Captain’s Log, Supplemental. Stardate 79837.2

The situation in the Paldor System grows more precarious by the hour. The Secundi First Overseer has clearly asked for our help, though she couldn’t do so openly. K’Rath’s claim of “protection” over her people violates every article of the Trilateral Expanse Accord, yet his tone leaves little doubt he believes himself untouchable.

Until we receive authorization from Starfleet Command, our hands are tied. The best I can do is play for time… convince him we’re withdrawing to resume relay deployment while we send word to Framheim Station and the diplomatic corps.

Lieutenant Commander Vok has prepared a Class-9 probe for launch, configured to carry the Secundi data and what we have discovered so far. If we can clear the system’s ion field and break through the interference, the probe’s burst transmission should reach Framheim within hours. Once that’s done, we’ll return to Paldor orbit to ensure the Secundi remain unharmed while we wait for a response… or reinforcements.

If K’Rath senses hesitation, he’ll strike. The trick will be to appear cautious, but not afraid.

It’s a thin hope, but right now it’s all we have.

“Open a channel to the Mavek’du,” Jast said, as he walked out of his ready room and towards his command chair. The bridge was quiet, every officer at their station, waiting. “Let’s see how far Captain K’Rath’s patience extends.”

The image of the Vor’cha-class ship shimmered into view, its hull glinting green and copper in the reflected light of the gas giant. On the viewscreen, the image of K’Rath loomed… broad, scarred, his smile wolfish.

“Captain Jast,” he rumbled. “Have you decided to heed my advice and depart this system before you overstep?”

Jast clasped his hands behind his back, tone perfectly calm. “Indeed, Captain. Our orders are to resume comm relay deployment. Starfleet Command has assigned other assets to monitor this sector. We’ll leave Paldor’s defense in your… capable hands.”

K’Rath leaned closer to the screen, suspicion flickering behind his eyes. “You are wise, Federation… but wisdom comes too late.”

“I assure you,” Jast replied evenly, “Starfleet has no interest in contesting Klin…”

T’Rell’s voice cut sharply through the air. “Captain, I’m reading subspace distortions, bearing zero-nine-five mark four, and seven-mark-eight. Neutrino spikes increasing!”

Two massive silhouettes roared into existence behind them… the sharp-winged forms of two K’vort-class Birds of Prey, weapons bays already blazing emerald fire.

The first salvo slammed into the Thunderchild’s dorsal section. The deck lurched; sparks showered from a ruptured conduit above Tactical.

“Red Alert!” Jast barked. “Shields up! Vok, return fire!”

“Direct hit to the upper weapons pod!” shouted Lieutenant Commander Vok. “Launch bay two is venting plasma… fighters can’t launch!”

The red alert klaxon’s howl rose across the bridge, bathing it in blood-red light.

“Multiple disruptor impacts across decks eight through ten!” Velar reported from the chair at Jast’s left. “Structural integrity down to seventy-one percent!”

“Sorel!” Jast turned to the conn. “Evasive maneuvers, pattern Voll Epsilon!”

“Aye, Captain!”

The Thunderchild pitched violently, engines screaming as Sorel threw the ship into a twisting climb through the upper orbital band. Plasma trails and lightning flares mingled outside, blinding bursts that made the gas giant’s storms look almost gentle by comparison.

“Sir, shields at forty-eight percent!” Vok shouted over the roar. “Returning fire… phaser arrays locked!”

A golden beam cut through the void, striking one of the Birds of Prey across its ventral hull. The enemy vessel staggered, its shields flaring, but another barrage from the Mavek’du’s heavy cannons answered a second later.

The Vor’cha’s disruptors bit deep, green lances slicing across the Thunderchild’s saucer. Consoles erupted in a wave of smoke and sparks. Crew were thrown from their stations around the bridge.

“Fire suppression to the bridge!” Velar called. “Damage control teams to decks seven through ten!”

The second Bird of Prey swept past their port side, banking hard to pursue. Its cannons glowed bright, and then a pulse of emerald energy crashed through the Thunderchild’s dorsal spine.

The deck pitched hard enough to throw Jast down into the command chair.

“Report!” he snapped.

“Upper launch bays destroyed!” T’Rell shouted. “Warp core containment stable, but drive is offline!”

Jast steadied himself, smoke curling around him, the thunder of impacts echoing through the hull. “Vok, target their forward disruptors and fire everything we have left!”

The Thunderchild rolled, plasma burning along her hull. Phaser fire struck out, hammering the first Bird of Prey and forcing it to veer off, trailing fire.

The bridge lights flickered again and then died. Only the red glow of emergency systems remained.

“Shields down to twenty-three percent,” Vok said, his deep voice tight but composed. “We can’t take another volley.”

Jast exhaled through his teeth. “Break off engagement. Vok, launch the probe now; hopefully, the Klingons will think it’s debris. Sorel, take us into the upper atmosphere.”

Velar looked at him, startled. “Sir, the ionic interference…”

“Will blind them as well,” Jast said. “Buy us time for repairs… and hopefully reinforcements.”

Sorel’s fingers danced across the helm. “Aye, sir. Adjusting vector.”

The Thunderchild’s failing impulse engines flared briefly, then the ship dove toward the roiling storms below. Lightning arced across the gas giant’s surface, swallowing them whole.

______________________________

From the observation deck of Refinery Eight, First Overseer Seren Athell watched the heavens burn. The sleek silver vessel, the Starfleet ship, spiraled down toward the clouds, fire trailing from her wounded hull. Above, three demon warships wheeled like carrion birds, their weapons flashing against the dark.

“They destroy each other,” murmured Jirath beside her. His voice shook. “Why are the Great Gods punishing us?”

Athell couldn’t answer. The air trembled with each distant explosion. Even the thunder of Paldor’s storms seemed muted, dwarfed by this new violence.

She watched in pain as the Starfleet vessel dipped into the upper atmosphere of the gas giant below.

“Seren,” Jirath said quietly. “Do you think they’ll survive?”

Athell turned back toward the viewport. The ship was vanishing into the cloud tops, lightning chasing her descent like spectral hands, swallowing her potential saviors whole.

“They listened,” she said, almost to herself. “They came when we called.”

She pressed her palm to the cold plazglass, watching the storm swallow the light. “Now all we can do is pray the storm protects them.”

______________________________

The hum of the T’Ong’s old systems was almost soothing. Vornak adjusted the gain on the long-range sensors, his fingers gliding over the worn Klingon glyphs. A faint signal pulse echoed back… fragmented, distorted, and weak.

He frowned. “Starfleet transmission, heavily corrupted. Origin vector… the Paldor System again.”

K’vathra turned from the command chair. “Can you clean it up?”

“Not enough data,” Vornak said. “But I recognize the priority tag, distress frequency, Federation code.”

K’vathra’s eyes narrowed. “Inform the Captain.”

Vornak nodded. “Aye.”

He tapped the comm panel. “Bridge to K’trok.”

“Go ahead,” came the reply from the Captain’s quarters, gravel-rough and curt.

“Sir, we’ve received a weak distress call from the Paldor System. Federation origin.”

There was a long silence. Then, “Understood. Log the coordinates. I’ll be on the bridge shortly.”

______________________________

Smoke and coolant mist filled the air, cutting visibility to a few meters. The air tasted of ozone and burnt circuitry. The emergency lighting strobed across bent rails and fractured displays of the Thunderchild’s bridge.

Dr. Th’Íveqan’s voice rose over the chaos, sharp and commanding, coordinating repair teams from the engineering console he rarely used. “Seal off deck nine! Reroute auxiliary power to life support! I want containment fields on every breach!”

“Aye, sir!” came a chorus of voices from the damage control channels.

Velar moved beside Jast, face streaked with soot. “Hull breaches on decks eight, nine, and eleven. Four casualties reported in the launch bays. Sickbay is filling up pretty fast. M’Ryn’s working with engineering to stabilize the plasma leaks down on deck eleven.”

“Impulse engines?”

“Down to twenty percent efficiency. Warp drive is offline. The dilithium matrix destabilized.”

“Then we’re staying low,” Jast said. “Vok, status on communications?”

“Subspace channels are jammed,” Vok replied. “Too much interference. We’ll never get a signal through the storms. We can only hope the probe makes it out of the system.”

“Hope…” Jast said softly. “Not exactly an action plan taught at the Academy, but I guess it’s what we have.”

Th’Íveqan stepped closer, his voice low. “Captain, the port nacelle’s secondary coil is unstable. If we stay too long in this turbulence…”

“I know,” Jast said quietly. “But if we break cover now, they’ll finish us.”

“Then we buy time,” Th’Íveqan said. “The Klingons would call this a glorious death. I assume Trills, like Andorians, prefer something less final.”

Jast managed a faint grin through the smoke. “You know me too well, Doc. Let’s aim for glorious survival instead.”

Outside the hull, lightning illuminated the ship’s profile, a wounded predator gliding through the storm, electricity crawling across her scarred plating, like veins of fire.

Velar met his eyes. “You think help will come?”

“I think the galaxy has a way of sending the right people at the worst possible time.” He looked back toward the storm, expression unreadable. “Let’s make sure we’re still here when they arrive.”

______________________________

K’trok sat alone in the dim light of his quarters, the metal walls reflecting the soft flicker of the monitor before him at his desk. The image was frozen, a file of K’Rath, from years ago, standing in the Hall of Warriors, laughing as K’trok’s father and House Varek were stripped of their banners.

Meklar entered quietly, the door hissing shut behind him. “The crew grows restless, Captain. We’ve been out here too long without purpose.”

K’trok didn’t look away from the screen. “We have purpose, Meklar. The Empire has simply forgotten it.”

Meklar stepped closer. “The signal?”

“Starfleet,” K’trok said. “And Paldor.”

Meklar’s jaw tightened. “K’Rath again.”

“Yes,” K’trok said softly. “He takes what he wants and calls it honor. I think the time has come for honor to find him at last.”

He rose, the lines of age and battle etched deep across his face. “Ready the ship. We go to Paldor. If K’Rath has shamed the Empire again, we will see it with our own eyes.”

Meklar grinned, a predator’s smile. “And if he has?”

K’trok almost smiled. “Then by Kahless, we will teach him what it once meant to be Klingon.”