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Tales of Tragedy Writing Contest

April 18 2017

“Let me speak to him!”

Pa’Squal’s opponent brushed off the remark. The two Gorn leant in to each other across subspace. Fiery looks of determination, fuelled by their arsenals, veiled hollowed threats. The rebel commander stood atop the entire Gornar planetary defence; pointed at Pa’Squal’s sole ship. Pa’Squal meanwhile had the entire Klingon fleet less than 6 hours behind him. Pa'Squal's gripped into the arms of his seat. Each of them might be sure of the choices they’d make, but neither was under the delusion they were fully in control of the situation beneath them. The rebel commander's gaze glanced off of screen; perhaps being reminded of his long-range sensor readings, or of the various units acting outside his pleas for restraint.

“You are a traitor to your people for supporting the Klingons” the Commander hissed “but even you would not rain fire upon your own home”.

“You’re right, I won’t” Pa’Squal conceded. “But the Empire will. They did it before and they’ll do it again. We stand no chance against them. The action you’re taking will kill billions of Gorn and bring us no closer to freedom”.

The commander cut the connection. Both knew how the conversation was going to go. They had been arguing for hours as they approached the planet. The commander was certain the situation had changed: while the Klingons were still recovering from the war, they did have sufficient resources to suppress a Gorn rebellion. What they didn’t have was political capital. Their new alliance with the Federation would be strained by any bloodshed on Gornar. They had far more pressing concerns to deal with and wouldn’t risk the Alliance for the sake of holding Gonar.

The greatest mistakes in history were made because leaders did not understand their opponent. There were now hundreds of worlds under the rule of the Empire: an empire that was seen to be weakened after the war. This was a test. If the High Council failed to hold Gornar then every occupied world would see an opportunity. The High Council could not flinch.

Pa’Squal was their only olive branch; a hero to Gorn, Klingons and the galaxy alike. Then there was another reason, muttered in the hallways before the briefing. His old, close relationship with the rebellion's leader: Stra'tas. Yet where was he and why were the rebel commanders hiding him? He had 6 hours to find out before the fleet arrived.

Pa’Squal signalled to his officers to follow him to the transporter room. If he was going to get to the bottom of this, he would have to do it himself. His Ferasan comm officer went through several intercepted recordings that mentioned sightings of Stra'tas on the front line in 4 separate cities along with other references to him being in hiding in the southern swamps. Pa'Squal discounted the swamps; hiding in swamps was not his style. Of the cities: Old Market, Green Bay, East Ridge and Toll Ford, the first was the most likely but it had been destroyed at the start of the uprising. That left Green Bay as the next most likely command point. As he stepped on the transporter pad, his Klingon Security Chief signalled two armed officers to prepare to beam down.

"Stand down, Chief" Pa'Squal signalled. "We're here to talk to them, not fight them."

"We cannot allow you to enter a warzone without escort, sir" the chief replied.

"A handful of security will do nothing to protect me against the entire rebellion. It will only aggravate them; particularly with Klingon officers." There was a concerned look in the chief’s eye, and it wasn't one of concern for Pa’Squal. "I do not doubt your ability Commander, but a civil war is the last thing the Empire needs. Trust me to deal with my own people."

"You will take Gorn officers then?" The Chief was pushing it, but it was an acceptable compromise. They were told to leave their weapons, and Klingon insignia, behind. Pa'Squal himself donned a neutral, Gorn styled robe to the accusatory glare of his tactical officer.

"We are not here to threaten them," Pa'Squal reminded his officers. "That's the job of the approaching fleet. We are here as neutral representatives to broker a cease fire." Not all were convinced; both the Gorn officers unable to countenance having to fire on their own world, and the Klingons concerned of a possible defection. In his absence, the ship was a tinderbox. He needed an envoy of his own. Pa'Squal signalled to Ferasan comm officer to approach. He removed his own rank insignia and placed on the tunic of the startled Ferasan lieutenant.

"Keep things together until I get back, Captain. You know what I mean."

The Ferasan nodded, shaking a little. He shook off his surprise and gave a solid salute to his Captain as the transport beam energised.

20 YEARS PRIOR

Year-293 was known on Gornar as the year of two summers. A massive solar flare hit towards the end of the year and increased the global temperature by about 10 degrees. So much sunlight reflected off the twin moons, people found it easier to sleep during the day. Pa'Squal spent most of this time swimming in Green Bay to cool off and lying naked on the gravel beach watching his old class mates riding raptors along the coast. There was one in particular, Stra'tas, who every morning at the same time would be leading a pack of cadets on a circle of the peninsular. His raptor would always be out front, his scales glistening in the sun with only a cadet corps sash around him. As he called out to his fellow cadets, he never looked back and he never looked to the beach where Pa'Squal was lying. Pa'Squal moved himself each morning in the hope of being within his line of sight. Stra'tas was focused and determined, his focus never strayed.

A storm came in from the dense swamps to the east, caused by the unseasonable heat. It tore open a lot of the buildings and forced the townsfolk to stay in for the first night in weeks. By the morning it had subsided and most of the townsfolk came out to help with repairs. However the cadets' raptors had left. No doubt to 'inspect' the island, but it was more that Stra'tas had always been a creature of habit. Under the scornful gaze of those repairing the hospital, Pa'Squal headed straight to the beach to catch them as they passed. After a brief swim he found an ideal spot and waited. The shadows of the trees crept along the beach and there was no sign of Stra'tas. He kept his eyes focused on the shadows ticking along with the moments. He began to pace down to the water and back and stretched his neck a little further each time to see down the coast for the approaching pack. He began to make a trail of foot prints down the beach to get a closer look and soon found he had followed the route up across the cliffs to the south east.

He wasn't sure at what point the pack joined the coast in their daily circuit but the tracks indicated he was still on their usual route. The damage from the storm here had obliterated much of the railings and most of vegetation. At a sharp turning, his gaze fell upon a recent landslide. The weakened ground had given way and fallen into the sea. Fresh tracks from the opposite direction stopped here. He had trouble getting a grip in the mud towards the edge of the cliff and leaned over with the upmost caution. Below he could see a number of cadets dashed on the rocks below with their raptors. A sole survivor was hanging from a branch by his sash. Just out of reach. But with some vines and a lot of luck, Pa'Squal was going to get Stra’tas back up.

GREEN BAY BARRACKS

Pa'Squal's party was met by a dozen or so raised disruptors in front of keen eyes and panicked hearts. Someone at the back gave a yell to stand down. A muddy-scaled general made his way through the crowd as they holstered their weapons. He was less than half the size of most of the others yet seemed to have the air itself standing to attention.

"Pa'Squal!" the general shrieked as he embraced Pa'Squal. "You've finally joined the fight, old friend? I knew you would. With the hero of the Battle of Earth on our side, nothing can stop us, eh?" The general paused, sensing the hesitation. "Not quite then. You know, old friend, all these men around you were at the Battle of Earth. They were proud to serve under such a fine commander then, and they shall be again. Next time, we shall be under the banner of Gornar!"

Pa'Squal tried to temper the general's eagerness as the troops listened on. Pa'Squal believed in a free Gornar. However, a direct assault would be a massacre for them. All his calls for patience and process fell to the same requests for a plan of his own, or at least a road to victory. It was not the Gorn, nor the Klingon, way to negotiate compromises and face-saving concessions. With two warrior races in conflict, there was to be only one ending; unless someone could convince both of them to talk.

The general was open to holding fire when the fleet arrived, if the talks would be genuine and mediated. He would recommend that to the rebel command, yet he could not act against the orders of Stra’tas.

“I thought Stra’tas would be here, in in Green Bay” Pa’Squal said. “It’s his home town after all, he always said he’d base himself here to protect it”.

“You missed him by about a week. He helped us storm the Klingon barracks here just after Old Market was bombed at the start of the rebellion. I didn’t see him myself, I’ve only just got here, but the others did. He led a charge of raptors on the compound. Once it fell he moved up to East Ridge. At least, that’s what I was told.”

8 YEARS PRIOR

“FOR THE KING!”

The troops echoed Stra’tas’ rally cry and they charged at the advancing Klingon army. They drained their disruptors dry as Klingon warriors were crushed beneath their clawed feet. The inhibitor network had fallen, but the Gorn had not. The heroes of the 4^th Regiment fought off the Klingon onslaught for 26 hours without rest. When they ran out of disruptors, they tore their enemies limb from limb and faced bat’leth blades with their bare scales. After, they drank Saurian brandy by the barrel.

Pa’Squal had joined up to be with Stra’tas after he rescued him from the cliff. A few days after Stra’tas pulled Pa’Squal from a toxic swamp. Each pledged to defend the other and neither entered battle alone. When the Klingon’s invaded, they fought among the stars together, Gornar’s heroic duo destroyed hundreds of Klingon ships but still they kept coming. System by system the Gorn were forced back across their space, to their homeworld. Stra’tas and Pa’Squal made their last stand.

East Ridge was a smouldering wreck from the orbital onslaught. They could drop as many bombs as they could muster, but they would never hit Stra’tas and Pa’Squal. They and their troop were invincible. They were loyal to Gornar and the King and would defend him to their dying breath. For the glory of Gornar, they would not contemplate surrender.

2 hours later, King Slathis surrendered.

EAST RIDGE CITY

A hail of chaotic disruptor fire struck the landing party outside East Ridge City. Pa’Squal pulled himself behind a rock and called for them to cease fire. They didn’t hear. He checked his disruptor wound. A graze on his arm, nothing serious. Looking out at his officers, one had found cover and the other had a hole in his neck. He checked the timer, 3 hours left.

“THIS IS PA’SQUAL OF THE 4^TH REGIMENT! HOLD YOUR FIRE” he screamed.

The disruptor fire petered out. A murmur spread, no doubt recognising the name of a long-dead regiment and the stories of the city. Pa’Squal stood and marched on the front gate. A lieutenant gave his apologise for the nervousness of their watch and escorted him and his surviving officer to the district commander.

The Commander was positioned at a barricade in the city centre. There were large numbers of Klingon’s stationed in East Ridge and it seemed pockets of resistance persisted even now. From his experience, it was less to do with heroics, as the stories indicated, and more the simple geography of the city’s streets which made it easy to defend and impossible to siege. Pa’Squal asked after Stra’tas.

“You and me both, Admiral” she replied. “I’ve been looking for him ever since he passed through. My troops reported him rallying our forces around the south gate as we stormed the outer defences. He’s vanished since but I had reports on the radio from my opposite in Toll Ford that he has a secret command post near his position. You understand of course that he doesn’t want to advertise his position. He paints a bulls-eye on everyone around him. The Klingon’s are desperate to take him out.”

After discussing the situation in the city, Pa’Squal offered to mediate a withdrawal of the Klingons. What they were holding onto was strategically worthless to both sides, but the Klingon’s had nowhere to go and were obliged not to surrender. The Commander agreed to let Pa’Squal through the barricade.

The Klingons were a rag-tag bunch of low ranking conscripts; no doubt hoping to prove their loyalty and honour by holding an empty warehouse for the empire. Some, he recognised from the Battle of Qo’noS. Pa’Squal sold them the evacuation to his ship as a strategic withdrawal.

“There is no honour in dying when your own fleet levels this planet to ash.”

One by one they dropped their weapons and marched into the courtyard where his remaining guard arranged their transport up. The Gorn around them stared at each of them until their commander pushed through the crowd to the Klingon’s leader. Standing in front of him, blocking the sun setting in the background, she made him look like a tiny moon circling a gas giant. Pa’Squal braced himself for the worse, but she reached out with greeting. She recognised him from the Battle of Qo'noS. One by one each of their juniors realised the same and they began chatting. Once, they had fought together as brothers. That counts for something.

Before they left the warehouse, he questioned the group’s intelligence officer for sightings of Stra’tas.

“We’ve been trying to get him since day one” the officer admitted. “The scoundrel is in hiding somewhere, I’m sure. They have a secret bunker they’re commanding everything from.”

It wasn’t much help, but Toll Ford was at least known for its bunker network from the original invasion. As he was leaving, the officer shouted back: “When you find him, sir. You’re going to kill him, right?”

2 YEARS PRIOR

“I’ll kill you, traitor!” Stra’tas cursed, throwing Pa’Squal’s belongings out of the door. “You dare show me that devil’s symbol on your arm. After all we’ve been through, all we’ve fought for and you dare sign up with them!”

“We can’t keep fighting the wars of yesterday. We lost, and the Klingon’s have shown their honour here. They’re not exploiting our world or enslaving our people. They freed us from the Undine and I want to help that fight. The Borg have been sighted again too. I can’t just stand by and let the Klingon’s fight our battles like that. It’s hypocritical!”

“Oh they’ll be happy for you to sign up, yet do you ever think you’ll be accepted as one of them? To be seen as an equal? If we’re to fight let it be as Gorn, on our own terms.” All these years, his focus has never shifted. Pa’Squal admired him for that. But it would get them all killed if it wasn’t done right.

“I hope we will again too. But we have to live the life we’ve been given today. Not try to rebuild everything from scratch because it is not our ideal. You’ve become obsessed by this. We used to have a life together.”

“The Klingons took it away.”

“No. You took it away.”

TOLL FORD

Their guide from East Ridge, and Pa’Squal’s remaining officer, had been scattered across the road side on the way to Toll Ford, thanks to Stra’tas’ unmarked mine fields. Another had caught Pa’Squal himself but the force had been taken mainly by his raptor. He gathered together the body parts, separated them from those of the raptors, and covered them on the side of the road with a marker.

“Not exactly full honours” he said to himself as he placed the last branch. He examined his officer’s PADD. Orders from his tactical officer, relayed from the High Council.

When Pa’Squal has led you to Stra’tas, eliminate both.

He reached for his communicator to order his tactical officer’s execution. Yet he couldn’t be sure how many were on his side up there. Letting them know their insurance policy has been eliminated could precipitate the conflict. Right now, radio silence was the best option. His goal was still unchanged. Peace and a free Gornar. Only now, he has less than an hour.

Toll Ford was now too far away on foot and Pa’Squal had the distinct feeling he was being played with. Everywhere he went all he got was second hand information, guesses and tales. There was one place nobody told him to check however. Old Market. It could still be used as a base, even if it the town was destroyed early on.

It took him about half an hour to reach Old Market. It was a shattered ruin. Once, it was a thriving town that had become an early centre of resistance. When protests began there, the Klingon’s bombed it from orbit with the aim of stamping out any notion of rebellion. Instead, the death toll horrified the Gorn and sparked all-out war.

Husks of buildings lined the avenues like ashen hands grasping up from the smouldering ground. He hurried through the cinders burning in the low light of the evening for any sign of life as the sun set beneath the distant horizon.

He approached the central square. There, hundreds of bodies were scattered amid the rubble that once formed statues of mighty Gorn heroes. The ashes of their protest banners caked the sole of his boots. Pa'Squal checked the timer on his communicator. 1 minute to go. 1 minute until his homeworld was ash on the Empire’s boot.

He had placed too much faith in finding one man. Was the war even the real reason he was looking for Stra’tas? His communicator bleeped. His crew wanted to beam him up. The call went unanswered. He screamed out for Stra’tas, a hopeless act of desperation, and collapsed on the steps among assorted corpses. Noticing a flask amid the pile he reached in and spun the cap off. He took a quick shot: Saurian brandy. Good stuff too. He glanced back at the corpse he took it from. It was Stra’tas.

Pa'Squal chuckled to himself. The grand leader of the rebellion never saw a day of it. Heroes are never the mortals they are based on. His ship was walling. His chuckle gave way to a scream. He buried his head in his hands as his timer started bleeping. This ship was calling. A thousand new stars appeared in the night sky above him. Streaks of light immediately rose from the forests around him; angels ascending to the stars. His ship was calling. Pa'Squal snapped himself out of his mourning and rose to his feet. He threw the communicator aside and roseraised the bitter-sweet flask to the stars of death above him.

"To Stra’tas! To his glorious rebellion!"

One by one the angels struck the new stars. Flashes of light filled the night sky like firecrackers. From those remaining, red balls of fire began to descent on the world. On every city. Including Old Market, ruin as it was. Pa'Squal looked to his fallen comrade beside him.

"Looks like we'll be together again soon."

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