“Computer - display galactic map, quadrant... Beta. Delineate current political boundaries.” As the machine complied, J’Ula regarded the field of stars framed in Federation blue, Romulan green, and Klingon red with an expression of contempt and seething rage.

“Why do you dwell on this repugnant vision, Lady J’Ula,” Ketris, her first officer, growled as she entered her captain’s chambers. “Why do you gaze upon the shriveled, timid state of a once-mighty empire, all but enveloped by the bloated Federation? Why twist the blade within your heart?”

“Because that sharp pain reminds me of what must be done,” J’Ula replied. “And what must be delivered unto our enemies.” She walked around the display until she came to Earth and pointed at the blue gem as it hung above the display table in her quarters. “This ugly ball of putrid water and filth was in our deathgrip, Ketris… the entire Federation trembling before us or a burnt, vanquished smear beneath our boots! And now… and now…”

J’Ula waved a hand dismissively through the image and snarled in disgust. “Computer, shut this piece of baktag off.” As the hologram winked out of sight, she turned to her trusted officer and composed herself. “Report. What have you gleaned from the network?”

“I bring good news, my Lady,” Ketris replied, a dangerous smile on her battle-scarred face. “House Mo’kai is not as dead as the liars of House J’mpok would have the galaxy believe.”

“Explain.”

“The Grimoire remains. It is also being used… updated… maintained.”

“The Grimoire,” J’Ula replied, her thoughts on the vast, intricate body of data, all the secrets kept by House Mo’kai, held within a vast, impregnable network. “Only a sister of Mo’kai can access the Grimoire. We must find her, Ketris – her, and any other sisters of the blood.”

“Based on recent entries within the Grimoire, I have isolated several systems likely to house our hidden kin.”

“Find them, Ketris. Find them and summon them to a council. House Mo’kai must rise again.”

“It will be done, Lady,” Ketris replied, saluting as her smile grew wider. “I will send a missive, a call to arms. They will come to your banner. They must.”

“Mo’kai maH. taHjaj!” J’Ula shouted, her voice proud and clear. As Ketris grinned and repeated the oath, J’Ula began to smile as well.

Sisters of proud Mo’kai, living and breathing under the stars, ready to march to glory, to deliver a dish best served cold to any and all who dared to challenge them. And their Matriarch shall lead them…

***

“I will drink your bloodwine, warrior,” J’Ula said calmly as the hilt of her d’k tahg thudded against the light armor of an intoxicated Klingon, its blade deep within the flesh beneath. “But I no longer wish to endure your company.” She shoved the dying man away and began to cleanse her weapon on a cloth offered by Ketris, who smirked as she leveled the disruptor in her free hand at the dead man’s two bodyguards.

“You men would be wise to seek a new master,” Ketris growled at the warriors. “Unless you’d like to join your old one in Gre’thor.” The guards exchanged a glance, weighed their odds in silence, and withdrew without reply.

“Such nuchpu’ – this is what passes for Klingons today? Pah!” Ketris spat at the ground in disgust. “The halls of Gre’thor must be filled to bursting!” J’Ula smirked in response as she filled their tankards with the dead man’s bloodwine. An Orion server grimaced at the corpse, then stared daggers at the Klingon women.

“Was that really necessary,” the server blurted. “You just killed one of my best customers!”

“Seek better patrons, sister,” J’Ula replied. “Ones who are better mannered, and less… familiar. His touch offended me, so I saw to its removal. Do you disapprove?”

“N-no,” the Orion replied. “He was pretty handsy, wasn’t he?”

“Quite,” the Klingon matriarch replied. “Fortunately, we Klingons have a very effective solution for such behavior.”

“I-I can see that. More bloodwine, ladies?”

“Yes. Your best,” J’Ula replied, dropping some coins upon the server’s tray. “With my apologies for the mess.”

As the server darted through the crowd away from their table, a cloaked, hooded form moved from the shadows of the bar to replace her.

“For a matriarch of the blood, you certainly draw a lot of attention to yourself,” the figure said, a tone of amusement in their voice.

“Matriarch I may be, but I am Klingon first,” J’Ula replied. “And I am no prize to be pawed at by an unwashed qoH.”

“In fairness, this is Nimbus III,” the figure responded. “Baths are often few and far between, even for fancy Klingon ladies.”

“Then it is fortunate that I have the means to take my leave from this wretched ball of sand and despair,” said J’Ula. “Now scurry off, vagrant, unless you’d like to dance on my blade as well.”

“Oh, I think you’ll want to listen to what I have to say,” the figure intoned as she removed her hood to reveal a scarred, hairless head. “For I am Adet’pa, the Witch of Nimbus III… and proud daughter of House Mo’kai. I heed the call to arms, my Matriarch.”

“qavan, Adet’pa, sister of the blood. You bring honor to your house, and to me,” J’Ula replied. “Drink with us. We have much to discuss, you and I.”

“Indeed we do,” said Adet’pa. “Our enemies think Mo’kai to be a dead house. It has been very liberating. It grants a certain freedom…”

“Freedom to move without hindrance,” said Ketris, speaking the words of a maxim taught to all children of House Mo’kai. “To hear clearly, to see all…”

“To prepare the deathblow,” J’Ula replied, “And deliver it.”

“Yes,” said the Witch of Nimbus III. “Mo’kai maH.”

“taHjaj!” the women said in unison.

Paul Reed

Content Writer

Star Trek Online