Less than thirty minutes later the Sacramento’s senior officers assembled in the conference room. Overhead, flickering lights struggled as the ship’s systems remained on life support.

“He’s asking us to help him end his life,” Vennock stated flatly, arms folded against her body, “And you’re considering it?”

Ayres exhaled slowly, the weight of the decision palpable in his measured tone, “He wants to take the Torash on one final strike. We provide him with emergency life support, patch her impulse drive, and hand over rudimentary helm control. He’ll fly the wreck straight into the enemy formation. Captain Kulok was,” his head still hurt despite Vennock’s efforts, “enthusiastically in favour”

Elash, the Vulcan chief engineer, as composed as ever, stated evenly, “The Torash is beyond field repair. With our aid, it would take several days to restore functionality for travel to a shipyard. However, we can enable a controlled impulse burn, stabilise the thrusters, and set the proper trajectory in under an hour”

“That isn’t sensible battle planing, it’s assisted suicide,” Vennock’s voice rising in indignation, “He’s had catastrophic injuries and I’ve barely got him stable. Even if the ship holds long enough to make a difference, he might not”

Kincaid, arms crossed and eyes steely, spoke up, “I won’t pretend to understand the Klingon drive for the afterlife, but if Marban is close to death I can understand the desire to make it a meaningful one,” he looked his wife in the eyes, wondering if he was later going to regret his comment.

arr interjected gently, “This isn’t only about the Klingon’s wishes; it’s about who we are. If we help him die, are we still embodying our values? Starfleet’s values?”

“He’s Klingon,” Kincaid said, his tone measured but with a hint of passion, “His beliefs, his values, they matter. Death isn’t defeat to them. It’s a culmination. A victory. Can we deny him that because it doesn’t fit neatly into our moral code?”

“We’re not talking about letting someone die in the course of battle,” Vennock shot back, “We’re talking about engineering his death. Enabling it. Is that what Starfleet stands for?”

T’Vaan interjected, calm but precise, “Starfleet regulations support cultural non-interference. The right of a species to self-determination, including spiritual and cultural practices, even when those practices conflict with Federation norms”

Parr spoke then, voice softer, thoughtful, “The question isn’t just about values, it’s about choice. Marban has agency, he wants to follow a course of action. Do we have the right to override it? Or invalidate his choice?”
“His choice ends with an act of violence,” Vennock said. “A suicide mission, carried out with our assistance. Doesn’t that say something about our values?”

Captain Ayres turned, slowly facing the group. His voice was quiet, but unwavering.

“It does. It says that our values aren’t the only ones that matter in this galaxy”

He walked a few steps, looking out the viewport toward the dying remnants of the Torash, silhouetted in starlight.

“Klingons view sacrifice differently than we do,” he said, “To them, death in battle is the final expression of identity. An end worthy of memory. To us, life is sacred because of what it can become. Klingons see death as sacred because of how they chose to end their lives”

“I understand that,” Vennock said, losing some of her frustration, “But where do we draw the line? If we start making decisions based on their values, what happens to ours?”

“We don’t abandon ours,” Ayres closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “But neither do we enforce them like a universal law”

Ovindar spoke up from her seat. “My people lived through the occupation. For a long time, survival was all we had. But we also fought. Some chose death, when they believed it meant something greater. Not because they wanted to die but because they wanted their death to count”

She looked around the table, her voice full of conviction, “I never judge someone for making that choice. Not when they understand the alternative and reject it”

There was silence again. Reflective.

Parr looked to Vennock, “Doctor, no one is asking you to endorse his death. Only to acknowledge his agency. He’s not requesting an execution. He’s requesting our help in fulfilling what, to him, is a righteous end”

Vennock exhaled, long and slow.

Ayres stepped to his chair, resting his hands on the back of it.

“We help him. Not because we want him to die, but because we respect why he wants to. And in doing so, we don’t surrender our values, we live them. Compassion. Respect. Understanding”

He looked at each of them. The officers all gave quiet nods, some reluctant, some solemn.

“Engineering will work in tandem with a team from the Torash. Doctor, do what you can to give him long enough to see it through”

Though wanting to voice dissent, Vennock simply nodded, “I’ll give him as much time as I can”

IKS Torash

The air inside the gutted remains of the Torash’s engineering deck was thick with burnt insulation, the pungent tang of scorched equipment, and something uniquely metallic, a scent Elash had cataloged as ‘post-battle residual atmospherics’. The Vulcan chief engineer of the Sacramento stepped lightly over a warped girder as he examined what remained of the impulse drive.

Behind him, Marban leaned against a support beam, with one hand gripping a coolant stabiliser as if to keep himself standing through sheer will. Dried blood was cracked across his armor.

“This ship will not hold,” Elash said matter-of-factly, rerouting a cluster of conduits with delicate precision. “Your containment systems are fractured. The drive alignment is miscalculated by at least 3.2 degrees. And the forward inertia dampeners are nonexistent”

Marban coughed a laugh, “So you believe I will die slightly off course”

Elash did not look up. “I believe that your margin for success is fractional, your vessel is functionally inoperable by Starfleet standards, and your death, while inevitable, is not guaranteed to achieve your aim”

Marban stepped closer, his gait stiff, “Do you disapprove of this, Vulcan?”

Elash finally turned. His face was impassive, “Disapproval is an emotional posture”

“But you think this is a waste,” Marban pressed.

“I think,” Elash said, straightening, “that life is, by logic, the most efficient and valuable form of energy in the universe. Preserving it allows for continued evolution. Continued learning. You, on the other hand, choose to end that”

Marban didn’t waver, “And yet you are here. Helping me”

Elash paused, tilting his head, “I am following orders. And to deny your autonomy, your decision, would contradict the principles I have sworn to uphold. I am not here to endorse your death. I am here to ensure it is not pointless”

A beat passed between them. The red glow of the Klingon ships’ lighting flickered across their faces.
Marban barked a short, genuine laugh.

Then Elash turned back to the repairs. His long fingers moved weaved Starfleet tools through Klingon conduits with practiced precision.

“I have rerouted power from auxiliary life support and weapons systems to impulse control”

Marban nodded, “The Torash will fly. One last time.”

“Barely,” Elash added, “You will have three minutes and fifty-seven seconds of optimal propulsion. After that, the core will collapse”

“Enough,” Marban murmured, placing a calloused hand on a section of scorched hull. His fingers trembled slightly as they traced the outline, half melted away.

“A scarred warrior,” he said, tapping the metal, “Never the fastest. But the Torash fought with honour for many decades. Many decades together! Now it will carry me into Sto’Vo’Kor”

Elash observed him for a moment. “You speak as though the ship is alive”

Kulok turned to him, “It was. And soon will be again, if only for a moment”

“I do not understand the emotional symbolism,” Elash admitted, “But I can see its purpose”

He stepped back from the console and offered the interface tools to Marban, “The Torash is ready”

Marban accepted the controls, his fingers wrapping around them with surprising reverence. He took a deep breath and looked toward the battered forward viewport, the stars gleaming like distant warriors waiting to bear witness.

“You will return to your ship, Elash,” he said.

“I am aware”

“And you will tell your captain that today is a good day to die”

“I will relay that,” Elash said with a slight bow of his head.

Marban turned away as Elash tapped his combadge for transport.

Bridge, USS Sacramento

On the central viewscreen, the Torash drifted slowly from beneath the Sacramento’s shadow. Once a proud bird-of-prey, now it was a ragged silhouette, hunched like an old warrior bowed with time. Its hull was fractured, its wings crooked, its engines sputtering with the artificial life the Vulcan hands had returned to it. Resurrected for one final charge.

Captain Ayres and the Klingon Captain Kulok stood at the center of the bridge. They said nothing.
Around them, his officers did the same.

Kincaid stood at tactical, his usual stoicism replaced with quiet reverence. Even T’Vaan, the embodiment of Vulcan serenity, held her gaze upon the screen.

Near the rear of the bridge, four more Klingon warriors, survivors of the Torash, stood shoulder to shoulder. They would witness.

“Impulse engines are holding,” Ovindar reported, “Trajectory is locked. Velocity at 83% optimal”

“No evasive action from the enemy,” T’Vaan added. “They do not perceive the Torash as a threat”

A deep growl rose from one of the Klingons, “Let them think us dead”

Onscreen, the Torash began to accelerate. Slowly at first, then faster. A spark of dying fury in the black.
Kincaid’s voice came low, awed, “The Torash is holding together”

“For now,” said Ayres, “Just long enough”

Parr pulled up a telemetry overlay, one of the enemy ships loomed directly ahead of the Torash like a blade. A predator. Arrogant. Waiting. It was firing at another Klingon ship manoeuvring around its fore.

“I don’t think they’re going to see it coming,” Parr murmured.

“They will feel it,” one of the Klingons answered.

Ovindar’s voice was subdued, “Thirty seconds to impact”

Captain Kulok raised his voice, patched through to the Torash. Raspy, raw, and proud, “To the warrior of the Torash, for Kahless, for the Empire – remember this day! Today, Marban, is a good day to die!”

One of the Klingons on the bridge, young, his face still streaked with soot, slammed a fist against his chest. “Qapla’!”

A second followed suit, then the third, then the fourth.

The Sacramento’s bridge crew turned to the Klingons and, respectfully, they too stood straighter. Ayres gave a nod.

Ovindar whispered, “Ten seconds”

The Torash burned now. Fires licked her flanks, the enemy ship was beginning to fire its weapons at the approaching wreck. But the Torash drove forward, faster, hungrier. A dying star with a purpose.

Onscreen, the enemy ship’s engines flared in sudden alarm.

“Too late,” Kincaid said.

Impact.

A bloom of white fire.

Silent. Devastating. Beautiful.

The screen dimmed automatically to protect their eyes. The shockwave tore outward in all directions, consuming the Torash and her target in a brief, transcendent inferno. Debris shot into space. The enemy ship ruptured from the core, folding in on itself as the Torash’s twisted bones drove straight through.

On the bridge, no one spoke for several moments.

T’Vaan added, “Sensors confirm, one of the larger enemy ships was destroyed in the blast. The Klingon fleet is repositioning to take advantage of the opening”

And slowly, on the bridge of the Sacramento, the silence ebbed, not into noise, but into renewed purpose.