The IKS K’Rator was a stalwart old ship, smelling of blood and battles, the echoes of songs of victories from the glory days haunted her corridors. She creaked when she went to warp, her engines whined when they dropped to impulse and her exterior badly needed to be upgraded, making her look like a molting Hroth’gar bear trying to rub its old skin off.

If someone cared enough to give her the time and attention she deserved, she could be a shining relic of the glory days of the Klingon Empire. But HoD Kurtesh had killed Engineer Golwar two years ago after a bloodwine soaked argument about Kurtesh’s inability to produce an heir to his line and Golwar insinuating that Kurtesh could not launch his fleet when needed. Seven agonizingly poorly placed disruptor shots later and Golwar stopped breathing. L’Sura, his daughter and assistant never forgave Kurtesh, and allowed the K’Rator to slowly rot ever since.

Every crew member knew that this was the end of the line. The crater to a good career. This ship was the place that Klingon warriors went to either pull themselves out of the rock bottom pit of ignominy and prove their honor, enough to be stationed elsewhere; or they would calcify here, rot here, die here, becoming part of Captain Kurtesh’s macabre collection of ghosts who died in the line of duty.

Even if they didn’t die in the line of duty, Kurtesh’s report were always clear. Everything was in the line of duty. Even getting murdered in a fit of bloodwine fueled rage.

But today the bridge was bathed in orange light, ready to fly. Its crew was sober and focused. Today was a good day, all things considered.

“Helm, set course to the Yarvinar system, best possible speed.” HoD Kurtesh’s voice was sharp, cut through with that wheeze of age that said he had eaten too many rich meats and dishonorable sweets over the years that his bulk had pressed upon his chest and weakened the heart that beat within.

He spat afterwards. He always spat. The floor of the bridge was covered with years of thick sticky spittle from the fat old man that dominated the center chair. In the back of the bridge Soghla’ Lorgon swallowed his disgust and moved fractionally backwards to tend to the navigation console. As the K’Rator jumped to warp Lorgon’s eyes bore a hold in the back of Kurtesh’s frizzy silver hair. If the words ‘dishonorable wretch’ had an avatar, Lorgon was sure it was HoD Kurtesh.

“We should reach Yarvinar System in eighteen hours at present speed.” Logron offered in a carefully calculated, even tone. He knew all too well that he had earned himself a position on this miserable scrap heap by mouthing off to honorable superiors. There was no change in Gre’thor that he would earn his death by mouthing off to a dishonorable superior. “Our orders request us to meet with the USS Salvation…”

He was cut off by a strangled, choking shout, spittle propelling the harsh words towards him with emphatic wrath. “Meet? I will not meet with a mewling Starfleet officer and their soft little starship. We will arrive first. We will scout, we will claim territory, and we will take what we need.”

Lorgon snapped his head up, dark eyes blazing with the fire of youth. “We have orders!  A treaty to preserve! It is not-“

Kurtesh cut him off. “Don’t lecture me about honor, whelp!  Or I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to you. You do as I say because I am the Captain and you are not.”

Lorgon sucked in a breath, drawing himself up to his full, towering height and puffing out his chest. He was an entire Mek’leth taller than Kurtesh, though he was also a barrel of bloodwine lighter. In a fair fight he would probably win.

HoD Kurtesh never fought fairly anymore.

Ia’ Kovras stepped between them, casting an eye towards the young hothead and the dangerous old worm he called a Captain. “Lorgon, you lust for battle. Let me focus on our orders and I will give you a target to fight and troops to honor you.”

Slowly clenching and unclenching his fists the younger Klingon relented.  “Fine. I will focus my energy elsewhere.”

Lorgon relented, his anger washing over his clouded expression in waves. At the same time Kurtesh looked like he had just eaten rotten gagh, unsure if he was more disgusted by Lorgon’s outburst or Kovras’ deescalation.

Then again, sooner or later Kurtesh knew in his decaying soul that Lorgon would snap and he would have the pleasure of cutting him down and making him lay gasping in a puddle of his own blood. He could imagine now, pressing his boot into the back of the youth’s head, forcing him in his dying, drowning breaths to concede that Kurtesh was supreme.

Kovras caught the undisciplined, cruel glint in Kurtesh’s eyes and he settled himself between the youth and the Captain. No one liked being assigned to the K’Rator less than he did. But a diplomat in the Klingon empire was an easy target for enemies of the family. His reassignment to this backwater job under a loathsome HoD was all but ensured when his closest rival called him out for being full of soft words instead of steel.

Soft words, fah! Kovras was full of hard words. Eloquent words. Cutting words. Words that threatened his enemies. If he was soft he would have been allowed to wallow away on Qo’noS, ineffectual and weak. Instead he was forcibly conscripted and pushed into the role of First officer of the K’Rator.

Being the ship’s first officer was not the honor it seemed. It merely meant that he was the person who took the brunt of Kurtesh’s abuse and also had to somehow ensure that things were completed so the Empire didn’t notice how poorly the K’Rator was managed.

If he were actually in command Kovras would make sweeping changes for efficiency, and he would clean house, getting rid of the dishonorable curs who skirted by on Kurtesh’s love of comfort and excess and lackadaisical attitude towards following orders.

Funny enough he would retain Lorgon. For all his bluster, the youth cared deeply about honor and Kovras believe he could be honed – like a blade half formed, he could be sharpened into something useful, even inspiring. But that wouldn’t happen under Kurtesh.

Still, there was no use in wondering what life would be like if their HoD was dead. He was still here and very much alive and would remain that way unless someone took action to change that. Kovras knew he would make a better use of his time scanning the Yarvinar system, and carefully determining if there was enough support to depose Kurtesh – without tipping him off.

The K’Rator sailed into the black expanse of stars, piercing the edge of the Shackleton Expanse without fanfare. While the rest of the fleet sought out large, more important locales, the old bird of prey slipped, unnoticed, towards the fringes of sensor reaches. L’Sura had ensured the engines were purring, at least for this trip.  Her hatred of Kurtesh didn’t mar the fact that she was an excellent engineer.

Lorgon stared at the viewscreen, his skin itching to do something other than wait, his mind fixated on the dishonor of them disobeying orders.

Kurtesh reclined in his chair, sniffing the air and keeping an eye on his crew, ready to slay the first one who disobeyed him.

And Kovras watched the scans, wondering what waited for them on Yarvinar VI. And how Starfleet would react when they inevitably arrived.

So many questions. Answers that would have to wait.

The K’Rator flew forward towards fate.