Kerak was feeling every one of his 83 years of age the morning morning after the opening night of the festival. Regardless of his hangover he got right to work trying to make up for the shortfall of the various metal ores they needed to complete the House’s new flagship and keep their smaller yards churning out Mat’ha’s and B’rels to sell to other houses.
After being curtly refused by the first three major mining firms he contacted, he decided to change tactics a bit and tried contacting some of the smalling mining outfits that he had seen advertising their services on the the holo-exchanges. After a few more unsuccessful calls, he was finally able to get in touch with a company willing to send them a rush consignment of duranium ore.
“Well we greatly appreciate your willingness to fit in that extra consignment for us Mr. Vajjo. I will have someone from our finance ministry make arrangements and reach out to you about payment.” Kerak nodded as the horned Langarian sales representative from the Brax and Dorrk Mining Corporation made a peculiar hand motion and closed the channel.
“Well, that’s eight thousand tons secured, only forty two thousand more to go.” Kerak said to himself sarcastically.
As he continued scrolling through the list of mining outfits, he noticed a name he thought he recognized. It was the name of the owner and proprietor of a mining firm that didn’t have an official title aside from an alpha-numeric designation which was presumably it’s mining license or business number. The name was R’Veq, son of K’Zren. The nameless company had completed several contracts to supply both duranium and diburnium to several Houses and other entities that Kerak knew were closely allied with the House of Koloth.
Kerak quickly cross referenced the outfits designation and owner with his procurement records and found that the House of Jutarg had ordered a moderate sized shipment of twenty thousand tons of processed duranium alloy (meaning it had been through an initial smelting, and was delivered in large sheets of metal instead of as raw ore) back in late-2395. Apparently much of that consignment had been used in the construction of their first Mat’ha-class Raptor. The newly appointed Seneschal sent a subspace signal to the coordinates advertised on the business listing.
About a minute later someone on the other end answered his call.
R’Veq was in one of his keep’s training rooms, drilling with the mek’leth; given his injuries, he could no longer wield the iconic and traditional bat’leth, and so he worked to remain as sharp as he could with the smaller blade instead. His form was good, but admittedly – though he hated to admit it to himself – got sloppy the longer he drilled or sparred, as his seared lungs fell behind his need for oxygen. Thus he drilled, in the hopes of bringing his endurance back towards what it used to be, for a head of House who could not defend their title against challenge was no head of House.
Taking a moment’s break for a drink – bloodwine, of course, a true warrior’s beverage – and a pull from his oxygen tank, his respite was interrupted as the door slid open and one of the attendants walked in, kneeling before him. “What?”
“A message for you, my lord,” the attendant said. “From the House of Jutarg.”
R’Veq scowled. He’d heard of the House of Jutarg; they were once, like his own – much younger – House, a vassal of the Great House of Koloth, but had renounced their liege just under ten years ago. In those days, the House of R’Veq had done business with the House of Jutarg, but had not done so in some time. After all, a vassal released by their liege was one thing, but a vassal abandoning their liege was another, at least in R’Veq’s mind.
Returning his mek’leth to its sheath, R’Veq pulled his cassock vest on over his armor and swept from the room, leaving the attendant to retrieve his oxygen tank and bring it after him. It was a short walk from there to the communications center. As he entered, the three Klingons in the room all stood to attention and saluted. “Vaj joH!” they hailed in unison.
“Open communication,” R’Veq ordered as he crossed to stand before a wall-mounted viewscreen.
“Greetings. I am Kerak, song of Dang, the new Seneschal and majordomo of the House of Jutarg. We have need of consignments of ore for our foundries. I am hoping to place an order.” Kerak observed the man on the screen. He looked younger than him, but in some ways more weathered by the passage of time.
R’Veq regarded his counterpart with a shrewd eye. “R’Veq, son of K’Zren, lord of the House of R’Veq,” he replied in way of return introduction. “What ores do you need, and why?” he continued to ask, blunt and to the point.
Perhaps the question – or at least the second part of it – was prying, but frankly R’Veq didn’t care. The House of Jutarg had broken its vassalage, and he needed to be sure that the ores that this Kerak was requesting would not be turned into weapons intended to cause harm to the Great House of Koloth.
“We need 32 kilotons of Duranium and another 10 kilotons of Tetraburnium. For our new Flagship. Our current one has been seconded to Starfleet for the next year and a half. Your House has been a reliable supplier of ours in the past, and as we are looking to maintain a steady build schedule for our shipyards, I’m hoping to rebuild a rapport with some of our providers” Kerak didn’t need to divulge the secondment, but knew that the mere mention of friendly relations with Starfleet would signal which ‘side’ of the Klingon political spectrum they supported.
One of the other Klingons in the room with R’Veq called up the House’s production schedule on a side monitor for his lord to see. According to the data – fortunately, R’Veq had once been a deputy administrator for a mining interest, and so it made sense to him – they could provide the full amount, but it would require delaying the next phase in the construction of the House’s first large shipyard. It would also have an impact on necessary maintenance for several of the House’s own ships – three transports and a bird of prey – some of which was already overdue; the ships had been kept on duty because they could not be spared.
R’Veq also could not help but notice Kerak’s remark that Jutarg’s House flagship was on secondment. Having just sent one of his own House’s ships – under his own daughter’s command, no less – for the same purpose, he also knew that the Duras-aligned Houses generally were not participating in a secondment program that amounted to a Koloth-led initiative. Jutarg, thus, was either still aligned in some way with the Great House of Koloth even though they had abandoned their vassalage, or playing a very long and dishonorable game and hiding it very well.
R’Veq knew the truth would come out in the end. He also knew that while ambush was perfectly valid as a tactic, deception was cowardice. But weakening his own house was also unacceptable. “I was told Jutarg had renounced the Great House of Koloth,” he began. “It pleases me that this may have been false.”
“It is true that we renounced our vassalage to the House of Koloth to pursue our own goals and ambitions. We did not, however, renounce our long standing friendship with them.” Kerak shifted in his seat, this was the first time he addressed the issue with anyone outside of the House. Word of them remaining friendly with the Koloth Faction getting out would hurt their House’s chances of further advancement.
R’Veq grunted, then double-checked the numbers, leaving the matter to rest and continuing. “We can spare some ore, but not in the quantities you need without delaying several vital projects. I can, however, send 20 kilotons of refined duranium, and 5 kilotons of refined tetraburnium.”
Hearing that the ore would be refined pleased him enough to have his shoulders drop noticeably. In a pinch it would be enough to finish the Negh’var-class on schedule.
“We appreciate whatever you can send. You can forward the details of the shipment and any invoicing directly to my office here on Caligar. It will be an honour doing business with you again R’Veq, son of K’Zren.”
“We will be in contact. Qapla’, Kerak, son of Dang.”
“Qapla.” Kerak closed the channel and pounded his fist triumphantly on the desk. This called for a toast.
