And the Claws

Posted on Mon Mar 22nd, 2021 @ 12:33am by Administrator LordeEmp

Mission: Heroes of the Hov'hurgh
Location: Eta Eridani Sector Near the Donatu System
Timeline: 901432.2

The Sensor Officer aboard the Batlh TIq stepped back from his scanning hood with a look of pale disbelief. He cleared his throat and called out to Rolq. “My lord, direct hit with all weapons. I read heavy structural damage but power and shields are coming online.”

“Confirmed,” helm barked over his shoulder. “They have power sir! They’re moving!”

“How…?” Rolq gaped in shock at the ring of monitor screens before his chair. “No ship can withstand that kind of firepower without shields!”

“I think they just did,” Sensors retorted sardonically and then added, “my lord.”

“They’re coming about, torpedoes inbound!” Tactical shouted.

“Evasive...!” Rolq braced as his ship lurched from a tremendous impact.

“Shields holding but weakened,” Sensors reported. “We can’t take another hit like that!”

Rolq shot his head around for T’sura, his First. Damned, but the Romulan Ha’DIbaH had left the bridge. Rolq got a squeamish chill in his gut. T’sura had urged him not to provoke the strangers but he had ignored her. Now she was gone. She knew something about that ship and now she had cast her life aside to flee.

She had given Rolq his out if he was brave enough to take it. No one would question his hunting down his First to end her cowardly life. If he happened to kill her in the shuttle bay it only offered him a convenient excuse to survive the loss of his ship. Besides, the High Council would reward his bringing data about a new and dangerous foe to their attention, perhaps with a newer and bigger ship. He slapped the armrests and rose from his command seat, marching into the turbolift. He roared orders in his wake. “Return fire, all batteries!”

The lift got fully underway when the ship rocked hard from Hov’HurgH’s return salvo. The computer screamed a warning, “Hull breach… explosive decompression… catastrophic turbolift failure… attempting emergency override…”

“NO…!” Rolq howled helplessly as his turbolift car spat from a hole in his ship and into deep space.

Green bursts erupted from the Hov’HurgH and her swarm once again, striking the already listing vessel. More debris and bodies were torn violently from the drive section, and she fell still, moving slowly on the arcing trail that it had been on as their helmsman had tried to avoid the monstrous ship’s weapons.

“Adversary’s shields are down! Engines and weapons systems disabled!” K’cHag sounded off from the tactical station, “Sensors are showing multiple hull breaches.”

Sthilg’s brain was trying to do far too many things at once. His black gloves were covered in blood as he felt around in his latest patent. The Klingon Marine whose belly had been slit open on the wings of one of the ships fighters had thankfully fallen into unconsciousness as he felt for the marines severed artery. Even with the technology off the time wounds like these needed a more personal touch. His fingers found the severed artery and the micro dermal regenerator in his figures sealed the bleeding. He’d have liked to have fixed the wound completely, but just then, three more patients were wheeled into the busy surgery bay. He nodded to the Klingon nurse to look after the marine as he pulled off his surgical gloves and chucked them into a biological waste bin.

The three new patients where all federation, but their uniforms were alien to the big gorn. One a short human female’s arm had been severed just above her elbow. The second a very pale trill male had a large piece of metal shrapnel embedded in his chest. The last was barely a child wearing what he guessed was the cadet’s uniform. His face was unrecognisable with the heavy burns that covered it.

“Room sssix and five for thessse two.” He said pointing to the two adults before pointing to the cadet. “Get him to room ten. Use the tissue regenerator.” As his staff did what they had been told he flicked open his wrist communicator. “SSSthilg to the bridge. How many more Federation patientsss do we have?”

“Unknown at this time, Doctor! You will have those numbers as soon as we do,” VaQ’taj shouted over the din of destruction on her bridge. She cut off the communication just in time to realize that the Negh’var was floating in space, engines down, fires raging on multiple decks.

As the shields of the Negh’var sputtered and dropped, everyone paused briefly, looking to their leader to decide the fate of the failing aggressor. VaQ’taj wasted no time in answering those expectant looks, “Lock on tractor beam and disable their cloak. Squadrons, prepare for search and rescue ops. Boarding parties prepare for site to site transport!”

The Colonel in the command chair then looked to Hov’qIj, “You lead them.” It had been a simple order, but one that was understood between the two, long associated officers. Combat would take place; most Klingons would fight to the death. But she also knew that there were likely some that had followed orders to keep their heads.

At least she hoped that were the case. If a quarter of a century had transformed all of her people into mangy beasts that struck the defenseless, Colonel VaQ’taj, Daughter of the House of Lon’HocH’tul, would weep for her beloved Empire. Then utterly destroy the wretch that had brought them to such a dishonorable end.

She trusted her first’s cooler head and analytical judgement to sort them out on the Negh’var. She also knew that he would be able to decide what she would find of interest and what she wouldn’t want off of the floundering Batlh TIq before she decided its final fate. They could use the raw materials, though Hov’HurgH’s captain doubted that she would have much time in the sector before someone came looking for the downed ships.

Mack keyed her communicator as she set to work cleaning her galley, her tone slightly sardonic as it broke through the waning chaos on the bridge, "Murphy what did you do?"

The Hov’HurgH’s HoD stopped mid sentence as she sat in the command center of her ship, directing boarding missions that were slowly switching to search and rescue. She laughed shortly, shaking her head at the unexpected question from the feast hall, then answered, “I ripped a hole in space and time then started a fight with a bully... what else would I do?”

There was a brief pause and when VaQ’taj spoke again, her voice was tinged with concern, “How fares you and your kitchen?” She had always known that bringing her adopted sister on board was risky in more ways than one, but the small, halfbreed scrapper had never let her down and only had minor complaints for the most part.

"Scared Chou half to death, broke the fine china, targ pen will need cleaning and I've got a paring knife sticking out of my leg, but we'll survive," McKenna said. She hadn't actually realized she had the leg wound until seconds before. During the turmoil she'd put Chou in the special pen she'd had made for rough encounters and then focused on trying to keep her kitchen intact. At some point one of the many, many knives around the place had gone flying and lodged in her upper thigh.

“Another battle scar to add to the collection!” VaQ’taj quipped, but it was a half hearted attempt at levity. If the truth were told, the short-statured Klingon woman could be blamed for at least a couple of those old scars. She knew full well that Mack could not feel pain and that she could bleed out without even knowing that she was injured if she was not careful.

Shaking her head, the HoD continued, “I will send a medical team to see to your wounds. Then I will be rerouting non-critical patients to the feast hall to relieve the strain on medical. Are up for an invasion?” she asked with another small chuckle.

"Don't you dare send a team just for me!" Mack said sternly, "It's not bleeding bad, and I can survive until the medical team starts bringing in patients, they can triage me along with everyone else. But I could use a couple meatheads to move the tables out of the way."

“Nonsense! Our medical and science personnel are being overwhelmed and we have hundreds of wounded to tend to. You will be treated first because we require your skills as a caregiver,” VaQ’taj ordered, hiding her concern behind the needs of the crew and their rescued charges. She knew that if she didn’t order it, Mack would likely tend to the wounded and find herself on her back in a biobed with a Gorn doctor looking down at her.

“But I will at least send you muscle to feast your eyes upon during your duties,” the HoD quipped, with a sly grin, “I know how much you enjoy ordering them around.” They had both been the target of larger bullies during their younger years and it had always impressed the red-braided Klingon just how fearlessly that Mack had stood up to it. Even if most of that had been the absolute lack of fear when it came to pain.

Mack sighed and forced herself to sit down, her tone turning serious, "Thanks for keeping us in one piece Murph."

“Qapla’! I will make rounds later,” was the emotionally generic reply that the HoD of the Hov’HurgH gave before shutting down the communication. There were still firefights breaking out on the Negh’var and the husk of the B’rel. Wounded were still being beamed to medical overflow bays. They had survived, but how many pieces that they were in still remained to be seen.