Copyright Marketa J. Zvelebil
Rakholt had narrowly escaped the advancing Special Security forces that had been deployed to re-capture the governmental dome.
Since he had learned of the escape of the Federation men from the mine, the situation for him had gone from bad to worse. His attempt at capturing and taking control of the weapons installations had failed catastrophically. All his people had been either killed in action or captured and then immediately executed. The military had wasted no time in showing the executions over the world vidcom network. Two of his other battalions, upon seeing this transmission, and having had only limited success in their own missions, had disbanded and fled. Only his ever-faithful officers had the courage to come and report to him. Then they performed The Ritual that all had previously agreed upon, in case of failure. They took their small, mainly ornamental dagger and cut first their left wrist to the bone, then their right ankle and finally plunged the sharp hooked point into their throat.
Three out of the four Klingon officers who were in charge of the Federation men had been captured by the government army. Only Kiron had managed to escape and to report the events to his commander, before completing The Ritual.
Rakholt needed now to get to his uncle's starship. There was still time to destroy the Star Fleet vessel and then take Kavayak by force. The general unrest was still in progress, keeping most of the security forces too busy on the planet to be bothered about what was going on in the skies above. If he could convince the Commander of the Rihansu battle-cruiser to destroy the government building containing the weapons control computer then the planet would be an easy conquest.
Rakholt blended into the multitude of angry crowds and headed for his safe-place in an old, long deserted, genetic lab. It was, in fact, the very same lab in which he had been 'created'. Before escaping the advancing security forces, he had managed to obtain a portable transmitter. Unobtrusively he slipped from the street into the old and cracked crystal dome. The once proud sign announcing. "Procreation Centre" was chipped and hung so crookedly that it partially obstructed the old entrance. Rakholt slipped silently past the sign and quickly went into a room at the end of the corridor, passing, en route, the once pristine labs. Now these rooms contained dusty and dirty equipment, loosely hanging plastic tubing and a few outdated, discarded incubation cribs.
In his safe-room there were only the bare essentials; a chair, a desk and a cot. He set the transmitter on the desk. After a number of failed attempts, Rakholt at last managed to get through to the Rihansu ship, and convince the communications officer to allow him to speak to the Commander.
After clarifying the situation on Kavayak and his further plans, Rakholt waited for tr'Aihan's answer. It was some time in coming. The silence seemed to stretch into an eternity and consequently stretched Rakholt's nerves to breaking point. At last tr'Aihan's voice crackled through the small transmitter.
"You have failed." then silence again.
"But tr'Strek I have..."
"Do not call me that! You have not proven to me to have the honour to be called 'a Son of my Brother'. You are not even full Rihansu!" There was such disgust in the last pronouncement that Rakholt recoiled involuntarily.
"Nevertheless, my brother, your father, obviously believed that I should consider you as my kin and come to your aid. Therefore, mnhei'sahe(6) dictates that it will be so. Prepare for beam-up to Kklaha. Then, from here we will deal with this planet as I see fit. You will at all times follow my orders. Is that clear?"
Rakholt bristled at the haughty and arrogant tone, but according to mnhei'sahe he had to show respect and obey his father's brother - and at the moment it seemed expedient he do so - for the time being anyway.
"Yes, Rekkhai(7)."
"Good."
A few moments later he felt a totally new sensation as his body dissolved into its component parts and almost immediately rematerialised on a starship orbiting the planet several thousand kilometres above its surface.
It seemed strange to Rakholt to be among so many other Rihansu. Only Rihansu. No others. Almost instantly, however, he saw that there were indeed subtle differences between these Rihansu and himself. Their ears were slightly more pointed, the facial structure was generally more angular and most were taller then he. Suddenly Rakholt felt inadequate, and he wanted even more to prove himself to be a true Rihansu.
They arrived on the bridge of the ship. It seemed crowded and cramped, but a quiet efficiency was prevalent. tr'Aihan sat in the command seat at the centre of the bridge. As they entered he slowly swivelled the seat to face the newcomer. tr'Aihan regarded Rakholt, flanked by the two guards who had accompanied him from the transporter-room, for a long moment. Rakholt felt uneasy underneath that steady gaze. He felt stripped down to his very soul. He also noted the strong resemblance to his father. And the commander was aware that, even if not fully Rihansu, this young man was definitely the son of his late brother.
The story that Rakholt told him of his brother's escape from Ch'Rihan to finally end on Kavayak did not ring true. He suspected that his brother was more likely to have been exiled to this planet by the Imperial court when he did not choose honourable death. But then his brother had been innocent of the charges brought against him and hoped, unreasonably, to prove his innocence. That was why he, tr'Aihan, never publicly denounced his brother and was now patrolling these outreaches of the Neutral Zone.
Now the offspring of his brother stood before him. 'No, not offspring - a genetic mutant', he reminded himself. Nevertheless, a part of his brother. He beckoned for Rakholt to approach. As Rakholt came closer he addressed the Commander.
"If we want to do anything, we have to act with speed before the K'S'vaits can use their weapons."