Joe Manning

QoB was two hours away from the Gandora colony, still cruising under cloak with the armored car attached to its hull. The destruction of the Vladika had not compelled Starfleet to increase patrols in the region ... not yet, at least. So QoB was able warp across the Federation border without incident. Now, away from Starfleet's prying eyes, it was time to move the tank into the hold.

Commander Mench entered the science lab and located Lieutenant Sargh mixing chemicals at a table beside the targ pen. He held a PADD out to the Klingon. "Sargh, here is the complete list of cargo which has been deemed nonessential. There should be enough here to make room for both the tank and the tritanium that we'll be grabbing from Goldrock. I'm putting it in your hands to sell the cargo on Gandora."

Sargh took the PADD and glanced over it. "I'll look this over later. I trust that you've had enough sense to make sure that the bloodwine and live targs are classified as anything but nonessential?" He gave Mench a predatory smile.

"I didn't prepare the list, Sargh, I only contributed to it." Mench answered. "Just as you had the opportunity to do ... if you weren't too drunk when you received the memo. Besides, it's in your hands now. You remember Gimok? The Ferengi 'artifact' merchant?"

"Remember him?" Sargh asked with a chuckle. "I still owe that scum a knife through the face. For a Klingon like me, that makes him an old friend."

"Touching," Mench replied. "But this time, you'll be doing business with him. He's our best bet to get a good exchange for the cargo, and I want him alive to make it! After what happened to that cargo freighter, I don't want any incidents that could attract attention to our presence on Gandora. Xandra will be accompanying you, to calm Gimok down and to keep you from pushing him too far."

"Understood," Sargh said. "You have briefed her on the fact that 'through the mess hall's targ grinder' doesn't count as too far when it comes to pushing, right?"

"Believe me, I have briefed her on the mission." Mench answered with a smirk. "Gimok usually doesn't keep a great deal of latinum on him, so we'll need to receive some of his goods in exchange -- anything small that won't take up too much space in the hold. When we're done with Goldrock, we can come back and resell it."

"I think that can be arranged," Sargh replied. "So long as you don't mind carrying exotic weapons; it's hard to beat that sort of thing for value-to-volume ratio, especially when you get into the 'massively illegal' category. It shouldn't matter, though....I figure we've all probably earned our death sentences already, so what's another capital crime or two?"

"Well, that sort of trading is hardly frowned upon on Gandora, as long as it's kept discreet. The traders there are -not- averse to turning someone in to Starfleet if someone ticks them off. If anything goes sour with Gimok, you'll have to find other buyers. There are usually a few merchants either doing business in Gandora's canteens or staying in one of the motels. But you'd have to find one who can provide latinum or small goods and without any delays -- that tritanium will be leaving Goldrock in two months, so we can't afford to wait around on Gandora."

"I'll make sure things don't go sour with Gimok. It might cost him an eye or two if he tries to cheat us, but the deal will happen."

"Good," Mench nodded. "And Sargh ... whatever you do, don't give anyone on that colony reason to believe that we're desperate. It's inevitable that we're going to lose some value, but as soon as someone senses that we're in a rush to offload cargo, its value will plummet. This is another reason I'm sending Xandra with you. She's got a little more ... savvy about these things."

"'Savvy', maybe," Sargh said with a scowl. "But any amount of 'savvy' won't replace the power of brute force when it comes to earning the respect that makes people give you a fair deal. I would advise you not to forget who the true warriors on this ship are. I understand that you would naturally place greater trust in your own kind, but we were all members of the Klingon Empire's Deep Space Fleet, and, whatever our idiosyncrasies, were we not competent, we would have been killed long before we withdrew our support for the current government. Trust us, Captain. Trust us, because you know, in our line of work, you can't afford not to."

Mench narrowed his eyes when the Klingon turned away and walked back into his private office. "Careful, Mr. Sargh." He muttered to himself with a smirk. "Ms. Collins' savvy may be prove a bit too much for you to handle."

Date: September 22nd, 2389

Time: 0750 hours

Location: Gandora III

Status: non-alert, cloak active

Tree branches whipped and wildlife scattered as QoB landed in the glade. The tall Gandoran Greywood trees would conceal the ship well, and nosy passers-by would not be likely -- the glade was 400 yards up the foothills of the mountain range which straddled Gandora colony. Even if someone should get close enough to luck upon the sight of the Bird of Prey between the trees, they would get the message that its crew wanted to be ignored. The less attention attracted here, the better.

Several moments later, as a few daring animals returned to investigate just what was causing the large depression in the grass, the Bird decloaked. It was not a pretty sight. Several hull panels were ripped or dented, one of the thrusters was leaking fuel in the wake of the exertion of landing, and the armored car was awkwardly perched between the two upraised wings.

The animals that were not startled by the sudden appearance of the ship were sent away for good by the sound of the cargo hatch opening. The hatch creaked unhealthily as it lowered to the grass, a previously unnoticed effect of the shockwave taken at Cepheus Gamma. One more thing to repair. Commander Mench came down the ramp, followed closely by his Lieutenants and several Bekks. He turned to look at the armored car atop the hull and noticed that the hatch was just a bit wider than the vehicle. This confirmed his original guess -- the car could drive into and out of the hold.

As the crew who were not familiar with this world looked around the glade, Mench walked through the trees to the cliff which overlooked the colony. It was the same as he remembered. A pleasant enough place by outward appearance, like any clean well-kept Federation colony. But beneath the sparkle was the true nature of Gandora -- a colony which operated on the border of Federation territory and Starfleet indifference. Especially since the Dominion War, visitors to Gandora knew that Federation law could often be left in orbit, because there was simply no one around to enforce it.

Footsteps came up beside Mench, and he looked over at Nikita and Sargh. He pointed to the narrow path which ran down the foothills to the colony. "Sargh, you know the way. Go on ahead with Xandra. Nikita, you and Fox figure out the extent of the external damage, then you can join up with Sargh and let him know what you'll need."

"What about you?" Nikita asked. "What are you going to be doing?"

"I'll be relaxing aboard my ship," Mench smirked and turned back toward QoB. "What else?"

The twelfth time Admiral Thorne watched the video feed, it was no less aggravating. A panel of experts had analyzed the sensor readings accompanying Vladika's final transmission, and they all agreed -- the green blur which appeared next to cargo transport 81-Beta-3 was a Bird of Prey, a K'Vort class. Just as Vladika had attempted to gain a clearer image, the Bird of Prey cloaked.

"Pirates," the Admiral said for the tenth time, looking up at Lieutenant Prescott, his aide. "Lousy, damned pirates!"

Thorne had been recently taking a more active interest in the reports of pirate attacks along the Klingon border, but this latest incident had raised the stakes considerably. A Starfleet cruiser and all hands aboard had been lost, and the Commodore charged with overseeing patrols along the coreward half of the Klingon border was doing an inadequate job of responding.

"This is the fifth such incident that I've brought across my desk in the last three months," Thorne remarked, tapping the top of his desk hard with his finger. "And we've got dozens more confirmed or suspected attacks on record! Do you know how many times the name 'Qob' has appeared in those reports, Walter, attached to a different ship every time? I'll bet this is another one. It's become a damned rallying cry to them! What exactly is the Klingon government doing about this?"

Prescott sighed. "They give us the same answer every time we ask. Their forces are still depleted from the Dominion War. They are having difficulty maintaining patrols along our border; they are far more concerned with watching the Romulan border. Their situation is not so different from ours."

"Right! Meanwhile, wolves are prowling at our gates! This is precisely why I keep telling the Council that they cannot get complacent. I am tired of hearing that we are not at war with the Dominion any more. I am tired of hearing that we are making strides with the Romulans. I am tired of hearing that there is no cause to rebuild our forces because we're at peace." Thorne pointed at the holo-projection as the image of the cargo transport was suddenly replaced by static, presumably caused by the second appearance of the Bird of Prey. "Does that look like peace to you, Walter?"

Prescott frowned and lowered his head, thinking it best not to answer.

"And what in the hell kind of a shoddy operation was this?!" Thorne continued. "We lose contact with a cargo haul in Klingon space, and the only ship that is dispatched to investigate is a science vessel that should have been decommisioned a decade ago? The second that Bird was spotted, they should have reported back in to Starbase 128 and called in immediate backup from central command."

"Sir, it must be pointed out," Prescott replied. "That our operations along the Klingon border have not been given great priority since the Narendra III rescue. Most of the stations out there have been in operation for well over forty years. They are not well staffed or supported, especially with the cutbacks that have taken place since the Dominion War. The Trinidad was the closest Class A ship at the time of this attack, and it was three hours away at maximum warp."

"Which is exactly why I'm sending this to the Council!" Thorne retrieved the isorod from its port. The static was replaced by the sensor images being transmitted from Cepheus Gamma by the Trinidad; the wreckage of Vladika and the cargo transport were still being cleaned up. The Admiral stood and crossed over to the window that looked over the San Francisco Bay. "It's unacceptable! We should be restoring our fleet strength to pre-war levels. Until we do, we are sitting ducks for predators like these." He held up the isorod.

"Yes ... but, the Council does make fair points," Prescott said. "Restoring the fleet's strength requires labor, and not too many people are joining Starfleet these days. The war soured a lot of people. The ones that do join are more interested in exploration and discovery than they are in building and crewing warships. As far as they're concerned, we're in peacetime. They want it to remain that way too much."

"Which is why we should be recruiting." Thorne narrowed his eyes and tried to allow the sight of the gulls circling over the bay to relax him. "There are worlds out there with the resources and the manpower to fuel a massive rebuilding effort, and with the technology we could share they would be more than willing to contribute both."

Prescott took a deep breath and looked down again. He did not like it when the Admiral started along this line of discussion. "Yes, Admiral, but as always the Prime Dir--"

"Don't tell me about the Prime Directive!" Thorne snapped. The gulls scattered, almost in response to his voice, but more likely to the sound of a ship taking off from the local starport. "I've heard enough about the Prime Directive. My Prime Directive is preserving this Federation against the jackals that would do her harm, so that my grandkids can live on worlds like Aldebaran without worrying about when the next Klingon pirate raid will come. And I do not have the resources to ensure that that is the case. The Council needs to wake up."

"What could be done to convince them, though?" Prescott asked. "They have their ideals."

"Then let's show them that those ideals are not as well-protected as they seem to think," Thorne turned away from the window. "Commodore Blake has clearly proven that he is not up to the task of protecting our interests near the Klingon border. Send word to Starbase 128 that I will be assuming command of his operation."

"Sir?" Prescott asked, lifting a wary eyebrow.

"I will likewise be assuming command of the USS Trinidad, which is to be my command center in the region and the flagship of the operation. And I want the Commodore on board as my first officer, not in his cushy Starbase office. The only way of sufficiently addressing a problem like this," Thorne said, again lifting the isorod. "Is to meet it up close! Not to sit in a Starbase looking at sensor images and sending ill-informed orders to poorly equipped starships."

Prescott nodded. "Aye, sir. I will send word to the Commodore and Trinidad. What is to be our objective?"

"To hunt down these pirates," Thorne said. "We're going to get good clear picture of the extent of their activities, so that the Council can be shown that there are hostile agents prowling around our borders and that the time has come to do something about it! And in the process, we're going to find the bastards that destroyed the Vladika and show them that their days of screwing with the Federation are over."

Chat log for 9/16/09

Qob090916.txt

Commander Mench shimmered beside Fox on the transporter pad at the rear of QoB's bridge. As he stepped toward his chair, the ExOps officer gave a report.

"We have a sensor image of the incoming ship, Commander," she announced proudly. It was Zilane Rya, a Bajoran woman they had captured from a passenger liner nine months earlier. How nervous she had been back then. As he did with all the non-Klingon crew, Mench played the understanding Human and won her trust. He'd pushed for her advancement in the crew, ultimately earning her a second-shift bridge assignment. More and more non-Klingons were earning such prominence on the crew under his command.

"Show me," Mench ordered, taking a seat. Smokey took his usual seat at the Flight station. The silhouette of the incoming ship appeared on the main viewer. Mench smiled. "Oberth class. Shouldn't be too much to handle."

Mench pushed the comm button on his armrest. "Sargh ... they're sending a science vessel to do a combat vessel's job. We should be able to take it out quickly, but I don't like the kind of attention this could bring us from Starfleet. I want that cargo over here in short order. Have Lieutenant Pike look it over and determine if it can survive a space flight."

The cargo was a problem. Mench hadn't been expecting such a large package. He certainly hadn't been expecting an armored car with three energy cannons. Gular's 'cargo' seemed to be aimed at preparing QoB's crew to enter a combat zone. Peculiar considering that they were supposedly going to be robbing a mining colony with a light security presence. But Gular had been perfectly clear about the need to secure this cargo.

There was simply no room in the hold for it. Even if they were willing to jettison precious cargo to make room, there was no time with Starfleet now putting the heat on. Sargh's suggestion to tie the thing to the hull was sounding a lot more attractive ... at least as a temporary measure, just long enough to get the thing out of this system and to a more secure location.

Chat log for 9/9/09

090909.txt

Chat log for 9/2/09

090902.txt

I know that the Guideline states that 3 or more sims on an Academy vessel is what is expected before moving on to advanced ship. However, I was wondering what is typically average?

X.

X being the number of games it takes each cadet. Each cadet goes through the Academy at his/her own pace and we graduate when we feel that each is cadet is ready for the advanced games. There really isn't an average.

I'd say that if you hit 15, it's time to start asking the GM's how you can improve.

"This is border station Jericho-3 in Sector 082 with high priority communique to Starbase 128.

"We have not received waypoint confirmation from cargo transport 81-Beta-3, currently inside the Klingon border. 81-Beta-3 entered Klingon space five hours ago on a trade mission to Ar'toQ colony. They had strict orders to stand by for arrival confirmation at the intervening Cepheus Gamma system. 81-Beta-3's commanding officer delayed considerably before responding to confirmation request. Request for explanation of the delay was met by an unidentified individual. Neither said individual nor 81-Beta-3 CO has made further contact with Jericho-3 command. Further requests for confirmation have not been answered. 81-Beta-3 was officially declared out of contact at 1620 hours.

"Alert status on Jericho-3 station has been upgraded to yellow. Support cruiser Vladika has been dispatched to the Cepheus Gamma system to investigate. We request that Starbase 128 notify the Klingon government of the situation and dispatch backup to Vladika's position in Cepheus Gamma. Vladika is a light cruiser, Oberth-class; backup may be required! Vladika's ETA to Cepheus Gamma is 35 minutes.

"Repeat, this is border station Jericho-3 in Sector 082 with high priority communique ... "

* * * * *

"SNAFU!" Commander Mench said as he reached under his chair. His hand found the grip of his disruptor rifle in the hollow compartment. He released the weapon from its dark confines and pulled the arming switch. The rising whine of the disruptor's energy coil firing up was always soothing to his ears. It was a beauty of a weapon with only one purpose; no stun settings on this baby.

"Take the bridge, Lieutenant." Mench said to the first officer as he strode to the transporter pads with the rifle leaning on his shoulder.

SNAFU. Gular never said anything about this cargo transport making contact with Starfleet. Now the Fleet was suspicious and sending at least one ship to investigate. Mench wondered whether Gular simply didn't know Starfleet was going to contact the ship ... or this was part of the Bolian's plans. Gular had a reputation on the Raven -- on his jobs, nothing ever happened that wasn't anticipated. So if Gular knew this transport was going to be contacted, why didn't he tell Mench?

The solution to this problem seemed simple -- grab the booty and run before the Fleet ship could arrive. Avoid a fight that could easily be avoided. That was always Mench's way, whether the Klingons liked it or not. But in this case, it wasn't so easy. The cargo they required was much larger than expected -- over 1/4 the size of QoB's hold, without the space to spare.

Another piece of information Gular hadn't shared.

Mench briefly considered running anyway. Screw Gular, the cargo, and the job if the Bolian wasn't going to be forthcoming with mission intelligence. But two thoughts urged Mench to retrieve his rifle instead of his raid team -- "Gular is not one to be crossed" and "the rewards could be too great to pass up."

"Energize," the ex-marine ordered. As his particles were separated, he muttered under his breath one last time, "SNAFU."

Date: September 1st, 2389

Time: 1525 hours

Location: Cepheus Gamma system

Status: non-alert, cloak active

"Patrol still ongoing, Commander," the Bekk at the flight station reported. "Maintaining a distance of 50 million kilometers from the Cepheus Gamma star."

"Sensors sweeping out in all directions!" the External Ops officer took the initiative to loudly announce. "As Lieutenant Sargh ordered!"

"Right," Commander Mench crossed from the door to his chair, looking around the stations. All Klingons this shift -- a rare occurence these days. Something about it made him uncomfortable. He preferred having non-Klingons within earshot of any Klingon gathering at all times. Sure, the Klingons put him in the Commander's chair, but he was no less wary of any attempt to pull him out of it ... possibly in two pieces.

He pulled up the sleeve of his uniform tunic (which the Klingons insisted he wear when joined the crew) to look at his chronometer. Almost time. He'd briefed the Lieutenants a few hours ago. He didn't give them all the details of Gular's job (one thing at a time, he figured), but he stressed the importance of the package that needed to be picked up from Cepheus Gamma. The package was the first step.

"Commander!" the eager ExOps officer again shouted. "Long range sensors show a vessel approaching the system!"

"Good," Mench said. "Just the one?"

"Thus far, Commander!" the Klingon replied. "It appears to be a medium sized cargo transport, standard Federation configuration! At its present speed, it will enter the system in ... 25 minutes!"

Mench looked over at the Internal Ops officer. "Get the Lieutenants up here. And get the raid squads ready."

A red crate with black Klingon runes. Everything else on the transport they could do with as they pleased, but they had to secure the crate.

Starfleet Intelligence Secure Archives

Database: Wanted Individuals

Entry: kgr-qob4-0049lm

Name: Lazarus Mench, Commander (formerly Private First Class, SFMC)

Current Whereabouts: Kligon Renegade Vessel QoB 4 (Commanding Officer) LOCATION UNKNOWN

Known Aliases: Shadow Fox (SFMC), Albert Richter MD (consult records on Mars, DS9, & Deneb IV)

Gender: Male

Species: Human

Age: 38

Height: 5'10" (1.78 m)

Weight: 190 lbs (86.18 kg)

Hair: Thin, Sand Blond

Eyes: Brown

Features: Multiple facial scars, large scar down right eye, SFMC tattoo on left bicep

Place of Birth: Antiga V-B Colony

Unmarried, mother deceased, father's whereabouts unknown (see mqs-xrk-0283jm), no siblings

SFMC SERVICE JACKET SUMMARY

Advanced Infantry Training (w/ four instructor commendations)

Advanced Special Operations Training (w/ three instructor commendations)

Basic Combat Engineering Training

Basic Fleet Operations Training

Basic Strategy and Tactics Training

6 month posting to Angel Springs Colony security force (one behavioral reprimand reported by superior)

2 year assignment to 114th MSG (two behavioral reprimands reported, notable activities CLASSIFIED)

18 month assignment to 64th MSA (one behavioral reprimand reported, notable activities CLASSIFIED)

Declared AWOL March 13th, 2384

NOTES: Mench was trained by SFMC Command in tandem with Starfleet Intelligence to act as an independently operative field agent in SFI's Black Web sleeper project (see Covert Ops Project sxx-17a4). His cunning and personable demeanour marked him as a promising candidate for undercover infiltration exercises. His selfish and insubordinate personality, noted extensively in SFMC's psych profiles, were ultimately counterproductive and resistant to conditioning. MENCH IS TO BE CONSIDERED EXTREMELY DANGEROUS

KNOWN OR SUSPECTED CRIMINAL ACTIVITIES

Sighted prior to Wanted status in company of suspected Lyran Belt drug smuggler Goban Kil (nrc-lbop-0028gk)

Believed to have spent three years working for Orion Syndicate, offering training and consulting in addition to employment. Major contacts/supervisors unknown.

Operated under false identification as medical lab technician on Deneb IV colony for three years partly coinciding with Orion Syndicate employment. Activities included theft of pharmaceuticals and procurement of confidential biological research data. Three colonist disappearances, as yet unsolved, MAY have been linked to his activites (xdp-dnb4-0001). Known to have used false ID on Mars colony and Deep Space 9 (consult local records). Operations uncovered, but capture eluded. (see Resolved Cases scm-dnb4-0001lm)

Name and picture located in partially damaged reports uncovered on captured black market trader Vigo (see Hostile Vessels blm-vgo). Reports evidently link him to sale of stolen merchandise and involvement with other unnamed black market vessels.

THE SYL'S FORTUNE REPORT

The current whereabouts of Lazarus Mench were confirmed by reports given by Martin Brochton, owner of the Federation cargo transport Syl's Fortune. Syl's Fortune came under assault by a Klingon K'Vort class Bird of Prey near the Klingon border. Images of the Bird's hull confirm that it was the 4th of the currently known 'QoB clones' (see Hostile Vessels kgr-qob).

Syl's Fortune was boarded by a mixed band of Klingon and non-Klingon assailants. These assailants referred to their leader as 'Commander Mench' and Brochton's description matches that of Lazarus Mench. Mench reportedly taunted Brochton, hinting that he would he brought aboard 'my ship' and made a slave. An emergency aboard the Bird of Prey was reported via communicator to Commander Mench. Brochton's reports of the ensuing conversation suggested that Mench is, in fact, the Commanding Officer of the Bird of Prey. Brochton used the ensuing confusion to prepare his report and imbed it in a distress signal. Contact was irrevocably lost with Syl's Fortune an hour later.

If Commander Mench has, indeed, assumed command of a renegade Klingon vessel, it is a remarkable and unprecedented development. His training no doubt would have served him well in earning status among the Klingons, and our Klingon experts suggest that a sufficiently regimented renegade Klingon crew with long-term objectives (a rarity) might adapt a non-Klingon commanding officer in the absence of a suitable Klingon candidate. What long-term objectives those may be are unknown.

Relevant data from this dossier has been shared with the Klingon Defense Force.

Here's to a happy birthday and a happy year for you, Sumo. :wacko:

Qapla’ batlh je! Welcome to the crew of QoB!

That is the last welcome you shall ever receive, for now you belong to us. As long as you serve among Klingons, you will learn the ways of Klingons. You will live on our ship. You will respect our traditions. You will use our weapons. You will eat our food.

You are now only scarcely more worthy than the filth who wear our slave collars. Once, you crawled like a dog among them, picking your meals from the slop heap, performing work that is beneath proud warriors, and dying like rats upon the blades and beams of our enemies. But in time you showed some small measure of worth. The servants of Kahless are wise enough to reward even lowly slaves who show greater worth. So it is that we have brought you into our ranks. First, you will learn them.

Bekk -- This is you! You are a Warrior and you will do as you are told. You will fight. You will die. Think not that this proud distinction affords you the honor of a Klingon Bekk! You do not have the mighty spirit of Khaless within you, and so you must fight like a cornered targ to continue proving your worth. Should you merely think of stepping out of line, your death will be swift and honorless.

Lieutenant -- Bekks who have distinguished themselves with sharp mind and great prowess serve as no less than the Commander‘s elite honor guard. You will do what they tell you. Should you step out of line, they will be the ones executing you. Give them the respect that they have earned.

Commander -- Only the mightiest Klingons are worthy to sit upon the seat of command. You will honor your Commander with the greatest respect! Cast your gaze downward should your Commander do you the rare honor of paying your meager existence heed. Speak not to your Commander unless spoken to first! Always obey and dream not of mutiny unless you are stronger than your Commander, which you are not.

You have but one job on this ship -- warrior! If you cannot fight with our weapons, you will learn. When we raid, you will fight. Do not think this a Federation ship, its crew divided into clubs that are protected by a police force. On QoB, the only department is the warrior department. We do recognize secondary skills, however, and the necessity of putting them to use. If you are adept with machinery, you will study our engine room and maintain our ship. If you have training in medicine, you will man our medbay. If you possess a scientific mind, you will advise the Commander. But no matter your role, you will fight! Know our weapons and wield them well!

Bat’leth -- The traditional sword of a Klingon. You will all wear one upon your backs. Your Bat’leth may serve great use in combat within twisting starship and station corridors where a swift stroke may defeat the precise aim of a disruptor, but your Bat’leth chiefly serves ceremonial purposes. The flat of the blade may be used to subdue, but a Bat’leth which does not draw blood is like a warrior that does not kill. We have more suitable means of subdual.

Mek’leth -- The smaller Klingon sword chiefly affords concealment. It is not as easily noticeable as the Bat’leth and it cannot be traced by weapon sensors. Seldom do we skulk about and bypass security without spilling blood, but should this be required your Mek’leth will serve you well. It is also preferable to the Bat’leth in tightly constricted areas where the larger sword cannot be freely swung about.

D’k tagh -- The knife of a Klingon is intended only for ritual. We do not engage our enemies with the D’k tagh unless we are deprived of all other weapons, but this does not diminish its importance. You will keep your D’k tagh safe and secure. Your blades belonged to the Bekk whose death allowed your advancement. They first belonged to a Klingon. As such, you will keep the steel clean, sharp, and strong at all times.

Disruptor -- Many of you will wield our pistols and rifles on raids. They will allow you to kill at a distance. This is not the preferred way of a Klingon, but the cowardice of our enemies demands an equitable battlefield. You will only use your energy weapons against defensive machinery and foes that are similarly armed! You will draw blade or painstik against any foe who cannot engage you from a distance.

Painstik -- Our electric prods are our chief instruments of subdual. Many of you will carry painstiks on raids, hunting for live captives. A brief jab on the highest setting is enough to knock out any but the most sturdy target, but be warned that prolonged exposure can induce unwanted cranial burst. On lower settings the painstik is true to its name, useful for keeping rebellious slaves and undisciplined subordinates in line.

Collar -- As you surely know, targets subdued by painstik have one of our special slave collars placed around their necks. The collars deliver the same electric shocks as the painstiks, but by remote activation rather than touch. The activation devices can deliver their commands to any and all collars from anywhere on the ship, ensuring that no slave uprising can threaten the crew.

Whatever place you once called home, you will not see it again. We share this burden. The Qo’noS we love has turned its back on us, and now QoB is our only home. Until the day comes when we may return to Qo’noS as champions and saviors of our people, you will remain on QoB. You will die before that day comes.

QoB is a proud home. You may know that of Birds of Prey there are two types -- the smaller B’rel scout and the larger K’Vort cruiser. QoB is K’Vort, a mighty warrior of the stars that will serve you well, and that you will serve in turn. You will be prepared to die defending QoB. First, you will know QoB.

Weapons -- QoB’s chief weapons are its disruptor cannons. They must be aimed with care to hit their target, but an effective disruptor bombardment can tear through an enemy vessel’s shields. The Federation boasts of the precision of their phasers, but phasers are no match for the raw strength of a disruptor pulse. Our torpedo supply is limited and so we must be cautious in their use, launching them only when severely pressed by ships that we are willing to destroy. The disruptors are effective at disabling ships for boarding, however, and this is often our only aim.

Defenses -- The cloak drive is our chief defense, but also our most valuable weapon. A Klingon’s greatest desire is to be as close to his enemy as possible. The cloak allows us to close with an enemy ship and line it up for an accurate and secure disruptor salvo. Our shields and weapons cannot be used while we are cloaked and for a brief time after we decloak, so it is critical that we utilize the advantage quickly and effectively.

Wings -- Our wings have three modes, and if you should find yourself piloting QoB you will know them well. Their normal straight alignment is Flight Mode which affords us the greatest possible speed. We lower the wings for Combat Mode, which reduces our speed but grants us greater ability to maneuver and greater accuracy with our disruptor salvos. We raise the wings for Landing Mode, which we utilize for planetary raids and cargo transfers.

Transport -- We do not have fighters or shuttles, as QoB itself serves both purposes adequately. For ship boarding and rapid planetary transport, we utilize our four matter transport pads. The pads require several moments to recharge, so we may only send warriors four at a time to hostile ships. You will learn our boarding procedures well. Swords and disruptors go first to sweep the transport site, then painstiks are sent to subdue personnel for capture.

Flight -- QoB’s warp drive may maintain a speed of Warp 7 comfortably. Cloak is possible in warp flight, but not ideal due to the power drain. Our variously aligned impulse thrusters are utilized to their utmost in Combat Mode, allowing us to expertly evade enemy fire and dog ships more clumsy than QoB (almost all ships which we engage) with constant flight maneuvers.

Your advancement to the crew means you will no longer share space in the slave quarters. You have quarters of your own now and it is your responsibility to keep them clean and secure. Your quarters and all other living areas are in QoB’s midsection, the neck which adjoins the bridge and the engine section.

Galley -- You will feast, with the rest of us, on gagh and Rokeg and bloodwine and whatever spoils we can plunder from our raid victims. Should your stomach see fit to spill any of our fine fare on the galley deck, you will clean it up with your bare hands. All Bekks will be expected to serve shifts as galley chef and butcher.

Medbay -- We do not use the childrens’ toys that the Federation favors. If you will serve in our medbay, you will learn to use knife and clamp. A Klingon bears his scars proudly and he accepts death if he suffers defeat in combat. Any injury which cannot be fixed with cut and pinch is fatal, and any who are crippled on the battlefield are left to die with honor.

Armory -- We must be constantly ready for combat, so our disruptors have been stored in lockers throughout the ship, or at the sides of the Commander and Lieutenants. We all bear our swords at all times. The Armory has been converted to a training room. There is no leisure on QoB! Roll bones in the galley for latinum if your deeds have you earned you the time, but you are expected to put in ample sparring in the Armory.

Hold -- QoB is built for manpower, not for cargo transport, so our hold is not large. It serves adequately to store excess tools and supplies and to house the spoils of our raids until we can locate buyers. The cargo hatch is our access to the outside in Landing Mode, so planetary raids assemble in the hold. There is one cargo transporter for ship-to-ship exchange, but this cannot transport anything which lives.

Lab -- QoB once housed a targ breeding pen, but this was converted to a lab to serve the purposes of a scientist on the crew. A limited amount of breeding continues in order to supply our grandest feasts in the galley, but two of the targs (which we have lovingly named M’t and Bch) are reserved only for lab testing. They are not to be harmed unless we have run out of food and are starving to death.

You should need no explanation, unless you are a fool, of the purposes of the bridge and engine sections. Crew of various skills will be called upon to serve stations on the bridge. You may be trained if you have the brainpower to handle it and if it is felt that you are not serving enough purpose to the crew.

Flight -- The flight station can support two pilots, though one pilot of diverse skills is adequate. Flight Mode is easy enough for a trained targ to maintain, but pilots capable of handling Combat Mode and Landing Mode will be required at all times.

External Operations -- The ExOps station is responsible for sensors and communications outside the ship and supports one operator, preferably one with knowledge of astrophysics. Anyone who can hit a switch can handle the communications -- failing in this would likely result in your execution.

Internal Operations -- The InOps station is responsible for internal sensors and crew communications. This function is mostly automated, with security sensors alerting the crew to any intrusion and the comm network allowing direct contact between crew. In combat, this station can allow smooth communication between the bridge and the engine room, though this function may also be handled by the External operator.

Combat -- The combat station supports two tacticians, and the Commander’s chair has access to an optional firing scope. We are never unprepared for any combat situation. Controls for weapons, shields, cloak, tactical sensors, and (in the absence of an expert Flight controller) combat maneuvering can all be accessed here.

The engine section houses not only the warp drive and impulse engines, but all of the machines which control our utilities and provide crew support. You may be taught how to use and repair these machines and disciplined to maintain them even in the heat of combat. If, in combat, machines are allowed to break and fires allowed to rage out of control because of Bekks frozen by terror, their heads are removed with swift clean Bat‘leth strokes. We expect you to show the resolve of a Klingon!

All that remains to be noted is that you will behave like a Klingon as long as you serve among Klingons. Though we have been cast out of our military and now follow no authority but our own, we recognize the value of crew structure to the operation of a starship. You have earned your rank and your place among us precisely because we understand this.

You will follow the orders of your superiors without question, just as Klingon Bekks will be expected to follow the orders of former captives who have achieved the rank of Lieutenant. Rank is a mark of merit which has been identified and recognized in Klingons and non-Klingons alike. Should your superior demonstrate weakness exceeding your own, it is your right and your duty to challenge him to ritual combat to the death in the Armory. Do not take this sacred rite lightly! Your superiors achieved their rank by demonstrating strength which surely surpasses your own. The challenge has been the path to swift death for many headstrong Klingons.

We pledge ourselves to Kahless, our emperor and spiritual guide. As a weak-blooded heathen, you are not expected to share our devotion to The Unforgettable. You will share our respect! To speak ill of Kahless is to invite a death without honor and the worst fate your afterlife can provide.

To die in battle is the greatest end a Klingon can meet. You are expected to share this ideal, but not to flaunt it. To die recklessly is the end of a fool. There is greater honor and glory to be achieved in surviving to fight another battle. You are expected to fight with wisdom and ferocity, both for yourself and your fellow warriors. Your fellows will fight as fiercely for you. When we raid, we are as kin, and our bond makes us more than a loose collection of warriors with no sense of greater purpose. Always remember that we have a grand goal! We will see the glory of the Klingon Empire restored, with a leader of true strength placed upon the Chancellor’s throne. You will serve this end as if it were the purpose you were born for. It is the purpose you will die for. Know these things above all else.

ghIj qet jaghmeyjaj! batlh bIHeghjaj! Qapla’!

Ez Gular leaned against the doorframe and slowly gazed over the scene in the galley. It was two pictures within a picture, side by side, one busy and raucous, the other still and subdued, neatly divided down the galley‘s center. On the left side, closest to the serving table, all the Klingons were seated together, sloppily downing flagons of bloodwine and boisterously thumping each other on the backs as they boasted over their latest exploits. On the right side, closest to the corridor outside, everyone who was not in that first group brooded over their food and whispered to each other. Between the two groups there was a tense interplay that the Bolian’s trained senses were picking up. Much of the boasting of the group on the left side was subtly directed at the group on the right, reaffirming Klingon superiority and territoriality. The subdual of the group on the right was not a factor of submission to the group on the right, but more … conspiratorial, their whispers remarking at Klingon arrogance and forging plans not for the ears of the group on the left.

The bisection of QoB’s crew elegantly demonstrated in the ship’s mess.

“Are you enjoying the show, Creaseface?” A voice boomed from the left side of the galley and was answered by several nearby laughs. Gular only gave the Klingons a mysterious grin. He would not bother to point out the obvious irony of the insult. Nor would he point out that the Klingon’s challenge betrayed (to trained senses) his discomfort with Gular’s audience with the Commander.

“Come!” The Klingon continued. “Join us! I promise that our drink will make you blue in the face!” His comrades laughed again. The Bolian glanced at the right side of the galley. Several looks of contempt were being shot at the left side of the galley, but Gular could sense that the non-Klingons were as curious about the Bolian’s presence as were the Klingons.

“Another time, perhaps.” The Bolian finally answered, still displaying his mysterious grin. “My business with Commander Mench is not yet concluded.” He stepped back from the doorframe and pressed his thumb against the access panel with a pointed flare intended to reinforce that his business with the Commander was above their notice.

The snap of an old butane lighter turned Gular back to the Commander. Mench’s feet were crossed on top of the small dining table that was used by the crew’s command staff when they desired privacy. A bottle of brandy and an emptied shot glass had been pushed to the center of the table and Mench was touching a cigar to the gold-plated lighter. Luxury.

“How did you do it, Lazarus?” The Bolian asked cooly and quietly.

“That‘s ‘Commander Mench’ to you, civilian.” Mench laughed self-indulgingly as he tucked the lit cigar into his mouth. “And I’m still trying to figure out how I did it myself. These Klingons sure are a wacky lot.”

Gular returned to the table and retook his seat. “An odd arrangement, the crew, but I can understand the necessity. I just never would have envisioned Lazarus Mench commanding a Klingon Bird of Prey.”

“Isn’t it great?“ The Commander’s face twisted into a large smile. It was not a pleasant face, short and squarish, the skin marred by battle scars in several places, most prominently the large gash down across his right eye. Somehow, his face seemed even less pleasant when he smiled, as if his contentedness was an affront to the galaxy. “Think about it, Ezzy. A cruiser-sized ship that can disappear from sensors, armed to the gills with the most terrifying weapons this side of the galactic core, and crewed by fanatical Klingon warriors that were desperate enough to give command of their ship to a lousy dog like me.

“I suppose all I really had to do was play the loyal servant of the Empire Liberation Project for a year. The last Commander loved me. Made me one of his chief advisors, no less important than one of his Lieutenants, only without the fuss of having to charge into battle swinging a sword like a madman. He let me lead from the rear, you see.”

Gular nodded. “Always your favorite place to be in a battle, isn’t it?”

“Preferably somewhere else entirely.” Mench shrugged. “But I never bolt from opportunity, and this deal just keeps getting sweeter. Sure, I still got to play like I’ve got any interest in ‘freeing Kronos from the oppressors,’ or whatever the hell it is these Klingons are after. But you saw the scene out there. Every month, we lose at least another one, no doubt rushing like an animal at someone who insulted his mother’s forehead. Then we replace him with one of the captives. I do my part to sweet-talk the captives, make them think I’m on their side and that I’ll treat them better than the ‘Klingon monsters.’ In time, I earn their loyalty. Before you know it, there won’t be any Klingons left. Just me and my merry band of pirates and smugglers hoisting the rig on about the last ship you’d expect to find us.”

“Until the authorities locate the ship,” Gular pointed out. “Federation -or- Klingon.”

“But that ain’t going to happen.” Mench waved his cigar at the Bolian. “As long as we got that little magic-maker sitting underneath the Bridge. A cloaking device is a wonderful and a rare thing to possess in this business, Ezzy. And besides, if there’s ever even a hint that this rig is going to be captured, I’ll see it coming. I’ll just grab what I can and make a run for it, or maybe try to work out a deal with the captors.”

“Is that what happened with the Raven?” Gular asked, his face showing no emotion.

Mench plucked the cigar from his mouth and grinned inquisitively at the Bolian, slowly releasing a stream of smoke. “What do you know about the Raven, Ezzy?”

“No more than anyone else, I am afraid.” The Bolian answered. “Only that the ship has not been seen in over a year. My attempts to open a private channel with Captain Vance were unsuccessful. So I went to one of our mutual contacts. I was told that Raven’s crew was now operating off of a Klingon ship. I found that somewhat strange … but so did the dealers. They directed me to you since you are now directing Raven business … something else which I found strange.”

“Did you, now?” Mench laughed.

“Yes. I did recognize two of the faces I saw out in the galley -- Raven crew, no doubt, though I must wonder if they joined the crew of this ship as willingly as you did. You did mention that the Klingons take captives? And that these captives are often expected to serve as crew?”

“That’s right.” Mench chuckled and drew another stream of smoke from the cigar. He was keeping his gaze on Gular, trying to determine if the Bolian came here to exact some kind of retribution for the death of Captain Vance. He was never certain just how close Gular and Vance were. “Poor Captain Vance. He didn’t see the profit I did in signing on with the Klingons. But you must know as well as I do, Ezzy, that Vance lacked the vision that I possess. So come on, why were you looking for him? You must have a job.”

“I do.” The Bolian replied. “But I am beginning to wonder if this crew, with its unique situation, is an ideal fit for the job. It will take you far from Klingon space and I am not sure if the warriors whose aims you must appease would approve.”

“If there’s profit to be had, I can spin it to them. Their cause needs funding more than anything. And manpower, if your job can provide that.”

“In other words … “ Gular tilted his head. “If the job would allow you to take more captives?”

“Precisely.” Mench gave the Bolian a wicked grin. “With discretion, of course.”

“Yes, discretion. This job would require a good deal of it.”

“Now, you do remember me telling you, Ezzy, about this little thing called a ‘cloaking device?’ Come on, spill the beans. What do you have?”

“A robbery.” The Bolian retrieved an isorod from a hidden fold of his tunic and slid it across the table. “With a bit of sabotage blended in. There is a mining planet in the Hyades cluster which certain associates of mine would like to expand to.”

“Hyades cluster?” Mench raised an eyebrow at the Bolian. “That -is- a long way. But it’s also out of the way. Pretty far from the Federation core.”

“Precisely.” Gular nodded once. “Federation patrols are not particularly thick in the region, and the planet itself only stations a single security outpost, planet-side, beside the canyon where the majority of the mining takes place. Population is mostly colonists who conduct the mining operations. They maintain a small settlement called Goldrock, built around the security station.”

“What am I robbing?” Mench asked.

“Should … we agree to this arrangement … you would be robbing tritanium.” Gular answered. “The Goldrock mines are the only source of tritanium in the region. In addition to supporting the main colony in the Hyades cluster and a few smaller colonies spread beyond the cluster, they prepare large bi-annual shipments back to the Federation core through the Aldebaran colony. One of those shipments is scheduled for transport to Aldebaran in three months. There will be a week just prior during which the tritanium stores scheduled for this shipment will be assembled for pickup. You will have the opportunity to grab this assembled shipment and move it directly to your cargo hold. Once you have dealt with the security force, obviously.”

Mench furrowed his brow, looking down at the isorod as he twirled it around his fingers. “How does this benefit your associates?”

“My associates comprise a group that is seeking to gain a foothold in the Hyades cluster. The Federation believes that the territory is ripe for expansion. Our sources suggest that they will soon be mounting a mass colonization effort in and around the star cluster. Our group wishes to assert control over the shipping and trading aspects of this colonization effort. Unfortunately, the Federation plans to assign this responsibility to the group which currently manages the tritanium mines at Goldrock.”

Mench laughed. “And if that group’s operations were to be discredited …”

“Our group could move in and offer our services instead.” Gular continued. “This is but one phase of the displacement. We have been working for the past two years on discrediting them in other ways, mainly by implicating their board members in a variety of illicit activities … real and invented. Losing their main tritanium shipment in the very area where the Federation plans to expand would be a heavy blow. As my associates also have access to significant interstellar security forces, we could use our ability to defend Goldrock against a pirate attack as ample incentive for the Federation to accept our services.”

“Corporate warfare, is it?” Mench gave Gular an incredulous look and laughed again. “I’ve been signing on with the wrong employers my whole life! I imagine your ‘associates’ will pay well. We get to keep the tritanium?”

“No,” Gular answered. “The tritanium you would deliver to my people, who, in turn, would deliver it to buyers in the Gorn Hegemony.”

“The Gorn?” Mench asked with interest.

“We have sources who hint that a coup has taken place within their government and that they are now initiating a renewed military buildup. Thus, their demand for starship construction resources has increased, and tritanium is a resource which they possess in short supply. My associates could set a very favorable exchange rate. In addition, we could gain the favor of an alien power near the Hyades cluster, an aim that will certainly benefit our long-term plans for the region.”

“Very interesting.” Mench grinned at Gular. “I think I can spin that to my crew. I know that the Gorn aren’t on the best of terms with the Empire. I might convince the Klingons that this could gain them an ally in their fight against the Chancellor.”

“I can promise no such alliance. We do not wish to upset the Klingon Empire.” Gular warned. “In fact, we are similary maneuvering to gain their good graces as well. You are free to tell your crew what you wish if it will gain their trust, but they will gain no support from the Gorn.”

“I hear you.” Mench said. “So what -do- we gain?”

“Equal trade for the tritanium,” Gular answered. “In whatever goods you desire. We -can- secure Klingon goods -- disruptor weapons, blades, perishables … possibly even intelligence -- whatever you feel will appease your crew. I understand that with this ship cut off from the Empire, those goods are not easy to come by.”

Mench shook his head. “We raid the occasional Klingon freighter, but it’s always more difficult than the Federation hits. Their cargo shipments have a greater tendency to be under heavy guard. And even a lowly Klingon cargo hauler fights like a madman. They’re also quicker to hit the self-destruct button before we have a chance to grab anything. They -never- let themselves be captured.”

“So the Klingon faction of your crew is never replenished. A circumstance which is not entirely unfavorable to you, correct?” Gular asked.

Mench laughed and dropped the isorod in a pocket in front of his vest. “Well, I know you’re good for payment, Ezzy. And you know I’m as capable as Vance of getting the job done.”

“I only hope,” Gular said, standing up. “That you can control your crew. Klingon outcasts and captives turned officers? A dangerous situation. That cloak you boast about is an asset, I admit, but it is not one to be taken for granted. If any complications should arise that jeapordize this operation, my group will disavow you; you do not wish to know what that means.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Mench glared at the Bolian, not liking the implied threat. “I can take care of my crew.”

“We will see. You will first proceed to a star system twenty light years from here -- the coordinates are on the data rod, along with schematics of a cargo ship which will pass through the system in two days. You will raid the cargo ship in your usual manner. The fate of the ship, its crew, and its cargo are of no consequence to my associates -- take or destroy whatever you wish. Your primary target is a crate which my associates have planted in its cargo bay. It is painted red with two black Klingon runes. This crate contains equipment which will aid you along with further details of the mission.”

“Got it.” Mench patted the vest pocket. “Cargo ship, two days. We‘ll be there.”

“The crate is -scheduled- to be delivered to its intended destination a day later. If the crate should be delivered safely, we will take it as an indication that you have not agreed to perform this operation, and we will proceed with our contingencies.”

“You have contingencies?” Mench gave the Bolian a searching look.

“Of course.” Gular grinned. “My associates -always- have contingencies. And we are always aware of the activities of those we employ.” The Bolian turned and strode back to the door. “I will show myself back to my ship. Good luck, Commander.”

Mench watched the Bolian leave the private lounge, biting down on the tip of his cigar. A mysterious one, that Gular. No telling who he was working for or what his true angle was. Rumors were that his associates were not men to be crossed; the Bolian’s confidence in waltzing onto a Klingon Bird of Prey and entrusting a known scoundrel with corporate schemes and political secrets about the Gorn Hegemony could only be the product of a powerful backing. His message had been clear -- do the job faithfully or you all die.

Whether any of what the Bolian said was the whole truth, Mench couldn’t be sure. And he certainly didn’t like doing the bidding of men who used threats to gain compliance. But he remembered that the most enjoyable days on the Raven were days after her crew finished a job given to Captain Vance by Ez Gular. Gular’s jobs always paid well. It wouldn’t hurt to gain the backing of such powerful agencies, either, and it would be good to get away from Klingon space with the Imperial patrols getting so thick of late.

It was a risk, and Mench was always the sort to play it safe, but this opportunity was too tempting to pass up. He put out his cigar on the tabletop, stood, and crossed to the door. They would do it, alright. With a cloaking device, what could possibly go wrong?

There is a legend which has only recently made the rounds at Klingon taverns and IKC galleys. Voices hushed by some measure of either respect, warning, or contempt (but never fear!) speak of a menace which stalks the stars near the Federation border. The legend warns not of a grizzly fate for any who encounter this menace, for no Klingon would consider an end met battling a worthy foe a fate to be shunned. It warns instead of the folly of disloyalty, of the forsaken path tread by those who shed their honor and champion disloyalty to the Empire. This legend has a name.

QoB.

QoB is a ship and the crew which mans its helm. Its Commander, MoQtal, is a former Klingon General dishonorably discharged from the Defense Force for reasons which are little known; his execution was ordered but eluded. That is all that is known for certain by those who whisper the legends; the rest is speculation.

It is popularly accepted that QoB is a beast of a vessel, one of the largest Birds of Prey ever to take flight. Its size is said to dwarf the Negh’Var capitol ships and the Federation Sovereigns. Its massive wings, the legends tell, present banks of disruptor cannons to rival a Vor’Cha cruiser, though it maneuvers as sharply as any Bird, if not moreso. Its cloak drive, state of the art, modified to afford a degree of stealth that no sensor network -- Federation, Klingon, or Romulan -- can defeat. And its commanding officer, a veteran of countless battles and a master tactician that no starship commander can outwit.

QoB’s crew no longer serves the Empire. It hasn’t for nearly a decade. It now prowls the border raiding transport ships for goods and slaves that are sold to mysterious buyers. Conservative accounts put the tally around 250 on the number of vessels, transport fleets, and outposts which QoB has so far assaulted. Authorities on both sides of the border have gotten no closer to apprehending her crew and her rogue Commander. They leave no trace of their activities, such is their stealth. Such is their efficiency. The motivations of MoQtal are not certain, but speculation that he aims for no less than the downfall of both the Empire and the Federation has not been sparse.

This is not QoB’s story.

QoB’s exploits have spawned legends of a different sort among Klingons who live outside the boundaries of Imperial decree. Smugglers. Raiders. Slavers. Freedom fighters. Opponents of the Empire, the Federation, and their alliance. Klingons who hold to the old ideals. For them, QoB is idol. It is inspiration. Many vessels which serve causes contrary to the Chancellor’s order have even adapted the name QoB. The aims of their crews in this vary. Some wish to claim that their vessels are in fact the QoB of legend, either to inflate their own self-worth or to evoke added fear in their victims. Some merely wish to contribute to the confusion of the QoB legend, evoking imagination of a ship which can strike in many places within miniscule spans of time. Some merely pay their respects to QoB, attempting to do her crew honor with every outlaw deed they commit. And there is even the odd superstition that QoB is a herald straight from Gre’thor, its Commander returned to life in spite of all natural order to avenge the Empire that wronged him. Each crew has its own reasons for taking on the name, but for all, QoB is a badge of honor.

This is the story of one such vessel, a Bird of Prey of only moderate size and armament which took the name QoB shortly after its crew defected from the Empire. The details of the events which prompted her defection are hazy to the current crew, but it is certain that they were sickened by the ‘softening’ of Chancellor Martok and his close alliance with the Federation. They believed that the goals of the QoB of legend were not so different from their own -- to see Martok removed from his seat of power, replaced by a Klingon of strong spirit who would no longer see his Empire do the bidding of the Federation. They took the name QoB because, to them, the legend was a guide for their own efforts. It is one QoB of many, but the story of her crew is unique for reasons which will, in time, be evident …

Over the four years since her defection, things have changed dramatically aboard this QoB. Her original Commander and crew were not quite as careful and efficient as their role models. Poorly planned attacks and hasty maneuvers resulted in heavy crew losses, losses which could not easily be covered with no Empire to support them. Needing to keep the ship’s manpower replenished, they took drastic measures. Among the captives that they routinely sold into slavery, QoB’s crew picked out several of the stronger and smarter individuals and forced them into service aboard the ship. As more of the Klingons perished, the responsibilities of the pressed captives expanded. The more capable among them, some former Starfleet officers, advanced from performing manual labor and serving as fodder in assaults to serving in positions formerly held by Klingon officers. Many of the captives received Klingon ranks, in order to maintain structure, and a few even advanced through those ranks.

The Klingon crew knew the truth -- QoB was their ship, even if they needed to follow the orders of non-Klingons to maintain military organization. But the trend continued. And continued. And continued. More Klingons lost in battle. More slaves pressed into service. More non-Klingons advanced. Now, the Klingons are outnumbered.

Several months ago, QoB’s crew situation took a remarkable turn. The sixth Klingon officer to serve as her Commander perished, just like his five predecessors, in a skirmish with Imperial forces that went poorly. He was the last Klingon among the crew with the experience and the expertise to effectively serve as a commanding officer. With his death, the choice faced the crew of either placing the ship in the hands of an ineffectual commander who could not adequately see their glorious aims fulfilled … or passing command to a non-Klingon.

Namely, Lazarus Mench.

Mench was a former Starfleet Marine who went rogue, not for any reasons as lofty as those of the Klingons but simply because he was fed up with the discipline and subordination that the Marine Corps demanded of him. He went AWOL and became a mercenary, selling his services to interested parties ranging from the Orions to the Maquis. His only interests were in himself and his own advancement, but his experiences both in Starfleet and abroad molded him into a learned and capable soldier.

Mench crossed paths with QoB while serving aboard a black market vessel called the Raven which routinely purchased stolen goods from the rogue Klingons. Unhappy (as always) with his commanding officer, Mench made secret contact with QoB, offering his services and a particularly attractive stash of goods being stored in Raven’s cargo hold in exchange for a cut of QoB’s action. QoB agreed to the exchange and, with Mench’s help disrupting the ship‘s security, raided Raven and enslaved its crew. Mench became a volunteer officer and advisor on QoB; many of Raven’s crew were pressed into service.

With the death of her last command officer, QoB turned to Mench as their ideal candidate to assume command. Now, this marine turned mercenary occupies the Commander’s seat of a rogue Klingon Bird of Prey. The Klingons repeat the same line to themselves -- it is their ship, and Mench is only a necessity that they allow. But even they are beginning to doubt their own influence over QoB’s operations. Many of the non-Klingon officers have come to embrace their roles on QoB and a few are rallying around Mench. While he oversees the same raiding activities, Mench’s ultimate motives are unknown and many of his methods are decidedly … un-Klingon.

The Empire is hot on QoB’s trail. They have only barely survived recent attacks by the Imperial fleet. With many wondering if QoB can last the year, doubts about the Commander could not come at a worse time. Many wonder if Mench would sell out the crew to the Empire if it could serve his own interests. He almost certainly would not die willingly in combat with his crew. But the Klingons have no other options. Mench is the only one who can lead them. And so the doubts about the Commander and the tensions between Klingon and non-Klingon must be endured for the time being.

This is QoB’s story. One QoB of many. But not the QoB of legend. This crew must yet forge its own legend …

The USS Hypospray (Constitution class) is answering a distress call from the fledgling Federation colony on Thuban IV. For the past several hours, the people of the Thuban colony have been vanishing without a trace at an exponential rate. The Hypospray crew must determine the cause of this phenomenon, put a stop to it, and (if at all possible) retrieve the colonists who have already disappeared.

academy090726.txt

Welcome to the group.

It sounds like someone may have referred you directly to the message boards without referring you to the homepage. Check out www.stsf.net and read everything that's printed there. There's a link to just the section of the site you're looking for as well as some other useful links (and a handy schedule of upcoming games).

Hope to see you in the Academies soon

In case there's any confusion, Red Star has not been canceled for the month. Nickles is on one-month LOA, but the nightclub remains in operation under my care. Swing by and order a drink; I'll even throw in some free water.

The USS Cloverbud <Galaxy Class> has been called to run a survey mission of the planet Tellis 3 for mining possiblities. We are to explore the M class planet and report back to HQ.

academy090627.txt

The USS Cloverbud has been patrolling the edge of the alpha quadrant and has been given orders to return to HQ for debrifing and to restock on supplies.

academy090620.txt

The USS Cloverbud (Galaxy class) has received an emergency transmission that the USS Tango (shuttle bus) has come under attack. We have been ordered by Head Quarters to proceed to their last know coordinates to render assistance and do whatever is necessary to get the Tango and its precious cargo back to Star Fleet Junior academy, where the anxious parents are waiting to see their young children after a field trip to the outer rim for a science project.

academy090613.txt

The USS Hypospray (Constitution class) has been sent to study the second planet of the Ahdree system. Ahdree II is an M-Class world which is covered with an extensive variety of exotic plantlife.

academy090606.txt

I have a feeling she won't be seeing this until tomorrow. Late tomorrow. :)

Happy Birthday Sam!

Are the ruins of Scubi II haunted? An archaeological team fled the planet several weeks ago claiming that they are. Starfleet has sent the USS Hypospray (Constitution class) to Scubi II to investigate these claims.

academy090530.txt

Yeah, Memory Alpha was wear I've gotten most of my information so far. My concern comes in when it comes to situations like I've seen in Moose's tips and stuff. Like, the hypothetical I saw was "An asteroid is moving toward a station, what do you do?" and my knowledge would be limited to tractor, phasers, torpedos... the basics. Just hoping I don't end up in the academy forever simply due to lack of Trek knowledge.

Here's the great thing about our game -- it's a team activity. The other players can pick you up. When your knowledge of Trek is limited, just come up with something practical. In the asteroid example, it's clear what you want to do -- block its path, divert its path, blow it up, protect the station, etc, depending on the exact circumstances. Come up with something, suggest it, and let the brainiacs fill in the technology gaps. The engineering department is usually good for that, and when you -are- in that department, you'll probably have other engineers to lean on.

Don't spend too much time during a game looking stuff up on Memory Alpha or Ex Astris or whatever. Those sites are good for perusal between sims or doing research for a log, but you don't want to let your attention wander from the sim while you're looking at websites. The Academy doesn't graduate based on Trek knowledge, but on your ability to play the game.