The T’Ong slipped from warp like an old, grizzled hunting beast. Under cloak, the old cruiser drifted in silence at the edge of the Paldor System. The stars ahead were distorted by ripples of ionic interference streaming off the gas giant, the great world roiling beneath a veil of crimson and gold. Captain K’trok leaned forward in the command chair, his knuckles resting against the worn metal armrests, eyes narrowing.

“Long-range sensors are… chaotic,” Vornak reported, his biosynthetic eye flickering as it processed raw telemetry. Readings suggest recent weapons fire. Klingon disruptor signatures. Federation phaser dispersal.”

Meklar grunted. “If a Starfleet ship strayed across K’Rath’s path, it’s likely been reduced to scrap.”

K’trok said nothing at first. He studied the debris drifting across the viewscreen… jagged slivers of duranium, a shard of silver and blue plating that might once have been a shuttlebay door or the rim of a hull segment. The old warrior’s breath came slow and measured.

“Do not assume too quickly,” he said at last. “Starfleet ships have a habit of surviving their own funerals.”

Vornak’s head turned slightly. “Multiple Klingon energy signatures moving on low approach vectors to the gas giant. Two K’vort-class vessels and one Vor’cha… the Mavek’du.”

K’vathra frowned. “Why move so close to the storm bands? The pressure shears will tear at their shields.”

A soft chime cut through the bridge. Vornak leaned in over his console. “Sensors detect small objects released along their flight paths. We cannot identify them due to atmospheric interference. Size comparable to torpedoes or large sensor buoys.”

“Or mines,” L’dren added.

K’trok exhaled slowly. “Whatever he casts into those clouds, he is not certain his prey is dead.”

The T’Ong drifted further inward, cloak shimmering softly as the cruiser slid into the system’s interior shadows.

“Bring us closer to the refinery chain,” K’trok said. “Minimum speed. Let us see what K’Rath protects so vigorously that he is willing to destroy an ally vessel.”

__________________________________

Paldor’s upper storm layers churned like a living creature beneath the Thunderchild’s scarred hull. Lightning cracked against the shields, pale blue flashes shimmering across damaged plating. The ship trudged through dense pressure bands, each kilometer deeper, throwing new turbulence against the vessel’s wounded frame.

On the bridge, emergency lighting cast the command stations in blood-red hues. Captain Rynar Jast sat forward in his command chair, eyes trained on the swirling storm beyond the viewscreen.

“T’Rell, any improvement in sensor fidelity?” he asked.

The science officer worked steadily, her fingers gliding over flickering controls. “Minimal, Captain. Ionic buildup is distorting range resolution by twenty-seven percent. I cannot detect these Klingon mines until they are right on top of us. So far, we have been lucky.”

“Engineering?” Jast asked.

Th’Íveqan’s voice came through the engineering intercom with a harassed growl. “Repairs continue. The entire EPS spine along deck ten looks like a targ chewed through it. I’ve isolated power to tertiary systems to keep life support running and impulse barely alive. Try not to do anything heroic.”

“No promises,” Jast said.

From Tactical, Vok reported, “Phaser banks one through four are operational at partial output. Torpedo launchers remain offline.”

Jast exhaled through his nose. “Understood, keep alert for any mines. If we can destroy them before they hit us, we’ll only have to deal with the shockwaves. Helm, keep us steady along this pressure trough. We can’t afford another shear.”

Sorel nodded, sweat collecting at his temples as he wrestled with controls that refused to cooperate. “Aye, Captain.”

Velar stepped closer to Jast. “Sir, if those mines are drifting… and we can’t see them coming…”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But we can’t climb until we have full impulse. And if the Klingons are patrolling above, we’ll be a gift-wrapped target.”

She nodded, jaw tight.

A sudden tremor rippled through the hull. Warning klaxons chirped sharply.

“Object detonated aft, bearing one-eight-seven mark two,” T’Rell reported. “Shockwave only. No direct hit.”

Jast closed his eyes for a heartbeat.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not a fan of sitting helpless while hunters loom over us,” Jast said as he tapped his combadge, opening a channel to engineering. “Doc, you have thirty minutes to get me impulse and as much firepower as possible. I’m done hiding.”

__________________________________

Refinery Platform Five loomed on the T’Ong’s viewscreen… a skeletal tower wrapped in refueling arms and glowing atmospheric processors. Normally, the Secundi structures hummed with near-poetic fluidity: warm lights, soft iridescence, crews moving with serene precision.

Now fire-black scars burned across its spine.

Troop carriers were docked against its flanks, Klingon soldiers sweeping the decks, moving Secundi workers into containment clusters. Vornak’s feed highlighted disruptor scoring along the hull plating, a match to K’Rath’s own weapons systems.

L’dren’s jaw tightened. “These people didn’t resist. Clearly, they are not warriors. They never stood a chance. The inhabited moon doesn’t even show signs of defensive weaponry.”

“My father once said,” K’trok murmured, “that an Empire must be strong enough to claim what it wants.”

K’vathra eyed him warily. “And you believe that?”

“I believe,” K’trok said slowly, “that strength without honor is merely cruelty.”

For a moment, the only sound was the humming pulse of the T’Ong’s engines and the whir of air re-circulators.

“Helm,” K’trok said softly. “Bring us above that refinery platform. Minimum drift.”

Kovor looked back. “Above? Captain, that takes us closer to their sensors…”

“Do as I command!” K’trok barked.

The T’Ong glided silently into position above the refinery. Below, through the clearplaz viewports, they could see alien workers forced against the decking, surrounded by armed Klingon troops.

He rose from the chair.

“We end this.”

K’vathra turned sharply. “Captain…”

“I will hear no counsel that asks me to look away,” K’trok said. “Not again.”

His hand closed around the metal ridge of the armrest.

“Drop the cloak.”

The order cut through the bridge like a blade. Kovor hesitated only a heartbeat before tapping the command.

Space rippled.

The T’Ong emerged in full view above the refinery platform, her hull dark and ancient, disruptors humming with power.

All Klingon activity below stopped instantly.

On the Mavek’du, alarms screamed.

__________________________________

Lightning snarled across the Thunderchild’s hull, dancing over the dorsal spine like living veins of plasma. Suddenly, the ship shook again under a pressure swell that made the bulkheads groan.

In Engineering, Th’Íveqan stood over a damage control station, antennae angled sharply forward as he scrolled through diagnostics.

“Report!” he barked.

Two Bynar engineers paused in perfect unison, turned to look at him, then turned to each other and issued another quick burst of binary.

“1101: 100101 did not specify 10.0010.”

“1010: Now has.”

“1101: 110101.001 Correction implemented.”

“Excellent. Work faster,” Th’Íveqan replied to the strange pair.

The deck lurched violently as another distant detonation echoed through the atmosphere. A shower of sparks rained from a ruptured conduit overhead. The two engineers rushed to seal it with handheld dampers.

Th’Íveqan slammed his finger onto the intercom.

“Bridge, this is Engineering! Captain, if you want to climb out of this storm, now would be the time to tell me before we’re scraping the hull off the deck!”

Jast’s voice came steady. “We’re preparing. Status on the port nacelle?”

“Right now, it’s held together by the sheer force of my irritation. I can probably give you warp three at best.”

“Good,” Jast replied. “How about impulse?”

Th’Íveqan tapped a status screen, “Impulse is at twelve percent, more than enough to climb, but not enough to run.”

“We’re not crawling out of this, just a slow target. I need at least half impulse if we’re going to take K’Rath by surprise. Divert everything you can, evacuate decks and reroute life support if you have to.” Jast was determined.

Th’Íveqan’s antennae flicked in disbelief. “Captain, if we climb too fast…”

“We won’t. But we’re running out of places to hide.”

The channel closed. Th’Íveqan huffed, muttering, “I joined Starfleet to design engines… 1010, 1101, you heard the man.”

“1010: 0100.00101.1101?”
“1101: 0100.00111. Confirmed variance.”
“1010: Adjusting telemetry buffer, 110010.0010110.”
“1101: Margin improved 273.002056 percent.”

“Just a bit more…”  Th’Íveqan said, impressed with the pair but refusing to show it.

“1010: 101101011.00 Accepted.”
“1101: Adjusting 110101001.00.”

Th’Íveqan straightened. “That will have to do.”

He tapped his combage. “Bridge, this is Engineering. You have impulse… at forty-six percent.”

“Understood,” Jast said. “Helm, prepare ascent vector.”

For the first time since entering the storm, the battered Thunderchild began to rise.

__________________________________

“K’trok, Son of Morak.”

K’Rath’s face materialized on the T’Ong’s viewscreen in a wash of dark crimson command lighting. His nose ring gleamed, and the heavy ridges of his face were twisted in what was almost amusement.

“You appear suddenly without warning,” he said. “Like a ghost. Or a coward.”

K’trok remained standing, feet planted, shoulders squared. His bridge lights flickered over scars earned decades earlier.

“I appear,” he said evenly, “because the Empire appears dishonored. You force a peaceful species to swear allegiance under threat of death. You fire upon their homes. And you claim yourself a warrior.”

K’Rath laughed. “These Secundi requested protection.”

“Protection?” K’trok barked. “I saw your soldiers dragging children across refinery decks. I saw disruptor burns that tore open their homes. If this is protection, then you lie with every breath.”

K’Rath’s eyes narrowed. “You speak boldly for a man whose House has crawled beneath my boot.”

K’trok filled with rage. A burning fire driving him to action. If he could reach through the viewscreen and tear out K’Rath’s throat in this instance, he would… He forced the rage down, holding it for when he could use it to his advantage.

“My father crawled,” K’trok said quietly. “I do not.”

K’Rath leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Your father begged, K’trok. Begged like a Ferengi for scraps of land when Toral stripped your House of its ranks. He wept as I took the banners from his hall.”

K’trok’s knuckles tightened until they creaked.

“Morak lost his way,” he said. “But Davok never did. I carry Davok’s blood, and the blood of my ancestors… TRUE Klingons, who understood honor.”

He stepped closer to the viewscreen, voice low and deadly.

“And I will not let your dishonor stain the Empire.”

K’Rath snorted. “Challenge me then, top’a. Challenge me, so that I may laugh over a tankard of warnog as my disruptors tear your relic apart.”

K’trok lifted his chin.

“I challenge you, K’Rath, Son of Vokesh. I challenge you to honorable single combat.”

The bridge crew froze.

K’Rath smiled slowly.

“No,” he said. “Your blood is not worth staining my blade.”

The contempt hit like a blow. K’trok said nothing, eyes fixed, breathing slow, fury banked like fire behind steel.

K’Rath’s sneer widened.

“And if you stand in my way… I will finish what I began with your father. I am here with the blessing of Chancellor Toral and the High Council… you are not.”

The channel closed.

Meklar bristled. “Captain! Let us open fire!”

“No,” K’trok said. “Not yet…”

Outside, the Mavek’du’s weapons began to glow.

__________________________________

The Thunderchild tore free of the gas giant’s upper clouds in a shudder of escaping pressure, her hull steaming as she broke into clearer air.

“Storm breach!” Sorel shouted. “Altitude rising… stable!”

“Sensor resolution returning,” T’Rell announced. “I am detecting K’Rath’s vessels ahead… and…”

She hesitated.

“A fourth Klingon signature just decloaked. K’t’inga-class. Identified as the IKS T’Ong.”

The viewscreen cleared.

There she was… old, scarred, and hovering above Refinery Platform Eight.

Her disruptors were bright with charged energy.

“Reading weapons lock,” Vok said. “Confirmed… directly on the Mavek’du’s bridge module?”

Jast straightened sharply. “On K’Rath?”

Velar blinked. “So, the T’Ong is opposing him?”

Before anyone could answer, both K’vort-class Birds-of-Prey rolled into attack posture, their disruptors igniting in response.

“T’Ong is receiving weapons locks from all three Klingon vessels,” Vok confirmed.

That decided the matter.

The intent was clear.

“We need to know exactly what they’re planning,” Jast said. “Open a channel. Tight beam.”

“Aye, sir.” Velar keyed the sequence. “Channel open.”

The signal crackled through residual interference.

“This is Captain Rynar Jast of the Federation starship Thunderchild,” he said. “T’Ong, you have multiple Klingon vessels preparing to fire on your position. State your intentions.”

For a moment, only static answered.

Then a coarse Klingon voice cut through the noise.

“This is Captain K’trok of the T’Ong,” he growled. “Our intentions are… honor.”

The channel oscillated but held.

“We stand against K’Rath and his cowardly actions here,” K’trok continued. “Remain clear of our disruptors, Thunderchild. This is not your battle; we will handle our own.”

The line snapped dead.

Sorel exhaled. “Well. That’s… decided.”

Velar turned to Jast. “Sir… with the Klingons firing on each other, we could use the distraction to break out of the system. K’trok doesn’t want our involvement. It’s a chance to regroup.”

“No,” Jast said immediately.

Velar frowned. “Captain…”

“No,” he repeated, firmer. “If we retreat now and K’Rath fires through that cruiser, the Secundi on the platform will die. Intentions or not, we don’t abandon defenseless civilians to save ourselves.”

He moved toward the center of the bridge.

“Helm, bring us in on a shallow intercept vector toward the platform. Keep our shields forward. Tactical, standby to reinforce our forward and dorsal arcs and lock phasers on any trajectory that risks the Secundi.”

“Aye, Captain,” Vok and Sorel answered together.

“And keep scanning the T’Ong,” Jast added. “They want to fight K’Rath… fine by me. But if they shift that lock in our direction, I want to know before they know.”

The Thunderchild angled upward, battered but resolute, placing herself deliberately between the refinery platform behind the T’Ong and in line of the gathering storm of Klingon weapons fire.

The Mavek’du’s cannons brightened to full charge.

The T’Ong held her aim steady, a lone blade pointed at K’Rath.

And Thunderchild, scarred, exhausted, but unwavering, moved to shield those who could not defend themselves.