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NDak

The Rihan Game: Rattleing the Saber

Three Hours to Zero Hour

 

As mysteriously as they had appeared, the fleet that surrounded Starbase Camelot suddenly cloaked and shimmered off into the openness of space. In approximately three hours, the galaxy would be given a wake up call by The D’Era.

 

On the Oira of the leading warbird, Khre’Riov tr’Shaelon sat nervously watching the stars streak-by. “May the Elements protect us,” he said silently.

 

At the moment nearly 400 Rihan vessels were converging on one point. For the past three months, they had slowly been building up their presence in the quadrant, hours ago they unbeknownst to their ‘allies’ doubled their numbers.

 

As with all things involved with the D’Era, deception was the key. In three hours, the true power of the chosen would be shown for all to see.

 

On Camelot, tr’Aieme calmly looked over his chrono. He had been present the last time the Rihannsu had tried to assert themselves in the Gamma Quadrant. It had been a disaster. But as disaster they had learned from.

 

They had acted to brash, he reminded himself. This time, they would not act so quickly, nor so foolishly. The Battle of the Omarian Nebula had been a reality check, a necessary one at that. For all of their cunning, stratagem, and superior ability to manipulate a situation to fit their needs the Rihannsu had one major issue which had plagued them for years—their arrogance.

 

Unwilling to ever admit someone was superior to them, they had a penchant for underestimating their opponents. However, this time was quite different.

 

A Rihan scholar had once observed that io m’ongoose should never attempt to tackle a c’obra in it’s own den. tr’Aieme had believed that before the Battle of the Omarian Nebula—and he believed that now.

 

However, their was nothing wrong with drawing the Cobra out of his din. Which was exactly what tr’Aieme wished to do.

 

Even better, was how unexpectedly unawares as to the true intent of this fleet that the allies were. It was all tr’Aieme could do not to cackle when N’Kedre told him of the Vorta’s reaction to the fleet decloaking. For all of his posturing, tr’Aieme knew Semil was unhappy with the situation, and the fact that the Rhans has become so influential in the politics of the Gamma Quadrant. Of course, if all went as planned—he would be even more agitated if not infuriated.

 

Figuratively, the Rihans were about to rattle one very, very large saber.

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One Hour to Zero Hour

 

Sseibh Maec tr’Aieme watched as the Vorta and the Klingon gave themselves over to a false reality. With arms folded behind his back, he watched carefully making mental notes about each.

 

During the Dominion War, he had fought along side with many Klingons, and he had actually come to respect the brutish race. This Governor K’Vorlag was, tr’Aieme thought, an honorable man—despite what was noted in his Tal’Shiar dossier.

 

The Vorta on the other hand—tr’Aieme sneered even looking at the foul creature—he was another thing entirely. He had read that this Semil…incarnation four by the Tal’Shiar’s count…was the successor off one of the more wretched khlle’s of the Dominion War. And while he had done almost nothing involving the Rihans during the war…he did have an extensively thick file himself in the hallowed halls of the Tal’Shiar.

 

It struck tr’Aieme as ironic that two men, both of which had been harmed so fully by this same device would now surrender themselves to it—to gain information. tr’Aieme questioned this move, but then, of course, Armanate was only of secondary concern to the Tal’Shiar senior agent—for as the lloann’na would say…he had much bigger fish to fry.

 

He glanced quickly at his chrono, checking the time. “Mehnka,” he said to himself. “While the Excalibur is off gallivanting about after some Hundred Ghost, and the Vorta Nei’rrh and the Klingon are immersed in some…dream…we will be busy…rattling the sabers.”

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