~ Graa'lik ~
Graa'lik drummed her fingers on the command chair's armrest. She wiggled her four legs a little bit. It was dull sitting out in space, just patrolling for Voyager. Her superiors were quite insistent on this mission, and Graa'lik could see that it was very important to the Committee, the central part of the government on the Plak'han home world, Plak'ion. Rarely did it get involved in the affairs of other specie, but something was different about this group. Graa'lik tapped out another rhythm. She puffed her chest out, looking ahead to the rewards she would be gathering upon her return to space dock with Voyager in tow. The Committee would pay her well. The sound of a klaxon interrupted her thoughts.
"What is it?" Her second in command, Rek'kar, turned to face her at the center of the cramped bridge. While the ship did look large and imposing, it was actually small on the inside to make up for the impressive array of weapons on the outside. The ship, the Karf'ka, was the first of its class in the Imperial Armanda. No one could withstand its awesome power. The ship traveling with them, the Zon'ak, was a similar, much more antiqued, version.
"Vek'ir Graa'lik, we have picked up a communications signal coming from Trek'ta Three. It's weak."
"Is it them?"
"Unsure. If they have settled here, then their signature will have probably been reconfigured."
"Can you open a channel?"
"Affirmative."
"Do it."
When the picture of three of the humanoids came into view, she started speaking, prepared to go down there and capture the lot of them that night. All three men looked perplexed, although the one in the middle wore an amusing expression that did not humor Graa'lik.
"You will be taken aboard immediately and detained for questioning and a trial. Do not resist us. We will – " The communication went blank.
"What the hell was that?"
"We were cut off." Tras'ca, the communications officer, said.
"I know that, you pralshan!" Tras'ca went quiet at the sever insult. "What I want to know is, how? I thought you have their systems so overloaded that they wouldn't be able to do that."
"I don't know, Vek'ir." Tras'ca said submissively. Graa'lik sighed and settled back in her command chair, staring out at the view screen with compound eyes.
"Fine. How many of them are down there?" Rek'kar looked up from his console.
"Ninety eight."
Graa'lik stood up from her post and paced around the front of the bridge. Although she was now considered a runt Plak'ion, she still found it hard to move around the bridge even with shorter legs than normal. With a little sidestep, Graa'lik managed to come next to Rek'kar.
"I want you to assemble a ground force of about forty people. Go down to their camp in 36 hours, when its night. The moon will be dark as well, so choose your people wisely. We can't afford to mess this up because you had people who don't have suburb night vision." She leaned down so she could say the next part right in his ear, to ensure everyone else did not hear. "Go down there, and wipe every last one of them out, with the exception of their leader, and bring him to me." Rek'kar stiffened at the words. Despite the Plak'han's excellent military and heavy armory, most Plak'han where sensitive to killing. Even some of those that joined the Imperial Armanda resisted it with a passion. Nevertheless, Graa'lik had always found it to be easy, hence her swift rise in the chain of command.
She turned around and carefully retraced her steps to the command seat. No sooner had she settled her back to legs when the klaxon started to ring again. Graa'lik swiveled, nearly catching her back legs in the chair.
"What now?"
Then the first volley of fire hit.
Graa'lik could immediately tell that they were under attack by the Bistras. Only they had that kind of torpedo which could make your entire ship feel like it was melting out from under you. And it carried a large impact. The Plak'han had been experimenting with it for years to no avail. She was still pondering their weapon when a second blast hit.
"Vek'ir, we've lost the Zon'ak!" Tras'ca yelled over the klaxon.
"Return fire!"
"We can't! The Bistras have taken out our weapons!"
"Shouldn't we have more weapons?"
"No, Vek'ir, it was such a surprise that they took them out before we could react."
Damn them!
"Shields?"
"Failing!"
She hated retreat, but she hated the idea of being torn apart by the peace loving Bistras more. As she signaled for them to jump to slipstream, Graa'lik wondered what Bistras wanted with the small culture that made them risk a skirmish with the Plak'han.