The God War
Posted on Wed Mar 13th, 2024 @ 6:50pm by Commander War’roQ Last Son of the House Duras
Edited on on Wed Mar 13th, 2024 @ 7:33pm
2,428 words; about a 12 minute read
Mission:
The God War
Location: Cloaked - Near Deep Space 9
Timeline: MD4: 1300 hours Bajoran local time
War’roQ leaned forward like an eagle waiting to pounce on its prey. It was his turn as the Head of the Dishonored and Disavowed House of Duras to bring his house to the fore, not just of the Klingon Empire, but they would all bow to him once his plan was completed. War’roQ did not like waiting, but this time it was necessary.
“Report,” he commanded.
“All systems report nominal functions. The collaborator has not yet contacted us with the required information.”
War’roQ’s crew were as damaged as his ancient Bird of Prey. Most of the men were old, equally disgraced from former positions for whatever reason. The Houseless Klingons, their wealth and property seized for the Empire. Their homes distributed to young families making strong political moves and currying favor from the High Council, Chancellor Martok or even Emperor Kahless himself.
The Bird of Prey was a D12, last produced in 2287, the best or the worst that he could scrap together. Even with the other fallen houses contributing. It was the same style in which his great aunts, Lursa and B’Etor, had been murdered by Starfleet at Veridiian III. He had learned from their mistake and had ordered his engineer to fix the ion overload that the petaQ Riker had used to surprise and murder his last, great family. His father was introduced as a disappointment and remained one, not having the courage to even perform the Hegh’bat. Toral was, indeed, a true coward.
“We may be required to send someone to the station. The Ferengi needs to be reminded that I don’t like waiting.”
“We are receiving an encrypted message now, Commander. It is Quark and he claims to have recovered the data,” Tadak announced from the forward station where he also kept the Bird of Prey at station keeping and low power.
Quark’s face opened on the screen, disgustingly large. “I want the data, Quark,” War’roQ growled.
“I’ve dealt with Klingons before. You don’t scare me. I want payment in full, up-front, no guarantees. You’ll understand why when you review the transporter logs. Still, you have a good chance of finding it after a short search. I mean,” Quark paused and chuckled nervously, “how far could it have gotten in the last three decades?” He held up his hands nervously.
“Pay him.”
Cheva, the only female on this voyage of the damned pressed a few buttons and Quark’s eyes lit up as if he was honoring the Reunion of the Klingon Houses and the Restoration of the High Council. Be it under threat of destruction of Q’onos or not…
“One hundred bars of gold pressed latinum,” Quark marveled as he spun his scanner around the entire pile. “You, War’roQ are a man of honor. I am sending you the database entries of the USS Rio Grande, the last transporter coordinates of the Sword of Kahless and its very last trajectory.”
“It is coming through now, Commander. The data is pulled directly from the databanks of the Rio Grande, which shows Lieutenant Commander Worf, Commander Jadzia Dax and Dahar Master Kor. The course can be laid in now, Commander. Warp speed at your pleasure.”
“Speaking of pleasure, it was my pleasure doing business with you, Commander War’roQ!” Quark responded, his tone of elation and victory thick in his smarmy Ferengi voice.
War’roQ closed the channel without a word. What good was latinum when he was about to change the burden of his honorless crew?! When he could bend the will of the universe itself! War’roQ was prepared to walk among the Gods - and destroy them. One. By. One.
“We are about to violate the Dominion War treaty of 2375 by entering the wormhole without permission from Starfleet or the Bajoran Republic. We will be forced to run quickly once we pass into the Gamma Quadrant. We will only have a short amount of time ahead of them and our cloak. We must make the most of our advantages.”
“We will,” Vor, the oldest man on his crew agreed. Vor had spent many years as his doctor and his wife, Lessa, was like his mother, whom Lursa had killed. Or was it B’Etor? He couldn’t remember and it didn’t matter.
“Engage. Let us see the Gamma Quadrant for the first time.” War’roQ ordered. He was not certain of the feeling he felt, but he would guess happiness would be the name he put to it. Yes, for the first time in his life, he was certain he felt true happiness.
War’roQ was also certain that he didn’t like the feeling as he pushed it aside and adopted a patient mindset. The cloaked ship approached the wormhole with the aliens posing as gods living inside. He would kill them after their return to the Alpha Quadrant. Of course, if all went to plan, he would need no starship. No rusted Bird of Prey.
The wormhole blossomed like a flower of infinite colors of dazzling light before becoming a through way to the Dominion and the prize of the Klingon Empire. The Sword that was now missing for over fifteen hundred years. If Worf and Kor knew what they had wasted, the fools would throw themselves upon the sword in his hands. In fact, with Kor already dead, War’roQ had only the expectation that Worf would prostrate himself before War’roQ and beg for a simple death.
This would never be.
On Deep Space Nine, the red alert klaxon blared. Captain Kira Nerys exited her office. “What is the problem?”
“The wormhole has just activated. I’m picking up tachyon particles consistent with a cloaking device. The Romulans aren’t in a position to make a move like this, even the Free State,” Nog announced.
“That leaves the Klingons,” Doctor Bashir deduced. “But who and why?”
Kira could feel the frown on her face. “Get the Defiant out there, Nog. They have the advantage of time. We have the advantage of legality.”
“Someone get me Chancellor Martok, Captain Worf, Admiral Branson and First Minister Nadal. I have a half dozen headaches to deal with, fast.”
Three days. It had been three days since they had tricked Starfleet with a simple ion drive practice that confused their sensors and sent them on a wild goose chase across the Gamma Quadrant. Meanwhile, the honorless searched beginning on the first, last known transport of the sword. From there, they had followed the proposed course of the sword, set in motion by the simple act of transport.
They should have found it by now. They were using the metallurgical study of the sword by the Trill, Dax, in the hope that it would keep them from literally flying right into the weapon. War’roQ was not merely impatient, he was worried the Ferengi had sold him lies. It was his business, trading in information true and untrue. If Quark had any idea what they were planning, he would never have sold them the correct data.
“The Ferengi,” War’roQ started hesitantly as he stood from his command chair. His thoughts were interrupted by a sound. War’roQ’s nostrils flared and his mustache twitched with it. This was the sound of victory!
“We have found it! The Ferengi is…honorable,” he could barely believe he had said that. “Transport it here. Right in front of me!”
Cheva’s finger passed over the console quickly. Into War’roQ’s hands, the heavy sword fell. It was cold, of course, but an ancient cloth was wrapped around its handles. The proud crest of the Klingon Empire was displayed. There were ancient Klingon markings that would take time to translate, but War’roQ had no patience for that.
“Take your images and holographic copies for posterity, Cheva. When I am done, this sword, the armor of Kahless and the Knife of Kiron shall exist as you know them no more.They will burn with me in the fire of Kahless’ Beacon. Vor, are we ready.”
“We have been ready for weeks, Lord War’roQ. First ruler of the Universe,” Vor responded, his rheumy eyes alight with a joy that only the most believing cultist might feel.
War’roQ nodded. “Shut down this ship. Put it in station keeping. Everyone to the mess hall now.”
Once assembled, the crew could smell an unusual incense - Adjani, an incense preserved in the vaults of the High Council deep under the First City. War’roQ entered. He was dressed in the stolen goods of the same vault. War’roQ could see that some of his followers were becoming uncomfortable.
“What we have done is liberate these ancient artifacts for you. So that I may raise you out of dishonor and return to you a place in Sto’vo’kor. For each of you are warriors, strong in body, heart and mind. This last thing I do will unravel the High Council and expose its injustices. There are some in Sto’vo’kor who will find themselves in Grethor and ancestors irresponsibly blamed who may rise to take their place in Sto’vo’kor! Let us right these wrongs!”
The crew applauded War’roQ’s words. What better than to be returned to a place of honor. To have their houses, their fortunes, their ancestors saved! Someone started chanting, “War’roQ, War’roQ!” Soon the room was filled with cries of his name and it made his next step easier.
Vor lit the Beacon of Kahless with kor’tova candles. Lessa gave him the knife of Kiron, attaching it to his belt. The shroud of Kahless and his sword were tucked into the gauntlets on his arms. Finally, the Torch of G’bog was placed for him to hold in his left hand as the Sword of Kahless was held in his right hand. He looked like the Klingons of myth.
Vor tossed the Beacon of Kahless at War’roQ’s feet, instantly immolating the man who screamed as fire ravaged his body. Vor and Lessa chanted something in ancient Klingon, something none of the younger Klingons could understand. Smoke and the smell of old artifacts and flesh burning filled the room faster than the exhaust could remove it.
And then, it was over.
“Friends,” War’roQ said, renewed in not just body but in the shining armor of the ancient God Slayers, portrayed in every Klingon story about the end of their Gods. “I have not burned in vain. It was required to remove the stains upon my soul, so that we can take our place in the galaxy first, and then, the universe.” War’roQ’s voice boomed like that of a God.
“Well, you sure are new. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen something new,” another voice sounded behind War’roQ. It carried the same timber.
When War’rok turned to face the man, the soot of the immolation fell away, revealing a brilliant white-golden colored armor. Even the Sword of Kahless looked restored, the Klingon emblem painted brightly in red and black while the rest gleamed in white gold. “I am War’roQ, slayer of Gods.”
“Is that so? It’s been so long, but I think this body was called Gary Mitchell once. Now, you may think of me as a God,” Gary Mitchell, the once-upon-a-time lieutenant on the bridge of the USS Enterprise, NCC-1701. But that was an infinity ago.
War’roQ paused and looked at the man. Human, brown hair, average build, but his eyes were like crystals. His face soured with disgust. “Are you a Q?”
Mitchell’s laugh was almost metallic and sent a chill down the spines of the crew still watching the exchange. “Q? If the Q are candles, I am the sun.”
War’roQ began to charge, but Gary simply stepped aside and they were on another planet. “This is Delta Vega. Where James Kirk tried to trap me in the year 2258. Not much has changed,” Gary explained. “Still a mostly barren planet, rocks and a few plants. There’s a mining facility, just there,” Gary pointed.
“But the truth is…it’s all pointless, God Slayer. I’ve seen an infinity of iterations of this reality across a billion, trillion years, with a billion trillion lives, and they all end the same.”
Gary reached down and picked up a pebble before tossing it back on the ground. “It doesn’t matter whether you succeed or fail. In every universe, it all just…ends.”
Gary looked up then as War’roQ shoved his bat’leth through Gary’s abdomen before dragging it up through his sternum. Gary looked down as his bowels fell to the black, sandy ground. With his last words, his last breath, Gary managed two words only. “Thank you…”
Falling to the ground, War’roQ the God Slayer, knew that he had taken his place amongst the stars. But Mitchell had welcomed death. Others would not be so quick to accept their fates. He took a step.
And he was back on his rusty, old heap of a Bird of Prey. He sighed. Feeling renewed, he thought his crew deserved a new starship as well. Casting his mind back, he settled on the design he liked best. Around them, the rust red mess hall grew to doubled its size and the walls blackened.
“This is the D7-7, Death class, the newest flagship of the Klingon Defense Force and it is ours to command.” His rumbling voice echoed in the massive space.
“Stations everyone.”
Now on the bridge of the new starship, his crew had something he hadn’t seen before. Pride. They carried themselves stronger, better. The stations were cleaner, the icons crystal clear, the weapon systems made the honorless Bird of Prey seem childish.
“Where shall we go next, God Slayer?” Tadak asked from the new helm station.
War’roQ held his head high. He might get some pushback from his crew on this one. “Set your heading for Empersa. Home of the Dominion Gods. One God gave no challenge, let’s see if I can kill them by the millions…”
“Course laid in, Commander.”
War’roQ hated this new feeling. Happiness. But he was happy. And now, he would kill millions of Gods and some of their servants.
And he would keep being…
Happy.
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