Trujen leaned over
the railing with a ragged sigh, the heat from the molten rock below
blasting any moisture on his brow into oblivion.
His shoulders
heaved, the unfamiliar metal armor clinking as joints slid and separated
to match the subtle movements of his body. He couldn't help but admire
the craftsmanship and technical genius behind the armor when he first
donned it. The built-in cooling kept him comfortable despite the searing
heat atop this hellish volcano, whereas his old Klingon uniform would
have cooked him like a Terran turkey in fry oil.
He knew Bijik had warned him of Mo'rogA's harsh temperatures, but he was still unprepared for the reality.
"No...not
Mo'rogA," Trujen said to himself. It was likely that all of the House's
holdings would have to be renamed. A clean split.
As the glassed
soil crunched behind him, Trujen turned to see Guy approach him up the
trail, wearing a similar metallic armor. "You picked a hell of a place
for a ceremony."
"Hey, you want someplace cool and comfortable? Go
join the Federation." Trujen smirked a little as he shifted his gaze
back to the bubbling cauldron.
Guy leaned on the railing, turning to his longtime ally. "So...you sure about this?"
Trujen's face turned serious once again.
"Yes...I am."
"Hmm..."
Neither
one of them had to tell the other of the long simmering frustrations
they had with the Empire. As the empire absorbed attack after attack
from outside enemies, the Klingon Empire responded with words and plots.
Emperor Caesar had become little more than a figurehead, leader in name
only who was never there when his people needed him.
A figurehead emperor, controlled behind the scenes by a human.
"Trust me, old friend. This is the only answer." Trujen clamped his hand on Guy's shoulder, giving it a firm shake.
Additional
crunches announced the arrival of the other members of the House of
Guy. Bijik, annoyed to be back here so soon after leaving this forsaken
hellball, winced his nose at the smell of the sulfur.
Slar followed
behind. Her green scaly skin crackled in the heat, something she
personally relished, although her expressionless face framed by her
opaque eyes would never betray such an emotion.
Behind her followed
Dred. He was carrying a bag of sandwiches and seemed none too pleased
about it. He announced his arrival to the summit by throwing them into
the volcano, much to the disappointment of all present.
All three were wearing the same armor.
Trujen cleared his throat, his companions now assembled before him.
"I
do not like long speeches," he shouted over the wind. "so I will just
say this. We will not be prey, who hide behind words and tricks."
"We will be hunters!"
With
that, Trujen raised his dk'tagh, the ceremonial dagger of a Klingon
warrior. To a Klingon, his dk'tagh was the very personification of his
honor and loyalty to the Empire.
With a loud roar, Trujen hurled his
dk'tagh into the inferno, watching the worn steel melt into nothingness.
Taking a moment to collect the impact of his decision, Trujen turned
once again to the others.
"If you wish to leave now, do so. I will not think ill of you for it."
Almost as if on command, the others each threw their own dk'taghs into the volcano, one by one.
The deed was done. The pact, complete.
"Very well...Bijik, have the arrangements been made?"
The
junior captain nodded. "Yes, Alpha. The So'na's price was steep, but he
is standing by to serve those who wish to have their appearance
altered."
Slar snorted her disgust at the idea.
"Well, I suppose at least one of us won't make the full transfer. No matter."
Trujen stood before his assembled comrades, his hunters as a pillar of flame erupted behind him.
"We are hunters! We are the Hirogen!"
