“The Federation Captain gave up his prized possession: a hand carved cherrywood tobacco pipe. And what did the Klingon Captain trade? The very belt that he was wearing.” The human pointed at the Klingon’s waist. “How’s it feel to reclaim your ancestor’s honor? Literally?”

“Conjecture.”

“And when you stole the only thing your mother had of value when she died? The only thing they sent you to that orphanage with: a hand carved pipe of Terran origin. You started on a crusade for honor all over a forgotten chunk of wood. Or is that conjecture too?”

There was a smile, Kul slowly began to rally behind a clap, “Well done. You are the first person to truly know my past. But tell me, knowing what you must now…” Kul turned his head to the side, leaning in with glistening teeth, “Does it put you at ease knowing that twenty three of your crewmen died that day so I could steal a belt?”

Captain Traise didn’t even skip a beat. “No, but this little overlooked tidbit does.”

Kul’s eyebrows furrowed, he didn’t think there were any tidbits left to be looked at.

“You made a career out of fighting the Federation. Piracy, then Privateering, before eventual official commendation in the Klingon Defense Force. All those promotions and advancements both public and private from fighting an honorable enemy. But what are you going to do now that your former enemies are your only allies against your ‘illusive pretender’ foes? Where are your great victories and spacebattles against unarmed colonists and reserve fifty year old starships? The Federation in its multifaceted wars was a good enemy, and easy enemy. An old adversary with great standing to the Klingon people. But now,” Traise clapped suddenly and raised his hands apart, “your greatest source of prestige is now closed off to you… we are no longer enemies.

“Or… haven’t you heard? The war is over.”

The Klingon’s nostrils flared.

“You focused so hard on one enemy, on me, that you don’t know how to fight anything else. And now that you have to you have nothing,” Traise pulled is PADD back out and started reading while walking away, “… and are no longer worth my time.”

Kul stood there, stunned cold by the full implications of his adversary’s revelation.

“Oh,” the human stopped a few meters away, “I almost forgot.”

The Klingon said nothing.

“Good luck, Kul the Fatherless…”

Kul licked his dry lips and for the briefest of moments could swear he tasted blood. He couldn’t help but grin.

[XR-377]

Whiskey Straight

+8 Hours from Operation Snake-Staff.

He could smell the smoke, imprisoned in the amber liquor. It nipped at his nostrils, daring to singe his throat.

John held the glass of Canadian whiskey like it was an old photograph, some key to an old forgotten memory. But there were no memories to imbibe in the glass, John didn’t drink. Not regularly. Instead the only thing inside, glazing the edges when he rolled his wrist, were promises.

Both old and new.

He took another soft sniff from the glass before rubbing his head with his other hand, his elbow resting on the glowing bar top inside Quarks on DS9.

The debriefing for Operation Snake-staff had gone on for hours and he still hadn’t slept since it all… happened. The additional discovery of the Borg Pocket Research zone had meant there was much more to go over. The fact that he had relieved himself of command for being emotionally compromised also meant there was more to talk about…

He set the glass back down, unsipped, and briskly pried the captain pips off his collar. They bunched together in his palm, and John thoroughly debated dropping them into his glass and drinking them down too. He slammed them down to the counter in a pile and snatched up the glass again.

The smell was agonizing.

He wanted to drink it so bad. Everything was telling him he should. After all, he had in essence lost the two most important women in his life in the same hour.

He had lost Ilana and he had lost the Albion.

No one in the bar around him could fault him for drinking away his woes. Quarks even had whiskey in stock for just these occasions. As a human, it was almost expected of him to drink in a moment like this… as the sun rose somewhere, blissfully unaware of what was lost the night before. Resigning himself he brought the glass close again so the bristles of his beard scraped the cup’s lip.

Lord, it wasn’t even watered down with ice.

Straight, strong, thick.

He wanted to try and drink it all away, even though he knew full well it wouldn’t work.

He wanted to drink it so bad.

… but he knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to.

The glass sagged away from his mouth again as he just stared at it, both elbows entrenched on the counter.

There was an audible groan that rolled down the bar, John had been at it with the same glass for near an hour. Even Woadie was getting impatient. Morn groaned audibly. There were whispers back by the dabo table of odds. Hadron kept his eye on the Human, after all, he had already paid but he had never known a human to buy a drink only to hold it.

John allowed the smell of it to get him drunk, that and the combination of exhaustion and physical weariness left by hours of adrenaline and shock. It was a potent cocktail to mix with Canadian whiskey. But, although John didn’t drink much (never outside of social engagements), he still preferred whiskey straight. No chasers.

But oh, how he was weak. He didn’t need to be strong anymore. He had already failed everyone.

Another breath of the fumes and he moved the glass to his forehead, rapping the edge into it again and again. Thump… thump… thump.

To anyone unaware this would appear to be the strangest predrink ritual of any culture. But, as it stood, there was only one person in the bar truly watching Traise that actually knew what it all meant.

John was still in many ways unaware. He buried his face into the glass, his nose clenching closed out of sheer reflex. The burn of the whiskey was already rolling down his neck before it even graced his lips.

And that was it. The realization flashed in front of his eyes and John went numb. It was over… he was done.

He tilted the glass back and the shadow from the doorway assumed its place next to him.

“I heard about your mate.”

John’s eyes clenched and he licked his still dry lips, “What do you want, Kul?”

“It should be obvious, I’m offering my condolences." There was no reply. "I know if anything ever happened to my mate-”

“Yeah, well it didn’t.” He lowered his hand to look at the Klingon warrior. The man appeared the same as he did half a day earlier, but his mode wasn’t tense. There was a look of honest empathy in his face before he flagged Hadron down.

“What are you drinking?”

“Canadian Whiskey,” it was a lie. He hadn’t drank a drop.

“Occasions of mourning like this require Bloodwine.” Kul flipped a strip of latinum on the counter, significantly overpaying.

“Well, you’ll forgive me if I stick with this,” another breath brought the burning into his lungs. Begging for the bitterness on his tongue.

The Klingon’s large hand cupped a mug of red, “A toast, to the departed.”

“Do you have to?” John turned to chastise the man.

Kul merely lowered his drink back down to the counter, “The war is over. We don’t have to be enemies.”

“Yeah? Well we sure as hell don’t have to be friends,” John tried for the drink, he needed it now more than ever.

“And why not?” There was an ounce of patronization in the voice, just enough, that it set John off. The truest irony of his life was that for a man who patronized everyone an awful lot he sure didn’t take kindly to it himself.

The whiskey was slammed down with such fervor the whole line at the bar looked for the briefest of moments as John posted an accusatory finger at the Klingon’s square, bearded, jaw. “Why not? I can give you twenty-three reason right now. All names. And you know what?” his arms flailed out, “I could give you about six-hundred and seventy more if you gave me the time. We lost twelve ships in the Kargas Counter Attack. When you used that virus encoded in my logs to shut down half our fleet’s targeting sensors.”

“We were at war.”

“No, Kul!” he jabbed his finger into the Klingon’s solid chest, “You were after power. Glory,” John practically spit the word, “Prestige.” John shifted back towards his spot and glass, the fumes making his head light after the shouting. Kul was still silent, but John couldn’t let it lie, he turned back one last time. “You want to know why we can’t be friends? Why I can’t admire you as an equal, or treat you with the respect you desire as my rival? That’s why. They are why. You are nothing more than a murderer to me, and I will never forget that. For them, I can never forget that.” The ambient music of the bar filled in the silence. John went back to cupping his glass, and started adding more promises to it.

“What can I do then?”

“What?” John spat.

“How do I make amends? That time is behind us now, and we need to move forward. What can I do to make up for their loss? How I can I start to balance it, make things right?” For the first time between them, one of them took a drink. Bloodwine flowed down an exasperated throat.

John stopped, a strange glimmer of something he once heard echoing Machiavellian in his ears. “Well, it’s a lot harder to save a life than it is to take one…”

Kul looked over, “What?”

“It’s easy to take a life Kul, but it is sure as hell a lot harder to save someone’s life. Truly save them.”

The Klingon looked defiant, and a hair bewildered, “We captain starships. We save people all the time?”

“Do you, Kul? Do you count them? Do you keep track of them after you let them go, give them their second chance? Save them from the cold abyss of space or worse? Do you make sure that everyone aboard that craft you rescue make it to where they are going safely, that their homes aren’t left empty? That they are not out risking it all again tomorrow?

“Trust me, Kul, it is a lot harder to save a life, truly save someone, than it is to take their life away from them.”

Kul thought about this, and weighed it like any other challenge, “One life saved for every life I’ve taken against you?”

John gave a solid, appraising look over the man and the accord they were striking, “A life for every crewman I lost from the Farseer. And a life for every member of my Fleet we lost from crewman to captain given up to you and Kargas. Do that and I will maybe start to think about you as something other than a monster. Do that and I debate giving you a chance.”

“A life saved for every life lost? Sounds easy enough.”

“It’s harder than it sounds,” Traise grinned.

“Then we have a deal,” Kul outstretched a hand.

John grabbed it, “And no putting people in danger to only save them, that doesn’t count.”

“John, please… do you really think I woul-”

John hadn’t let go, his grip was a vice, “It doesn’t count, Kul.”

“Fine, deal.”

They shook, then returned their attentions forward to their drinks. Both a little lost from where they were before they crossed paths. Silence again bonded between them.

“You know,” Kul said, “I finally realized where you got the name Snake-staff from?”

“Hmm?” John looked over, suddenly remembering the operation. His eyes glazed like the ring in his sloshing glass.

“It’s from a religious text, is it not? Referencing the staff of the Prophet Moses from Judaic folklore? 'And God told Moses, “Take up your staff and with it do my wonders.” ’ Am I right?”

John thought about religion for the first time all night. He nodded, the poor glass sitting unfulfilled again.

Kul continued the smalltalk, “Although I couldn’t determine if it was Judaic or Christian in origin.”

“Both,” John replied, “Islamic too, actually.”

“Hmm, I was not aware of that.”

Silence lurked again beyond their thoughts.

“You know,” Kul spoke, “In that folklore, after Moses freed his people he was forced on an Exodus in the desert before he reached the promised land. Is that what is next for you, Captain Traise? An Exodus?”

“You need to read up on your Terran Religions more,” John, exasperated and raw, stood up and walked behind Kul towards the door, “Moses never actually lived to reach the promised land.”

And he was gone, without a wave.

Kul turned to where John had been standing, and there on the counter was a crisp undrunk glass of Canadian Whiskey; lying next to it the four pips of a Starfleet Captain. The last words bounced around in his head and he turned shocked towards the door.

For the first time, he was scared for what his rival would do.

[XR-377]

Reichenbach Falls

Stardate: 93199.1

If it was any other office, there would be looming wisps of cigarette smoke. If it was on Earth in a 20th century Noir film instead of a Klingon Battlecruiser it would be colored in shades of gray instead of bloodwine red. If it had been the Captain’s ready room of any other KDF officer there wouldn’t be a golden model of a Miranda Class Starfleet vessel on the wall collecting dead skin cells and errant targ fur. But because this was Kul’s wardroom, it was all of those things and more. A collective sum of all of their karmic cliches; the office of the down on their luck dick is always the same no matter the universe.

And then, on cue, the Dame walked in. She was, unimpressed.

Kul could tell. He could always tell.

“I wish you could give up on this foolish quest of yours,” Lorthu, his wife, said as she weaved her way elegantly through the clutter on the floor.

“I gave my word,” he resumed flicking through the open tabs on his console.

“I don’t see why it still matters to you, he’s gone now.”

Kul gave a low growl, “You wouldn’t understand.”

Lorthu’s soft tone hung thicker in the air than any smoke would have, “You never give me the chance to understand.”

“It’s important to me.”

“Obviously,” that tone of hers was perfect for the ancient matron of a proud Great House. Kul was right when he picked her. “But the thing I don’t understand is why it is more important than anything else.”

Kul waited, and stared; he always fared better on the reprise with Lorthu.

“You let Kargas die.”

“Kargas was dead before I even took command,” his eyes rolled.

“All the same you did nothing to stem it, or at least steal the name and resources. I know it wasn’t too hard for you, but you let it coast on its path to ruin all the same. It wasn’t like you.”

“My hearts weren’t in it.”

“And they weren’t in the ship’s assignments? When I met you you would leap at any assignment you thought had potential. Since the Undine you’ve been too cautious. Even against the Iconians. I would have thought fighting the Iconian’s would have made you a war hero.”

“Those weren’t traditional wars.”

“Traditional wars or winnable wars?”

He shot a laser glare, “It was more important to save who and what we could, if there was ever going to be anything left after the war.”

“And what happened then? There was a huge power vacuum after the war and what did you do with it?”

There was a groan as Kul knew what was coming next.

“You were caught breeding tribbles. Of all things, Tribbles. The Great Kul vav ghajbe’ brought low by a tribble farm.”

“They were fools if they didn’t expect that type of thing to start happening as soon as a bounty was placed on collecting their corpses. Besides, I find them delicious.”

“I don’t. They are too fatty and no matter how they are cooked the fur gets stuck in-between my teeth.”

“Oh, no, don’t get me wrong. They taste terrible. But their screams and the looks on the Federation Officer’s faces when you eat the tribbles right in front of them; now that’s delicious.”

Lorthu couldn’t help the momentary laps and snickered while Kul reclined in his chair, she allowed him a moment before she attempted forging on again, “Make no mistake, I don’t mind that you were doing it. I don’t mind half the things you do. What I am upset about is that you let them catch you.”

“And now I have a stain on my Honor.”

“No,” she shook her head and finally sat down on his desk, “It should have been easy for you to avoid being caught. What I don’t understand is that you all but let it happen.”

“I…” he faltered, “was careless.”

“Why, Kul? I never thought losing a rival would bring you so low. And now you spend all day trying to find motivation. Trying to find a great scheme to pull it off,” she gestured at the computer, “trying to save as many lives you took while fighting against him, all at once.”

“If I had just put my nose to the grind stone ages ago I would be finished by now…” the echoes of the phrase ‘It’s a lot harder to save a life than it is to take one,’ drifted through his convalescent mind.

“It’s not even that,” Lorthu turned her head and looked down at her husband with only honesty in her eyes. “He’s gone. Why do you even bother with it anymore. Let it go.”

“Because it is the only thing I could do that would ever mean anything to him. It’s the only thing that would matter.”

“And what good is it now, he’s not here. You are.”

Kul said nothing in response at first. He only stood up and walked over to the golden miranda model and stared for a long time with her watching.

She waited for the truth, and he knew of all people he should be able to trust her with it.

“The truth is it’s the only thing I care about any more. My promise to him, his challenge to me. All my other plans, my other schemes, they don’t mean anything to me. I had hoped that starting a house with you, regaining my Honor after the fear of losing it, would give me a goal to strive for again but… It seems pointless now, and I can’t bring children into a house with no honor.”

“If you’d really have wanted children you’d have a lot better time of it if you didn’t have a mistress,” her glare was cold as condensation.

“Point… taken. But it proves what I am saying. Despite it being something I tell myself I want, I don’t want to do anything. With Traise gone I find myself revisiting his words; beyond being more than nothing, I am bored.”

“Have you ever put any thought into what he was to you, Kul?”

“He was my rival.”

“No, Kul. You spent so long without letting anyone in, without giving any aspect of yourself to another person, trusting no one beside yourself for anything, except him. You trusted him to drive you. He may have been the closest thing you let yourself have to a friend.”

“And now he’s not here.”

“And now he’s not here,” Lorthu repeated. “Oh, Kul, don’t let yourself be beaten by a man doing nothing.”

Kul smiled, “Well, I guess that would have fit his style, wouldn’t it?”

[XR-377]

The Moonlighter

Stardate: 94230.7
Present Day

“Well if it isn’t the Moonlighter?”

The Orion instinctively rolled her eyes, then rolled her glass to water down her liquor.

“I never expected to see anyone worthwhile aboard this station again. The least of which you.”

“Well, it’s certainly not for sentimentality, Kul,” she said before pacing her next sip. Sogun knew the Klingon was metaphorically toothless now, but, she never really wanted to take chances with him.

“I thought everyone was gone,” the Klingon leaned against the bar and flagged for a flagon, “Kargas isn’t what it was.”

“Do we thank you for that?” she smiled.

“You flatter me,” he spat, “But do you really think I ever had that much say?”

“Nope,” echoed loudly out of a tilted glass.

There was a silence as he received his own drink, and took the seat two down from hers. Even at this range he made her skin not so much crawl as clamor up the walls and then onward to the ceiling for good measure.

“I really would have thought,” he paused, “…everything considered, you would have been anywhere but here.”

“With the station all but abandoned, it actually works well for me once. Well, what little it’s useful for,” Sogun relented. “To tell the truth, I’ve been thinking about heading out to the Zenas Expanse. Hear there is a group of privateers out that way who don’t ask too many questions and let a girl keep her secrets.”

“You and your little collection of starships.”

If side-eye could sink ships, the whole station would be floundering.

“Relax, I could think of worse hobbies. Besides, yours does garner a bit of prestige. That is, if you ever would let on to anyone you have it. What did Traise say when you let him know?”

There it is, she thought, he just had to go and bring up Traise. She took another long sip, bordering on to full fledged drink territory. “He was marginally impressed. Commander Sierra was really the one who got excited about it.”

“Ah, yes, I would expect so. Must have been quite a shock for her to find out the little engineering exchange officer her Captain relied so much on was a captain in her own right with a penchant for moonlighting.” There was a pause for a long drink, “When did he tell her?”

“About you blackmailing me?”

“Hmmm,” he affirmed.

“Not until long after it didn’t matter. Traise knew she was always a bit protective of the Albion. Didn’t want her to take it the wrong way. He never wanted to risk anything to let you know that he knew.”

“And when did he find out?”

She didn’t respond right away, choosing to hide behind her glass.

“I always assumed he knew after a point, but, I don’t think I ever really asked you when it was he actually found out.”

The woman finished her drink, and tapped on the counter for another, “Right after you started, really.” Kul saw the label when the bartender poured and made note of it being… expensive. “I panicked, even asked for advice first, from one of his friends.”

“Whom?”

“Commander Quaen, of all people. Cornered her at Quarks on Deep Space Nine. Had to pull out the dancer outfit to avoid attention on that one.” She actually laughed at the memory, “You should have seen her face.”

Windmills ground behind Kul’s eyes, “If you told Quaen you weren’t afraid of Starfleet pulling you from his crew for being a compromised intelligence risk?”

“I was actually more worried that if Traise found out he’d pull me from working on subsystem design for the D. I’d never had more fun than I did working with Starfleet resources on that fresh Oddy.” The memory tasted sweet, she needed the liquor to try and remember that it should burn now.

“So he knew from day one, that I was pushing you for that ship’s design schematics.”

“Close enough to day one, but yeah, pretty much. He even approved on everything I sent out before I handed it over to you.”

“I often wondered what exactly his plan was that he had concocted to counter me on that little scheme. You never sent me false data, I checked it against Utopia’s records as soon as the war ended. I had a wealth of information on the Albion – D. It’s a shame I never found a way to properly make use of it. Just when I thought I would have something, I’d learn something new…” a hand fluttered, “and it would never work out.”

Sogun’s smile grew wide.

“Unless, that… was always his plan. Not to try and trick me, but, to always know what I knew and look for what flaws I would be looking for.”

“We called it ‘Kul Proofing’.” She chuckled, “Believe it or not, you probably had a big part in designing half the systems layout for the Yorktown refits. Traise even pushed to have your name added to the Albion’s ship plaque as a little personal reveal for you. He said command… didn’t like that.”

“I’m impressed,” he admitted, “You can officially call me foiled.”

“I’ll get you meddling Federation next time,” she squinted and cackled, “and your little Orion too?”

He raised his bloodwine, “The Albion is saved from my clutches. Not that, I could do anything to her anymore,” the mug lowered and the levity in Kul’s voice drained into it, “She is beyond my reach.”

Sogun drank to that.

“You know what it is I think I miss most? I find myself wondering what plans I’ll never see with him gone. What would have been if he was still here.”

“Trust me,” she said wryly, “I miss the ship more.”