IKC FHew 7C6110
Allegiances 2 – A Quiet Chat
by Soghla' Jared & Soghla' Marie St. Helene
Post Details
Marie was sitting in the Mess hall, opposite one of the BeQs. Ostensibly she was eating though the plate of replicated food in front of her held little real interest and, she thought, even less nutrition.
In actual fact, she was listening: not to what was being said, as such, but to the words themselves. Before joining the FHew, she had a smattering of Klingon though, like many a person who's learnt a language by listening to people converse, she was more proficient in profanities than any other aspect. She also kept on stumbling over dialects and differing turns of phrase. More than once she said something perfectly innocuous only to find out that the person she was talking to took her meaning completely differently.
Therefore, she did not use the language aboard the FHew. There were other reasons, of course. It was amazing what you could pick up when no-one knew you were listening.
Her grasp of Klingon was improving by the day simply by sitting here and keeping her mouth shut.
The chamber door slid open, admitting May'Bel - Ro's new dreadlocked Tactics officer. His face seemed to be bruised somewhat - possibly from that fight in the mess hall. Marie hadn't exactly heard much detail on how or why that happened - no-one was talking much - except that five of the Klingons had been involved one of the BeQs had been cleaning blood off the floor, and some of the stools.
May'Bel heaped some food on one of the plates, and then moved over to the table where Marie sat. He knelt on the bench next to the BeQ opposite.
"Move," he said simply, without any real threat. Just an instruction. The other Klingon grunted gruffly, but grabbed his half-finished plate and moved to another table.
May'Bel sat down, putting his boots up on the table and starting to eat. After a moment or two, Marie noticed that he was doing so while staring at her. Again, not in any kind of threatening way. He was simply watching her as he ate, as through she was the show that went with dinner.
Marie ignored May'bel's rudeness. He was a Klingon, after all; he wasn't expected to have any manners. The boots on the table was evidence enough of that.
He paused a long time before speaking. He looked... thoughtful.
"I'm wondering what you're doing on this ship," he said finally.
"Well let me see...." Marie proceeded to tick items off on her fingers. "I scrub floors, I clean out targ cages. I get to forage for supplies when everyone else is incapable of doing a little shopping. Oh, yes and I'm the resident target of all the insults people want to throw around."
"Oh, don't misunderstand me. Ro's no fool. There's clearly some value in having you aboard. That's not what bothers me. I'm wondering why YOU choose to be here. Why a Klingon ship? Why THIS ship?"
"Let's face it, it wasn't as if I was in a position to be choosy at the time. Matlh keeps me away from certain people who would dearly love to see me in little pieces. Also because he pays me. Not much I'll grant you but better than what I was getting before I signed on."
"So that's it? A steady pay-check, and a solid bed for the night well away from old enemies?" He chuckled.
"Why a Klingon ship? If you're good at doing bargains and you're happy to work your way up from the bottom, any Ferengi merchant ship would love you. Yridians and Corvellians are probably the same. The galaxy's a big place. If you don't have family to leave behind, you can always travel far enough that no-one knows you. Hell... Jared can probably give you directions to a thousand trading ports your enemies have never even heard of."
"Actually, the Ferengi hate me. I'm too much like them so they distrust me intensely. As for the Yridians, information is not a merchandise I deal in. And don't even mention the Orion Syndicate. I don't think even Jared could find a planet where they couldn't reach me."
"The Ferengi hate each other, so that's no surprise. As for the Orions... oh, there's places you can be out of their reach, whatever they like people to believe. They've got their competitors."
"But you're here on the F'Hew. I mean... do you even LIKE fighting?"
"Fighting? Frankly, no, I do not like getting my head beaten in for amusement. I also find it a particularly inappropriate way of promoting someone. You might as well do it by the shape or number of their cranial ridges. It seems to me to have as much relevance to capacity to lead as gender did back in Earth's old days. As I said, I wasn't in a position to be choosy at the time. Matlh turned up at a time when I needed an escape route - fast. He made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Mind you, he wasn't particularly interested in me per se - just the skills I could bring to his crew. You could say then that I scratch his back and he scratches mine.
"You got the job from Matlh himself? Or do you mean Ro? You probably don't want to get those two mixed up. There's all kinds of... politics... you could find yourself neck deep in."
Marie noticed that May'Bel pronounced the word "politics" as though it were a four letter word.
"So why ask for rank then? They tell me you went and got yourself promoted to Lagh. Why do that if you don't want to fight?"
"But I didn't fight, did I? Not physically anyway." Marie smiled sweetly – not an encouraging sight at all. "There's an old saying: there's more than one way to skin a cat."
"Ah," May'Bel said with a thoughtful look. "I see. Not a wolf, but a fox."
The smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "As for why, that much should be obvious. It doesn't matter what the race – Klingon, Human, Vulcan – we're all the same. With rank comes respect and kudos. Most of my dealings are done by me as a civilian but there are times when having rank helps impress the locals. It shows I've got backing and support. Tell me though, why are you here? Surely with your family connections you could get a better posting than this rust-bucket?"
May'Bel laughed.
"I think we have different ideas about a 'better' posting. My last post was aboard a Negh'Var, at Tactics. A big ship with bigger guns. But to serve aboard the F'Hew under Ro? I don't think you quite realise what you have aboard this ship."
"There are stories in your history I've heard. A great civil war. A mighty General, by the name of Lee. A brilliant warrior and tactician, loyal to his own. Ultimately brought low - caught on the loosing side. Afterwards, disgraced and forgotten by the lawmakers and politicians. But to those who knew him in battle - even his enemies - a name spoken with awe."
"I guess you know little of the business that brought our captain here. You only see an old Klingon warrior with a fondness for drink. But I know the stories. I know what it means to serve under the commander of the Vik'tagh campaign. The hero of Gortok! Disgraced or not, he's still Ro Matlh."
"I've heard the stories about why he's here. In the circles I frequent there's not much good said about Klingons so I probably missed the war hero ones. I don't particularly care much about them. I take people on what I see. I have no fondness for Klingons as you've probably noticed and I think Matlh is a loudmouthed braggart but he leads from the front and that says a lot. He might not be the astute tactician that Robert E. Lee was but I know who I'd prefer in a bunker with me."
Marie pondered May'bel's words. "So what you're telling me is that bigger doesn't necessarily equate to better. There are many Starfleet captains would disagree with that."
The Klingon scoffed.
"Most starfleet captains are desk-clerks with uniforms and rank badges. A better posting than the F'Hew? Not to my mind."
"But as for fighting for rank, I didn't mean the battles you'd already fought. I meant the ones still to come."
"Which ones? The one's to hold onto my rank or the much harder ones – the one's to convince others that I can do my job. And I don't mean do it honourably: I mean do it efficiently with as little loss of life as possible. I'm not one to send wave after wave of beqs off on some suicide charge then justify it as giving them an honourable death. That's bad leadership and bad tactics."
He took his boots off the table, and leaned in toward Marie.
"I don't know how long you plan to stay aboard the F'Hew, but can I give you some advice as one who's held high rank on much larger ships?"
Marie sat up straight and turned her full attention to May'bel. This was the conversation she had wanted to have with Marla. She had not imagined she would be having it with May'bel. She was not about to let the opportunity slip by doing something stupid.
She tried to put all disdain out of her voice. "And that would be?"
He smiled.
"There's two ways to succeed on a Klingon ship."
"First... You're right about Ro wanting to promote Klingon officers, but that doesn't mean head ridges and purple blood. If a Ferengi tells you to be more Ferengi, they mean they want you to be more cunning and entrepreneuristic. If a Human tells you to be more Human, they mean they want you to show mercy, or compassion. Each race uses it's name to talk about the traits it prizes most highly."
"It's the same with us. For Klingons, being Klingon means Strength, Honour, Courage, and Loyalty. Ro wants to see these things in his officers, but not just that. He wants people who want to be here. Who want to be the things that this ship represents."
"My name is May'Bel. I've heard it translated as 'Joy of Battle', but that falls too short of the meaning. It's a very Klingon feeling. The May'Bel is the moment when you face an enemy, with your heart pounding. When you think you might have bitten off more than you can chew, but you're still in with a chance. Fear and courage are waging war in your heart. When your whole body tingles with the moment. You can see everything around you. Hear everything. Smell every odour. And you feel absolutely alive. That's the May'Bel"
Marie thought she knew what he meant; not in a Klingon sense but there'd been plenty of times when she'd bitten off more than she could chew and gone in fear of her life. Back on Nouvelle Nouvelle Caladonie she'd grown up fast and hard. Moving off-world hadn't particularly been a change for the better. Many rivals had sought to edge her out of business deals – edge her out with extreme prejudice. They thought her weak – an impression she cultivated assiduously. She'd also learnt to cultivate and feed off the adrenaline rush that accompanied such moments.
She knew she'd probably never faced anything like May'bel was describing. She was careful to ensure she had an escape route – no matter how nebulous. May'bel hadn't said us much but what she thought he really meant were times when you stared death in the face knowing that today was a good day to die.
"Ro can use people who are good at what they do. But what he really wants is people who love what they do."
He stood, and walked round next to Marie, putting his boot beside her on the bench. He gave her a searching look.
"I don't think that's you at the moment. Perhaps it will be in days to come. Perhaps not."
Marie wasn't about to disagree. Part of being who she was was to let other people form impressions of her; impressions she could use against them when the need arose.
"But there's another way. One I suspect you might be well capable of. The other way is to be the survivor. To be the one that's somehow still standing at the end of the day, no matter what. Get a reputation as the one that's still on their feet and moving even when everything's exploded in flames. That's still capable of manning the helm after all the bold warriors have died bravely."
"That's Jared's trick. The TiQ are tiny little furry men who sing songs, but somehow they always come out on top. They're always there to tell the tale after the rest of us are gone. Jared's older than any of us. Maybe older than the empire. He lives on a warship and won't even pick up a weapon. But somehow, he's managed to cheat death every time."
He put a hand on Marie's shoulder.
"You don't look strong to me, but I have a suspicion you might be pretty clever. Strong in the head. So my suggestion is this..."
The hand on Marie's shoulder moved as May'Bel twisted his wrist. There was a loud mechanical "SNICKT" sound, and a moment later Quartermaster felt the tip of a very sharp knife resting just under her ear.
The sound and the pinprick of the knife came as no surprise to Marie. Such a move had been pulled more times than she could remember. She let the adrenaline course through her veins as she stilled her breathing. She resisted the urge to loose her own dagger and rest it under May'bel's ribcage. Now was not the time.
"Find yourself five ways to put down a Klingon warrior, fast. Not lethally, but conclusively. Painfully, if need be. Stuff they won't be ready for. Keep them secret, and make sure you've always got a couple handy."
He withdrew the knife. She watched as he slid it back into his sleeve - clicking the mechanism that had flicked it into his hand back into place.
"Ro's put YIghegh under your command. That's a favour, in a way. It means the others won't be coming after you, because they know if you're not up to the job it's YIghegh's job to remove you. But he WILL make a move some time soon."
Which was as she'd thought. May'bel really was here to teach her a lesson, not to take her down. He had no interest making YIghegh's task any easier by disposing of Marie for him.
"Put him down, fast and hard. Doesn't matter how. Jared might have some suggestions. After that things will be easier. No-one cares about head ridges. Klingons will take orders if they think you can back them up."
"Stay on your toes, and always stay one step ahead. Ro wants warriors. But he needs survivors too."
The Klingon warrior stepped back, and shrugged.
"But of course, that's just my thoughts on the matter. You're welcome to do what you will with my advice."
Marie smiled to herself. Time for Method Number One.. She stood and reached out to May'bel with both hands. Before he could react she'd grabbed his head on either side. She could sense him reacting, maybe expecting a head but or similar. Instead, she kissed him full on the mouth.
As she grabbed his head May'Bel's hand had instinctively come up ready for an open-handed punch to knock her back - a tactic which he forgot with the utter shock of the surprise kiss. As she released him, he stumbled back into the table behind him, eyes wide.
"Thanks," Marie said. "I think I will take up your advice."
He blinked at her, still shocked. Then he glanced down at himself and realised he was standing there, open and exposed to an attack.
He roared with laughter and clapped her approvingly on the shoulder. Then he grabbed his empty bowl and dropped it in front of one of the BeQ's as he headed out of the mess hall, chuckling as he went.
by Soghla' Jared & Soghla' Marie St. Helene
Post Details
| Title | A Quiet Chat | |
| Mission | Allegiances 2 | |
| Author(s) | Soghla' Jared & Soghla' Marie St. Helene | |
| Posted | Tue Mar 22, 2011 @ 11:21am | |
| Location | The Mess Hall | |
| Timeline | Some time after the fight |
In actual fact, she was listening: not to what was being said, as such, but to the words themselves. Before joining the FHew, she had a smattering of Klingon though, like many a person who's learnt a language by listening to people converse, she was more proficient in profanities than any other aspect. She also kept on stumbling over dialects and differing turns of phrase. More than once she said something perfectly innocuous only to find out that the person she was talking to took her meaning completely differently.
Therefore, she did not use the language aboard the FHew. There were other reasons, of course. It was amazing what you could pick up when no-one knew you were listening.
Her grasp of Klingon was improving by the day simply by sitting here and keeping her mouth shut.
The chamber door slid open, admitting May'Bel - Ro's new dreadlocked Tactics officer. His face seemed to be bruised somewhat - possibly from that fight in the mess hall. Marie hadn't exactly heard much detail on how or why that happened - no-one was talking much - except that five of the Klingons had been involved one of the BeQs had been cleaning blood off the floor, and some of the stools.
May'Bel heaped some food on one of the plates, and then moved over to the table where Marie sat. He knelt on the bench next to the BeQ opposite.
"Move," he said simply, without any real threat. Just an instruction. The other Klingon grunted gruffly, but grabbed his half-finished plate and moved to another table.
May'Bel sat down, putting his boots up on the table and starting to eat. After a moment or two, Marie noticed that he was doing so while staring at her. Again, not in any kind of threatening way. He was simply watching her as he ate, as through she was the show that went with dinner.
Marie ignored May'bel's rudeness. He was a Klingon, after all; he wasn't expected to have any manners. The boots on the table was evidence enough of that.
He paused a long time before speaking. He looked... thoughtful.
"I'm wondering what you're doing on this ship," he said finally.
"Well let me see...." Marie proceeded to tick items off on her fingers. "I scrub floors, I clean out targ cages. I get to forage for supplies when everyone else is incapable of doing a little shopping. Oh, yes and I'm the resident target of all the insults people want to throw around."
"Oh, don't misunderstand me. Ro's no fool. There's clearly some value in having you aboard. That's not what bothers me. I'm wondering why YOU choose to be here. Why a Klingon ship? Why THIS ship?"
"Let's face it, it wasn't as if I was in a position to be choosy at the time. Matlh keeps me away from certain people who would dearly love to see me in little pieces. Also because he pays me. Not much I'll grant you but better than what I was getting before I signed on."
"So that's it? A steady pay-check, and a solid bed for the night well away from old enemies?" He chuckled.
"Why a Klingon ship? If you're good at doing bargains and you're happy to work your way up from the bottom, any Ferengi merchant ship would love you. Yridians and Corvellians are probably the same. The galaxy's a big place. If you don't have family to leave behind, you can always travel far enough that no-one knows you. Hell... Jared can probably give you directions to a thousand trading ports your enemies have never even heard of."
"Actually, the Ferengi hate me. I'm too much like them so they distrust me intensely. As for the Yridians, information is not a merchandise I deal in. And don't even mention the Orion Syndicate. I don't think even Jared could find a planet where they couldn't reach me."
"The Ferengi hate each other, so that's no surprise. As for the Orions... oh, there's places you can be out of their reach, whatever they like people to believe. They've got their competitors."
"But you're here on the F'Hew. I mean... do you even LIKE fighting?"
"Fighting? Frankly, no, I do not like getting my head beaten in for amusement. I also find it a particularly inappropriate way of promoting someone. You might as well do it by the shape or number of their cranial ridges. It seems to me to have as much relevance to capacity to lead as gender did back in Earth's old days. As I said, I wasn't in a position to be choosy at the time. Matlh turned up at a time when I needed an escape route - fast. He made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Mind you, he wasn't particularly interested in me per se - just the skills I could bring to his crew. You could say then that I scratch his back and he scratches mine.
"You got the job from Matlh himself? Or do you mean Ro? You probably don't want to get those two mixed up. There's all kinds of... politics... you could find yourself neck deep in."
Marie noticed that May'Bel pronounced the word "politics" as though it were a four letter word.
"So why ask for rank then? They tell me you went and got yourself promoted to Lagh. Why do that if you don't want to fight?"
"But I didn't fight, did I? Not physically anyway." Marie smiled sweetly – not an encouraging sight at all. "There's an old saying: there's more than one way to skin a cat."
"Ah," May'Bel said with a thoughtful look. "I see. Not a wolf, but a fox."
The smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "As for why, that much should be obvious. It doesn't matter what the race – Klingon, Human, Vulcan – we're all the same. With rank comes respect and kudos. Most of my dealings are done by me as a civilian but there are times when having rank helps impress the locals. It shows I've got backing and support. Tell me though, why are you here? Surely with your family connections you could get a better posting than this rust-bucket?"
May'Bel laughed.
"I think we have different ideas about a 'better' posting. My last post was aboard a Negh'Var, at Tactics. A big ship with bigger guns. But to serve aboard the F'Hew under Ro? I don't think you quite realise what you have aboard this ship."
"There are stories in your history I've heard. A great civil war. A mighty General, by the name of Lee. A brilliant warrior and tactician, loyal to his own. Ultimately brought low - caught on the loosing side. Afterwards, disgraced and forgotten by the lawmakers and politicians. But to those who knew him in battle - even his enemies - a name spoken with awe."
"I guess you know little of the business that brought our captain here. You only see an old Klingon warrior with a fondness for drink. But I know the stories. I know what it means to serve under the commander of the Vik'tagh campaign. The hero of Gortok! Disgraced or not, he's still Ro Matlh."
"I've heard the stories about why he's here. In the circles I frequent there's not much good said about Klingons so I probably missed the war hero ones. I don't particularly care much about them. I take people on what I see. I have no fondness for Klingons as you've probably noticed and I think Matlh is a loudmouthed braggart but he leads from the front and that says a lot. He might not be the astute tactician that Robert E. Lee was but I know who I'd prefer in a bunker with me."
Marie pondered May'bel's words. "So what you're telling me is that bigger doesn't necessarily equate to better. There are many Starfleet captains would disagree with that."
The Klingon scoffed.
"Most starfleet captains are desk-clerks with uniforms and rank badges. A better posting than the F'Hew? Not to my mind."
"But as for fighting for rank, I didn't mean the battles you'd already fought. I meant the ones still to come."
"Which ones? The one's to hold onto my rank or the much harder ones – the one's to convince others that I can do my job. And I don't mean do it honourably: I mean do it efficiently with as little loss of life as possible. I'm not one to send wave after wave of beqs off on some suicide charge then justify it as giving them an honourable death. That's bad leadership and bad tactics."
He took his boots off the table, and leaned in toward Marie.
"I don't know how long you plan to stay aboard the F'Hew, but can I give you some advice as one who's held high rank on much larger ships?"
Marie sat up straight and turned her full attention to May'bel. This was the conversation she had wanted to have with Marla. She had not imagined she would be having it with May'bel. She was not about to let the opportunity slip by doing something stupid.
She tried to put all disdain out of her voice. "And that would be?"
He smiled.
"There's two ways to succeed on a Klingon ship."
"First... You're right about Ro wanting to promote Klingon officers, but that doesn't mean head ridges and purple blood. If a Ferengi tells you to be more Ferengi, they mean they want you to be more cunning and entrepreneuristic. If a Human tells you to be more Human, they mean they want you to show mercy, or compassion. Each race uses it's name to talk about the traits it prizes most highly."
"It's the same with us. For Klingons, being Klingon means Strength, Honour, Courage, and Loyalty. Ro wants to see these things in his officers, but not just that. He wants people who want to be here. Who want to be the things that this ship represents."
"My name is May'Bel. I've heard it translated as 'Joy of Battle', but that falls too short of the meaning. It's a very Klingon feeling. The May'Bel is the moment when you face an enemy, with your heart pounding. When you think you might have bitten off more than you can chew, but you're still in with a chance. Fear and courage are waging war in your heart. When your whole body tingles with the moment. You can see everything around you. Hear everything. Smell every odour. And you feel absolutely alive. That's the May'Bel"
Marie thought she knew what he meant; not in a Klingon sense but there'd been plenty of times when she'd bitten off more than she could chew and gone in fear of her life. Back on Nouvelle Nouvelle Caladonie she'd grown up fast and hard. Moving off-world hadn't particularly been a change for the better. Many rivals had sought to edge her out of business deals – edge her out with extreme prejudice. They thought her weak – an impression she cultivated assiduously. She'd also learnt to cultivate and feed off the adrenaline rush that accompanied such moments.
She knew she'd probably never faced anything like May'bel was describing. She was careful to ensure she had an escape route – no matter how nebulous. May'bel hadn't said us much but what she thought he really meant were times when you stared death in the face knowing that today was a good day to die.
"Ro can use people who are good at what they do. But what he really wants is people who love what they do."
He stood, and walked round next to Marie, putting his boot beside her on the bench. He gave her a searching look.
"I don't think that's you at the moment. Perhaps it will be in days to come. Perhaps not."
Marie wasn't about to disagree. Part of being who she was was to let other people form impressions of her; impressions she could use against them when the need arose.
"But there's another way. One I suspect you might be well capable of. The other way is to be the survivor. To be the one that's somehow still standing at the end of the day, no matter what. Get a reputation as the one that's still on their feet and moving even when everything's exploded in flames. That's still capable of manning the helm after all the bold warriors have died bravely."
"That's Jared's trick. The TiQ are tiny little furry men who sing songs, but somehow they always come out on top. They're always there to tell the tale after the rest of us are gone. Jared's older than any of us. Maybe older than the empire. He lives on a warship and won't even pick up a weapon. But somehow, he's managed to cheat death every time."
He put a hand on Marie's shoulder.
"You don't look strong to me, but I have a suspicion you might be pretty clever. Strong in the head. So my suggestion is this..."
The hand on Marie's shoulder moved as May'Bel twisted his wrist. There was a loud mechanical "SNICKT" sound, and a moment later Quartermaster felt the tip of a very sharp knife resting just under her ear.
The sound and the pinprick of the knife came as no surprise to Marie. Such a move had been pulled more times than she could remember. She let the adrenaline course through her veins as she stilled her breathing. She resisted the urge to loose her own dagger and rest it under May'bel's ribcage. Now was not the time.
"Find yourself five ways to put down a Klingon warrior, fast. Not lethally, but conclusively. Painfully, if need be. Stuff they won't be ready for. Keep them secret, and make sure you've always got a couple handy."
He withdrew the knife. She watched as he slid it back into his sleeve - clicking the mechanism that had flicked it into his hand back into place.
"Ro's put YIghegh under your command. That's a favour, in a way. It means the others won't be coming after you, because they know if you're not up to the job it's YIghegh's job to remove you. But he WILL make a move some time soon."
Which was as she'd thought. May'bel really was here to teach her a lesson, not to take her down. He had no interest making YIghegh's task any easier by disposing of Marie for him.
"Put him down, fast and hard. Doesn't matter how. Jared might have some suggestions. After that things will be easier. No-one cares about head ridges. Klingons will take orders if they think you can back them up."
"Stay on your toes, and always stay one step ahead. Ro wants warriors. But he needs survivors too."
The Klingon warrior stepped back, and shrugged.
"But of course, that's just my thoughts on the matter. You're welcome to do what you will with my advice."
Marie smiled to herself. Time for Method Number One.. She stood and reached out to May'bel with both hands. Before he could react she'd grabbed his head on either side. She could sense him reacting, maybe expecting a head but or similar. Instead, she kissed him full on the mouth.
As she grabbed his head May'Bel's hand had instinctively come up ready for an open-handed punch to knock her back - a tactic which he forgot with the utter shock of the surprise kiss. As she released him, he stumbled back into the table behind him, eyes wide.
"Thanks," Marie said. "I think I will take up your advice."
He blinked at her, still shocked. Then he glanced down at himself and realised he was standing there, open and exposed to an attack.
He roared with laughter and clapped her approvingly on the shoulder. Then he grabbed his empty bowl and dropped it in front of one of the BeQ's as he headed out of the mess hall, chuckling as he went.