For Want of a Nail pt 1
by Illusionna
IKS M'Char
High orbit above K'etzokl
For want of a nail, the horseshoe was lost.
For want of a shoe, the horse was lost.
For want of a horse, the rider was lost.
For want of a rider, the message was lost.
For want of a message, the battle was lost.
For want of a battle, the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
-Anonymous
The stern faced Klingon woman, her brow ridges beginning as a wave at her temples, to crest as a small double peak near the center of her forehead, looked at the projected image in the middle of the room with chocolate brown eyes. Her tall, sinewy frame belied the strength that lay beneath it Luscious sandy coloured curls cascaded down her back, past her small chest, to her thin waist. Her her long, bronze fingers clasped behind her back gave her a deceptively demure appearance, but those who knew her knew that she was anything but.
The blue and green orb swathed with downy white that twirled on the projector was a beautiful planet when viewed from space. As it turned, its horizon coming into view, its single Federation outpost dawned, traversing the screen. She tracked it with her eyes until it disappeared as the holographic sphere continued to rotate. It reminded her of another planet she'd approached, many years ago, watching it from the window. Unlike the one in front of her now, that one had slowly grown in size as they'd approached it, and her heart had beat quick in her chest in excitement. Her mother, standing with her, had warmed her bare shoulders with her hands upon them, and she could still see the two of them reflected in the transparent aluminum.
The door opened and a male warrior the same age as she, in the prime of their lives, came into the Captain's Chamber. Her calm evaporated, being squeezed out with the tightening of her chest. It was excitement that made her heart beat now, she told herself. Excitement at coming action, at the entering of the young man into the room. She was not nervous, no. Children were nervous, the two of them were long past fear and anxiety, despite the smell of it in the room. He walked up to her as she turned only her chocolate brown eyes in his direction and he stroked a curl from her shoulder. She smiled a little, it felt good to be caressed. The feel of warmth on her shoulder, bare from the space made to expose it for ease of movement without her shoulder cop for protection, again made the image of the reflection of a girl and her mother in the window come to mind. Unconsciously, she leaned into his touch, the rest of her arm cold in comparison. She so wanted the physical contact. She hated herself for wanting it. Only the weak wanted. The strong obtained.
"This will be an easy victory," he said, his deep, rumbling voice slurred slightly from his prominent teeth. His brow ridges swept out from his eyebrows up the sides of his forehead, disappearing into his hairline. Four gentle waves adorned the center of his forehead, each 'v' shrinking in size like a ripple in the water as they worked their way toward his nose. His wide shoulders looked as if they could handle a bat'leth with ease. As his hand moved from her shoulder, he nodded to the planet as if looking for confirmation from it.
"It will," she agreed. "Too easy. I do not think that we can complete the mission as planned." She finally turned to him, looking him in the his blue eyes, bright against his bronze skin.
He shook his head, "I agree." He was silent a moment, regarding her, a strand of her curly hair still in his fingers. He ran his tongue over his teeth, making his lips stick out even more, before continuing. "It will have to wait."
"We will attack the settlement and the outpost at the same time," she said. "That way, neither one has time to come to the other's aid." Her voice sounded already victorious, utter confidence in it as she spoke. It was a fact, nothing more, nothing less.
"The settlements defences should be minimal," he added. "Especially with a military post nearby. The double envelopment will shatter their flanks. Their supply lines will be choked by our perpetual orbital bombardments. The battle will be short, and planet will belong to the Klingon Empire." He smiled. "Father was pleased with our last victory. That should make you happy."
She raised her head haughtily. The thought of the ailing old man, sitting on a comfortable chair in a warm room, surrounded by servants and kinsmen on Q'onoS, filled her with disgust. Looking her companion straight in his eyes, she said, "When you have a seat on the Council, Tanag, then I will be happy."
His smile widened, showing his large teeth, maliciousness edging the corners of his lips. "Until then, we must be happy gaining planets for the Empire," Tanag replied, turning once more to the holographic planet in front of them. "This victory will make the Council take notice of the House of Lam'akh. It will give my father great honour."
"And even old warriors need new honour," she said, her smile turning sly. Though the honour coming from ones sons was a sorry way to gain it, indeed. Her own father, practically exiled and killed by his own crewmates, men and women who were closer to him than kin, had died valiantly. While he had not the honour to die on the battlefield against the enemy, he had held himself at even higher standard. He had died at the hands of his crew, a mutiny, his faith and love of those around him paid back with deceit and guile. His own people had ousted his memory, called him a brigand, a knave, but she knew better. She knew the truth.
Her fingers grazed the horseshoe that hung at her hip on a chained girdle. Unlike the gentle wave of her mind's eye of her reflection as a girl in the window of the ship, the memory of the horseshoe crashed over her.
She looked at the rifle dubiously. "Are you sure this is how cowboys still do it?"
"This is exactly how cowboys do it," he answered, voice barely above a whisper.
"This is how cowboys in the ancient west did it," she replied under her breath.
Her father looked down at her. "Do you think it was easy to catch prey?"
She raised her eyebrows. They disappeared within her ridged forehead. "Catching prey that is easy isn't worth it." Even she knew that.
"That why cowboys still hunt like this." Her father's voice drifted away as he pointed to a muscalid head that popped up from the ground. "Think you can get it?"
She glared at him, a loving glare to a parent that the child knows isn't the brightest bulb in the box, because no parents are. They get smarter as they grow older, but children know every well they can do things—and she was no different in that respect.
She took aim, the rifle steady in her hand. She let out a breath, just as her father had taught her, and gently squeezed her index finger on the trigger of the replica antique gun. The resounding bang hurt her ears, causing them to ring, but the head of the woodchuck cracked backwards causing it to comme half way out of the hole and lie motionless on the ground.
All pretense of calm was gone. The girl jumped up, sandy hair flying, and whooped with a wide smile on her face. Ignoring her father, she ran toward her prize, ready to perform some great hunting ritual, because everyone knew that when a warrior defeated an enemy, even a woodchuck, there hadto be some sort of ritual, despite the fact she didn't know what it could be.
Something caught her foot at the toes, grabbing her hard, and causing her fall to the ground. The gun went flying as she let it go to catch herself so she didn't fall on her face. She twisted her body, a growl at her throat, ready to tear at whomever had the gall to grab her, and saw only her father walking up to her, smiling broadly. "Good shot!"
Looking down at her foot, she saw a curved piece of metal under the toes of her boot. She grabbed it, it was much heavier than she expected, and swung her arm to throw it at a tree angrily.
"No!" her father said, running up to her. He squatted down, putting his hand on her arm. His skin was pale compared to hers, the fingers thick and calloused with use. A scar on his hand, a war wound, she knew, traced from his middle finger to his wrist. ""A horseshoe found you!"
She held it up in front of her face. "Horses have shoes?"
"They do," her father said, standing up. He held his hand out to her, and she grabbed it. He hoisted her up easily, and it made her feel warm inside, to know she had such a strong, capable father. "And when they come off and find you, it is good luck."
Again, she looked at him dubiously.
"Very good luck," he said, pointing to her kill. "You are one lucky little girl."
Tanag laughed, turning to her once again and taking her in his arms. "Oh yes, Azette. They do."
Azette of the house of Lameh'k
Captain of the M'Char
Tanag, son of Lameh'k
Captain of the Norag
HoD of the Bat'leh Squadron