House of Kirok

[Cmdr JFarrington 0]

ISS Manticore, Stardate 61595.4

 

The Annals of Kirok, Senatus Primus

Imperial House of Kirok

Imperial City, Earth

 

House of Kirok

 

First Senator Kirok stood on the balcony on which his father stood and his fathers before him for many generations. His was a glorious legacy reaching back to Earth’s first exploration of space and subsequent conquest through their alliance with the Romulan Empire. His ancestor, the great Enterprise Captain, could not have realized the heights to which the Empire and his own family would climb, neither could the illustrious Captain Kirok have envisioned that his family would inherit such power, such dignity, and such magnificence, or that his descendant would stand on this pristine marble balcony overlooking what he had known as the San Francisco Bay on this day so many years later.

 

And the day could not be more auspicious. A few low clouds obscured the rolling waters of the great sea to the west and those of the bay to the east. Sunrise glowed amber, then golden along the horizon. The first buds of spring promised a bountiful harvest – one as they had not had for years, according to the seers. And his daughter, Imaj, was home, and would hopefully make a decision that would warm his heart: to take her place by his side in the Imperial Senate.

 

Hfihar Kirok had been built of Columbia marble above compacted debris from the great quake of 2053 that leveled 90% of the ancient city called San Francisco. Several families called the dwelling home until it was awarded to Kirok, former Captain of the Enterprise and Admiral of the Imperial Fleet, for his valor during the First Imperial War. He christened it Hfihar Kirok, the House of Kirok, a double-entendre. It would accommodate the House of Kirok for generations. During the Admiral’s occupation of the house several guest houses and servants’ quarters had been added, as well as recreational facilities. Subsequent occupants had expanded and improved the buildings and land into more of a bastillion, a superb, easily defended, secluded family refuge.

 

They had since renamed San Francisco Bay, of course. Its original name implied submission, the heritage of St Francis, lover of animals. However, the saint had qualities Kirok had come to admire, especially his ability to communicate with animals. Kirok counted that as a form of dominance, no matter how small, how insignificant.

 

A soft onshore breeze brushed First Senator Kirok’s morning robes and ruffled the feathers of an immense bald eagle that perched on a marble column beside him. Kirok stroked it, caressing its sleek body, admiring its strength, the scimitar-like beak, the luster of its feathers, the keen gaze of its eye that ever watched, ever waited, piercing the morning haze, scrutinizing every inch of sky, forest, and underbrush, penetrating to the very depths of the sea.

 

The bird lowered its head and gave a cry, then shook its wings in annoyance. “Hungry?” Kirok whispered, his lips dangerously close to the bird’s beak as he deftly released its restraint. Without a sound the great bird spread its wings and dropped over the side of the balcony, then caught a rising air current and began a slow, steady climb over the trees that lined a trail through the woods below, soaring towards the bay beyond. Within minutes it would return, Kirok knew, its prey still struggling against its destiny, terrified of its inevitable fate as its captor pinned it between talon and sun-warmed marble, then hungrily tore flesh from bone until all life drained and the eagle’s appetite was satisfied.

 

“A magnificent sight, Father. A symbol worthy of the Empire.”

 

“Yes, a worthy symbol. And found only here. On Earth.” Kirok turned to greet his daughter Imaj, who had approached him silently from behind. She had his wisdom, but the stealth and cunning of her mother and the often outrageous bravado of her great-great grandfather Captain Kirok. And she was beautiful, especially in the early hours of the morning when her lithe body glowed from intense exercise and her hair glistened, still wet from bathing. The beauty of her mother as well, he thought as she approached to touch his cheek gently with her lips. ‘Tis a pity her mother is not around enough to see it. Then again, her jealousy may be overwhelming when she sees her daughter is perhaps even more beautiful than she herself once was. “Good morning, my daughter.” He returned the kiss, then resumed his watch.

 

Cinching the loose-fitting robe around her waist, Imaj turned to lean her back against the balustrade, reaching across the wide marble rail to finger the gold facing that gleamed in the rising sun. She turned slowly and ran her hands along its warmth the way her father caressed the feathers of his beloved eagle, Galae. Out of the corner of his eye, Kirok watched his daughter’s smile of satisfaction, almost greedy but not quite, and somewhat passionate.

 

“Have you come to a decision?” he asked, careful to keep the tone light. He was a man of few words, especially when it came to Imaj, who had a mind of her own.

 

Her hands stopped abruptly and one finger began to tap the gold flashing. She looked to the eagle, free on the breeze, just cresting the bay. Then she spoke. “What is to decide, Father? Surely you would not have me rot in the Senate when the colonies threaten our security with their petty demands? Surely you would not have me stay here when there are worlds to conquer.” Her voice was both playful and cutting, her eyes as piercing as the eagle’s beak. “It is my passion. As much a passion as . . . .”

 

“Yes, yes,” Kirok interrupted with a sigh, waving his hand and stepping aside. “As my passion for the Senate.” It was an oft-repeated conversation, one he knew he would never win, but felt he had an obligation to try. And hope.

 

“Be careful, Imaj, that your passions do not overcome reason, your lusts do not dull your vigilance.” A mind of her own, yes, and very much my daughter. And still she smiles coyly. In the flower of youth is an infallibility that cannot be quenched. He remembered his own youth, his own certainty of infallibility, his delusion of immortality instantly crushed with the assassination of his father.

 

The winged predator, a Pacific salmon writhing in its talons, landed solidly next to Kirok and began to feed with methodic precision. Bits of the majestic fish stripped away easily as the bird’s razor-sharp beak first pierced a section, then cut deeply, flaying the flesh as easily as a filleting knife in the hands of a fisherman.

 

As revolting a sight as it was, Imaj riveted her eyes on the scene. Something about it seemed to fascinate her. The bird’s technique? Its power? Kirok decided to let it pass without comment or question. Female she was made, but male she was in her attitudes – which would make her a formidable adversary in the Senate. Again he sighed. Formidable in the Fleet as well.

 

Slowly, cautiously, the landscape surrounding the main house came alive with small winged and furry creatures satisfied that they would not be targeted, at least this day.

 

“You are Centurion now,” Kirok continued casually, flicking away a bit of viscera that had flopped towards him from the eagle’s beak. The fish was now more subdued, perhaps resigned to its fate. “You should be looking for someone suitable to carry on our line. Have you given any more thought to the proposal from Atragon?”

 

Silence. He shifted slightly to see his daughter, who still stared at the great bird. But she was not thinking about the image before her, she was obviously thinking of something else, something she wished to hide? Something she wanted to share but dare not? Kirok had been the one to propose the match and her fierce independence would normally have dictated rebellion, so he had expected to see a look of defiance accompanying her sudden silence. Instead he saw . . . pleasure? He turned to face her, waiting for an answer.

 

She merely stood there, smiling. But not at the bird.

 

“You have already bonded.” He had learned long ago that the direct approach was best.

 

She caught her breath, dropping her eyes for the merest second. “I have . . . tested the waters,” she replied, twisting the ends of her sash around a finger, a blush that did not come from her morning exercise slowly spreading through her cheeks. “He is strong. He is….” She straightened her body quickly and looked up, her piercing eyes having returned as she fought for composure. “He is powerful, not only on Titan, but in the Imperial Fleet. He will soon take command of a premiere Psi Vessel.”

 

Defensive? They had definitely bonded. And the bond was not only agreeable but immensely pleasurable. So be it. Kirok was pleased. He could think of no more suitable mate to carry on the family, and that his daughter was pleased made it even more acceptable.

 

So it would be the Fleet and not the Senate. She would serve the House of Kirok honorably no matter where. And bonding with Atragon? It would not be long before she rose to Subcommander, then Commander. And then…. He could not imagine. She was, after all, his daughter.

[eagle 0]

Most Excellent...from an Eagle's point of view... :)

[Kansas_Jones 0]

My Mirror detection instinct has gone off, w00t!