Warlord: A Privateer Venn Serial

[Parislord (Home)]

Deep Space Listening Post K-766A-Somewhere on the Klingon-Hydran border:

Captain-Lieutenant Venn Sutai-Rustazh of the Klingon Deep Space Fleet was dressed as proscribed by naval regulation. Black trousers and boots, black tunic under a platinum-colored mail jerkin. Only the conspicuous absence of a personal sidearm differentiated Venn from the ideal Klingon naval officer. That and his current assignment to the D-5J class penal squadron cruiser Remorse.

Venn absently scratched at the new tunic. Unconsciously, his fingers brushed the flat holster hidden beneath his mail vest that held a small semi-automatic pistol he carried for self-defense. As captain of a band of malcontents and discipline cases, he found the apparent absence of a weapon to be more disconcerting to his officers than prominent display of them. The penal squadrons served the Imperial Navy as a form of professional Purgatory. Rather than putting an officer or crewman in the brig, they were assigned to one of a hundred J-class variants which were invariably run-down, obsolete, scows saved from the breaker's yard only by the penal program. The offending individual was thrown into duty with others of his ilk for twenty-four months of probationary duty. If the individual demonstrated the proper degree of penitence and improvement, he would be reassigned to a regular fleet billet. If not, he continued in his current assignment for another two years. Of course, a tour in the penal squadrons was extremely hazardous, bearing the brunt of rapid-response and frontier patrol duties. Additionally, the concentrated presence of so many malcontents, incompetents, criminals, and other assorted military dregs carried its own dangers.

The exception to this policy was the Executive Officer's billet. Penal squadron XO's were assigned from rising-stars in the Deep Space Fleet command career-path. Command candidates were drawn from the ranks of Lieutenants advanced to Lt. Commander each year. Each was sent to nine-weeks of intensive Executive Officer Candidate School. The officers that didn't wash-out earned an eighteen-month cruise as XO at a penal-squadron command. At XOCS, the candidate officers were regaled with horror stories about the incompetent crewman and cowardly, ineffective, officers in the J-class navy. Every brand-new XO had eighteen months to not only survive, but to bring order out of the chaos. Those that succeeded moved onto further XO or junior command duties in the regular fleet. Those that didn't-and survived their failure-filled the ranks of fleet staff officers. Understandably, this placed a great deal of pressure on the officer as well as his commander.

Every commander in the penal-fleet was a line-officer recently demoted to Lieutenant. No other rank was allowed command per naval regulation. Thus every commanding officer held the title of Captain-Lieutenant. It was the duty of the ship's executive officer not only to supervise the smooth running of the ship's administration, but to stand over his commanding officer as second captain. The executive officer invariably held the rank of Lieutenant Commander, one grade above the ship's captain in order to pass judgement on every decision, ready to relieve the captain at the slightest sign of "cowardice" or "dereliction" real or imagined. Venn's only crime was years of sustained, superior, performance as a naval officer. That and his heritage. The combination of rank and race finally became too much for high-command. The penal-squadrons were the perfect Versailles wherein Venn would be unable to embarrass the rest of the fleet.

On the bridge of the Remorse, Venn handed the latest crew manifest to his yeoman and moved to the helm: "Send to harbormaster: we are making ready to get underway. Release docking clamps and confirm cast-off of all moorings." There was a brief flurry of activity at every station on the bridge as the watch made last-minute checks in their departments.

"All department heads report underway checks complete," reported Ka'dja, the ships executive officer, "All hatches and access points show secure. All cruising stations show blue-lights, Captain. We are free and clear to navigate."

"Very well. Helm, thrusters ahead one-quarter," Venn ordered. Remorse moved slowly toward the main ship channel leading to the frontier.

"Contact from the Knife-hand, Captain. Commander Korge sends his "respects" and reports ready to escort us to the outer marker," ensign Gade, another Rustazh Klingon, reported from tactical communications. He apparently couldn't disguise the heavy irony in his voice. Venn caught the XO directing a fierce expression at the young officer. Venn sighed, either the boy would learn very quickly to guard his expressions or Ka'dja would tear him apart. As Rustazh Klingons, they lived in a condition of perpetual second-class citizenry. Slaves in all but the letter of the law. Ka'dja, a Sutai-Demma Klingon and member of the ruling "Imperial" Klingon race, had very little patience and an equally great deal of contempt for Venn, Gade, and all his Rustazh kin.

While both races were two of the three non-subject races of Klingon, they were entirely dissimilar. The Rustazh Klingon was physically related to humanity in appearance, a fact much rued by the one race and much remarked-upon by the others. On average, they were two-meters or so tall, weighing about two hundred pounds in Rustazh's one-point one gravities. Their features held the sly look of the oriental tartar with generally dark hair and eyes and dark, olive, skin. By contrast, the Sutai-Demma Klingons of Ka'dja's race averaged another foot or so in height and an additional hundred-pounds of high-gravity muscle and dense bone. Their most prominent feature-aside from their physical bulk-was a prominent ridge of knobby bone that extends from their brow to the back of the head. Like the Klinzai-Klingons, they affect braided locks of dark hair and thick, unruly beards. At the coming of age, they filed their yellow teeth into uneven rows of sharp fangs. Their skin was a dark, ochre, shade of rust, their eyes slightly red.

[ Author's Note: As some of you will note, I've asked around the Fanfic forum for the various "official" and other explanations for the three styles of Klingon makeup. Personally, I don't care for the "Fusion" theory, so I've made my own. I've invented three Klingon non-subject races: the Sutai-Rustazh (TOS), the Sutai-Demma (TMP), and Sutai-Klinzai (TNG). At the (TMP) time of this story, the ruling junta of the empire is Sutai-Demma. Whichever controls the throne and the counsel becomes the current "Imperial" race. After the abortive war between the Klingon Empire and the Federation in which the Organians interceded, the Rustazh Klingons were deposed by a house of the Sutai-Demma for supposed acts of racial cowardice. In the following eras, the Rustazh live in permanent dishonor. Eventually, of course, the Sutai-Demma are overthrown by the Klinzai Klingons of the TNG era. -Mike ]

Ka'dja, of course, wouldn't see the irony in Korge's message. Knife-hand would follow them to their patrol station to insure that the commander and crew of Remorse didn't suddenly decide to disregard their orders. Service in the penal fleet only earned one the right to perform the worst duty under constant suspicion. The XO probably thought that assigning a ship to watchdog them was a great idea.

"So, my captain, " Ka'dja interjected from his station by the tactical boards, "We are underway to frontier to once again protect the empire from the cowardly Hydran menace!"

"Indeed, First Officer, " replied Venn with more good cheer than he felt. "Four weeks in space. It is good to leave the dock. A starship belongs in space, not moored, overrun with bureaucrats and workmen with dirty boots."

"You find the station-crew dirty?" Ka'dja asked pointedly.

For the hundredth time since the XO reported onboard, Venn reflected that his new subordinate was the perfect officer for his job. His voice was always too loud, his humor too affected. He never allowed Venn to forget what he was. The fleet observer. He was easy to fear.

"I have been on frontier duty too long, I have become accustomed to notice the subtle differences between the forward deployed units." A veiled insult. The Lieutenant Commander's last posting was at the naval academy. His disdain for the state of the ship and its less than gung-ho crew was well known.

"Captain," reported the crewman at the helm, "We have entered the main ship channel." Venn vaguely recalled that the crewman had been assigned to Remorse after foolishly defeating his superior in a duel in some liberty port, then heeding his plea for mercy. Had he simply killed the officer, he wouldn't be her now.

"Very well, accelerate to cruise velocity. Set course for sector Bravo." Venn rose from his command throne and beckoned to his exec, "First Officer, you have the deck. I shall expect you in my office at the turn of the watch, to inspect our orders."

Ka'dja saluted smartly and proffered a padd, "I have the training schedule for the week prepared for your approval, Captain." At this, the officer resumed his station at tactical and began reviewing the standing order log. For all his arrogance, this one at least showed the proper military respect. Many of Venn's former exec's tended to make a show of taking the commander's station in his absence.

Venn could almost regret the need to kill him.

In his office, the Captain carefully removed a small, brushed metal, cylinder about the size of a cup from his desk and placed it by the food dispenser before taking a seat and reviewing the XO's report. After three-quarters of an hour, Venn approved the training schedule and posted it on the ship's intranet for his officers and chiefs to find. He then called-up a navigational chart for the sector and began making notes in his personal log.

[Parislord (Home)]

One

As the ship's gong announced the turn of the watch, the Executive Officer entered Venn's office, "So, my captain, shall we discover our orders?"

"Of course," Venn opened the routine channel to High Command and turned the console to include them both. "What do you think, this time? A lightning raid on one of the colonies? Or, perhaps, another round of astrometric sensor scans?" Venn caught the first officer's slight grimace of distaste. Even the empire's first line of defense spent its fair share of time performing the dull but necessary task of stellar cartography. As his first officer began to reply, the channel came alive, requesting authorization. After both officers submitted to a brief retinal scan, the screen filled with rows of text as the ship's computer decoded the transmission.

"Well, this seems interesting enough," quipped Ka'dja. Venn pretended to review the document, though he already knew their orders. Last week he'd been contacted by another Rustazh officer at staff headquarters when the orders had been cut. Venn had bribed the clerk with a year's pay that he would never use.

Their orders were to proceed to the border where a squadron of E-4B Escorts on patrol would simulate a Hydran expeditionary force on a lighting-raid of one of the outer colonies. Making use of the sensor net along the border, Remorse would conduct track-and-interception drills while the patrol attempted to evade them and make contact with each listening-post in the sector. It would be a high-tech game of "Blind-Man's-Bluff" with a deadly objective. And it would offer Venn the perfect opportunity to escape.

While his executive officer made notes, Venn moved to the food dispenser, being careful to keep his body between it and the security monitors. He opened the service panel and carefully set the metal object he'd placed nearby on the panel.

"K'hest!" he swore, "Will you look at this, First Officer? This is absolutely unacceptable!"

Ka'dja joined Venn at the dispenser, "What is it? Not the food slots, again..." Venn just gestured at the metal device, "See for yourself."

"What's this?" the first officer reached out picked the object up like a beverage container rather than its insulated top and bottom surfaces. With a thunderclap crack that deafened Venn and threw the unlucky exec across the cabin, every electrical device in sight blew-out. Including the lighting and, hopefully, the security monitors. The Captain produced a pocket-torch and returned to the now lifeless food dispenser. Pulling a shorting-probe from his other boot, he touched the uninsulated end to the power capacitor, twin to the smoking device next to the first officer's dead body, which also exploded in a shower of sparks and smoke. Unlike his former subordinate, who apparently was not very familiar with shipboard electrical components or their safety procedures, Venn was safely insulated from the discharge. Removing the device from the station, he quickly hid it in a desk drawer along with the flashlight.

Just as he stepped away from the desk, a security team closely followed by the damage control crew burst into the cabin. Venn allowed the engineers to hustle him out of the space, and sprinted for the bridge. After the DC crew made sure that there was no danger of fire and the security team collected the body and forensic evidence, they wouldn't find anything to support a conclusion other than Venn's account of a tragic, foolish, and entirely routine accident. In the mean time, he had to get control of the ship before security alerted high-command of the executive officer's death.

On the bridge, Venn went straight to the communications station and toggled the intercom, "Infirmary, report of the status of Lieutenant Commander Ka'dja's injuries."

The ship's surgeon, a relatively elderly Klingon, answered: "I'm sorry, Captain, we've had to pronounce the First Officer dead on the scene. I saw no possibility of reviving him, his nervous system suffered severe damage from the electrical shock. Even if we could bring him back, the impairment would have been considerable."

"No," Venn replied, "He wouldn't want that. Very well doctor, let me know when you've finished your report." Venn accepted the surgeon's acknowledgment and opened another channel.

"This is the Captain, " The intercom broadcast Venn's voice throughout the ship, "I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Commander Ka'dja has just been fatally injured while attempting to work on ship's equipment. Let me remind all of you again, that only trained and authorized personnel are to perform repairs on any of the shipboard systems. This sort of incident is all too common in the fleet," Venn smirked at the irony using the XO's own words against him, "Memorial services will be arranged later today. Carry on."

As Venn turned away from the communications station, he noticed the surprised expression on some faces and the rancor on others. He walked casually to the tactical pit, "Sound General Quarters, prepare for passive fire-control tracking drill. Communications, set tactical jamming, level-six. Inform the Knife-hand that we are initiating battle-drill, action zhan Gade." The last was needless amplification in battle-language. In fact, it was a prearranged signal to the communications officer.

In the tactical pit, the gunnery officer ordered his stations to begin quartering sweeps, each station responsible for a pre-determined 60° arc. Wing-phaser gunner forward, disruptors port and starboard-forward, waist phasers along the flanks, and bow-phasers aft. The starboard disruptor gunner quickly acquired the Knife-Hand which had begun a standard "Champaign" interception maneuver that opened the range between the ships while maneuvering for a "Highway-style" (passing port-to-port) oblique-approach.

Venn ordered a brief sprint at full-impulse to throw Knife-Hand's intercept geometry off, forcing the aggressor-vessel into an energy-consuming accelerating turn to avoid an under-shoot that would allow Remorse to turn into them for separation.

Gade, at communications, activated a secure program that replicated the Tactical Officer's controls at his station, "Tactical jamming approaches level-six!" Another pre-arranged signal to Venn to let him know that Gade now had control of the weapons. On the gunner's locked-off controls, all displays would continue to show no power to the weapons, despite the fact that Gade had already powered-up the disruptors.

"Aspect on the target?"

The Tactical Officer called intercept geometry from his sensors: "Forty-seven degrees... Target is maintaining five-degrees sustained turn. Minimal aspect target in nine-seconds!"

"Set two-degrees lead tracking and fire at fifteen-degrees aspect," Ordered Venn. The Tactical Officer called for an alpha-strike, five simulated phasers and four real type-two disruptor bolts reached for their target. Knife-Hand was fighting her way through a maximum-gee turn, banking a hard seventy-degrees when the disruptors slammed into her dorsal hull just forward of the escort's impulse exhaust vent. Without power, the deflector-plating provided only minimal armor protection and even Remorse's obsolete weapons tore easily through the hull, shattering hundreds of meters of super-conductive wire and plasma conduit surrounding the drive. Knife-Hand's engineering section exploded in a great cloud of deuterium fuel, trailing a long tail of plasma.

"Missile Officer, confirm training rounds loaded, " called Venn. The Captain knew that his allies in the weapons division had already replaced the dummy warheads in the practice drones with live units, but the officer didn't...

"Set! Both rails armed with practice-rounds."

"Launch!"

"Birds away! Impact in eight seconds," reported the Missile Officer.

With the main viewscreen set to tactical projection, none of the bridge crew could see the damage to Knife-hand, but the sensor officer manning the science console was recording the drill for later critique. He practically leapt from his seat in alarm: "Real casualty, Captain! Knife-Hand has sustained severe damage!"

"What?" Venn roared, "Confirm!"

"Affirm, sensors indicate maximum-power disruptor discharge. Direct hit on target, with secondary explosion in the drive-section."

"Missile Officer, command-detonate your birds!" Even an unarmed drone moving a high speeds could inflict heavy damage on an unshielded vessel.

"Too late, missiles are in terminal-attack!"

Venn slapped at a control on his command-station, switching the main screen to visual projection. Knife-Hand appeared, tumbling uncontrolled. Twin points of blue-shifted light identified the drones. A moment later the spinning escort exploded in a bright cloud of vaporizing gas.

"All weapons, check-fire!" Venn roared as he spun toward the Tactical pit. Following drilled procedure, each crewman manning a weapon station immediately came to an attention posture in his seat, arms crossed across their chests and clear of the controls. Amid the confusion of the moment, Venn made another signal to his communications officer.

[Parislord (Home)]

Located aft of Remorse's bridge-module is a silo-shaped structure nick-named "the Citadel" by her regular crew. It is completely closed-off from the rest of the ship by thick, blast-proof, hatches that can only be opened from the inside. It contains its own environmental systems, crew quarters, galley and every other facility required by its crew during a cruise. Inside the Citadel are the banks of monitors and listening stations manned by the ship's embarked Internal Security Force detachment, who watch and listen to every action and statement made by the regular crew to ensure that they are carrying-out their duties in approved military fashion.

The security section also contains its own subspace communication systems that operate independently of the ship's computer and power supply. Venn had very little time to gain control over the security forces before news of Knife Hand's destruction reached High Command. Unfortunately, every access was locked-off and effectively impregnable within the short time it would take to make their report. The bulkheads were heavily armored and layered with redundant transporter-shielding. Venn couldn't even cut-off their power or life-support, nor could he order them to leave their posts on any pretext-the security detachment reported directly to the ship's Executive Officer, bypassing its commander.

If Venn couldn't make the security personnel surrender their posts, he would just have to produce a good reason to abandon them...

"Secure from battle-stations! Resume course toward our patrol area for the moment. Security Officer, I want two squads on the bridge. Tactical Officer, you and your section are confined to quarters pending investigation. Any conversation you will need to have with other members of your section or the watch are to be routed through internal security for the record. I expect to see your incident report by turn-of-the-watch. Wait for the security team to escort you off the bridge. Communications, inform the duty officer in Security that I will be making my report to High Command from the terminal in my quarters. Navigation watch has the Conn, Junior Officer of the Watch has the deck." Venn exited the bridge amid a chorus of acknowledgements.

Venn strode rapidly down the passage connecting the Klingon vessels bulbous command-pod to its raked secondary hull. He hoped that his communications officer was successfully jamming all outgoing transmissions for the few minutes he needed. A few more meters brought him to an alcove one deck below main engineering. A ladder secured to the inner curve of the alcove passed through a hatch in the deck and the overhead allowing for emergency escape or access for the engineering crew. Venn grabbed a rung and climbed through the overhead hatch into the intermix control room.

Intermix Control was a small office-like space on the port side of Main Engineering's mezzanine-level. Remorse was one of the first D-5 War Cruiser technology demonstrators, the third complete model built for the Deep Space Fleet contract feasibility program. Since then, she and her two sister ships had served honorable duty as testbeds for a variety of experimental equipment and upgrade systems before being turned over to the penal program. On D-5's built for line duty, intermix control was operated directly from main engineering. Redundant engineering control was built-in on Remorse to allow contractors to monitor and evaluate new systems and procedures without interfering with the regular crew who had to run the ship. This redundancy now provided Venn with the opportunity to sabotage his own ship without anyone noticing.

Venn inserted an isolinear chip into the matter/anti-matter fuel control console and manually input his personal command code, overriding master control in main engineering. Next, he programmed the board to lock-out any operator without his specific command codes. His fingers danced across the controls, cutting of the fuel feed to the warp core, first deactivating the alarm system that would alert the engineers. Now, he powered-down the anti-matter containment system in the warp engines, but without deactivating those alarms. Seconds later, the containment field dropped to critical strength, setting-off a warning claxon throughout the ship.

[Gong-gong-gong... "Alert! Warp containment failure... Alert! Warp-core breach imminent... Alert!"] The ship's computer intoned. Venn removed the isolinear chip from the console and drew his small pistol from its holster, firing three rounds into the control console. As he turned back toward the deck hatch, an engineer burst into the space. It was the Chief Engineer, his eyes wide with shock and the hair practically standing on end across the back of his skull.

"Captain, we have a warp-core breach in progress! Our controls are not responding! We must cut-off the fuel to the warp-core," The officer leapt past Venn to reach the controls. Seeing the damaged state of the console, he turned to Venn in horror, "Captain..."

Venn raised his weapon and shot the engineer once, through the left eye. Like the previous three shots, the noise was deafening in the small chamber, but Venn knew that the bulkheads here like all partitions in the engineering spaces were half-inch hull metal designed to serve as secondary armor against battle damage. No one would hear them. The Captain watched the engineer's body drop like a sack, regretting the need to kill the man. He had been a good officer, but he would never have gone along with Venn's plan to desert. Venn turned back to the hatch, climbing down to the passage below.

In the corridor, Venn's ears were assaulted by the ringing of the alarms and the computer's voice, now urging all crewmembers to muster at their designated escape pods. Venn raced back to the bridge.

The lift doors opened on the command deck in time for Venn to watch a number of escape pods blast clear of the ship and accelerate away. He moved to the communications station and bent over Ensign Gade, "Report."

"Captain, escape pods in the Internal Security space and those assigned to the ship's security and marine-force detachment have been activated. Ship's logs have recorded all of these personnel have abandoned ship."

Venn grinned evilly, "Excellent. Call the senior engineer to the bridge and the Weapons Officer and his crew confined to quarters." The communications officer acknowledged and passed the order.

Within moments, the Lieutenant in charge of weapons and his gunners appeared. Venn ordered them to resume their posts and await his commands. Next, the engineer burst onto the bridge. He did not seem to be any more concerned about the wailing alarms than the rest of the bridge crew.

"Captain, I regret to inform you that the Chief Engineer has been found murdered in the Intermix Control Room as well as apparent evidence of sabotage. We are unable to regain control of the intermix controls. Someone has locked main engineering out and destroyed the only station capable of manually overriding the system."

Venn produced the isolinear chip, "Perhaps this will allow your engineers to reset the containment field and restart the engines."

"Kai the Captain!," breathed the engineer who snatched the chip from Venn. "With your permission, Captain, I will see to it immediately."

[Parislord (Home)]

"Rapid action, engineer. We must make a hasty escape," replied Venn. The engineering officer saluted his commander and sprinted off the bridge.

"Communications, secure that alarm. Set tactical jamming, level-six. Full subspace jamming across all frequencies." Venn returned to his command station and sank into the seat, "Then instruct our allies in the Third Division to equip themselves from the armory and take-up positions as briefed throughout the ship. Remind the Chief to lock-out the armory and the expeditionary-gear lockers from the rest of the crew."

"Acting," answered the ensign. Moments later, "Chief K'larr reports in position, Captain."

Venn paused in thought for a moment before activating the ship's intercomm, "This is Captain Venn Sutai-Rustahz. I have taken control of this ship from the Executive Officer. I have removed the internal security detachment, the ship's security-force and our marine detachment by initiating the false warp-core breach alarm you have just heard. I intend to desert with this ship and all crew who will join me to make way to the Smuggler's Moon and join the Korgath Pirate Cartel. As I speak to you, crewmen from the Deck-Weapons Division have armed themselves and are taking strategic positions throughout the ship. The armories and transporters have been locked-out from all command-codes but my own. Any crew who do not wish to join me will muster in the mess and disarm themselves. If you do not resist, I will allow you to debark at the first opportunity, either on a suitable planet or onboard any merchant vessel we can locate. Any attempt to resist or mutiny will be met with maximum retaliation. That is all."

During this speech, four enlisted crew arrived on the bridge in full battle armor, armed with disruptor rifles and took up positions at the corners of the command deck.

Venn turned to the Lieutenant Gunnery Officer, "Lieutenant, if you please, what are your intentions," he inquired with disarming courtesy.

The Lieutenant winced and scowled ferociously, "Sire, you leave me with little choice in the matter. I stand with the ship, wherever she is bound."

"Kai! I think you are quite right, Lieutenant. I promise that you won't regret your choice," Venn answered, then addressing the Missile Officer, "And your decision, Warrant Officer Kothe?"

Kothe was a career officer, having risen from the ranks of enlisted crew and assigned to the Penal Squadrons for no other reason than having reached an age in the service where Command felt he was no longer fit for line duty.

"I will not salute the Captain for his treachery, because I wish to congratulate him on it! My only hope is that I will soon have the opportunity to thank the Navy for assigning me to your command, Captain." His enlisted assistant added his own agreement for his superior's fine speech with a sharp salute. Both moved to assume their stations.

"Excellent. Weapons, charge the forward and wing phasers. Disruptors and missiles to standby, keep them cold unless I call for them. Scan for Knife-Hand's escape-pods."

Battle language acknowledgements followed as Venn turned his attention to the helm, "Thrusters ahead one-half. Bring us to bear on the nearest group of capsules." He felt a tremor and shift in the deck as the agile cruiser banked onto her new course.

"Communications, status?"

Gade spun his seat to face the Captain's station, "All subspace frequencies jammed, Captain. Electronic Warfare jamming level-six."

"Very well," acknowledged Venn. Gunner, precision-fire. Target the first four pods."

"Locked," came the officer's response.

"Fire."

Red beams of lethal energy lanced from beneath the bow of the forward hull and the sharp shoulders of the larger secondary hull. The escape pods were following a computer-controlled course set by each unit's navigation computer which were not programmed to evade attack. Unarmored and unshielded, a single burst from each phaser blasted them into rapidly vaporizing dust. As the cruiser came about, her phasers continued to fire. Within minutes every pod had been destroyed.

Venn observed the destruction of each escape pod with disinterest. After the final target had been dispatched, he addressed the communications officer, again, "Gade, what does Third Division report?"

"Captain, three combats have developed all located around the marine transport stations. Fifteen crewmembers have been killed. Chief L'garr reports four of his people killed and one wounded. He reports that they are now engaged in mop-up combat with the mutineers. Twenty-seven enlisted personnel and two officers have surrendered to our personnel on the mess deck, mostly medical and administrative ratings as well as the Payroll Officer and the Chief Steward.

Venn frowned at that, the Steward had been a friend. Suddenly the lighting brightened and a new vibration filled the air. Venn toggled the intercomm, "Engineer, status of the warp drive?"

"Warp engines online now, Captain. Clear for warp-seven, plus."

"Thank you, engineer," Venn turned to the helm, "Navigator, set course for the Timmbauch system, direct route. Helm, initiate, warp-six."

Remorse submerged into warp-space and accelerated toward the Klingon/Federation Neutral Zone.