Chapter Text
Prologue
Iota Geminorum System, Beta Quadrant
Earth Year 2296
High above Iota Geminorum IV, a vast stretch of the placid and unchanging starscape suddenly began to shimmer and distort without warning.
Within seconds, the tranquillity of the scene was replaced by something entirely different, as the third battle squadron of the Klingon Imperial Fleet decloaked in all of its glory.
The imposing centrepiece of the squadron were two dozen K’t’inga-class battlecruisers, which hung over the planet in tight formation. They were supported on all sides by several wings of smaller and more manoeuvrable Birds of Prey, the light cruisers tasked with flanking and protecting the core of larger vessels from incoming sorties from enemy fighters.
Towards the rear, flanked by yet more Birds of Prey, came the heavier troop transports. Huge bulky rectangular vessels with recessed nacelles running the length of their dull green hulls, filled with thousands of battle-hardened and bloodthirsty warriors ready to be deployed across a planet’s surface in an instant.
And at the head of the entire collective might of the third battle squadron was the incongruous form of the IKS Qam-Chee. An older D7-class battleship, and the flagship of General K’Vusk.
K’Vusk had served aboard the Qam-Chee for many years as a loyal captain of the Imperial Fleet. It was the only vessel he had ever commanded. And while the entirety of the D7 fleet had been earmarked to be scrapped as soon as the more potent K’t’inga-class ships had started to roll out of the Empire’s shipyards, he had made a personal request upon his promotion to General that the Qam-Chee be retained, to serve as his flagship.
It was a request that had raised a few eyebrows throughout the upper echelons of command. After all, Klingon generals were not exactly renowned for their sentimentality. But when a warrior as noble and decorated as K’Vusk made a personal request, it tended to be carried out. So, in a thoroughly un-Klingon display of mercy, the Qam-Chee had been spared the fate of her sister ships, and was instead thoroughly modernised, refitted and put back into service.
And as K’Vusk sat in his raised command chair in the centre of the Qam-Chee’s ever-familiar bridge, he felt a comforting sense of pride in the vessel around him. Warrior and steed were once again thundering into glorious battle together.
Despite his advancing years, he was still as fearsome a figure as any in the fleet. He stood tall and lean, and while his flowing hair was now a patchwork of grey, it was as thick and lustrous as ever. K’Vusk was respected throughout the galaxy as a master tactician, and had been hand-picked by the Head of the Imperial Fleet for this particular mission. The culmination of a long, brutal struggle that the Empire had been waging for decades.
And today, here in the Iota Geminorum system, the struggle would finally be over.
He leaned forward in his chair, staring intensely at the planet in front of them. They had finally found it. The homeworld of their enemy was theirs to be conquered at long last.
“Sogh!” he called out to the junior lieutenant standing at the tactical station, “Wly cha’!”
“HISlaH, K’Vusk Sa',” the snapped response came.
The image on the viewscreen shifted from that of the lush surface of the planet itself to a tactical overlay. The planet’s surface was now painted in a range of colours of varying intensity, indicating the population distribution of their enemies courtesy of the Qam-Chee’s sensors.
General K’Vusk took this new information in, as he stroked his grey beard thoughtfully.
Tactically, the most effective battle plan was clear to anyone. The planet was entirely defenceless from their current position, and an orbital bombing campaign was clearly called for. K’Vusk knew that there was more than enough firepower at his disposal to lay waste to the entire surface of Iota Geminorum IV in no time at all.
But he also knew that would not be an entirely appropriate tactic. After such a bloody campaign, and knowing that this would be the final stand for their enemy, he could see that a more honourable approach was required. Besides, he knew that it had been far too long since he and his men had tasted the blood lust of a true battlefield. They deserved more than a simple bombing raid.
And so, just as K’Vusk’s sentimentality had once saved the Qam-Chee, so it also shaped his battle plan for the Empire’s upcoming victory.
He swivelled around in his chair and barked another order at his tactical officer.
“Yay chol, Sogh. TIG-mang-RUP. DaH!”
“Chah-Veh.”
General K’Vusk smiled in satisfaction and stood from his throne-like seat, preparing to join the first of the landing parties on the planet below.
* * * * *
The massed ranks of a full-scale armed Klingon landing party was a fearsome sight. One to rival just about any in the galaxy.
Thousands of armoured warriors stepped in well-drilled formation across the wide open stretch of the grasslands of Iota Geminorum IV’s northern continent where the orbiting transports had beamed then down moments ago.
And this was just the first party. Back in orbit, tens of thousands more warriors were waiting patiently in line to be carefully and systematically deployed across the surface of the planet, exactly in line with the general’s plan.
None of the Klingons striding through the grass carried a disruptor. Instead, they carried more traditional arms. Swords, daggers, blades of all shapes and sizes, each one freshly polished and sharpened, and primed for action.
The third battle squadron had been waiting for this day for a long time. Each of them knew that this was their enemy’s last stronghold. That after today, victory would finally be theirs, and so this was a battle to be savoured. But for the time being, each of the hungry warriors kept their weapons at their side, as they patiently marched across the temperate surface of the planet. Nobody raised a blade.
Because, at the head of the line, General K’Vusk strode proudly in front of them. And each of the men that followed in his wake knew that it was a general’s right to make the ceremonial first kill, as it always had been throughout this long, bitter conflict.
Suddenly, without warning, K’Vusk stopped rigidly on the spot and held up a hand with a sharp halting motion.
The wind had changed direction. He could sense something.
As one, every one of the thousands of Klingons marching behind him halted immediately. In silence, they waited for the general’s next signal.
The tactical officer from the Qam-Chee, who K’Vusk had selected to personally carry his vintage bat’leth, was the only one that moved, pacing over to the general with the weapon clasped tightly in his hands. “NuqDaq, Sa’?” he asked expectantly.
K’Vusk silenced him with a wave of his hand. The grizzled general closed his eyes and gently sniffed the air searching around him for the telltale scent of their enemy.
It didn’t take long for him to locate it. With a satisfied nod, he pointed over towards a deep green patch of bushy plant life in the near distance. “PoS, khi-GOSH,” he hissed at the lieutenant.
Slowly but surely, the two Klingons crept silently over to the thicker undergrowth, watched on expectantly by the orderly crowd of men behind them in the clearing. As they reached the target, K’Vusk gestured for his weapon. The obedient lieutenant bowed his head with deference and held up the venerable bat’leth.
K’Vusk grasped the familiar weapon tightly in both hands, as the ambient light glinted off the sharpened edge of the curved blade. He stalked over to the thicket as his audience continued to watch on in bloodthirsty rapture.
The ageing Klingon felt a familiar sensation in his body as the blood lust rose up in his veins. As he got nearer and nearer to his quarry, he parted his lips and bared his teeth, emitting a slight snarl of anticipation.
And then he charged forwards with the speed of a warrior half his age, weapon raised, emitting a guttural roar that seemed to emerge from the very depths of his soul.
The faithful lieutenant and the orderly crowd of warriors watched in rapt attention as K’Vusk reached the thicket and disappeared behind the tall bristles of the plant. They heard the weapon swing down with decisive power as it plunged to the ground, and they heard the tell-tale squeal of anguish from the general’s quarry.
And then there was silence.
After a moment, K’Vusk calmly emerged into the open again, his breathing slowly steadying and his blood lust quelled for the time being. He looked out at the expectant faces of his men, and thrust his bat’leth high into the air.
“Qapla’!”
As one, the massed ranks of the first expeditionary force from the third battle squadron raised their own weapons in a victorious cheer that echoed out across the landscape.
His trusted tactical officer stepped up to him and bowed his head again.
“Po’tajg, K’Vusk Sa'.”
General K’Vusk felt satisfied. His fleet had arrived. He had made the first kill. His men were here to answer the call of the Empire, and to fight for the future of their people right here on the enemy’s homeworld. The final battle had begun.
Impaled on the end of his lofted bat’leth, haloed by the Iota Geminorum system’s deep yellow star where it hung benignly in the sky, was a single dead tribble.