Release The Hounds! - Chapter #100!

Welcome to the 100th episode of Free Enterprise! OMG! OMG! OMG! OMG! I blame it all on my muse, I mean mouse, or is it muse, no mouse. . . . . . . Oh Feh! Enjoy!


Free Enterprise  -  Release The Hounds! - # 100


Tyr spent the rest of the day and evening with his immediate family. All 197 of them! It was especially endearing to him because the rest of the family got to meet his new wives. Plus everyone had a chance to cuddle and play with Alexander and Lysander.

Though he was with family, Tyr found that he could not relax, because he had a peculiar unrest in his soul. It was 2207 hours standard time and he hadn't heard a thing about the Drago-Katzof vote.

Which was odd. In this day of modern technology the vote should've taken perhaps three, four hours tops. Yet the whole afternoon and evening was spent. Something was definitely up.

The gathering had wound down. Everyone said their goodbyes, traded kisses and hugs and separated to go their own homes, while the staff cleaned up.

Tyr had just arrived at his door of his personal quarters for the night ( with The Ceremonial Guard and Atlas in tow ) when Khan appeared beside him. The look on the Katay's face told it all. This was not going to be a good prediction.

“What is it, Khan?” Tyr asked in Katay.

“Kimshee has hit the fan and it is going to be very ugly for the rest of the night and morning.” Khan intoned sagely.

“I must leave tomorrow if I am to return to Deep Space Ten on time. . . . . . . . .” Tyr replied.

“Well, there might be a bit of a delay.” Khan said. “Too many people involved. . . . . .” he continued and stopped. Tyr's communicator purred urgently, and the party stopped just outside of Tyr's door as he answered it.

“Yes?” Tyr answered.

“Seventh Elder Ananias of Pride Drago-Katzof speaking. . . . . .” The male voice started.

“Seventh Elder? Where is . . . .?” Tyr frowned and thought.

“. . . . . . Sire, there has been a tragic incident. The vote was overwhelmingly for Drago-Katzof Pride to readmit members of Pride Secreto. However, Osiris was dead set against the decision and refused to concede. He and a group of about 60 rose up and killed 15 of the Drago-Katzoff elders, 72 citizens and injured 375 more until they were all finally killed. Osiris and his three remaining wives managed to escape off planet. We have gathered an armed party to leave Pinnacle, track, and kill them. Just say the word, Sire, and we will immediately comply.” Ananias continued.

“Stand down, Ananias. Your Pride needs you. I will take it from here.” Tyr replied. He closed his communicator, turned on his heel and headed for his “office”.

Once there he was immediately on the communications net, first calling for medical assistance for Pride Drago-Katzof, and anything they may have needed. Then he put in a call to The Black Watch, and waited.

Precisely four minutes later, Commander Circe Anderson of the Black Watch and her squad showed up in Tyr's office. So silent were they, it was more like they stole in, like smoke drifting in on the air.

True to their name they were dressed all in black. Black fatigues, black boots, black t-shirts, black specially designed jackets with sleeves that accommodated their bone blades, and of course weaponry.

The black they wore was actually called Ultra Black, a black that was specifically designed to blend in with the shadows. For that they were sometimes called “The Shadow Warriors”. Why? Because even sensitive Nietzschean eyes could not detect them, until it was too darned late, of course.

Every one of Commander Anderson's team had that steely look in their eyes. Focused and ready to do battle.

The Black Watch was an ultra elite group, similar to Old Earth's Seal Team Six. They were a synergistic group who lived and trained together in an undisclosed location. No one knew how they recruited new inductees, but once one made it through their ultra-strict standards, one was in for life. Like monks, they gave up everything in order to be a Shadow Warrior. They were heavily compensated for that sacrifice, and their families were taken care of for life.

“Black Watch, reporting for duty, Sire.” said the stately African woman as she and her squad of thirty stood at attention.

“At ease, Commander.” Tyr said. Commander Anderson relaxed, and at her signal the squad slipped into parade rest.

“Are you aware of the circumstances under which you have been summoned?” Tyr asked.

“Yes, Sire. We've been monitoring the secure networks and are prepared.” Anderson replied.

“This is your objective.” Tyr said as he handed over two padds to the Commander. Both had holos and biographical information on each of Osiris' remaining wives, and Osiris himself. For all intents and purposes, this was the official ”contract”. It also stated the laws Osiris and his cohorts have broken, and Tyr's signature as sanctioning “the action”.

“Will there be any additional statements, Sire?” Anderson asked, as she handed the padds off to her Lieutenant. He in turn passed them around to his subordinates.

“No Commander. Just take action.” Tyr responded.

The “statement” was a throwback to Ancient Earth when the charges were read before one was stoned, shot, or whatever. So the executee would know why they were being executed, and have a chance ( fat, though it may be ) to dispute their charges. However, with Nietzscheans, who refused to be taken alive, this was just a formality.

As far as Tyr was concerned Osiris was well aware of what he had done, and was merely giving himself more “fighting room.”

“Also Commander, once the mission is complete, you will find me on Deep Space Ten. Please bring any evidence you have to me there.” Tyr continued.

Once The Black Watch made a “hit”, they were to return with evidence of same. Usually graphic holo vids and genetic material to prove the mission was actually completed. Validation of the “offed” being who they were supposed to be.

“Yes, Sire.” Anderson said. “Anything else, My Lord?” she asked.

“No Commander. Dismissed.” Tyr said. The squad turned as one and drifted out.

“Where to next, Sire?” Atlas asked, correctly reading the expression on his Liege's face.

“To Pride Drago-Katzof's camp.” Tyr said, as he mentally prepared himself for what he was about to see.


* * * * * * * * *


Most of the time it was a blessing for a Nietzschean to have a sensitive nose. It was not for Tyr, definitely not now.

Before he even reached the Drago-Katzof camp, he detected three scents on the air. Blood, death and fear. The latter, not so, much but it was there.

Alert sentries called out, Tyr's entourage was admitted without preamble, and taken to the treatment area. Cots had be set up according to triage the injured had been sorted out. The worse were inside specially designated tents for surgery, another had been set up as a makeshift morgue.

The first person Tyr's eyes alighted upon was none other than Dr. Kori. She had finished surgery and was now making rounds of the not so badly injured. In fact, she had a large bag of plush toys, which she was handing out to the children. Tyr smiled to himself as this was a side he'd never seen of Doctor Kori.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, rudely as he approached. Cornelius was horrified, but Tyr put up a hand to stay him. The man simply did not understand off-planet, diplomatic protocol. This was a standard Klingon greeting, not a challenge to his authority.

“A Klingon doctor giving out stuffed toys to children? I've never heard of such.” Tyr replied.

“Not all doctoring is piss and vinegar, you know. There is a soft side to deal with the inward hurts and fear.” she replied, as she handed a stuffed rabbit to a mite of a girl. Her tear-stained face lit up with a smile, as she hugged the toy to herself.

“Mine?” she asked of Kori, in a tiny voice.

“Yes, it's yours. Now you have to give it a nice name and treat it nice. Okay?” Kori replied.

“Okay. Thank You.” the little girl replied. Kori walked a distance away with Tyr following. Pointing out various patients and their injuries.

“Since they are all Nietzscheans they will heal much faster than Humans. All they will need is rest.” Kori said. She also took Tyr through the surgery tents and showed him the various horrific injuries. All surgeries had been completed and the patients were asleep. Tyr smiled to himself, as he saw wives or consorts sitting vigil at their sides.

“Who said Nietzscheans were not attached to each other and didn't love each other?” he thought.

The morgue was quite a different story. Tyr and Kori stayed and attempted to comfort and talk to as many as they could. Nietzschean doctors quietly hovered nearby, just in case. Tyr stuck around to speak to what was left of Pride Drago-Kazoff's elders and Matriarch Delta. Her peoplw were more than willing to step in and help.

“It looks like my job here is done.” Kori said, as she folded up the now empty bag.

“We are due to return to The Insurrection. . . .” Tyr started.

“In about an hour and twenty minutes.” Kori completed. Tyr frowned. He didn't realize that while he was in the tents that the sky had lightened up around them.

“I may be a little late. I have something very important to do first before I return.” Tyr said.

“Then I will see you there.” Kori said, as she watched Tyr and his entourage leave the tent.

He made a beeline for the castle where he had a quick shower and changed into his Starfleet uniform. From there he went to his mother's quarters. Victoria was waiting. Son and mother hugged.

“My, you look very handsome in that uniform, Tyr.” Victoria said, and smiled. Tyr smiled back sheepishly. Though he was twice her height and weight, to Victoria, he was still “her baby”.

“Don't slump, Tyr. The Divine made you a strong, handsome and tall Alpha for a reason. Stand up like a proud Nietzscehan, and let the universe know!” Victoria admonished.

“Why is it that mothers have this special power to embarrass their children?” Tyr thought as complied. His Mother would always make him stand straight when around her and or company.

“Mother, I promise I will be back in a year.” Tyr said, as they both kissed and hugged.

“Me Casa, Su Casa. You will always be welcome.” Victoria replied, as they parted. Khan and The Ceremonial Guard were waiting for him, as soon as he stepped out of his mother's apartments.

“I have another stop to make.” Tyr said, to Khan.

“I will come with you.” Khan replied.



* * * * * * * * * * * * *


Ten minutes later an aircar dropped them off at the Anasazi burial site. Both Khan and Tyr alighted from the car and noticed a lone figure already waiting there for them.

“Who?” Tyr wondered. But as soon as he saw the full American Indian regalia, including warbonnet, he knew who it was. Desi's father, Cochise. As they approached the middle aged male raised his right hand in the traditional American Indian Greeting.

“Greetings, Viceroy Tyr Anasazi. I am Cochise Two Wolves. Please forgive my tardiness . . . . . .” he began.

“I understand, Cochise. I'm sure father would also.” Tyr replied.

“Good answer. I wonder when would be a good time to tell Tyr he is finally shaping up to be an excellent diplomat?” Khan thought, as the small group headed towards the crypt.

Inside, Tyr was nearly overwhelmed by the amount of tributes that were left at his fathers site. The workers had finished sealing the niche, had put up the official plaque with Barbarossa's full name, honorifics and a perma-holo of him. Along the bottom was a wide shelf to leave a candle, flowers or a stone, indicating that one had visited. The tributes had spilled over on to the floor. Cornelius cleared a space for them to walk through.

Tyr reached out and pressed his right palm against the cool beige stone, and rested his forehead against it.
“I am leaving Father. But I will be back.” he thought. He then stepped back and let Khan perform a similar ritual.

And last but not least, Cochise stepped up: “When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. You have lived your life so that when you die, the universe cries, and now you rejoice.

. . . . And to you, Viceroy Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria, by Barbarossa, of the Kodiak Pride, I say: May the stars carry your sadness away, May the flowers fill your heart with beauty, May hope forever wipe away your tears, And, above all, may silence make you strong.” Cochise intoned.

“Thank you, my brother.” Tyr said, as the two men embraced.

“You are welcome.” Cochise replied, and waved as both Khan and Tyr took their leave.



* * * * * * * * * *


Thirteen minutes later, Tyr, Khan, and a skeleton crew of The Ceremonial Guard arrived at The Insurrection's forward entrance tube. Crew members were scurrying about getting things ready to “cast off”, so Tyr went straight to the nearest lift and headed for the bridge.

The second he debarked the lift, Rear Admiral Tyr Anasazi nee Viceroy Tyr Anazasi, got his eardrums blown out! A brand new recruit, Ensign Terrance Scott, did something Tyr had refused to allow ever since he took command of The Insurrection. He blew the boatswains whistle!

“Rear Adm. . . . .” was as far as he got, because Tyr stopped the man dead in his tracks with a steely gaze. Behind him, Scott felt everyone back up, from the lighting bolt that was about to strike.

“Ensign . . . . .?” Tyr asked, quite amicably.

“Scott, Sir. Ensign Terrance Scott, Sir.” he answered nervously and swallowed numerous times.

“Currently serving on The Insurrection are three races which have extremely sensitive hearing. The Nietzscheans, The Katay, and The Vulcans, so it is very unwise to . . . . . . I believe you gather the gist of this conversation.” Tyr said. He really didn't want to embarrass Ensign Scott any further.

“Sorry Sir.” Scott replied.

“De Nada.” Tyr replied, as he sat in the Command Seat Gilgamesh had just vacated. He spent the next ten minutes or so receiving check ins from various departments until they were ready.

“Lieutenant Summers. Break orbit and take her out at one quarter impulse speed.” Tyr ordered.

“One quarter impulse speed, Aye.” Lt. Bart Summers replied and tabbed the appropriate buttons on his helm control panel. The Insurrection surged and started it's ascent out of Pinnacle's orbit. Tyr's eyes stayed riveted to the Forward View Screen as he watched Pinnacle recede until it was no more than a speck.

“I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again. Oh baby, I hate to go. . . . . . . “ he heard being sung softly in his mind. Tyr looked to his left and saw that Tamara's eyes were just as riveted to the screen as his were.

“You'll be back, Tyr.” she thought. “You'll be back.”

"Lt. Summers. Take her to Warp Ten. Maintain course and speed until we reach Deep Space Ten." Tyr ordered.

"Warp Ten, Aye, Sir." Summers replied as the Insurrection surged forth towards her destination.



NOTE TO READERS: Yes, there is more cool stuff afoot for the next hundred. THE NEXT HUNDRED! Weeeeelllllllll, maybe FIFTY. . . . .

See, I already know WHAT the ending will be, it's just a matter of writing my way there. It's sort of like painting the road you're traveling on. If you don't move you can't paint. . . . .

PS. The Two Native American Prayers are “authentic”, though I had to change a word or two to in order to update them a bit. . . . . .

PS2 The lines Tamara sang were from “I'm Leaving On A Jet Plane” by John Denver. Boy, is that an oldie but goodie!