A Better Day to Kill
Above the planet Boreth, A Fek'lhri dreadnought traded weapons fire with a Klingon vessel- the IKS Wild Targ. Though the Klingon craft's shields deflected most of the demons' firepower, enough got through to do much damage.
"Disruptors are down!" B'ellera, tactical officer shouted, as the engineering console across from her left erupted in a shower of sparks. In the centre of the bridge her captain, Zembeduma the Lethean fixated on the bridge viewer, which displayed the enemy ship.
"Fire all torpedoes!" Zembeduma shouted, then turned to his science officer Ra'Gakk and shouted, "How much longer?"
"One minute!" the Gorn shouted. The Wild Targ's secret weapon- the Entangled Quantum Bombardment had sidestepped the enemy's shields altogether, but only dealt moderate damage to the dreadnought and required a two-minute cooldown before they could use it again- so much could happen in a mere two minutes…
Another enemy blast punched through their shields. "Torpedo bays clogged, B'ellera wailed, "EQ bombardment disabled…"
Damn the bombardment, Zembeduma thought, one way to end this- from the top of his lungs he bellowed, "Ramming speed!"
The ship's thrusters propelled the Wild Targ so forcefully the bridge crew nearly fell from their stations. On impact the shields of both ships crumbled and the Wild Targ's bow smashed into the enemy dreadnought's hull- seconds before the Klingon craft's own warp core failed.
The last thing Zembeduma felt as the ship began to explode was the tingle of an emergency beamout- he and his bridge crew began to vanish…
Zembeduma bolted upright; unsure where he was at first- it took a moment to realize the battle over Boreth was weeks past- he was in the captain's quarters of his new ship.
New ship- Zembeduma chuckled at that, the Tyrion was a d-7 cruiser fished out of a Ferengi junkyard; some might (and probably had) called it a piece of junk in itself- but in the fight against self-appointed Emperor J'mpok any ship was better than no ship.
Zembeduma dragged himself off the metal platform that served for a bed and groaned in back pain- and like many times before, audibly cursed the memory of the fool Klingon who argued comfort made a warrior soft. On his feet he moved toward the recently installed replicator console- still wondering who made that little addition and when.
"Andorian lager," Zembeduma grumbled, "0.47 litres, cold."
A tankard shimmered into being on the replicator console; Zembeduma seized it and knocked back the liquid in one long gulp. After wiping the foam off his mouth on his sleeve he inquired, "Computer, how long before Qu poH wa'Dich (first shift)?"
"Approximately one hour, twenty minutes," the ship's computer answered in a gruff voice quite unlike the pleasant chirp one would hear on a Starfleet vessel.
"Alright- how long to the Qo'nos system?" Zembeduma asked.
"At current speed, approximately one hour, thirty minutes."
"Time to get up anyway…" Zembeduma mused.