Author's Note: This idea has been rattling around in my head for awhile and I'm not sure I can work on anything else creative until I get this out of the way.
I had originally thought of only drawing from canon sources for both franchises. But what fun is that. So I will be taking multiple sources (T.V., movies, books, games, as well as my own ideas) in an effort to bring the best story that I can. I owe this not only myself so hopefully I won't lose interest, but to those who choose to (or are forced to) read this.
Anyway, enough from me… Enjoy the show.
Torg pushed his way through the ironically crowed streets of a nowhere colony located squarely at the ass end of the Klingon Empire. He kept a firm grip on his disruptor rifle, ready to bring it to bear in an instant if needed. His eyes never ceased moving as he took in as much detail as he could. Two shady characters talking quietly in a small alley between buildings, the glint of gold-pressed latinum changing hands. This was followed quickly a small package. Illicit drugs of one type or another. Someone wanted the world to melt away for a time…
A green skinned orion prostitute standing nearly naked in the doorway of another building. She turned seductive eyes to those passing by, even taking an unnecessarily deep breath as Torg and his troop came into view. But Torg noticed the fingers of one of her hands rubbing rapidly together. More than likely she was feeling the pressure of needing to sell her wares.
A group of street rats that were darting through the crowd laughing and squealing as little hands slipped in the pockets of the unsuspecting. Dirty little faces became sad masks of fear when they caught sight of him, clutching their liberated rewards to their chests as they darted away.
As long as no one was murdered in the event, Torg didn't feel he could fault those trying to survive or find a measure of peace.
So was life at the edge of the empire…
Many klingons would and did consider it less than "honorable" to be posted to security in a dirty little hole like this. Torg didn't mind though, not really anyway. Not like the little ghus that he commanded who called themselves warriors. Swaggering down the street with their weapons slung casually over their shoulders or dangling uselessly at their sides. They would growl with open contempt in an effort to make people move, roughly shoving those who would not move fast enough.
They would openly complain that such a posting was beneath them and how they longed for the thrill of battle. How they thought that the empire should travel through the Bajoran wormhole to rid the galaxy of the Dominion once and for all. Never mind the fact that Dominion War had been over for years. Torg could sigh and shake his head in frustration when the squad's conversations came to this subject. They just didn't understand. The Dominion were brutal, relentless foes who were actually bred for the sole purpose of war.
Yes. Torg would take the uneventful life of a security guard over the hellish, frontline fighting of the Dominion War every time. He had already watched most of his brothers in arms die once and had no wish to do it again.
Smirking to himself, Torg thought the idea watching this group of qoH he commanded get slapped around a bit by a Jem'Hadar First would be pleasing.
A twinge of pain in his hip and a growl from his stomach reminded Torg that he had been on his feet for the last eight hours since 0400 this morning. "Time to eat," he growled over shoulder.
"Getting tired, old man?" someone called behind him. This caused the group to chuckle.
"Maybe we should find a gurney before he falls over!" The group roared at this.
"Be a nice change," Torg replied. "Give my back a break from carrying you worthless lot."
Laughter turned into growl. "Careful who you insult, old man." There were mumbles of agreement to this. Torg recognized this as Roth, the young klingon was eager for any advancement that might get him transferred to a different post.
Sighing heavily, Torg stopped and turned to face the group. He wasn't really surprised to find four faces regarding him with hard eyes and lips pulled back from teeth in an effort to be intimidating. After a moment, Torg very calmly said, "I don't insult. I simply tell the truth. If you are that sensitive Roth, I can lie to you."
Roth was heavily muscled, but incredibly overconfident, which was evident by how close he got to Torg. The young klingon probably thought that because Torg had way more than his fair share of gray hair he'd be easy to make cower. Yeah, sure.
"Maybe you shou…" Torg cut Roth short by snapping his head forward and smashing the bony ridge of forehead into the younger klingon's nose resulting in a rather satisfying crunch.
Immediately Torg release his hold on his disruptor, and traded it for a fist full of coarse hair and the hilt of his dagger. Grunting with effort, Torg yanked Roth's head to one side feeling hair pulling free from scalp. The tip of Torg's dagger bit generously into the soft, fleshy skin of Roth's jaw.
"Next time we have this talk," Torg growled through clenched teeth. "I will use this knife to pick your brain and figure out why you're so damned stupid!" He finished his statement by removing his blade and planting the hardened toe of his boot in Roth's groin.
Satisfied his point had been made, Torg release his handful of hair and allowed the younger klingon to fall to the ground. He turned his gaze to each of the others in his troop before he finally asked, "Anyone else want to add to the conversation?" When no replied, Torg continued with, "Then pick him up and at least act like the Klingon warriors you are supposed to be." Turning on his heel, Torg didn't bother to see who followed.
After a few moments, Torg heard the sounds of heavily booted feet fall into formation behind him. In true klingon nature a good show of strength wins the day. As much as he hated to admit it though, Torg wasn't sure how much longer he could give a good showing. His left shoulder now had a deep, throbbing ache.
Spotting a familiar street vendor that served some of the best gagh he tasted, he started pushing through the crowd his eyes locked on the withering worms. Opening mouth to announce break, Torg was cut short by a crackling female voice calling out over his com-link.
"Sergeant Torg, do you copy?"
"Ghuy'!" Torg swore. He hesitated a moment before tapping the communicator on his wrist. "I copy command." On one hand he hoped his voice wasn't laced with the irritation he felt, but on the other he really didn't care.
"Torg, the nausicaans are causing trouble again."
A growl rumbled, deep in Torg's chest. "Where?" he asked through clenched teeth.
There was an unmistakable huff of laughter issued from the communicator. "Landing pad four."
Sighing heavily, Torg replied, "I hope they resist."
"Happy hunting, Torg."
"I am missing a meal for this… Torg out." Swatting his communicator, he lowered his head and turned towards landing pad four. With each stomp of a foot, his gagh got further behind him. "Nausicaans are wanting to spend another night in a cell, boys," Torg announced. A few eager noises issued from the troop behind him in response.
"Maybe we should accidently kill some of them this time. Or break a few of limbs. Maybe then they will learn," someone commented.
"Then what would we have to pass the time?" Roth replied. Torg noted that his voice sounded more than a little muffled. He wondered absently if he had broken Roth's nose, but then decided that if he had maybe the young klingon would finally learn something. More than likely not though.
As they neared the landing pad, a number of people who looked like they wanted to be anywhere other than where they were hurried past. This set the hair on the back of Torg's neck to start standing on edge. Those that made this outpost their homes were by and large a hardy bunch, a group of nausicaans causing trouble shouldn't have caught the notice of anyone other than those involved.
Coming to the end of the street that emptied into a square of sorts that surrounded the landing pads, Torg brought his troop to a halt. With the crowds gone, he saw something that made him grip his weapon even tighter.
"Is…is that a head?" Roth asked.
Quickly tapping his communicator, Torg said, "I need immediate backup to landing pad four. Repeat. I need immediate backup to landing pad four." Shouldering his rifle, he left the channel open as he started moving forward.
"Weapons up," he called and was actually surprised to hear a couple of weapons powering up. Coming into the square, kept his knees bent as he walked. Anywhere his eyes looked his weapon pointed.
The square itself was largely empty except for a few curious onlookers hiding behind kiosks or in doorways. What dominated his attention were the bodies about twenty meters in front of him. Nausicaans in various states of dismemberment formed a macabre ring around three people covered in black cloaks.
"The nausicaans are dead," Torg spoke knowing that command and any reinforcements would hear everything he said through the open channel. "Three suspects on sight. One female, two males." The female had looked to be harshly berating one of the males until Torg started speaking at which point she stopped and turned to look in his direction. "Suspects appear to be young humans."
"How did three humans kill a group of nausicaans?"
"Focus, Roth," Torg growled. Behind the suspects, Torg saw reinforcements were already starting to arrive. One of the human males must have heard the other squad entering the square, considering how he turned to face them.
The female, who never took her eyes (were they really glowing yellow?) from Torg's squad, spoke a single word in a language that his universal translator couldn't decipher. As of one mind, the trio turned and began striding towards the landing pad.
"Halt!" Torg barked. When the humans gave no indication of stopping, he continued with, "Roth, Kas. Move to contain." He noted the two trotting off at the edge of his vision. "You are commanded to halt!" But the humans didn't finally stop until their way was blocked.
"Place your hands behind your head and kneel on the ground!" someone shouted.
"Surrender!" someone else called.
As he slowly closed the gap, Torg kept his weapon carefully trained on the female's torso.
"Get down on the ground!" someone commanded.
Again in unison, the humans turned. As the woman regarded Torg though her lashes, he noticed that her eyes did indeed have a slight, yellow radiance to them. She was also holding a shiny length of metal in her right hand.
"Drop the weapon!" he shouted. He could almost feel the other klingons tense.
The woman's eyebrows drew slowly together and down, forming a 'V'. Her full lips turned slightly down and spoke another single word his translator couldn't help with. With a popping hiss, an orange column of glowing energy leapt from the object in her hand, to form what he could only describe as a blade of energy. The human men also looked to be holding energy blades but theirs were red in color.
"Drop them," Torg commanded. Squeezing the trigger of his rifle a bolt of green disruptor energy streaked towards the woman's chest. Several other bolts, fired from the weapons of his squad, flashed out from either side.
Shock and surprise hit Torg like a slap in the face as he watched the woman either nimbly dodge the incoming bolts of energy or block them with her energy blade. One of the block bolts actually came back and struck down a squad mate to his left.
"Man down!" a voice called. A flutter of fear began to worm its way into Torg's gut as the small human female began to stalk forward, batting away disruptor bolts almost contemptuously.
With his men falling to the ground around him, Torg decided to change the game. Using his thumb, he switched his weapon to beam mode. This time when he pulled the trigger, a brilliant stream of green energy sprang from the muzzle of weapon with a furious whine. This time when the woman blocked the attack, its sheer force seemed to take her off guard, causing her to take a step back, and importantly her energy blade didn't seem able to reflect the attack. Torg felt a spark of hope.
"Beam mode!" he called.
Hearing Roth scream in pain, Torg risked a glance and saw that a human male had shoved his red blade through Roth's chest. The klingon fumbled weakly at the human's arm for a moment before finally going limp. Kas was unbelievably floating in the air behind Roth, clawing at his throat. Realizing he couldn't do anything for the two, Torg turned his attention back to woman before him.
A disruptor beam lashed from somewhere behind Torg shoulder, but the woman dodged to the side easily. Almost as if she knew where the attack was aiming. She suddenly thrust her hand in roughly Torg's direction, closed her fist, and made a pulling motion. Torg's weapon and those of the warriors beside him were ripped violently from his grasp by an unseen force.
Shock stilled Torg for a moment before he quickly reached one hand towards his sidearm and the other reached behind his back. A deep bellow issued from beside him as a young warrior launched himself forward, a dagger clutched tightly in each hand.
"No you fool!" Torg cried, but this was just a reflex. He knew that it was useless.
Torg could do nothing but watch as the woman launched herself into spinning sidesteps with speed and grace that should not have been possible for a human. Upon completing her maneuver, the woman's energy blade arched up, humming as met the warrior's descending arm and neatly severed the limb with seemingly no effort.
Before the warrior could even scream, the woman stepped close and rammed her blade up into the klingon's stomach; its glowing tip erupted from his between his shoulders. Pulling the weapon free, she turned her gaze to Torg who was bringing his pistol to bear. Her mouth turned up on one side as he fired the weapon, which she reflected to his side. The bolt must have struck the warrior next to him judging by the thumping sound he heard.
When Torg made no move to fire again, the woman again said something that he couldn't understand.
"May the Fek'lhr feast upon you, wench!" Torg cried as he pulled the photon grenade from behind his back and started to throw the explosive.
The woman snapped up an outstretched hand and Torg suddenly felt his body go rigid, his arm frozen mid throw. As the seconds agonizingly passed, Torg and the human stared at each other. He wanted to curse her, to spit at her feet. But he couldn't.
Fine, he thought. Sto-vo-kor is waiting.
Finally there was a flash of light. The grenade went off.