Part of USS Ulysses: Season 1 Episode 4: Stormbreaker: A Perfect Storm and Bravo Fleet: The Stormbreaker Campaign

Today is a really bad day to die

Sathea IV Science Station, Sathea System
January 5th, 2400
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[Supply Store, Sathea IV Science Station, Sathea System, Alpha Quadrant]

“Wake her,” Ol’on said, eyeing the blue-skinned, white-haired woman before him. battered and bruised, her uniform ripped and blood-stained, the Andorian executive of the Santa Fe had been tied to the chair, secure enough that the Klingon had no qualms standing quite close.

Watching as his orders were carried out by the two brutes who accompanied him, he saw the hypospray pressed against the woman’s throat, heard the hiss, and then watched as the Andorian’s eyes began to move behind her fluttering lids. Soon, Ol’on smiled at the Andorian once her eyes popped open and she jerked in surprise. He heard her hiss in pain as she felt the bonds press into her flesh.

”I’d be careful there, petaQ. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before we are through with you,” the lead Klingon said. “You are much to important for that.”

Tharia felt adrenaline flooding her system. The man before her was Klingon, and so were the two other people in the room, all of them men, and nearly all of them armed, other than the few who were strapped to a wall nearby and unconscious. “Who are you? Why am I here?” she asked, allowing her voice to sound just a bit panicked. It didn’t take much, since she was actually feeling a bit of panic as it was.

“I am Ol’on of House Mo’Kai,” the Klingon grinned through gritted teeth, “…and I am here for the same reason as you.”

”I have no idea what the hell you are talking about,” Tharia said, letting a bit of anger mix with the panic, hoping he bought it and started to think maybe he’d made a mistake.

Ol’on laughed, a deep throaty chuckle that lit up his face with a sort of sadistic glee. Leaning forward, going face-to-face with his prisoner, the Klingon grinned, baring his teeth. With a sudden thrust of his other hand, the Klingon plunged his D’ktahg into the woman’s side.

[Main Lab, Sathea IV Science Station]

A scream from the room permeated the stale air of the science lab, piercing the ears of Lieutenant Noli as she shuffled uncomfortably on the lab’s floor, just feet from the rest of the away team and their Federation scientist colleagues. She was almost hugging her knees now, looking positively child-like as she placed her chin atop her knees, with eyes wide shut. A second scream, swiftly followed by a third. She’d heard enough. Racing to her feet in mere seconds, the Bajoran lunged towards one of their Klingon captors, completely unafraid of whatever the outcome would be. A reckless move.

One that was only stopped from becoming a violent, bloody mess by the near-rugby tackle of a move by Commander Travis as he flung his arms around the woman and contained her. Holding her tight, the ginger-haired scientist whispered in the woman’s ears. “We will be of no use to the Commander if we get ourselves hurt… or worse. We need to keep our wits about us and stay calm,” he told her, only releasing his grip when he was certain that she had calmed enough to not do something reckless again.

With a petulant scowl and a tug of her uniform jacket, the Bajoran steadied herself again, growling and cursing in her mother tongue at the laughing Klingon’s nearby. One of the beasts, a foul smelling, near-seven foot behemoth, took two steps towards the Bajoran woman. “lalDan vIlaj. nuq DaghojmoHmeH bIcheghpu’nIS?” he spoke, quickly and aggressively.

Hanging his head for a moment, Javorian took a moment to compose himself, before turning back to the monster of a man. “She is no filthy idiot,” he began, shocking those around him as he clearly understood Klingon. “Judging by the stench in this room, I’d wager you are the filthy one. And we stand up to bullies like you because we are Starfleet. It’s what we do,” the scientist concluded, and not a moment too soon, as the brute had to be held back from ripping the teal-uniformed Terran’s head from his shoulders.

[Supply Store, Sathea IV Science Station]

With his hand still clasped on the handle of his Klingon blade, Ol’on twisted the sharp object, making the Andorian’s eyes widen and her body tense as a deep, gurgling moan broke out of her throat. “Don’t toy with me, petaQ. I’ve killed bigger and better people than you for fun,” he said, bringing his face even closer so that she could smell the stench coming from his rotting teeth. “Nod if you understand.”

Tharia nodded, and then let out a deep breath as the pressure on the knife was released as the Klingon stood up again, leaving the blade impaled in her side, if for no reason other than to stop her dying on the spot. That would be no good to either of them.

”Good girl,” Ol’on said, bringing his hand back up to ruffle the matted, blue blood-stained hair of the Andorian. “Now, let’s try this again, shall we?” he said, somewhat scarily.

Tharia watched as he turned and moved across to the massive console in the center of the room and picked up a PADD. “Commander Tharia sh’Elas. Starfleet Intelligence. Service number TS-11517322-VDO,” he read from the file in front of him. “Current assignment… one of those pitiful little rust buckets in orbit. USS Santa Fe, is it?” the Klingon smirked as he looked over the file. “It was easy for me to obtain your file thanks to my contacts in Klingon Intelligence. Tell me. Does your captain know you work for someone other than him?”

“Please…” the weakened woman pleaded, “I honestly don’t know what you mean…”

“Don’t lie!” the beast growled as he stepped toward her again, causing the battered woman to tightly close her eyes and flinch away, albeit briefly. “So, Commander sh’Elas, why don’t you try the truth for a change. It might serve you a little better than this bilge you keep spewing. You’ve been trying to feed me lies.”

Taking a deep breath through the pain barrier, the Andorian spoke through gritted teeth. ”What the hell are you talking about?” she asked, looking straight into the Klingon’s eyes as she spat a dark blue globule of blood onto the floor at his feet.

”Bring him in,” Ol’on replied, not taking his eyes off of Tharia’s own.

Behind the chair she was tied to, the heavy metallic door opened slowly. He heard the sound of two pairs of heavy boots and the sound of something being dragged across the deck plating. Turning her head, she glanced to the left and saw the unconscious figure of the elderly administrator of the facility suspended between the hulking figures of two Klingon males.

”I’d be willing to wager that you’ll tell me exactly where to find what I’m looking for,” Ol’on said with a smirk, “because you don’t want the old man’s death on your conscience now, do you?”

Tharia was frozen in place. It was all falling apart. Everything Intelligence had worked so hard to plan. How the hell had they known it was there? How had they gotten to it before she could? She’d only known about it for a matter of hours. How had any of this gone so very wrong? “What do you want from us…?” she asked, finally giving up.

”Why, I want the weapons research your science team have been working on,” Ol’on finally confirmed, genuine incredulity on his face. “And I want the prototype device they have developed.” he said, glaring daggers at the man on the floor. His expression changed in an instant, a menacing, tooth filled grin replacing the look of incredulity that had adorned his face previously. “If I don’t get it, I am going to kill every last person on this station, and then I’ll blow your starship to dust.”

“It’s not what you think,” she winced between pangs of pain in her abdomen, finally admitting that she knew something about that which he was talking.

Growing frustrated by the woman’s lack of cooperation, the Klingon aggressor reached down and twisted the knife once again. “Then tell me, Andorian, what you think it is. I grow tired of your word games,” he growled.

“Its… its…” she had put up a valiant resistance so far, but the pain was becoming intolerable, “…its a defensive shielding system… something… designed to counter the advantage of cloaking devices…”

Releasing the blade in the woman’s chest, the Klingon slowly made it to his feet. After a few moments of staring down at her, he let out a laugh. A maniacal-type laugh that even the most horrendous villains of old would have been proud of.

He was right. They were working on something, something secretive. Something that would no doubt change the balance of power further. He almost admired her for how long she had held out in the face of the beatings she had taken, and now the wound she had sustained. Almost. But now she was starting to fade, no doubt from the loss of blood. She stayed awake long enough to hear him bark an order in his native tongue, before her head bowed and she finally slipped into unconsciousness.

[Main Lab, Sathea IV Science Station]

Silence had engulfed the lab. No one had so much as blinked in the wrong direction in what seemed like an age. Lieutenant Noli had calmed herself, Commander Travis was still reeling from the very close call he had had with the brute who kept giving him long, lingering stares in an effort to intimidate him. It was working. Even the civilian scientists were quiet, but they were looking shifty. Something wasn’t quite right, even now. He didn’t have long to theorize the cause of their curious behaviour, however, as moments later, the doors to the aft compartment opened, and the Klingon brutes who had earlier taken their commander emerged. Much to his concern, they were dragging the Andorian’s apparently lifeless body, back into the room. Slapping Noli on the leg to garner her attention, the two (and their security colleagues), swiftly rose to their feet.

“What have you done to her?!” Noli fumed, once again stepping to the nearby Klingon’s. This time, there was no Javorian to hold her back, as he was too concerned with watching his commander being carelessly dumped on the ground.

“You!” one of the Klingon’s barked at the brazen Bajoran. “Heal your friends wounds, or let her die. It is up to you,” he shrugged, tossing a medical kit at he wrinkle-nosed woman.

Catching the medkit in her arms, the Lieutenant gave a growl worthy of a Klingon opera. Javorian leapt forward this time and grabbed his subordinate by the arm, turning her away from the Klingons swiftly and drawing her attention to their focus. “The Commander needs you,” he told the Bajoran with a stern expression, holding her by both arms and focusing her on the here and now.

“We know why you are here,” a defiant member of the science team rose to his feet now, a Tellarite with mottled skin and scruffy hair. “It isn’t here. You’re too late,” he grinned, a toothy grin that seemed to rile up the Klingon warriors. Just as one of the warriors grabbed the Tellarite by the scruff of the neck, the door opened again and the leader of the gang emerged from the back room, dragging the equally lifeless body of the elderly administrator behind him. With an effortless flick of his wrist, the Klingon launched the administrator’s body at the feet of the Tellarite.

“Your leader died an honorable death. He stuck to his word the entire time. I almost admire his resolve,” he grinned somewhat evilly, “Almost. Now, jIjatlhqang ‘e’ yIHar, you will give me the information I need or I will work my way through your entire science team until someone does,” the sadistic beast warned, getting up close and personal with the pig-faced creature. “Don’t make the same mistake your superior did,” he then urged the smaller being, ruffling the Tellarite’s hair.

Crouched on the floor next to his Bajoran counterpart, Commander Travis’ attention was split between his wounded superior and the exchange taking place mere feet away. He listened intently for hints of what the Klingon might have been looking for, but the threat to the Tellarite’s life forced him into action. Gently placing his hand on the Tactical officer’s shoulder, he gave it a reassuring squeeze before rising to his feet once more. “Starfleet, and the Federation, do not negotiate with terrorists,” he told the Klingon sternly. “Whatever it is you are after, you won’t get it.”

With a low, menacing growl, Ol’on turned to the pasty looking Starfleet scum. “You better hope for your sake that you are wrong, Starfleet, or a lot of people are going to die today…”