"Hungry Targ"

A Star Trek Lower Decks Fanfiction

Quo'nos, some time in the distant future...

A muggy heat came down from the Ketha Lowlands, its warm winds stirring the smog and sulfur that always seemed to linger in the air. Though it was mid day, the sun was a mere presence, a dulled yellow disk behind near-impenetrable cloud cover, providing insufficient nourishment for the scraggly, brownish shrubs and grasses in the great courtyard. Statues and ancient buildings loomed overhead, casting their own deep shadows, so that only harsh red neon could only light the way.

Another glorious day in the capitol of Quo'nos!

It was at the great courtyard in the imperial palace grounds that retired General-turned-Loremaster Ma'ah went every day, to share his hard-earned wisdom with the next generation of warriors.

Long gone was his uniform, eaten to ruin by the cowardly bloodmoths who bit into his legacy one mouthful at a time, but his medals and his Dahar Master Sash, pinned and donned over the fleece coat of a once brilliant albino targ, yet remained.

As did his memories, sharp as the dagger of the late Commander Dorg, earned in a duel for his first command, now belted to his side.

"Gather, warriors-in-waiting!" Boomed the confident voice of the elderly Loremaster. "Gather around, as I am about to tell you tale to fill your mind with wisdom and your heart with pride and honor! Come children! Come! YOU THERE!" He pointed harshly at one inattentive, pudgy child, frozen in place, dropping the bottle in his hand. "Stop eating glue and approach me!"

Moments later, he had a small gathering of a dozen Klingon children sitting in front of him. He took his seat, his leg shaky from an old war wound earned with honor during the Battle of Blood Mountain.

He may not have been the warrior he once was in his youth. Even in his prime he was not the strongest, biggest, or the fastest. But he was clever, or at least smart enough to survive countless engagements and intrigues. With the cure for the Nehret, he could pass his wisdom for decades still.

It was a humble, but honorable life, one he found great satisfaction in doing.

And so, he began. "Have any of your young warriors been told the tale of the Hungry Targ?"

"I've heard it! Twice!" Piped up one of the older children, no more than forty-eight seasons old, but with a smirk that betrayed the child's overconfidence.

"Ah, then perhaps you know the moral of the story?" Ma'ah said, more of a dare than a question. "Tell it to your fellow warriors-to-be, since you know it so well."

The young, brash warrior's bravado seemed to fail him as all eyes were on him, but rather than admit any shortcoming on his part, he replied in a shadow of his former confidence. "Always feed your targ?"

Ma'ah's smile widened, showing a dangerous row of teeth. "Ahhhh, that is its most basic lesson, but what of why, and how it applies to you, your life, your honor?"

"Ummm... uhhhhh..."

"Then stay put and listen well." He winked to the other children, "And try not to forget this time."

The gentle jab brought on gales of laughter from the other children. A few of the older ones playfully punched the child in the shoulder, who took the ribbing with a sullen, but subdued, moodiness.

"Good." thought the aged Loremaster. "He'll give no more trouble this day."

He started oration like the Loremasters before him taught, booming, drawn out, his hands emphatic as he told his story.

"There once was a targ on the Bird of Prey... Che'ta. He was a very hungry targ."

"What was his name?!"

"Name?! Name! Oh yes, it was... ummm... it was... by Kahless, he was never given a name! So we'll call him Toby. Yes! Toby the Targ!"

"That's a Federation name!" A little girl squeaked.

"Yes little girl, it is. And that's where I'll aim you when I stuff you into a torpedo case and shoot you out into the infinite void if I'm ever interrupted again." Loremaster Ma'ah teased.

"Jokes on you, death my loremaster is an honorable death. Mommy and Daddy will be honored!" The little girl stuck her tongue out, to the laughter of her friends.

"Ah, a good death." Ma'ah said, nodding in agreement. "But lets postpone it until you've grown larger, or at least until after I tell you all about Toby the Targ. Deal?"

"Deal!"

"Now, about that Targ! Ah yes, Toby the Targ. He was my faithful companion during my days on the Che'ta. A good ship, an honorable ship, full of fierce warriors. Here was a Targ whose heart was loyal and true, BUT... before he became my Targ he had a cruel, greedy, and arrogant master."

The children gasped. They were taught to be good to their Targs, to kick and beat loyal pets was one of the gravest dishonors. This already turned Loremaster Ma'ah's audience against the villain of the story.

"Yes. This... foul beast of a man, and I call him that only because calling him a worm dishonors Gagh everywhere, he was cruel to everyone he knew. He slew warriors who gave him wise council, he never fetched his own bloodwine, and he even traded with Pakleds!" The children recoiled in disgust. "And yes, he was cruel to his Targ, a blindly loyal creature, whose only reward for dutiful and honorable conduct was being kicked, beaten, starved, and mistreated."

"BOO!" "He has no honor!" "Kill the Targ kicker!"

"But wait children!" Ma'ah held his hands up for silence. "Don't you want to put a name to this loathsome, dishonorable man?"

"Tell us!"

"His name..." He paused, holding onto the words to build tension, keeping the children enraptured with his performance, until he could deliver with more impact. "...was Commander Dorg. Son of... who cares at this point. No father will claim a Targ kicker as their son! Boo him so that all his descendants carry his shame through the winds of time!"

When the children finished displaying their disgust for Dorg, Loremaster Ma'ah continued. "But let us go back to Toby the Targ a moment, shall we? He was a magnificent beast. As big, round, and solidly built as a keg of bloodwine! Why, he was so big he had to live in the shuttlebay." It was an embellishment, the Targ was no bigger than any other, and perhaps scrawnier than average, but as the Loremasters before him said, 'Why let truth get in the way of a good story?'

"Why, he was a ravenous beast too! Mountains of food needed to sustain him... if Dorg felt inclined to do so, which was not often. Mainly because after a mountain of food... Toby would create a mountain of dung! PPPPfffffftttttt!" He mimed the copious amounts of Targ manure Toby could make, until he insinuated the pile was higher than his head, an act amusing to all the kids he met, even alien ones. Bodily function humor was truly universal.

Except Vulcans. They had no humor. But they did try to calculate the volume of Toby's dung once.

"Anyways, a good, loyal Targ. But why was he loyal, children? That is the important question, because believe it or not, he was loyal to Commander Dorg. Dorg raised him, albeit poorly, from a runt to the magnificent beast he was. To Toby the Targ, Dorg was his master. Why do you think that is, children?"

One of the older girls held her hand up. When the Loremaster silently approved, she spoke. "Toby was afraid?"

"Yes, young one! Toby was afraid. Now don't judge Toby too harshly, children, for fear is a part of everyday life. We are all afraid of something. Sometimes we are afraid of dishonoring our house, our family. Sometimes we are afraid of failure, of falling short of greatness, of not living in the true spirit of Kahless. Sometimes fear is good, as it sharpens our instincts and tells us right from wrong. And fear, most of all, reminds us we are not always invincible, that death stalks up at every turn. For all the fears we have, it is how we conquer them that determines how righteous we are. Facing fear with honor and courage, while being just and fair to those around us. That's what makes us truly Klingon! And some, will find their courage fleeting, their judgement lax in the face of fear, as we will see with Commander Dorg. And others will find themselves too small to face their fears, which is where we find Toby the Targ."

"But isn't he big and fierce?" One of the children asked. "Could not just kill?"

"Ah... yes he could, but understand Dorg ordered when he was fed, and if the Targ disobeyed... Dorg would see fit not to feed him. And if that wasn't enough he kicked and punched the poor, servile Targ until the Targ's spirit was crushed. But just like General Martok in the dungeons of the Dominion, even the most noble heart may forget their noble self under such abuse, and over time one forgets how to face their fears. Do not judge harshly. It is the way of tyrants, not to rule out of respect, but out of fear. It is effective... for a time. And much like General Martok, Toby learned to conquer his fears, dear children, from the example of another."

"You mean, he got a better master?"

"No gods, no masters, that is Kahless' way. No, he had something much better, his companions. When he was starved, his companions would show mercy and feed him. When Toby needed to be walked, his companions would walk him. And when he felt the call of the wild and needed the companionship of a female Targ, his companions... didn't have a female Targ for him, so we let him have his fun on the holodeck! Uuuuurrrrurururururururururrrrruuuuuuuuu!"

He mimicked the spasmic shaking of a Targ in heat, mindful to keep the thrusting at a minimum, for they were mere children. Still, it had all the kids in uncontrollable laughter.

When the children spent their amusement, Ma'ah continued. "And I was his favourite companion, for I was the one who dragged disloyal officers, some good, some not, to Toby to feast upon. It was I who took Toby out for walkies when he became restless. And it was I who had to program a holographic mating Targ, not my proudest moment, but for a good, honorable Targ like Toby, it was a privilege to provide. And because of this, Toby grew fond of me, and I of him."

"You built loyalty!" One of the children said.

"Yes! Now there's a wise Loremaster in the making! Yes, and you will know why soon, because Toby's loyalty was tested when I found myself fighting for the command of the Che'ta against Commander Dorg! Oh yes, the dishonorable Captain had fears of his own. Not of me, not of his crew, or even of his loyal Targ. He feared our people were going astray, learning and thinking instead of fighting and doing. There were no more enemies for the Empire to fight! We've made peace with our neighbors! So he had a plan to make our neighbors angry so that war would come to the Empire. There, he would find glory on the battlefield, and his fears of living a life without glory would become mere memory."

"What did he do?" A child asked, "Shoot a Federation ship with a cloaked Bird of Prey with a superweapon?"

Another said, "Did he slip a spy on a Federation ship and steal their shield codes so they could shoot through their shields?"

"No. He did something much worse, much more sneaky and underhanded." Ma'ah's lips curled with disgust. "He made the Pakleds do all the fighting! Those fungus eating simpletons!"

"EEEEWWWWWW!" All the children shrilled.

"Oh yes, he gave the simple Pakleds a varuvian bomb, one powerful enough to crack a planet! Did you know what the Pakleds did with that bomb? They blew up on their own planet with it! HAHAHA!"

The children were amused, but he quickly said, "So the Pakleds came with their great Clumpships, a whole fleet of them, and demanded we give them another. Dorg, eager to start a war that would enflame the galaxy, was more than happy to comply, but before he could," He panned his arm in a great sweeping motion. "a vast fleet of Starfleet vessels came to crush the Pakled Clumpships, having been alarmed by the destruction of the Pakled planet. The Starfleet ships fired. The Pakled ships fired. But when Commander Dorg ordered the Che'ta to fire on the Starfleet vessels, whom were our honorable friends at the time, I had had enough, for a true warrior does not betray their friends!"

"What was the name of the planet?" One of the older kids asked.

"Why, it was Pakled Planet. Literally!"

"That's a dumb name."

"They are a dumb species, young one. But enough interruptions. Do you want to hear about Pakled idiocy, or do you want to hear about my epic duel with Commander Dorg?!"

"DUEL! DUEL!"

"Ahhhhh... good choice! It was a duel worthy of Kahless. While the fires of ships blazed to ruin outside, in Che'ta, Dorg and I struggled, arm to arm, blade to blade! For hours on end, as the crew, and Toby the Targ, watched on. And while our struggle was as mighty as Kahless and Morath, we did not have twelve days and twelve nights. It was only a matter of time until the Federation found out we gave the Pakleds the varuvian bomb there would be a great retribution unless we stopped it. I had to end the fight quickly, but I was still a young warrior at that time with much to learn, and Dorg was so big and so strong. He nearly had me defeated."

Loremaster Ma'ah loved the next part. He held no love for the long-dead commander, for reasons beyond animal abuse. Tainting his memory for generations until no mother would contemplate naming their child Dorg seemed a more fitting end than death by his own dagger.

"Somehow, Toby knew, as I laid on the ground, Dorg's dagger, the one at my very hip, at my throat, that I had little time. He had to choose who he was loyal to. The one he feared... or the one he loved. The one who beat and starved him, or the one who feed his needs better. For you see, a tyrant may rule over Targs, and for a time it will work. However, mark my words, once a better leader comes along, one who rewards your loyal conduct, one who sees your needs meet and aims you to something more, one who understands you to your very heart, then you see how loyal a hungry Targ truly is."

"And you all know now who he choose, for I sit here today to tell you the tale. He chose the love of his new master over the fear of his old one. He BIT DOWN upon Dorg's wrist, wrenching the dagger from his hand. And when he punched the noble beast to get him away, I snatched his dagger from the floor and THRUST IT into his hearts!" He mimed the thrust, jerk, and withdrawal. "WHOOSH!"

"As his brackish blood pumped out of his body, he let out one final laugh, knowing at the last moments of his life his mistake, but not able to survive long enough to learn them. And what did he learn?"

The children cheered, "Always feed your Targ!"

"Hahaha! That's right!" Ma'ah exclaimed, "Sometimes it's not a matter of feeding them what they want either, but what they need. Commander Dorg, may his name be cursed in the pits of gre'Thor, felt a need for glory and battle, yet he did not understand the need for peace with our Federation neighbors. Rather than seek his need elsewhere, he fixated on starting a war with an honorable people. A man who could have climbed a mountain, stellar surfed a black hole, wrestled a Mugato, showing the heart of a Klingon warrior! But instead he feared there was no glory to have. He gave into his fear, leading him down the path to gre'Thor. Now... if only he was more like his Targ, who gave up his fear of the lash in exchange for giving his loyalty to a Klingon more worthy of it! HAHAHA!

The little girl asked, "What happened to the Targ?"

"Ahhhh... the Targ had a good life. He created more mountains of dung! He saved my life many times in my many battles. Why, he was at my side at the Battle of Blood Mountain, facing thousands of Iconian servitors, slaying them with tusk and tooth, until the mountain of dead rivaled that of myself and my reluctant ally, the human warrior known as Beckett Mariner!"

The children gasped in astonishment. "Beckett Mariner..."

"AND my Targ died bravely slaying a serpent in my estate! But not before he sired many targlets, whose descendants live among my mighty herd... as well as a few who have graced my banquet hall! MMmmmmmm! But that is a tale for another day, young ones, for I have a story for you that's even better."

Loremaster Ma'ah saw the faces of the children light up and laugh. He had the room. Even the paste eater and the sullen rebel were listening and enjoying.

He wondered if Dorg, had he ever lived, could have done the same. But he already knew the answer.

"Weakest, smallest and slowest indeed." Ma'ahn mused, retrospectively. "But it's the smartest who live long enough to weave the lore. Dorg dishonorable conduct prevented him from building loyalty. And now... I am the one who immortalizes his shame."

Ma'ah cleared his throat. "Now, who wants another tale?!"

"ME! ME! ME!" All the kids cried out.

"Good, because next I shall regale you with the tale of the greatest, most important Klingon in our modern history. A Klingon so powerful, so influential, so honorable that his name echoes through time, but unlike Dorg it honors ancestors and descendants alike. He is second only to Kahless himself! He is..."

His hand panned towards a great golden statue, towering high above his head.

"..Alexander Rozhenko, son of Worf the Deadbeat!"