A Klingon Solution

[chemonro]

*Title A Klingon Solution
*Author Ché Monro
*E-Mail !!!mistress_bamika@yahoo.com!!! (Just remove the exclamation marks)
*Category MISC - Space Opera
*Spoilers None
*Rating PG
*Content Warning Moderate Violence and Klingon Swearing
*Summary Kimi joins the crew of the Kahless' Dagger
*Disclaimer The Star Trek Mythos is copyright of Paramount. No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead.
*Comments



A Klingon Solution
Klingon fanfiction by Ché Monro set in the Star Trek universe

To Channa - for her steadfast friendship

The station was called Romulan's Blood because long ago there had been a battle there. It was old and decrepit, the product of the wars of another century, and most of it lay dark and abandoned, used only by fugitives and ghosts, only the core and the central docking ring showed lights and activity.

The ship was called Kahless' Dagger but the crew called her the Dirty Bird and other fouler names because her port nacelle leaked plasma whenever she was pushed beyond warp five so she limped through space with an uneven warp signature always threatening to tear apart her shielding cloak. The Dirty Bird skulked through space along the border of the Romulan Neutral Zone looking to pick off stray shipping, her captain's eyes always on the main chance till she docked at Romulan's Blood for a long overdue resupply...

Kimi eyed the target from emergency locker where she had secreted herself. He had two big guards with plasma rifles but the safeties were on and their eyes were not alert. He was distracted, barking orders into a communicator - he was important, the Captain from the ship that was in - but his purse was fat and heavy and she had seen him pay cash to the shipping outfitter so she knew it was real. She trembled at the risk, but so much money would feed her and her little gang for many days even after she had paid the bribe to the security officers, and once she had the purse in her hand she would dissapear into the depths of the station where no-one would ever find her, while the ship would leave in a day or two and be gone forever. It was worth the risk.

She waited for the moment of maximum confusion and distraction then swift as a bird of prey she struck, a smooth motion projected her out into the corridor between the guards, dagger whirling as she spun like a dancer, the cords parting, the purse heavy in her hand, she heard one of the guards swear as she slipped under his rifle, then off down the dark maintenance corridor in one smooth motion.... Except for the fist that crashed into the back of her head and smashed her against the bulkhead, purse and dagger skidding away across the deck plates.

Hands yanked her up by her hair, kicking and screaming and punching at her tormentors. Eyes turned as bystanders glanced their way then turned back to their business.

"Captain Kethas, are you alright? Did were you hurt?"

"What is it?" the Captain demanded. "A female? A scrawny, thieving, female? Bring it! And mind your duty next time!"

Hands clamped behind her back, cuffed and slapped a few times she was told roughly to shut up as she was shoved along the corridor. But this was not the way to the security office. She screamed when she saw the airlock door. "No, please, I beg of you, have mercy, please, don't kill me! Please!" But a heavy hand smashed into her face making her stumble and a male voice repeated: "Shut up."

The inner airlock door hissed open, not into space, but the brightly lit red corridor of a ship. A jumble of faces and twisty corridors followed, then a smell of cooking and chemicals and a small dark space. Her hands were released and she turned to run, to escape, but a fist slammed her back to the floor.

"Don't steal!" the Captian thundered. "Work! Clean the ship!"

She got to her feet to fight or flee but more blows hammered her to the deck. This time she lay still.

"Work! Scrub this deck!" The orders were punctuated with more kicks.

This time she croaked. "Yes Sir, Yes Sir!" And someone shoved a scrubbing brush in her hand and she made desperate scrubbing motions at the floor with her hand.

"Good! Work Hard!" A final painful kick to her rear sent her sprawling to the deck again, mops and cleaning supplies raining down on her, then there was a hiss and a click and the darkness returned. Alone, she coughed and spat and curled up around the pain. She was barely conscious half an hour later when the engines started and a deep clunk she could feel through the deck told of docking grapples retracting. Shortly the note of the engines changed as the ship moved into warp drive but Kimi was beyond knowing that she had left her home forever.

Some time later the door opened again.

"Get up girl and come with me..." There was a sigh of frustration as Kimi instinctively dug herself deeper into the cleaning supplies. "Oh by Kahless' elbow girl, I'm not going to hurt you. Come with me and I'll get you something to eat. You hungry?" Somehow she could tell it was true - the figure was female, short and stout, and the voice was kind. She permitted herself to be dug out of her refuge and pulled through the door, out into the galley where she was sat on a stool before the counter.

The woman busied herself at the range. She pulled open the door of a microwave oven and removed a steaming bowl of soup, setting it before Kimi with a wry smile. "Blood soup. Good, eh? Real meat, not like that replicated muck."

Kimi nodded sullenly. The food was good, hot and spicy, warmth flowed into her stomach.

"Now hold still while I see to those cuts."

She winced and pulled back as the woman applied a stinging liquid to her wounded face.

"Don't flinch, girl! A Klingon is not afraid of pain. There those will heal clean now. Leave a pretty scar, perhaps. Look at me, girl."

Kimi dutifully looked up at the older woman, regarding strern black eyes, wide homely face and long silver hair tied back in a neat braid. "My name's Vekma. What's yours?"

"Kimi."

"Let's be plain about this, Kimi. We are the only two females aboard this boat so it makes sense to be allies rather than enemies. We'll be working together. Captain Kethas wants you to clean this stinking boat. So let's make a deal. You don't screw with me, and I don't screw with you. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Good girl. Now go get your mops and get to work. Do what you're told, stand by your friends, and you'll be alright. Go and clean the head."

"Head? What's the head?"

"The head, where you go to pee."

She got up stiffly and went and pulled some stuff out of the cleaning cupboard. It smelt mouldy and old, like the cupboard needed a good clean itself, and the light switch didn't work. She could make out some dirty bedding and rags on the floor. Was this where she slept too? Her inspection finished she ventured back out into the galley.

"Vekma? Ma'am? Where's the head."

The cook wrinkled her nose and pointed to the outer hatch, her face wrinkled up in an expression of disgust. "Follow your nose," she advised.

Kimi did. The head wasn't hard to find, it was putrid. But by the time she finished the deck plates gleamed.

* * *

Captain Kethas of the house of Lomakh sat in the command chair on the bridge of his ship and stared out into space as displayed on the viewscreen. Every so often his eyes unconsciously scanned the tactical display and ship's instruments, assuring himself that everything was alright. They had been stalking the Romulan freighter for nearly eight hours now, running silent under cloak and it would have been easy for the bridge crew to become slack and distracted. It was good that they had resisted such temptations.

Kethas was the son a quartermaster at one of Clan Lomakh's supply farms on a colony world. His father had been a Marine Sargent before he lost an arm and a leg in honorable battle. Kethas had joined the Clan fleet as a midshipman under old Captain Dukath, rising to second in command ten years later after the disastrous raid on Cardassian Colony 135. When Dukath died it was discovered that he had named Kethas as his successor, which the Clan Elders hated. They wanted the captaincy to go to one of the aristocratic lines of the Clan, not some nobody son of a farmer from a nowhere colony world. He'd had to kill three young blood aristocratic challengers in traditional single combat before the others took the message: The Kahless' Dagger belonged to Kethas.

Still the Clan Elders did everything they could to make his life difficult - shorting him on supplies, refusing him support and maintenance facilities, demanding impossible increases in prize payments and refusing him permission for rest and recreation stopovers. They foisted their most useless third sons and nephews on him and refused him access to Clan facilities to fix his engines. It was stupidity - without support the Dagger was crippled and at risk. But he guessed that they preferred to lose a ship and stretch overstretched Clan resources still further building a replacement, than to have a vessel successfully run by a commoner. He'd learned to ignore them and operate independently.

"Anything to report?" he asked his first officer.

"No Sir, Everything is unchanged."

The Kahless' Dagger shadowed her prey at a conservative distance of about 90 million miles - the distance between Qo'nos and her sun. The freighter was a tempting target, fat and defenseless but Kethas still felt ambivalent. They were were well within Romulan territory here, shadowing the freighter as it trundled along it's course at warp 4.5. It was probably a regular supply ship for the Romulan bases along the frontier, a rich prize.

Still, Kethas was concerned about the time required to take and strip the vessel. With damaged engines the Dagger could go no faster than warp five under cloak and he thought there was a good chance the Romulans could intercept them before they reached the frontier. Which would mean a fight. Or they could flee at full speed spilling plasma halfway across the sector, leaving a warp signature trail that would be impossible to miss - Which the Romulans would see as a deliberate insult and affront. And who knew what would that provoke them to do?

But to breaking off now would be seen as cowardice, and that was not possible. As far as he could see there was only one honorable course of action - to attack, regardless of the risks. But... the risks were terribly great, and he was responsible for the lives of everyone on board.

If only they had found a juicy Federation smuggler, fully laden, alone and far from home. But with the engines in their current state he couldn't chase down and catch a smuggler unless he was incredibly lucky. If only...

Then the weapons officer broke in on his reverie. "Captain! A Romulan Warbird has de-cloaked ten miles from the target."

"What? Have they seen us? Are they charging weapons?"

"No. No. I don't think they've seen us, Sir. I think they've de-cloaked to empty their heat exchangers."

"Gods of StoVoKor! It's a trap. Ease us away on a parabolic course."

Kethas gritted his teeth. The Romulan cloaks were good - there had been no sign at all of the cloaked escort on their passive sensors. He slammed his fist into the console in front of him in frustration. There would be no honorable combat today. He couldn't fight - not against a fully armed Warbird - and he couldn't run, not with damaged engines. The only course open to him was to sneak ignominiously away and pray that they were not spotted.

Seconds passed like minutes as they inched away, painfully slowly, a quarter of a light year, half, a full light year... Finally they were clear of the treacherous Romulans.

Kethas sighed and rested his head in his hands. He'd been here for twelve hours - a shift and a half, and his eyes were beginning to swim. It was time to rest. He got to his feet. "I'm going back to my cabin. Set a course back to the Empire at warp five. Stay under cloak and keep well away from that damned Warbird. Keep me informed."

* * *

Slowly Kimi settled into life aboard the Kahless' Dagger. The routine was simple - she worked until her muscles ached scrubbing the grimy metal deckplates of the ancient ship then sat alone at the bar in the galley, warily ignoring the bluff, jesting overtures from an all male crew. Captain Kethas ignored her, which was fine because she feared him. Would he have her beaten again? Vek'ma was her only friend and the old woman was kept busy in the galley preparing meals for the crews.

Other than this she slept alone in her closet. She hauled the stinking pile of bedding and cleaning rags out and ran it through the laundry, adding bleach, degreaser, disinfectant and scented detergent until it came out pale and clean and smelling of pine. She screwed up her courage to approach Maintenance and ask for the light fitting to be repaired. Was it permitted? Would she be punished for her presumption? A bored maintenance tech simply grunted and scrawled a note on his slate. Twelve hours later a dim orange light flickered and burned in the ceiling of her tiny prison.

Her only problem was Tre'gok, the hulking second engineer's mate. She had been on her knees scrubbing the forward companionway when a massive male form had approached her from behind and slammed her into the bulkhead.

"What have we here?"

She was dragged to her feet and hauled up eye to eye with a broad, sneering male face. "Hah! Too small to be a warrior, too scrawny to bear a warrior's sons. What use are you? None! Hah!"

Kimi was rudely dropped to the deck, she sprang to her feet and slammed headlong into a massive fist which dropped her again. If only she had her dagger... but her dagger was far away.

"Watch where you are going, girl!" he snarled. There was a clang as her cleaning bucket was kicked down the metal corridor. "Know this, I am Tre'gok of the House of Lomakh, and I am a Klingon Warrior. You are scum. Your presence insults me. Keep out of my way or I will teach you proper respect. Haha! Hahahahah!"

She glared up at him impotently. He was huge, muscles rippling beneath his armored, semi-military tunic. She shook with rage and frustration, aching to leap at him and rend his flesh but knowing that his fists would only hammer her to the floor again. It was a no-win situation.

Tre'gok took her silence for compliance. "Ha! Remember your place - you are a worm beneath my feet!" His laugh and his booted feet echoed away down the corridor and Kimi gritted her teeth to bite back a scream of rage and frustration.

After that he made her life a misery, "accidentally" slamming her against the metal bulkheads in the corridors, kicking her stool out from under her in the galley, and openly taunting her cowardice and scrawny femaleness. And there was nothing she could do - Tre'gok was build like a main battle tank, further padded and protected by his pseudo military armor - she had no way to strike back at him. If her vengeance was anything less that overwhelming those brutal fists would pound her into a paste. If she was at home she could have hidden from him in one of the abandoned sections and avoided him. Or if she had her dagger she could kill him. Or inflict such a wound that he would be months recovering... But her dagger was far away now.

Kimi scowled as she sipped her bowl of blood soup broth, her mind filled with hateful, self pitying thoughts. Vek'ma was her only friend on this stinking barge. How had she ever gotten herself into this situation? Idly she eyed the rack of kitchen knives behind the counter. Perhaps...

"Ah, our fearless cleaner," Captain Kethas' voice was jovial. "I like the way the heads smell now, and the deckplates in my companionways shine. That is good work. But what's this, bruised? Haven't you healed from that little lesson I gave you yet? Vek'ma, what's going on? Haven't you looked at this?"

"Those are fresh bruises," Vek'ma pointed out.

"What!?" The Captain sounded surprised, and irritated. "Is someone beating on my cleaner? Who? Why?"

Kimi said nothing, but Vek'ma was not so reticent.

"Tre'gok."

"Ahh... Him." Kethas put his hand gently but firmly on her cheek and turned her head to face him. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Get of a Ha'dibah! What can I do about it? He is built like a thrice damned stone fortress. How can I challenge a pe'taq with muscles like that?"

The Captain chuckled. He actually dared to laugh at her - her humiliation was complete. Without thought she swung her fist to smash the smile off his face, but he caught her wrist with lightening speed.

"Hold! Hold, I say. Forgive me, little one, I do not laugh at you, far from it - I laugh with you. I am not your enemy, Kimi. Vek'ma, get the girl a drink. I'll drink an ale with my newest crew member."

He released her fist and she drew back warily, scowling. She hadn't even realized that he knew her name. She took the mug Vek'ma gave her and gulped the bitter liquid, refusing to return Vek'ma's encouraging smile.

"Now... Tre'gok. He is big, is he not?"

"As an armored cruiser."

"Not that big, little one. Remember: the bigger they are, the harder they fall."

"Hah. How can I ever strike him hard enough to make him fall? He is an Actaurian Ox."

"Bigger and stronger than you, yes. And better armored. So you cannot expect to mount a frontal assault. You must use tactics."

"Tactics? Like what?"

"You must fight smarter than he does. The Kahless' Dagger is only a tiny ship. Do you think that we have never taken on larger prey? Do we fly straight into the fire of their front plasma cannons? No! We hide in a nebula and strike from behind! We attack when they are docked and their shields are down! We wait in stealth until they are engaged with a larger enemy and then we pounce! Tactics! That is what you must do: you must use tactics."

"Like what?" she demanded again, head muzzled by the ale.

Did he really wink at her, or did she just imagine it? "Tactics! Don't worry, something will turn up, it always does. Learn to wait for the perfect moment - then strike and strike hard!" he declared, then to Vek'ma. "I look to you in this matter." Then the Captain got up and slammed down his empty mug on the counter and turned and swaggered away, disappearing through the hatch into the corridor outside, leaving her to wonder if the encounter had really happened or if she was asleep and dreaming in her bedding.

* * *

Two cycles later at the end of the ship's day shift Kimi was stowing her cleaning gear when Vek'ma waved her over. She pulled a bottle out from under the kitchen counter and handed it to Kimi.

"Here, take this. It's Romulan Ale. The last bottle from a tramp freighter we hit just before you came aboard."

"What do you want me to do with this, get drunk?"

"Don't make me think I've misjudged you, girl. I'd hate to have wasted the last bottle of Romulan Ale on the ship. I was saving that to trade at our next liberty port. It's worth a pretty penny to the right people."

"Oh, I'm sorry, but, I just don't drink much..."

Vekma laughed. "Oh girl, I like you. You amuse me. It's not for you, it's for Tre'gok."

"Tre'gok? Why would I give that Pet'aq such a valuable gift."

"Tactics, girl. Like the Captain said. Tre'gok is too mean to share such a windfall, and too stupid and greedy to drink in moderation. Even better - he is a really cheap drunk. After he's drunk a bottle of Romulan Ale he'll be scarcely able to stand, and then he'll be at your mercy. Tactics. Think about it."

Kimi scowled thoughtfully into the depths of the blue glass bottle. "Tactics," she said darkly. But what she thought was revenge.

Kimi was watching stealthily from a corner seat when Tre'gok entered the galley, the bottle of ale concealed by her feet. She watched as he sat at his usual place, alone, glaring warily at the world and bellowing for food. She got up and picked up the bottle, her heart pounding. I am not afraid, she assured herself. I am Klingon! She glared at the world as she strode over to him, damning the tremor in her limbs.

"What do you want?!"

"I, I, want..."

"What's that?" He demanded, holding out his hands.

"Romulan Ale."

"Give it to me. Where did you get that?"

"It's mine."

He raised a fist the size of a melon towards her face. "Give it to me!"

Inwardly cursing the tremble in her hands she handed it over. Tre'gok ripped out the stopper and took a big swig of the potent blue liquid.

"Ahh... Romulan Ale."

"Give me some, Tre'gok," another warrior called. "Share your drink."

"Shuffle off!" Tre'gok roared in response. "Get your own - This is mine. Get out of my sight."

"But I, it's my..."

"Get out of my sight!"

She backed away and returned to her table, breathing fast, giving into to the shaking of her limbs, and watching as Tre'gok swigged the potent Romulan liqour as if it was water, every so often growling and making little murmurs of appreciation. Every other man in the messroom glared at him, envious of his good fortune. It only took him half an hour to finish the whole bottle, which left him blinking and swaying slightly in his seat. Kimi got up and picked up her broom before she approached again, idly noticing that this time the shaking in her arms had stopped. She went up to him and hit him sharply across the head with the broom handle, and again.

Tre'gok just sat there and blinked at her. "Huh wha?"

Kimi growled and cracked him again across the neck and shoulders. He surged to his feet like an avalanche in reverse, and stood there swaying and roaring down at her. She drew back her fist and put all her force and energy into a hard, straight punch to his solar plexus. Her hand hurt from the force of the blow, but he just absorbed it without any apparent effect at all. She stepped back, wondering what to do now,

Tre'gok roared and lunged towards her, so she ducked quickly to her left to avoid him and he slammed into the steel bulkhead behind her with the force of a freight train. The whole ship shook with the impact. For a moment it seemed that he would absorb this impact too, but then he toppled and crashed to the deckplates. After a moment he began to snore.

There were cheers the watching warriors.

Kimi frowned and kicked him hard in the side, twice. Where was the sweetness of her victory? He was a brainless, unresponsive, infuriating slab of muscle awake, and he was no different asleep. She pondered kicking him hard in the head with her steel capped work boots, now that she had the chance.

"What's going on?" she turned to find the Captain bearing down on her.

"The new cleaner challenged Tre'gok and threw him into a wall!" Konmel called out happily.

"He ran into the wall," someone else objected, "and then nearly fell on top of her."

"She got in one good punch."

"Enough!" the Captain roared. "This disorder shames me. You and you, pull him up and get him to his feet. Take him to his bunk and let him sleep it off. Fighting with a female a quarter his size: He has lost all honor in his eyes. When he awakes inform him that he is on watch-and-watch until I tell him otherwise. The rest of you hear this and hear it well: The heads on my ship no longer smells like a hutch of Ha'dibah. My companionways gleam and smell of lavender flowers."

"I like the way they smell!" Konmel called out.

Tragan got to his feet and roared. "A Klingon warrior is not afraid of bad smells, you girl-child!" They growled at his at each other and the argument degenerated into a playful wrestling match. They were bunkmates and battle partners and they did everything together, and, in spite of their jokes and ever ready good humor they were two of the most dangerous marine assault fighters aboard the Dagger.

"Peace." The Captain raised his hand for silence. "I like the way they smell too. Any man here who attacks my cleaner will have to deal with me. Do I make myself clear? Do I?"

"Yes Sir!"

"Good. Return to your meals."

He turned to meet Kimi's gaze. "And you? Have you nothing to say?"

"Will... Will you punish me?"

"Punish you? Why?"

"For causing a fight?"

Kethas folded his arms across his chest and roared with laughter. "No! Why would I do that? If I punished my men for every scrap that occurs they would all be in the brig. I will not punish you for finding a Klingon solution to your problem. Although... Next time try hitting him over the head with a chair."

"Next time?"

He shrugged and shook his head and grinned. "There's always a next time. Hmmm. You've lost your dagger." He took his own knife out of his belt and handed it to her, hilt first. "Take this one. Bear it with pride, and honor."

"Th-thank you." It was a fine old Marine combat knife, battered and worn, without decoration, but the brass gleamed like butter and though the steel blade was scarred it was still sharp and true.

"It's nothing. You've earned it." Kethas grinned, then he turned and swaggered away through the hatch and down the corridor beyond, leaving her at a loss for words, again.

The End

Che Monro 2007