STAR TREK: EXODUS
On a planet; somewhere in the galaxy… in The Delta Quadrant
A Federation starship edged its way out of the orbit of a small world. There were actually four desolate worlds in the small star system and none of the planets were inhabited; all of them were just lifeless worlds with no remarkable ores to mine, no exotic plants for medicinal use; no nothing. One could even say that the star system was so worthless that none of the major galactic powers claimed the system; it just hung there in space, and not a single sentient being cared; which is why the Akira-class star ship had come such a long way; for a purpose that would turn the desolate world into, perhaps, the epicenter absolute change instead of a galactic joke.
The ship itself had no markings to identify it with, and that was by design. And that was because what the crew of the ship had left on the small lifeless lump of rock of a world, would change the course of history for the Federation, and more importantly, for the galaxy as well. There were to be no loose ends frayed at the cusp of responsibility. With the task complete, Captain of the nondescript ship, Benton Frost, gave the order and the ship prepared to enter Warp. They had six months to get as far from the desolate world as they could and back to Federation territory before the "event" happened.
But after that point, the journey home would take, instead of months, years to complete…and no one on the ship wanted that…and why?
If all went right, the Omega-device left on the small world would phase into subspace, and explode. It would destroy the planet for sure, using the explosion's energy to power the blast in subspace, but more importantly, it would be the cause of an Omega charged pulse wave that would travel throughout the known galaxy, at an extreme speed, and maybe even beyond, disrupting subspace in ways that not even the weapon's builders could accurately calculate; which was part the plan. It was long believed that in order for mayhem to multiply, the variants had to be unknown as well.
After Earth was cut off from the fleets meant to protect it, then the overreaching arms of rebellion would be fertilized on concept of isolation; but Earth wouldn't be alone; Vulcan would suffer the same fate as well…if all proceeded as planned!
And what about the frayed threads of responsibility? One of them was permanently cut when the Akira-class starship exploded into a zillion pieces, just seconds before attaining warp speed. There would be no return home for the crew; they had just given their lives for a higher cause; so said the justification.
Nearly six months later…
When the Klingon Empire dissolved, its territory became that of the Federation. With so much space to cover; Star Fleet was spread thin. The Klingon forces, at the time of the merge, were depleted due to years of internal strife among the various Houses and factions. What was left of the fleet, and now under control of the Federation, was given nominal security assignments around the more important worlds of the former empire.
The planet L'ovath was not one of the important worlds. It was now just one of many worlds that a Federation Star ship would visit, and then catalog. It would possible even warrant a visit by an expedition so as to catalog the plant life. But, all in all, L'ovath was just another cog in the ever growing gallery of Federation worlds.
A thick layer of vegetation covered the world, which had two major oceans separating three land masses. On the southern most part of one of the continents, six renegade Klingons sat around a fire eating sliced up portions of a Tar'g, and retelling the story of their supposed victory. Blood from the animal's morsels drooled out from their fanged mouths as they each told their part of the story.
So they also drank large sums of blood wine; why not? They had done the unthinkable! And what was the prize?
Next to one of the Klingons was an infant Klingon child; a male. It was crying, but none of the warriors cared. The child was the son of J'omoraq; the Klingon council member who they had abducted the infant from.
J'omoraq had sat on the High Council and had cast the deciding vote that had, for all intents and purposes, ended the Empire. The Chancellor of the High Command, K'onath, would no longer rule from the great hall of Honor on Q'onos, but would instead sit in just an ordinary chair inside the Federation council located on Earth. Many Klingons did not like what had come of their once great Empire.
The infant child, kidnapped from the home of the traitor J'omoraq, would be sold to the highest bidder who would in turn use the child's corpse, after it was ritually executed, to prove to all that the Klingon Empire was still alive in the blood fury inspired eyes of many Klingons.
The plan hadn't gone quite well. Twelve of the renegades had entered the House of J'omoraq to abduct the child, and only six, these six, survived; which was acceptable. The key was that the child had to be taken alive. The Klingons made their getaway, and once they were off of the home world, they would easily out race any security threat sent after them.
And now that they had made it to the planet L'ovath, they had no fear that J'omoraq would be able to track them to the world that was well off the beaten track; but they were wrong. Actually, they were partially right; J'omoraq though a fair warrior in hand to hand combat, did not have the ability to track down enemies by following ion trails or the like; but… J'omoraq's friend, a human, did. His name was Zebulon Macahan. Only a handful of non-Klingons were as highly respected among the Klingons as Zeb was. Zeb, due to respect of the Klingon way of life and customs, was respected as much as the legendary Curzon Dax. He had even been married to a Klingon woman years ago, but she, along with their infant son, had died aboard a transport vessel after a warp core conduit had failed and caused the ship to crash.
Unknown to the six Klingon warriors celebrating an abduction they believed successful, J'omoraq had called upon Zeb, who happened to be in the area making sure that the Federation was piping in the food and other resources for the downtrodden worlds of the former Klingon Empire.
(Author's note; many worlds of the Klingon Empire had become lifeless desert worlds due to the events that happened in the center of the galaxy nearly twenty years earlier (soon to be featured in The Galaxy Window). (In order to maximize what little resources there were in the former empire, most of the Klingons were forced into pockets of their former territory where supplies were more plentiful. But many believed this was an excuse for the Federation to eventually control the area of space the Klingons were persuade to leave. Men like Zeb would make sure that the Federation lived up to their part of the bargain; but it was an uphill battle.)
The six dastardly Klingons were unaware that J'omoraq and Zeb were observing them from close by; hidden behind a cluster of trees and bushes and ready to save the innocent child.
"It is time," J'omoraq told Zeb.
Three of J'omoraq's honor guard had accompanied him to the planet, to retrieve the child. They prepared to attack the unsuspecting Klingons.
"You my friend," J'omoraq added, "do not have to do this. You have served your honor and have brought me to these cowards. You do not need to risk your life any further."
"Yes I do," Zeb said. "When your grandfather, Martok, made me part of his family, I knew what that meant. That is the second time you've asked me not to go into battle with you, my brother," Zeb placed his hand on J'omoraq's shoulder, "please do not ask me again. I fight for my family; I fight for your child."
J'omoraq and the other Klingons looked up with Zeb with respect. Although he was human, he was considered more Klingon than the six so called true Klingons they were about to battle.
"Then perhaps," J'omoraq said to Zeb, "today is a good day to die!"
"It is," Zeb agreed with a smile.
J'omoraq and the other Klingons held their Bat'leths in preparation of battle as Zeb unsheathed a long Bowie knife, which had been his hand to hand weapon for years.
It was time for battle; it was time to act!
And so with a simple pump from J'omoraq's fist, like a clap of thunder, they attacked!