Star Trek Hunter
Episode 27: The Sword of Destiny
Scene 5: bISolnISbe'taH
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27.5
bISolnISbe'taH*
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An odd chuckling sound filled the early pre-dawn darkness of the Carolyn Kirk Saavik Wildlife Preserve and Cultural Heritage Site located on the large central island of the Soda Toer Archipeligo on Rising Sun. The sound grew in intensity - hundreds of voices - thousands of deep voices - chuckling mirthlessly.

The unique atmosphere of this planet, along with its four moons, made for glorious sunrises, painted in orgasms of color across the sky. Beneath this magnificent display, the rose tinted grass of the colony's largest park gradually came into focus along with hundreds of landed troop carriers and thousands of klingon warriors kneeling - brought to one knee because each had stepped into a deep hole in the grass. Their mouths and eyes were open wide - their faces frozen into manic expressions as their bodies were wracked with spasms, causing them to make a loud, chuckling sound as they fought for breath. These warriors were dead, but their bodies continued to fight for air - air that could now only be used for chuckling.

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On the many paved walkways that laced through the park, hundreds of humans and a few dozen andorians lay dead. They were wearing civilian clothing, but were still clutching or had just dropped Andorian Imperial Guard issue phaser rifles. These were the peaceful dead - some killed by disrupter burns, others by bladed weapons.

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The commander of the Imperial Klingon Assault Force assigned to take this preserve, Colonial Kraig, was not so fortunate. He was attending a general staff meeting and trying to remain inconspicuous.

The pentagonal shelter they were meeting next to was built entirely of stones that had been joined without morter. This building was more than 20,000 years old and had been erected by a now extinct species that had once had this world to themselves. Long before this colony of nearly 5 billion humans, less than 12 light years on the Federation side of the border with the Klingon Empire, had become a flashpoint in the often strained relations between these two greatest powers in the Alpha Quadrant.

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A klingon general in an antique uniform - not the modern ablative plastic armor but burnished and bronzed steel chainmail - was surveying the morning's carnage and speaking so quietly that the officers in attendance were hushed and straining to hear his words.

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"Now I must parade myself before our Chancellor and accept responsibility for this disgrace." At 111 years old, General Mor'rgoth was the last of a dying breed - a klingon born with a smooth forehead - one of many effects from the Klingon Augment Virus that had infected two generations of klingons with the original series of genetically enhanced human DNA. One of the most shameful provisions of the Khitomer Accords prohibited all augmented klingons and the first generation of their children from having children. There was no next generation - so that term had come, among the augments, to apply to all other klingons.

That same provision had required Mor'rgoth, Kor, Kang, Koloth and all original series klingons to undergo cosmetic surgery to install skull ridges. The Federation and the Klingon Council alike had supported this provision. Star Fleet had objected to this requirement, but not very strenuously - one of many things for which General Mor'rgoth would never forgive humanity.

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Mor'rgoth turned to his adjutant - spoke only a little more loudly. "General LariS, how many of our warriors were killed in this attack?"

"8,227," replied Adjutant General LariS. She was the most respected and least envied officer in the entire Imperial Klingon Forces - and both for the same reason - she had been General Mor'rgoth's adjutant for nearly 20 years - the first adjutant to survive for more than 6 months in his service.

"And how many of our warriors were killed by these so-called Rising Sun Rangers?" The general's voice was calm and steady, quiet. It was a very bad sign. Mor'rgoth was famous for his temper. If he wasn't shouting and bullying, he had to be dangerously furious.

"18."

"18." The general made a fist, held it out in front of him. "So that means that 8,209 klingon warriors were killed by an inobtrusive herbivore no larger than my fist. Colonial Kraig…"

Kraig knew he would not come out of this situation unscathed - if at all. He stepped forward and brought his fist to his chest in a salute.

"Colonial, you are fluent and literate in Federation Standard, as is required for all officers, correct?" The general's voice was still calm, conversational.

"Yes, General," Kraig replied.

The general took three steps to his right, revealing a large sign that had been partially obscured behind him. He gestured to it. "Please read this sign, Colonial."

"Beware! Please remain on the paved trails and do not step on the grass," Col. Kraig read. "The green-bellied chucklehorn is a protected species. These small herbivores are harmless if you do not disturb them. If, however, your leg becomes trapped in one of their burrows, they will attack energetically. The chucklehorn's cranial horn is very hard, extremely sharp and delivers a fast acting neurotoxin that causes almost instant death, followed by bronchial spasms, accompanied by the vocalizations for which the creature is named."

General Mor'rgoth took a deep breath, his voice and features still calm. "So you could read the warning signs. Yet you did not take the simple precaution of requiring your soldiers to follow these instructions and remain on the paved walkways. You do understand that such an egregious oversight requires a change in your status."

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Kraig took a deep breath - a battlefield demotion meant great dishonor not only to him, but also to his family and his house.

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In the next moment, the colonial fell to his knees, then toppled as his intestines spilled from his suddenly split stomach. It took several minutes after his body hit the ground for him to finally die a gruesome, painful death. Mor'rgoth had struck so fast that his officers had not seen him slice through Kraig's belly. They only observed him cleaning and sheathing his d'k tagh as their unfortunate colleague struggled in vain on the ground before them. Like most original series klingons, in addition to an unusually long life expectancy, Mor'rgoth's enhanced human genetics had given him another unanticipated advantage - in his case, the blinding speed of the fastest human.

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General Mor'rgoth waited for Kraig to breathe his last, watching impassively as the colonial, unable to take but the shallowest of breaths, writhed in agony, his body fighting for one more breath, one more heartbeat. When the colonial was finally still, Mor'rgoth spoke even more quietly than before - his senior officers held their breaths to catch his words.

"The three largest urban centers in Soda Toer are to be taken before sunset. The remaining eleven by sunset tomorrow. Unless you wish to join your colleague in the pits of Grethor." He turned, stretched, and casually strolled into the ancient shelter that had become his headquarters on Rising Sun.

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No one knelt to open Colonial Kraig's eyes. No one lifted their head to howl for him. No warning was offered to the honored dead that Kraig might soon be among them. Mor'rgoth's officers were well aware that to do so would be the quickest way to join their disgraced and disemboweled colleague.

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*bISolnISbe'taH (thlingn Hol - Beware)

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