Unofficial 32

STO Unofficial Literary Challenge #47: Prompt #1: You and your crew have been chosen to escort a Dominion diplomatic team through the wormhole and back to Dominion space while bringing your side's own diplomats with you to further negotiations. Write a log entry about your experiences.

Unofficial Literary Challenge #47
"Dominion Delegation"

The Negh'Tev-class I.K.S. Kragoth moved to be swallowed whole by the Bajoran wormhole at Deep Space 9. Captain Menchez took a seat in his chair on the Bridge as the ship was then surrounded by the glory of the verteron phenomenon.

"So, it's come to this, has it? We've been relegated to the ULC's," the aging Klingon remarked, staring forward at the fantastical vision upon the viewscreen.

RaeLuna, a half-Human, half-green-alien and his first officer, turned from her stance, standing next to him. "Are you speaking of the underwater love cauldron we are to attend in two weeks?"

"Yeah; that. It's irrelevant, anyway. Our mission at this very moment is to escort Dominion diplomats and Klingon diplomats to the Gamma Quadrant."

Vato, a rugged Klingon male and the Security officer, looked up from a rear console. "Captain, why did you wait until now to tell us this? I have had both groups violently locked up in the Brig for trespassing for hours now."

"Oh, when you've been on the job for as long as I have, you find it more fun to reveal details to your crew through passing remarks and detached indifference," chuckled Menchez. "Also, old age memory loss."

Seconds later, Vato released the two groups from the Brig, prompting them both to rush to the Bridge.

"This is unacceptable behaviour, Captain!" argued Dahar Master and diplomat Gaurantan, who was accompanied by two other of his Klingon aides. "I will have your head on a Klingon Gin'tak spear!"

The Vorta, Feylou, and two of his Jem'Hadar soldiers, entered the Bridge from opposite doors. "We, on the other hand, quite appreciate the experience and study of the inner workings of Klingon jailing processes."

"Did you like the Rura Penthe-inspired Chameloid inmate and accompanying cigar?" smirked Ulkegh, a Klingon female and officer. "It's standard for all KDF containment cells now."

Feylou clasped his hands excitedly. "You know we did! Morphable humanoids are an obsession that extends right into what some may deem for us as inappropriate. Oh, and thank you for the misplaced-aggressive Nygean-style prison violence."

"Am I the only one here who is out-raged??" blurted Gaurantan. "This is merely a symptom of a greater problem with you, Menchez: Coming back from being undead, partaking in Winter Wonderlands, nearly-losing your other ship to the Kazon-Rokka, submitting this vessel to the Children of Khan, and singing Takarian poetry on the planet Raatooras? Evidence of foolhardy, fooly cooly foolishness!"

Menchez stood up to confront the honoured Master. "I submit to you that all those activities are necessary in this universe. That, without the willingness to embrace the absurd, grow, and break the monotony, we would have been truly failures for never having been written— I mean, existed— in the first place."

"I must say, Great Master," began Feylou, "Your unwillingness to read— I mean, be open to new experiences is surely a fearful and grim situation all together. That is the basis of all Dominion principles. It's what drives our invasion forces, powers our killing-weapons, and thrusts our pointy-blades into the hearts of our dear friends. We will have to deliberate on whether it is worth continuing talks with you."

The Vorta then turned to his two ketracel white-addicted soldiers.

"Come. Let us return to the holding cells for the ritual fight with a horned alien," ordered Feylou. "I hear the key is to kick him in the knee-genitals."

As the group left through the doors they came, Gaurantan reached out his palm. "Wait; no! We Klingons invade too! It builds our egos and is the foundation of our reward systems!"

"Well, perhaps it should be more perverse," suggested Menchez as the Dominion delegation left. "Like, maybe we could conquer for sport or the bloodlust?" Then, dreamily, he added, "Mmm. I could go for some tasty humanoid blood right now."

As he realized the crew was looking at him strangely, Menchez sat back in his chair.

"Vato, please take the Dahar Master to our best Guest Quarters. You know, the one with all those bed cushions and chandeliers that don't fall even when we're in battle."

Gaurantan took a few steps back. "What? No! I want to go back to the Brig! I want to fight the voles for my blood cakes! I will not be a failure like you!"

"Sorry, Your Grace. But it's extravagance and pampering here on out. Hope you enjoy giant leaf fans and wiggly gagh being fed to you one-by-one," threatened Menchez as the Dahar Master was gracefully and respectfully led out.

The diplomat yelled as the doors were closing him off from the Bridge. "You'll pay for this, Menchez! You'll regret this for however long we Klingons live, which is an undetermined convenience in itself! Wait? Even that's a luxury! No! Noooo!"