The smallest of foes...

Posted on 17 Apr 2015 @ 4:56am by Rear Admiral Lirha Saalm & Captain Jonathan Holliday & Lieutenant Tuula Voutilainen M.D. & Captain (HoD) D'ghor & Jonah Chaparral M.D. & Command Master Chief Markum Quinn

2,555 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Episode 08 - NIMBUS
Location: USS Chronos - Various
Timeline: MD 01 - 1000 hrs

[ON]

The transporter room aboard a Defiant-class starship was small to say the least. Only a single pad capable of transporting a small group of people existed on board, with a few small consoles dotted around it, almost as an afterthought in the design.

Holliday, having spent the past twenty minutes arguing with the young cadet operating the transporter, had eventually dismissed the boy in favour of operating the controls himself. The last thing he needed was a heated debate about heisenberg compensator operating limits in the middle of what could loosely be described as a diplomatic event.

"Nice to see you Mr Quinn. For a minute there I thought you were yet another cadet coming to tell me there was a door sign out of specification."

John smiled as the CoB made his appearance in the transporter room. The Klingons were well-known for being direct to say the very least, and having the seasoned non-com beside him was cause for celebration by the Captain.

After a moment's silence, the chirping of the transporter console indicated that the Klingon ship had successfully interfaced their transporters with the Chronos' pattern buffers, and their captain was ready to beam aboard.

In a swathe of orange and red vertical beams, the Klingon captain, D'ghor, materialised onto the padd of the Chronos in regal, battle-worthy dress. He stood over 6 feet tall with a menacing grimace that did not easily betray his diplomatic intent. As his own transport cycle completed, he and his aide, slowly stepped down onto the decked flooring beneath. D'ghor looked to his aide with a sideways glance and then returned his steely gaze back to the captain. He stood silently before his Leskit interjected, breaking the stillness between his captain and the Chronos'. "Allow me to introduce Captain D'ghor of the IKS QIb. I am Leskit, his aide."

Jonathan kept his back stiff and his chest puffed out, there was nothing worse than losing face in front of a Klingon, and he had no intention to appear weak or feeble in front of a warrior species. If anything, he had admired them for much of his career, they had their flaws like all species, but the idea of honour and combat appealed to something primal in the Martian. Stepping forward to meet the captain, he announced himself.

"Captain D'ghor, I am Captain Jonathan Holliday, the commander of this vessel for the purposes of this exercise. This is my acting First Officer, Master Chief Markum Quinn."

"Well met," D'hgor said gruffly but with a twinkle in his eye. He closed his hand into a fist and struck his own chest once as a mark of respect, enacting a short, stiff nod to both men. The glistening sash that draped over his shoulder shone dully under the harsh Defiant lights. He craned his neck around and looked at the small, spartan room. "Sometimes the smallest of foes can exact the deadliest of blows. I look forward to seeing more of this little ship you command, Captain."

Holliday returned a slight bow himself, respectful of the Klingon prowess in battle. He couldn't have agreed more with the Captain's statement, not least because the Klingons had spent centuries mastering the particular art of deadly punches in small packages with their birds of prey. Heavily armed and extremely manoeuverable, those vessels were the pinnacle of hit and run specialists.

"I look forward to taking her up against your warriors, I believe the outcome will be interesting to say the least. Could I offer you a tour of this vessel Captain?"

"I would expect no less!" came the Klingon's curt reply. He stepped forward as the jarring pain in his ankle shot upwards and through to his hip. He winced by only subtly squinting one eye. He'd spent years getting used to the pain and had become a master at veiling his discomfort well. As he took his second step the pain eased and he relaxed back into his normal posture. He knew of treatment to cure the shock, but it reminded him of battle, something close to his animal heart, and had decided long ago to keep the favour with inner pride.

"Very well...we'll start on the Bridge..." John replied, moving off towards the doors.


Sickbay

Tuula had spent the better part of the last half hour rolling around sickbay, trying to make sure that everything was neat and tidy and in the right place. She knew trying to impress the Klingons would be a futile endeavour, as they would be more into the ship's tactical systems than the latest in medical technology. But she did want to at least put on a good show for the captain, if only in the hopes of getting off on the right foot with at least one of the command staff. Shras was surprisingly helpful in this endeavour; if there was one thing that Red Squad cadets were good at, it was getting ready for inspections.

Still, her mind kept coming back to her conversation with Jonah an hour ago. About the Hegh'bat. She knew it would be difficult for her to elicit any positive reactions from the Klingons given their cultural practices about injuries like hers. Briefly, she considered faking an illness to get out of talking to them, but being the closest thing the Chronos had to a department head, that was out of the question. Not to mention that Shras would have a field day when he invariably found out.

Part of her didn't even care. She knew the Klingons wouldn't react well to her, and truth be told, approval from people this barbaric wasn't something she needed. Still, diplomatic tours being what they were, she would have to at least try. If only so that the inevitable conflagration could be blamed on the other party.

Looking around the cramped sickbay one last time, she didn't notice anything out of place. "All right everyone," she called out, taking a quick glance at her chronometer, "They should be here any second. Places, people!"

Jonah came into sickbay. He was dressed in teal scrubs that had been freshly replicated and were spotless and crisp. His hair was neatly combed and he looked as if he were about to go out on the town. He walked over to Tuula and stage whispered, loud enough for her and Shras to hear, "If one of them tries to intimidate you, or you just want to get rid of them, let me know. I'll ask the meanest one of them on a date. Of course it may be tough finding the meanest looking one, but trust me. I know my men." There was a hint of humor in his voice, but his face was impassive.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"...and this is our Sickbay." The voice of Captain Holliday entered the room before he did, the doors swinging open moments later as the Martian stepped into the room, flanked by the two Klingons, and Mr Quinn following just behind.

"My acting chief medical officer for this mission - Lieutenant Tuula Voutilainen." He announced as the group assembled in the centre of the rather small medical centre. The Defiant classes were known for their limited triage capabilities, so space was, as much as on the rest of the ship, at a premium.

"Good morning captain," replied Tuula, faking enthusiasm as she pushed herself forward to approach the one who appeared to be in charge. "As you can see, our medical facilities are quite spartan. Though they are very advanced, and have been designed to maximize space efficiency, allowing us to make the most of our small space."

"The beds look a little too comfortable for my liking," exclaimed Captain D'ghor as he surveyed the small room. He nodded to Captain Holliday and then rested his eyes onto Tuula. He paused and then cocked his head to the side to view the odd-looking woman in her entirety. "'Acting' Chief Medial Officer, eh?" he parroted as he leant in to get a better look. "And yet you need medical assistance yourself! How have you come to rest in this chair, little girl?"

"It was a shuttle accident, almost six years ago," explained Tuula in a decidedly unenthusiastic tone. Though the directness of his inquiry was a little refreshing compared to the tiptoeing around the elephant in the room that most federation species would do in an effort to be polite, his tone wasn't exactly that of a friendly inquiry. "Fortunately, it didn't prevent me from continuing my medical training."

Tuula glanced over at her colleagues for a moment and decided it might be best to change the subject before D'ghor's Klingon nature became too apparent. "It is a pleasure to meet you, captain D'ghor," she added, carefully avoiding expressing any negativity. "These are my colleagues, doctor Chaparral and cadet Shras," she said with a wave of the hand.

Before glancing over to the introductees, D'ghor's expression fell to one of inner respect for the petite woman as he gently bowed with a tilted head. His glistening eyes shone below his wrinkled forehead in a kind and magnificent way. "It takes a warrior's courage to lay your foes at your feet and drag yourself back into battle," he said quietly. He nodded and then righted himself to his usual regal stature. "Well met," he said as he turned to face the other two. "You hold a fine recuperation unit here, placed on the front lines of battle. But don't get too complacent. A wounded targ is its most ruthless when the dusk of its life is leaving the horizon."

Jonah bit back any sarcastic comment, he might have made, "We've found most or the wounded we treat are grateful, even when we treat our enemies."

"Of course, there are no enemies here," added Tuula. "Only fellow spacers."

"I agree with my colleague, we don't judge here. Its not our job. Our job is just to treat or patients. whoever they happen to be." Jonah replied.

"Well hopefully it won't come to that, on any side. This is after all, a training exercise first and foremost." Holliday interjected, cutting off the conversation before it could become a long term debate about the ethics of medicine and the Hippocratic oath against the conditions of war.

"Our respective governments are allies, and as such we don't have a need to start punching holes in the sides of each other's ships."

"Speak for yourself," the Klingon remarked with a side smile breaking across his jaw. "You don't teach a child to hunt by drawing pictures on the ground with a stick. You throw him out in the wilderness with nothing but his hands and his wits! Only then will he truly gain from life." D'ghor was half serious. He didn't hold much respect for safety nor its benefit in training for battle. He considered that only the threat of real danger would train your warrior instincts to maximum effect.

"Equally killing the child on their first outing isn't likely to make for an effective lesson, is it?" Jonathan replied with a sharpened tongue. He knew the Klingons to be a direct people in their speech, so he doubted his comment would make too big a splash.

"But neither is an over-population of a slovenly, fatted species who spend their cramped existence merely breathing," came the Klingon's curt reply. "You have your ways, Captain. And we have ours." His brow shot up to imply the jest but only half-heartedly.

Jonah, who had been taking in the whole conversation had to bite his lip to keep from saying anything that might provoke the situation.

"Indeed." Holliday replied, not wanting to press the issue any further, especially when at times he found the Klingon method of sorting something far more attractive than the Starfleet version.

"Well....I believe we have a diplomatic function arranged this evening aboard the Klingon flagship - will you be attending Captain?"

"Bloodwine and steaming, wriggling bowls of Gagh? Of course I'll be attending!" The Klingon sidled up next to Holliday and with a stumbled jostle, clutched his shoulder next to his own and brought him in close in a comradely embrace. "Do I detect a challenge, Captain?"

Holliday tried not to choke on the thick Klingon musk that exhuded from the Captain, it had been a while since he had been in such close company to the warrior species.

"I know better than to challenge a Klingon to a drinking competition Captain! However, I will be happy to continue our discussion over a barrel of bloodwine."

As the Klingon turned to leave, Tuula watched him closely. She saw him wince slightly as he put more pressure on his right leg, then walk away with a slight limp. "Oh, Captain D'ghor!" she called out, getting his attention. "Can I take a look at your leg? I noticed you were limping, and--"

It must have been the Klingon's glare that had stopped Tuula in her tracks as she spoke, and he flared his eyes at her in a frustrated yet not menacing manner. He paused and then righted his limp, taking a step or two back over to her. "Some of us may not choose the manner for which we are perceived, Lieutenant," he said softly and respectfully, nodding low to her chair as an indication, "but some of us chose the scars for which we are grateful to have survived. You may not understand that, coming from a sentimental warrior Klingon, but what I want you to understand is that my medals of honour are not solely fastened tightly to my baldric; nor nailed to the wall of my own quarters. My name shall live on song, passed down to my warrior sons and to theirs. But in the cry of battle, when I am alone with only my bat'leth by my side and the song of my father's father swooning silently in my heart, it is this reminder," he gestured to his leg emphatically, "that forges forth my spirit and clasps at courage to push me onwards. To know that I have suffered greatly before and was victorious. As I will be again!"

"Oh," replied Tuula. There was clearly a lot she had to learn about Klingon culture. "I just get tattoos. That's... kind of like the same thing?" she said, her voice raising in pitch inquisitively as she finished her sentence. Looking up at the captain, she swallowed, clearing her throat, and continued. "Well, if you change you mind, let me know. I do make house calls," she added, offering him a nervous smile.

Silently, the Klingon bowed his thanks to the woman and then cast his eye over to the door of sickbay. "Captain," he boomed, training an eye back to Holliday, "I trust that the rest of your ship is as impressive as your unnecessary medical bay. And," he added, craning a squinted eye up to the decked ceiling above, "somewhat darker."

[OFF]

--

CAPT Jonathan Holliday
Commanding Officer
USS Chronos

Captain (HoD) D'ghor, Son of Gowan
Commanding Officer
IKS QIb
[PNPC Stace]

Lieutenant (J.G.) Tuula Voutilainen
Medical Officer
USS Galileo

Jonah Chaparral
Epidemiologist
PNPC Jared Nicholas
USS Galileo

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