Trekfire Turn 64 epilogue
The corridor was a mess. Broken paneling lay strewn across the deck, while
overhead lights flickered, signs of broken or intermittent connections. Some
areas were in darkness where the glow tubes had blown out completely. Acrid
smoke, heavy with the stench of burnt plastic still lingered in places, the
atmospheric controls too overloaded to clear it properly.
Through the debris strode a heavyset figure, boots crushing the plastic
shards still further. It stopped next to a figure half concealed under an
access panel, only the legs showing. The figure playfully booted the exposed
ankle.
"Well lad, seems to me like you lucked out again," rumbled General Angolin.
The figure squirmed backwards, extricating itself from the confines of the
crawlspace to reveal the sweat stained and disheveled features of B’moth,
Emperor of the Klingon peoples.
"General Angolin," he drawled. "I can see I’m going to have to commission a
ship with larger engines to haul your heavy carcass around the galaxy."
The old Klingon chuckled. "Large I may be lad, but I can still dance with
the whelps when I have to.’ His expression changed to one almost showing
concern. "And you’re avoiding the comment. You nearly lost your fleet and
yourself out here. Got most of it so banged up they’ll be out of action for
months."
B’moth wiped his forehead crest with a greasy rag, his gaze not locking with
that of his advisor. "No, I’m not avoiding the issue. I’m ignoring it. It’s
a prerogative of the victor. Now pass me a spare phase coupling and a plasma
torch," he demanded, ducking back under the opened panel.
Taking his time to select the required items, Angolin hunched down to peer
at the work his Emperor was carrying out. "Just what are you doing under
there?" he inquired.
B’moth grunted as he tried to heave himself into a more comfortable position
amidst the exposed componentry. "As you said, we aren’t in the best shape.
If the enemy decides to attack again, I’d prefer a few more weapons pointed
in their direction." He paused to glance up at the General. "Casualties are
high, so I’m doing some work myself to get the main lasers back on-line. Its
called leading by example. Besides, keeping the hands busy clears the mind
to ponder more important matters. Like the fact that we now seem to be
facing a three way alliance including the Federation P’tach."
With a final grunt and a brief flare from the welding tool, B’moth had
finished. He heaved himself back out from the panel and rubbed his cramped
hands together to get the circulation going again. "There," he concluded to
himself, then pulled out his personal communicator and keyed the activator.
"B’moth to gunnery crew two. Test fire the weapons."
There was a brief hum from the panel, then a flash of cascading sparks, a
small flare as the newly inserted module burnt out, and finally a cloud of
smoke.
"T’cham Dach! That’s the second replacement coupling that’s blown!"' he
exclaimed to the universe in general. Then muttering once more to himself,
he continued, "It looks like I’ll have to re-calibrate the complete system."
General Angolin looked on, his face a neutral mask. "Ready to accept some
advice from an old hand, or should I leave you to it?" he asked.
B’moth rounded on him, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "If you think you
can do better, feel free. That’s if you think you can squeeze your lard
belly into this conduit," he added.
The General gave a laugh that held only faint traces of levity. "Hmmmph. I
can see you’re in a fine humour. And I’m also going to have to have a word
with the academy about their curriculum. Taking care of your weapons are one
of the most basic rules of a warrior," he pronounced, a look of rebuke
clearly evident on his features.
The old Klingon ducked under the open paneling, spent a few seconds
orientating himself with the circuitry, then appeared to trace back a ways
through the system. Selecting what appeared to three large power cables, he
yanked then free of their connections at one end. Removing one glove, he
selected a cable from the bunch and grasped the end of the cable in his now
bare hand. With the other, he indicated for B’moth to hand over the
communicator.
"Right. Angolin to weapon crew. Test fire on minimum setting."
It took a second or two for the Emperor to comprehend what was about to
happen. "What in the name of Kah’less’ beard are you doing?" he roared,
moving to make a grab for the cable.
At the same instant there was a crack of power and Angolin’s huge frame
jolted from the shock. Sparks flew from his enclosed fist, while the heady
stench of burnt flesh hung in the air.
Angolin exhaled an explosive breath, then composed himself. "Not that one,"
he stated, dropping the cable and taking hold of one of the other two.
"Weapon crew, test fire again on minimum."
Again he shook as the power surge went through his exposed flesh. He snarled
in pain.
"Gant’ch Kor! I hate it when it turns out to be the last one." Grasping the
third and final cable, he spoke into the communicator. "Weapon crew, once
more on minimum."
This time there was now surge. Holding the cable out to the gobsmacked
Emperor, Angolin proclaimed, "There. Here is your problem. Start tracing the
fault back on this circuit. Chances are you’ll find a break in power
conduit." His grin of triumph would have been almost comical had it not been
for the raw burnt state of the palm of his hand, the skin blistering and
beginning to peel away.
It took B’moth a few seconds before he could gather his composure to answer.
"How did you know that?" he demanded incredulously.
The big Klingon shrugged. "Basic heavy weapons theory, Lad. Something the
academy should have taught you, including the fast way to find the problem
under battle conditions." Seeing the uncomprehending look he was getting
from his Emperor, the General decided to backtrack a few steps to explain.
"Look, a laser is a cohesive light beam. Light is made of three main
colours, set at different frequencies and blended, yes?" He knelt down to
peer under the open panel, and beckoned B’moth down to see what he was
indicating. "Hence three inputs to the phase coupler, which combines the
frequencies and adjusts the phase of the waveform to its most efficient
pattern." Angolin pointed out the relevant area of the firing circuit. "This
gives you a carrier wave form. Once through the phase coupler, you dump in
power from the main grid before it hits the focussing emitters to compensate
for range attenuation, than fire it off at the target."
"I’m familiar with the theory. They do teach some things at the academy,"
stated B’moth with a note of reproach.
Angolin shot him a skeptical look. "What they obviously didn’t teach you was
that if the carrier waveform is too far off true, the signal won’t pass
through the emitter cleanly. Normally a slight phase shift it can compensate
for. A heavy phase shift means you loose power from the weapons and have to
recalibrate as you suggested. But a huge signal shift, for example when part
of the carrier signal is missing means that a good portion of the signal
won’t get through the emitter. All it can do is feed back along the
circuit." Once more he indicated the pathway back through the circuit and
carried on his explanation. "But by this time you’ve also dumped your main
power into the mix, so you get a vastly amplified feedback signal trying to
come the wrong way through the phase coupler. You’ve seen the result
yourself. It’s the only problem that fits the fault symptoms, and it’s a
damn common one on laser emitters."
"So how did you learn how to trace it like that?" demanded the Emperor.
Angolin roared with laughter. "Hah! Lad, I was leading troops into glorious
battle before you were an itch in your father’s trousers. And when you are
outnumbered twenty to one, the enemy is advancing over the hill line and
your artillery has suddenly fallen silent, you learn how to fix things.
Quickly."
B’moth snorted, and gave him a begrudged grin. "Hmmph. Lesson learned Old
Targ."
General slapped Emperor on the shoulder so hard that B’moth almost
staggered. "So it should be. Has your old Uncle Angolin ever let you down,
eh? Now get a proper repair detail on to this so we can talk."
B’moth made the call through his communicator as Angolin paced away up the
hall, shaking his hand to try to alleviate the pain from the burns. In short
order, two crewmen had appeared hauling an array of diagnostic tools and
spare parts.
The Emperor left them to join his advisor. As soon as they were out of
earshot, Angolin began the conversation once more.
"You’re concerned about the Federation appearing in this theatre, yes?" he
inquired.
"Yes," confirmed B’moth.
"Don’t be. It’s an inconvenience at the moment, nothing more," Angolin
responded dismissivly. "Now mark this well. The Hydrans and Kzinti have
thrown ships into this region and the Pursuit system in large numbers. From
what their technology base looks like, they either have huge mothball
reserves or we are close to their major production base. It cannot be that
they are sustaining that large a standing fleet. Especially the Hydrans,
else they would have responded far more rapidly to seeing our advanced
technology. I would say that within a few systems jump, you have a chain
from here to Pursuit with the Hydrans between and the Kzinti branching off,
with both the Kzinti and Hydran major shipyards in the area. The Federation
are much further away. There’s was a token force, a single squadron. Battle
cruisers admittedly, but not their heaviest units."
B’moth had a skeptical look on his face, but the General waved it away,
continuing his explanation.
"The Federation have problems enough where our borders meet. That is where
they will concentrate their ships, and I would be surprised if they are not
extremely put out with the lack of capability shown by their allies. They
will be very wary of making another attack on this front with such poor
support as has been given by their Hydran and Kzinti allies."
B’moth was still not convinced, and his countenance visibly showed it. "So
what is your council?" he demanded gruffly.
Angolin grunted, a cynical half laugh. "The one thing we do not want," he
emphasised, "is the Gorn entering the war. I don’t care how it is done, but
we need a treaty with them that will ensure they do not commit to an attack.
The Kzinti and Hydrans we have the measure of. Against the Federation the
honours are almost even. But from what we saw briefly of the Gorn fleet at
Distant Hunt they have heavier vessels than even the Federation. And I do
not want to have to face those as well."
The old Klingon pursed his lips as he continued. "The situation at Honour
Lost is going as planned. We are disrupting the Kzinti survey fleets and
buying time. We should be able to hold. Kolloth will get his new scanners
and we should be able to keep far better track of what they are doing,
possibly even detect and set an ambush for their main battle fleet."
B’moth interjected forcefully. "Once repairs are complete, I want a fleet
re-deployment. Strip as many ships as can be spared, especially heavy units
and bolster that system. If it’s a race, I want some assurance that we can
hold them away from the Revenge Nexus."
Angolin nodded his agreement. "A gamble, but I would concur. The Federation
have shown little in the way of wanting to act aggressively. I don’t like
weakening our border defenses but in this case I think we must. There are
also a number of small blockade squadrons that could be released. I have
already ordered the marines to pacify those races who do not wish to form
pact with us. That will clear up three potential trouble spots within our
borders."
B’moth smiled wryly. Such an order should have come from him alone, and it
was testament to the trust he held the in the general that he let such a
userpment of authority slide. Besides, it was the kind of decision he would
have only ended up agreeing to, and it had saved precious time.
"Once those planets are under our control, I want the revenue put into
construction of a new battle-line. If we are lucky it will be more heavy
units to bolster Honour Lost. If not they will be on hand to replace losses
there."
Angolin nodded. "Understood. Speaking of construction, I’ve signed off the
designs for the new D7C battlecruiser. The keel for the prototype IKS
Anarchist should be laid at Klinzashi yards next month."
B’moth was obviously surprised at the tone of voice his advisor had used in
reference to the new ship. "You sound impressed for once."
"She’ll be a brute," replied the General. "'Bigger than anything we’ve seen
the Federation using, and possibly even a match for the Gorn heavies if it
comes to that."
They continued on down the corridor, each taking a moment for private
thought. The prospect of facing the Gorn at this point in time did not
really bear thinking about. It was the Emperor who spoke next, changing the
topic.
"So what of other matters? How goes things at the High Council?"
Angolin gave one of his short, snorting laughs. "You aren’t going to like
it, but I would say that now is the time for you to stay on the throne a
while instead of risking your hide with the fleet."
The Emperor kept his face a mask of studied indifference. "What? No
opposition? Klathu’s old cronies have decided to come around to our way of
thinking?"
Angolin waved his hand in dismissal then winced as the movement brought a
stab of pain to the wound.
"Their voice at council was waning anyway," he said dismissivly. "Your
victory here at Territories Edge, no matter how you pulled it off has sealed
it. There is no more dissent," he concluded.
B’moth nodded sagely. "Hmmm. Just a couple of things. I’ve decided to rename
this system. It is the only pass into our new territories, and it has broken
the heart of any that have tried to take it. Heartbreak Pass. A fitting
tribute to those who have fought here."
Angolin mulled it over for a few seconds before nodding in agreement. "Not a
bad idea. I can’t see it doing any harm, and will probably gain you even
more support for bestowing the tribute. What was the other thing?"
Once more the Emperor kept his visage deliberately blank. "Klathu’s old
faction didn’t just decide to tow the line, did they?" It was more a
statement than a question.
For once the old Klingon looked uncomfortable. "How do you mean?" he hedged.
B’moth’s eyes narrowed slightly. "I mean that yours are not the only reports
I receive. There was a.... disagreement between yourself and Exchequer Dansu,
was there not?"
It was Angolin’s turn to put on a poker face. "We had a few words, yes."
"A few words that ended when you stuffed him into a barrel of blood wine,"
responded the Emperor blandly.
Angolin was now looking decidedly shifty. "That may have been the reason,"
he shrugged.
"Then you sat on the lid."
"And your point?" demanded the General irritably.
B’moth carried on in the same nuetral tone. "For thirty minutes? And from
what I hear, when the other council members asked what you were doing, your
response was ‘Making sure.’"
Angolin shook his head and exhaled explosively, his mood sullen. "Gah! He
was a pompous windbag! He annoyed me," he offered by way of explanation.
B’moth almost chuckled to himself, allowing the beginning of a smile to play
across his lips.
"Your loyalty does you credit General Angolin, but that kind of behavior is
not what I would expect to occur as soon as my back is turned," he
remonstrated with mock severity.
Angolin calmed himself and grudgingly accepted the mild rebuke. "Alright. I
will ensure not to be so wasteful in future," he sighed dramatically.
The Emperor raised a single bushy eyebrow. "Wasteful?" he queried.
General Angolin sniffed dismissivly.
"It was no loss. It wasn’t as if it was a very good vintage anyway."
(
geocities.com/mwadwell)