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Hegh maH vaj chaq, qatlh yIn wo'.
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(We Die so the Empire May Live)
“I know that your last space battle
was a close one. You’ve survived four months on a very active front line. Kzinti die stubbornly. Let’s toast our victories on the front! Grab
your glass of blood wine.” He knew the Captain enjoyed blood wine. “You, Bogotha,” he continued, “…are
responsible for so much that we’ve accomplished out here deep in Kzinti space.
Your heroic actions held the front line. You expand the Empire, my friend. A toast then to you and your fine crew aboard
the command ship Desecration. Drink
heartily!”
Captain Targ took one long pull,
sat motionless, and eyed his Admiral with iciness. There was no way around making this any
easier. Captain Targ and his crew hadn’t
been rotated home in over a year. His wife bore their first child not long
after he arrived on the front. Captain Targ was longing to see the little brute
himself. And now he was about to ask
his longest surviving captain in his command -order him- to do one more thing
for the Empire, before being rotated home. He needed Captain Bogotha Targ for a
desperate, dangerous gamble.
Lord Grafihl sat on the flag bridge
of a Kzinti command battlecruiser hidden along the seemingly never-ending edge
of the Poldar Asteroid Field. At his age, and size, he eschewed the usual space
suits normally authorized on warships. Social
position had its privileges.
The Communications Officer turned to the ship’s Captain, and they spoke, then the Captain decided to visit his Lord in person to talk about the matter. He exited the turbo-lift and walked the short hallway past the guards to the Lord’s flag bridge. It’s more like a penthouse chamber, he mused. The door slid open and he entered. In the hisses, clicks, and growls of the feline tongue he addressed his lord, “We’ve intercepted a coded source communication from the opposite side of the field.”
Lord Grafihl glared at him and
asked, “Not ours, is it?”
“No. Definitely not.” The Fat Cat’s Captain answered slowly. The
ship was named after its master, he conceded.
“Investigate. Take us cautiously to its source of origin.
Bring our entire squadron. Keep emissions in check and do not use the warp
drive.”
“Yes, my Lord.” And the Captain
returned to his bridge.
The five ships of the protecting
response squadron extricated themselves carefully from an outer shell of
asteroids, following the BCC Fat Cat along
the girth of the irregular border of the immense field of free floating rock.
Time passed and they found nothing on the other side. Empty space extended beyond the rolling rocks of the field.
“Hide us in a patch of asteroids
near the source,” Lord Grafihl commanded. The five ships snuggled cautiously into
a blanket of asteroids, hidden from view for all practical purposes, invisible
even to the sensors and scanners of modern starships. Lord Grafihl and his
squadron was eventually awestruck when a Klingon fleet of eleven warships broke
high warp dangerously close alongside the perimeter of the asteroids,
cautiously entering the Poldar Field where the beacon originated.
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