Killing Honour

Prologue - Klingon Imperial Space:

Yraltril Anishnak swallowed, fighting down his growing anxiety as he stood on the hot, dank, crowded Bridge of his latest clients, and waited to conclude his business and depart as quickly as possible. Despite his fears, he tried not to show it; his clients respected courage and guile.

Not that it would necessarily save him from a clouting, or even a stabbing with one of those ugly crescent swords of theirs. As a general rule, Klingons were as volatile and dangerous to handle as trilithium resin. If you asked his brother Nohtyp, he’d agree… that is, he would, if he hadn’t blown himself to shit two years ago attempting to steal trilithium resin from the Tannhäuser Gate Array.

Stick to trading in information, Mother always told them. It’s what Yridians were famous for. Information can’t kill you.

Still, as he continued to stand there, waiting to get paid and trying not to gag at the stench of these unwashed barbarians squinting at the screens displaying the data he had provided, he reminded himself that while information can’t kill you, there were still plenty of ways to die. By stench alone, in some cases.

He sniffed loudly to catch their attention, ignoring their annoyed reactions - come on, it’s not as if half of you can even read - while he stroked the wrinkles of his shrivelled, elongated, hairless face. “Well? Does it satisfy you, My Lord?”

The leader of this pack of animals, a Klingon with a short beard peppered with grey, and sigils carved into the spaces between the cranial ridges on his head, growled at him. “It is incomplete, you petaQ rodent! Are you trying to cheat us?”

Yraltril breathed in patiently - how did your people manage to carve out an interstellar Empire? - before replying softly, “No, My Lord. What I have provided is but a taster, a demonstration that I have acquired what you seek. The complete information on her whereabouts will be given on receipt of the agreed-upon payment.”

Before the older Klingon could respond, one of the younger Klingons bared jagged, yellowed teeth. “You think we would cheat you, cur? I should slice you open for your insults!”

The Yridian ignored him, and the noises of agreement from his comrades, and focused on the head of their House. “No insult is intended, My Lord. Please excuse the habits forged from a lifetime of dealing with races more likely to take what I have worked to provide, and pay me with a blade in the back or a disruptor blast to the skull. Clearly you would never even consider doing something so perfidious.” He paused, clarifying, “That means ’treacherous’.”

Lord Uklass, Head of the House of Uklass, growled again. “Take care, Broker, or your tongue will dig your grave.” But then he reached inside the chest plating of his grey-black armour, withdrawing from it a thick brown leather drawstring pouch, tossing it towards the broker. “The rest of the intelligence, before I change my mind.”

Yraltril caught it in one hand, noting the substantial weight and the sound of the gold-pressed latinum strips stuffed into it, and decided not to stop and count it in front of them, while he activated the data transfer unit in his other hand. As new data appeared on the surrounding screens, translated into Klingon script, Yraltril added, “Your daughter is contracted out as a civilian doctor on a Sabre-class Starfleet vessel, the USS Katana, in the Salem Sector, under an assumed name.”

“And her lover and their… abomination…” His lips curled in a disgusted sneer. “Are they with her?”

“They are living on the colony world Krornot, under assumed names as well. This deliberate separation was strategically astute, making it much more difficult to track them both down… at least, for those without my estimable skills.”

Uklass glared at the script on the screen, before looking up. “Narrom! Ready to take us to this Salem Sector! We will deal with Gisha first while she hides in shame among the petaQ Starfleet, and then we’ll find her weakling HabwI’ lover and their bastard offspring!”

The one called Narrom hesitated, as much as a Klingon could show hesitation without appearing weak. “Father, if Starfleet is involved-”

Uklass spat. “We can deal with one paltry ship of weakling cowards!”

“Ahem,” Yraltril coughed.

As they turned to him, shooting proverbial daggers for the interruption, he pocketed his latinum and continued. “I offer this, free of charge: there’s more than just one Sabre-class vessel in the Salem Sector. There’s six, in fact, and a space station, Salem One, commanded by Commodore Esek Hrelle.” At their reactions to the name, he added, “You have heard of him, I am certain.”

“Hrelle?” Uklass echoed. “The Fat Cat? Him?”

“The same, My Lord.”

Uklass scowled to himself in thought, before turning back to his son. “Joragh, contact Krurall, remind him… respectfully… of the debt his House owes ours for equipping his ships in time for the Battle of Ozat. And contact our own House, have our other ships catch up with us… but say nothing about what we’re doing.”

“What? Why not?”

“The walls have ears, and word of this will soon get back to my traitorous brother! Better that we strike now, before Kline hears and warns our quarries! tlhIngan, quv Salemthta!” He looked back at Yraltril. “You have been paid. Why are you still here?”

The Yridian regarded him, wondering why he was bothering to linger, recalling some Ferengi Rule of Acquisition about not overstaying your welcome once you have their money. “Oh, I was just curious: what this is all about?”

Uklass rose up, as did several of his relatives, as he declared haughtily, “It is about… Honour.”

Yraltril nodded and turned to depart for the Transporter room.

Honour, huh? Well, there’s a freaking surprise…

*

“USS Ulyanov Captain’s Log, Stardate 54342.6, Captain Marvin Blum, Recording: we have completed our refit and maintenance of the navigation beacons surrounding the Deertail Cloud in the Salem Sector. All went without incident, and now we return to our base of operations.”

“Really, Captain?”

Blum looked up from his logbook to his First Officer, sitting on his right in the centre of the Bridge. He frowned, his pepper-grey beard seemingly moving of its own accord. “Huh?”

Lt Cmdr Edama, in contrast to his stocky grizzled veteran features and demeanour, was a young, slim, clean, soft-looking Betazoid female, her sable hair pinned behind her, her uniform looking like it had been sculpted for her body. She offered a serene, knowing smile, as if she was breaking her oath to not use her telepathy. “You said ’without incident’.”

He waited for more, and when it wasn’t forthcoming, he shrugged. “And?”

She tilted her head, her grin widening on her dark lips. “That’s not entirely true, is it, Captain? The incident with your exosuit-”

He felt himself flush, as the memory returned. “There was no incident.”

Edama leaned in, her voice dropping, even as that mischievous gleam in her solid black irises heightened. “Have you forgotten so quickly, Sir? Mr Tabasi said it took almost twenty minutes to-”

“There was no incident,” he repeated, looking around, as if checking to see if the rest of the Bridge crew were listening in on this; no one appeared to be, though he just put that down to their being too discreet or polite to join in on the teasing. Blum had joined the Engineering crew during one of the beacon refits, needing to fulfil some mandatory extravehicular activity for his certification… then having to spend an interminable amount of time having to be freed from his own exosuit on his return, like he was a Squab on his first spacewalk. “No incident. Is that understood, Lieutenant?”

“That’s Lieutenant Commander, Sir,” she corrected.

“Not if you keep busting my balls like this.” He shot her a final smirk, just to show that he wasn’t genuinely annoyed with her. He liked Edama. He liked his whole crew, and his ship, and his mission. It was a far cry from the role he held for so long, as Chief Engineer on the USS Tempest, a patrol vessel near the Cardassian Border.

He thought he had been content to remain a Gearhead for the rest of his career, keeping the warp core ticking over and managing a small crew, until an incident involving his Captain had forced him to take over temporarily. Ironically, the catalyst for that, the then-Captain Hrelle, was now his Commanding Officer. For which he was grateful; as rewarding as his increased responsibilities were, they remained heavy, and he was glad to have someone like Esek watching over them-

An alert from the Ops station behind him snapped him from his reverie, as his Second Officer reported, “Sir! We’re getting a distress signal from a transport ship, the SS Aquitaine! They’re half a light year away, under attack from a Klingon ship!”

Blum glanced at Edama, whose expression sobered as she ordered, “Red Alert!” As the apple-red alert lighting illuminated the ceiling strip and the klaxon filled the air, she added, “Mr Frederick, warn off that Klingon vessel, and alert Salem One of the situation!”

He allowed himself a second’s indulgence of regretting taking this responsibility, before adding, “Lt Dajek, plot an intercept course, Maximum Warp, engage when ready! Lt Ashilehl, ready phasers and photon torpedoes! Lt Tabasi, I want all the power you can muster for shields!”

He tightened his hold on the arms of his chair as the Ulyanov banked sharply to port and jumped to warp speeds that seemed to whine with protest as space twisted and dilated around them, even as his mind shot ahead. The Klingons? They were allies with the Federation against the Dominion only weeks ago! Was this some sort of move against Starfleet, taking advantage of their depleted numbers following the War? There was nothing in any Starfleet Intelligence reports suggesting it.

“Renegades,” Edama said, over the noise of Red Alert. When he glanced at her, she elaborated, “Klingon bandit activity is on the increase overall, with their own infrastructure weakened and stretched thin.”

“Are you reading my mind?” he asked, half-seriously.

“Don’t have to,” she assured him. “You’re an open book.”

“Terrific,” he muttered, staring ahead again.

“Don’t take it as an insult, Captain,” Edama assured him. “It’s a strength. People know where they stand with you.”

“Hmph.”

“Just don’t take up poker,” she added, with a sly punctuation, before immediately calling up tactical data. “One Klingon vessel, a D5 Battle Cruiser… pretty old to be flying around these days… but the power readings coming from it suggest major modifications, weapons and cloak upgrades, typical bandit activity-”

“Any response from the Klingons, Ash?” Blum asked.

There was a pause, before Ashilehl responded. “No response to our warning, but they are retreating and cloaking.”

That’s it? They’re not putting up a fight, or not sticking around to get what they wanted from the ship? He made a sound. “That’s enough response for me. I don’t have to confirm that you managed to get those sensor algorithms upgraded in time to focus on detecting cloaks, do I?”

The young Andorian male ground his teeth in indignation. “No, Sir, you most certainly do not.”

Despite the situation, Blum smirked. “Then I won’t confirm… or order you to keep your antennae peeled in case the Klingons are still nearby. What about the Aquitaine?”

“They’re reporting damage to their warp drive, port nacelle and life support,” Frederick indicated. “Oberth class, 8 crew, 18 passengers. They were on their way to Salem One. Minor injuries reported, but they’ll need to be evacuated.”

Now he nodded, looking to Edama. “Alert Sickbay and Support Services, we’ll transport the passengers and crew and take them the rest of the way as soon as possible.”

“We’re not sticking around to make repairs?”

Blum shook his head. “Not with the Klingons still potentially hanging around. And with our tractor emitter array still down, we’ll have to come back.”

“You think the Klingons might still be hanging around?”

He kept staring ahead, down the tunnel of dilated warp space on the viewscreen.

She leaned in and whispered. “A very pensive look, Sir. Thoughtful, reflective-”

“Are those Lieutenant Commander’s pips getting heavy for your collar yet?”

*

Blum didn’t relax until the transport was cleared and they were on their way back to Salem One. Then he made his way to Sickbay, currently crowded as the medical staff examined the new arrivals for injuries, his Chief Medical Officer Dr Robinson, a sturdy broad-shouldered woman with cherry-red hair ponytailed behind her, reported, "No serious injuries, Captain: broken bones, cuts, scrapes, shock. All fine, otherwise.”

“Thanks, Luna. Where’s Captain Huan?”

She introduced him to the man, an older Asian male in a plain blue Merchantfleet jumpsuit, to learn more about what the Klingons wanted, expecting it to be cargo.

It wasn’t. “It was some of our passengers.”

“Passengers?” He lowered his voice quickly, glancing past Huan to the others. “Are you sure? Which ones?”

The civilian Captain grunted. “The Klingons wouldn’t go into detail, just kept demanding that we stop, lower our shields and let them ’take them’.” He crossed his arms. “I’ve been in the Merchantfleet 47 years… I lost count of the number of bastards who tried to rob me of whatever I was shipping. None have succeeded, and they never will.”

Blum nodded, appreciating the man’s attitude; in another life, he could have been in the civilian service as well. He regarded the collection of civilians gathered around the various biobeds, drinking water or being treated. Men, women, children, all seemingly ordinary folk. “And you’re sure it wasn’t any of your cargo they were after? Or your crew?”

“What, the spare fusion reactor parts and non-replicated food? It cost more to attack us than what those would be worth. And I know my people, worked with them for years. Believe me, Captain.”

“I do, Captain.” Blum reached up and patted the man on the shoulder before walking around him, looking at the group, none of whom seemed to notice him.

Until he asked loudly, “Who were the Klingons after?”

Passengers, transport crew and Ulyanov medical staff all looked in his direction.

Almost all.

Towards the rear of the Sickbay, a young, swarthy, goateed human male stood with a swaddled bundle in his arms.

Blum made his way around, not sure until now if that old trick, used more than once back in the day to weed out who among his young (they all seemed impossibly young, even when he was their age) Engineering crew cut corners in their duties, would still work. "Excuse me, Sir. What’s your name?"

He turned, looking furtive, fearful, clutching the infant more securely. "Talbot. Lawrence Talbot. I’m a teacher, I live on Triacus. And I don’t know anything about Klingons."

Blum heard the child mewl slightly, as if reacting to the obvious tension, and relaxed his posture and voice. "And who’s this?"

Talbot drew the infant closer to him. "My son, Kurt."

Blum nodded, noting how he could barely see the child, it was so thoroughly wrapped up. "And what’s your business at Salem One, Mr Talbot?"

"We’re meeting up with my wife, Kurt’s mother. Look, just get us to the station, she’ll be worried sick about us."

“We’re going there, Mr Talbot, but I need to know why the Klingons might be after you.”

Anger flared in his chestnut eyes. “I told you, I don’t know any Klingons and I don’t have anything to do with them!”

Blum stared at him, but asked over his shoulder, “Anything unusual in their readings, Luna?”

Robinson was still behind him. “They didn’t consent to an examination, Captain.”

“And I still don’t!” Talbot snapped. “We have an ethical right under Federation law not to be scanned or probed or treated like criminals!” He stopped himself as his baby began crying, and he brought him to his shoulder to shush and coo.

“You do have that right, Mr Talbot,” Blum conceded. “But there are security concerns which can override such rights.”

Now he was baring gleaming white teeth. “Any of you try scanning or coming near my son and me, and I swear you’ll all regret it!” He turned away.

Inadvertently allowing Blum and the others to see his son’s face over his father’s shoulder… and the ridged Klingon forehead on the olive-skinned face.

“Mr Talbot,” Blum prompted gently. “You have a handsome Klingon son there. Who’s his mother?”

Talbot turned back in confusion, before realising how Blum had known, and repositioned the infant, despite it being too late to cover up and deny any further. Now he seemed to finally relent. “Dr Gisha Jiyajh, currently assigned to the USS Katana. Please… get us to her before it’s too late.”

*

Station Salem One - Deck 1, Commodore’s Family Suite:

“Srithik! Come on, Sweetie, you’re going to be late!”

The young Vulcan boy emerged from his bedroom wearing the plain black student robes he brought with him from his homeworld, standing formally. “Please forgive me, Mrs Hrelle. I was unaware of the time factor. It will not happen again.”

Kami was near the family, trying to coax Sreen to pick up her spoon and feed herself, an encouragement her older son Misha did not require. She smiled at the newest addition to the household. “No need to apologise, Hon. Sit down and get eating.”

He paused and frowned. “You will permit me to eat now despite my tardiness?”

Now she frowned back. “Of course. Who would keep you from eating?”

“Mother. If I was ever late to attend a function with her, she would deny me the privilege of eating the subsequent two meals.”

Kami stared at him, her expression sobering and her tail snapping behind her. “Remind me never to meet your mother face to face, it won’t end up well for one of us. Eating is not a ’privilege’, and the days of that sort of cruelty are over as far as you’re concerned. Now, sit down, and when you’re done, Misha can escort you to the Classroom.”

The eight-year-old Caitian male, dressed in a miniature Starfleet uniform, put down his knife and fork and nodded. “Yep! I’m in charge!” Then he belched deeply.

Beside him, his baby sister Sreen looked up, threw away her spoon, laughed and clapped her stubby paws together. “Moah! Moah, Meesh!”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, Baby Sreen, just you wait! I can fart at the same time, too!” He wriggled in place, working up some impressive eructation.

Until Kami rested a paw on his shoulder. “Just save some of that energy for your studies, Cub of Mine. And I don’t expect to hear any bad reports from Ms Donovan, is that understood?”

He looked up, eyes wide with opportunity. “Ms Donovan’s on today? Not Mr Timbrel?”

“Mr Timbrel is on this afternoon, I believe.”

He grinned enthusiastically, then looked at Srithik, sitting opposite him consuming gespar slices, and whispered, “I help you with that, so we don’t be late.”

The twelve-year-old Vulcan nodded. “Of course.” He began to set down his bowl and slide it over.

Until Kami stopped him. “My son has a black hole where most other people keep their stomachs. Don’t listen to him if it involves giving over food. You finish your breakfast, Sweetie.”

Just then the main bedroom door slid open, and Commodore Hrelle stumbled out, still dressing along the way as he grumbled, “Thanks for warning me about the time!”

“I did,” she reminded him, retrieving Sreen’s spoon and cleaning it before returning it to the infant’s high chair. “Twice.”

“Hmph.” He started towards the door, but not before returning to the table, rubbing the side of his muzzle against Kami’s, repeating it with Sreen and Misha, but stopping at Srithik. “I’ll forgo giving you a hug, Kiddo, and instead offer you ’Lau du oren-tor mau’.”

Srithik raised an eyebrow in what for his people would be surprise for the Caitian’s use of the Vulcan dialect. “You honour me, Commodore. I will endeavour to learn well today, thank you.”

Misha scowled up at his father with jealousy. “I can burp and fart at the same time!”

Hrelle reached out and ruffled the fur on his son’s head. “Clever cub, you take after your Mama.” He dodged Kami’s smack as he headed for the door, “Remember: Game Night!”

“Game Night! Game Night! Game Night!” Misha echoed happily as Hrelle finally departed.

“I am not familiar with the term,” Srithik confessed.

Kami began trying to feed Sreen, who kept pushing aside the spoon defiantly. “Game Night is for the family. We play Charades, Tumble Tower, Fizzbin, Moonopoly, Jumanji, Purr-Prowl-Pounce-”

“I’m bestest at Purr-Prowl-Pounce!” Misha declared proudly.

The older Caitian gently kept Sreen from pushing away the food, only to watch as the infant twisted her muzzle fully away from the spoon. “And this stubborn little cub acts as Judge.”

Srithik nodded at that. “I understand. I will remain in my room tonight and not disturb all of you.”

Kami regarded him, set down the spoon in defeat and walked around the table to kneel beside the Vulcan, indicating his pointed ears as she spoke softly. “You know, you need to get these cleaned more often. I said Game Night is for the Family. We can’t very well leave you out of it, now can we?”

He considered her words. “Thank you, Mrs Hrelle. I am not familiar with those games, however.”

“I teach you!” Misha offered, hopping off his chair and rushing to the shelves in the far corner of the living room. “I go get them-”

“No, you go get your tail to School,” Kami corrected him, looking at Srithik once more. “You too, tail or not.”

Srithik nodded again, looking thoughtful. “Of course. And thank you again, for your patience with my deficiencies.”

Kami reacted to his words- before being distracted by Sreen holding her breakfast bowl in both paws, her muzzle buried into it as she licked it clean, before tossing the bowl aside to reveal a porridge-covered snout, and then belching deeply, laughing at her achievement.

*

Deck R2 - Command Centre:

Lt Zir Dassene stepped out into the main room, glancing around until she found- “Captain?”

Kate Sternhagen bounced around the rows of stations and operators like one of those silver balls in the old Terran games she’d seen in the movies she used to watch with Alpha Squad, all noise and lights. The woman barely glanced up. “Lieutenant.”

The young Orion stood there, once again baffled about how to react with the other woman. She seemed to change attitude at the drop of a proverbial hat, going from surly to… well, less surly. Zir wanted to try and make friends with her, knowing how much they had to work together, but with all her new responsibilities as the Commodore’s Adjutant, she simply didn’t have the time to have a meal with her, or even a coffee.

This morning, she had hoped to change that; with the Commodore spending most of the day inspecting the Cadets’ facilities and giving that extended lecture on the Dominion War, she’d be spending enough time alone here with the Captain to not be distracted by anything.

Well, that hope was immediately dashed as she watched Sternhagen move about. Did she do it deliberately-

No. Zir stopped letting herself be distracted to examine the situation. “What’s happened?”

“The Aquitaine was attacked by a Klingon ship en route to Salem One,” Sternhagen informed her, still moving around, alternating between examining the stations and updating her PADD. “The Ulyanov intercepted them. Captain Blum is bringing back the passengers and crew, and then returning to bring back the Aquitaine, but they need an overhaul on their tractor emitters, so we’re bringing them into the Hangar Bay to do a rush job.”

Zir’s pulse quickened. Klingons? “Should I alert the Commodore? Or Security?”

“Not with what we have to tell him. Let him have fun with the Squabs. And with Commissioner Nam-Seon off taking our prisoners to Marcos XII for arraignment, they’re running a skeleton crew down in Security anyway for now.” Sternhagen walked up to her. “I’ll supervise the Hangar operation. You have the Conn here.”

The Orion blinked. “Me?”

“Sure, why not? You’ve proven yourself. Certainly enough to be in charge up here for a few hours. I’ll be just an intercom call away.”

Zir looked around, as if waiting for someone to object to the very notion of leaving her in at least a nominal command of the entire station, or for Sternhagen to suddenly turn it around and declare it all a cruel joke. But no one said anything. Finally, she nodded, feeling emboldened by the older woman’s confidence in her. “Of course, Captain. I won’t let you down.”

Sternhagen smiled, patting her upper arm. “Glad to hear it.” She started for the turbolifts, but along the way looked over her shoulder to add, “Oh, I forgot to mention: Lt Salvo’s coming up shortly to discuss the Security situation on Deck 7.”

Zir turned in place, feeling her olive skin flush. “What?”

“And by ‘discuss’, I think she means ‘complain’.” The human female entered the turbolift, turning to deliver a smile and a Thumbs Up gesture. “Have fun.”

Zir resisted the urge to deliver a gesture of her own before the turbolift doors closed.

“Stuck it to you, didn’t she?” The comment came from Lt Ajik, the Bajoran Communications Officer, smiling up at her from his station, before reporting more officially, “Ulyanov is entering the Hangar Bay through Landing Platform One.”

Zir breathed out. “Alert Dr Masterson in the Hospital, and Support to prepare potential guest quarters.” Then she focused on anything but her consternation. Unlike Sternhagen, Zir had no desire to get to know Arcanis Prima Salvo any better, not after the Nova Roman’s haughty, insulting attitude towards Zir had earned the other woman a demotion. And though Salvo ultimately had no one to blame but herself for her current status, Zir wondered if the hotheaded woman would have the nous to recognise that.

Bloody Hell, they left her in charge.

She swallowed. Come on, Zir, you can do this. It’s only gonna be for a couple of hours. What’s the worst that could happen?

*

“Father! We were unable to capture the child and father!”

Uklass gnashed his teeth. “You miserable afterbirth! They were in an Oberth class starship! Those vessels are so weak they crumble under harsh glares! How could you not do this one simple thing?”

His younger son Narrom bared his teeth on the viewscreen. “Destroying them utterly was never a problem! You wanted them alive, and no Federation personnel harmed! But the Oberth’s Captain proved to have a spine of steel! I did not expect it of humans! And then one of the Sabres came to intercept us! I thought it better to withdraw for now, and attack again once we had greater numbers!”

Uklass leaned back in his Captain’s Chair, thinking ahead. “Yes. You thought well. Where are they now?”

“The Sabre collected the passengers and crew and took them to Salem One. We have detected no other Starfleet ships nearby.”

Uklass made a fist. “Excellent; your sister is most likely there. We can deal with them all at once! Stay cloaked, and continue watching; we are bringing the Deadlocks with us.” He closed the transmission. Secretly, he did not agree with Narrom’s actions, but he had to maintain a united front for the sake of the rest of the House, and the allies they had brought in to help them regain their lost honour.

Curse you, Daughter. You have brought so much grief to your family with your selfish, dishonourable actions. Count the last hours of your life on the fingers of one hand. Your life, and the life of your partner and offspring.

*

Station Salem One - Deck 4 - School:

Misha worked swiftly through his lesson, checking the chronometer on the wall. Around him, cubs of many ages and races, including his new friend and housemate Srithik, sat at individual desks, some with headpieces that added multimedia to their own lessons without disturbing the others. And at the front of the classroom, Ms Donovan stood, watching all of them and smiling to herself.

Misha smiled back, setting down his PADD and hopping off his chair to approach her. “I finished!”

Donovan was a young, slim human female with a mass of curly auburn hair and a pixie nose, and she smiled as she checked her own PADD for what he had submitted. “So you did, Misha… and it looks like you did very well. Your mother will be pleased!”

Misha nodded. “Thanks to you! You teach well! Best Teacher Ever! May I go to the toilet now, please?”

“The toilet? Well, until we get ones of our own installed, there’s the ones just outside… maybe if you want to wait, one of the older boys can go with you-”

He held up a reassuring paw. “I’m a big cub! I go by myself! I be quick!”

She still looked dubious… until he reached out and took her hand in his paws, purring as he added, “Thank you for being so smart and good. You’re the best teacher, ever. I’m a lucky cub.”

He watched her melt, and relent. “Be quick, okay?”

“You got it!”

He scurried along to the door at the rear – before being stopped by Srithik. “I have finished my current lesson; I can accompany you.”

Misha shook his head, glancing back at the teacher before winking at him and making a shushing gesture with his finger to the tip of his muzzle, before departing.

He rushed out, bypassing the adjacent toilets entirely and racing around the people on Broadway to head for the Commissary, an open food court with a series of replicators in the walls for those who didn’t have units in their own quarters. He looked around at those at the tables, choosing the right ones: a quintet of young crewmen in Engineering Gold, three humans, a Bolian and a Tellarite. “Howdy!”

They looked up from their meals and conversations, the Bolian frowning. “You’re… Commodore Hrelle’s son, aren’t you?”

Misha nodded, grinning. “Captain Misha Hrelle! Welcome to my station!”

The Bolian and the other crewmen looked to each other and chuckled, the Bolian looking back and offering a jaunty old-fashioned salute. “Thank you, Captain!”

Misha looked around them again, seeing what was left on their trays. “Where you guys work?”

“The station fusion reactors,” the Tellarite crewman responded, tucking into the rest of his algolish pie.

“The reactors? My Papa was talking about them this morning! He’s gonna do a surprise ’spection on the reactors at 1300 Hours.”

The crewman stopped and looked at each other, the Bolian asking, “Are you sure, kid?”

Misha nodded again, but brought a raised finger to the tip of his snout. “Don’t tell no one! It’s a secret! Papa’s really mad! He says if he finds one thing wrong down there, it’s Trouble Time!”

Alarm rose among them, and then one of the humans rose to her feet. “Maybe we should head back early, check things out?”

The Bolian rose as well. “Maybe you’re right…” He reached for his tray.

But Misha waved them off. “You go! I take your trays! I do good deeds!”

“Are you sure?” another asked.

“Yeah! I’m a good cub! Go on! Dismissed!”

The rest of them made it to their feet, patting him on the back or the top of his head as they departed the Commissary. Misha waved them off, before hopping up on the nearest chair and drawing the trays closer to him, tucking into all of this delicious-smelling food at warp speed before he was missed back at class.

* 

Deck 5 - Cadet Quarters Section:

The scent of fear, and of general adolescent hormones, was thick in the air, and Hrelle realised too late he probably should have expected this and took nasal suppressants, remembering his own times of being an Academy Squab a hundred thousand years ago, when some old high-ranking officer would come along for an inspection.

They were lined up on either side of the curved corridor, standing at attention outside of their respective bunkrooms, all ramrod straight and staring ahead: young people of all races, all in Cadet colours, eager to grow up and get out there into the Galaxy… or at least, eager not to get noticed for all the wrong reasons.

Beside him, Commander Haluk walked equally formally, the older bearded Vulcan male offering what to Hrelle seemed an exaggerated expression of sternness. Hrelle thought of questioning whether or not Haluk was perhaps going too far in his role as Academy Annex Superintendent… but then thought better of it. Having to manage a hundred cadets out here with very little support was not something Hrelle would want to do.

“I trust everything meets with your approval, Commodore?” Haluk enquired.

“So far, so good, Commander-”

“Will you get your tail under control, Fuzzy?” someone just around the corner whispered, just about audible to Hrelle. “The Old Guys are almost here!”

“Shut up, Troll,” someone else admonished. “He can hear you!”

“Bullshit. You Cats have good ears, but you’re no Ferengi.”

Hrelle stopped and glanced at Haluk, whose hearing was equally acute, as he called out loudly, “Cadets C’Riir and Gela! Front and centre, right now!”

Hrelle looked up as two cadets rushed up into view and stood to attention in the centre of the corridor: a thin, black-furred Caitian male with a stubby muzzle, curved-tipped ears and a tail that wouldn’t stop twitching from sheer nerves, and a short, salmon-pink Ferengi male with the typical bulbous head and huge ears, the Ferengi announcing, his voice a little more high pitched than expected despite his attempt at sounding confident, “Sirs! Cadets Gela and C’Riir, Reporting As Ordered!”

Hrelle drew up, taking in the scent of the Caitian more fully this close up as he asked him, “Who is who?”

The cadets looked at each other, the Caitian responding proudly, “I’m Cadet C’Riir, Commodore!” He indicated the Ferengi. “This is Cadet Gela.”

“I am certain the Commodore could have deduced that himself, Mr C’Riir,” Haluk pointed out dryly. “He might be less cognisant of why Third Year Cadets, whom I personally selected to participate in the Advanced Work Experience Scheme here, do not seem to understand the basics of Starfleet discipline.”

“It’s my fault, Sir,” both said simultaneously. 

They glanced at each other, before adding, again simultaneously, “No, me, Sir!”

“Are they Bynars?” Hrelle quipped to Haluk, focusing on the Caitian again. “Your accent is familiar, Mr C’Riir. Are you from the Mrestir Province?”

He stiffened, his tail smacking the back of his friend’s legs as he responded, but he nodded enthusiastically. “Yes- Yes, Sir! A town called Meregreen!”

Hrelle nodded back, smiling. “I know it; good people, beautiful landscapes, and they do a mean shuris kebab there.” Now he looked to Gela. “I heard of one Ferengi who had graduated from Starfleet, but didn’t know more had signed up.”

Now Gela looked up, his beady eyes gleaming. “Oh yes, Sir! A whole bunch of us joined at the same time, following in Lt Nog’s footsteps!”

“Cadet Gela is the only one to have made it this far,” Haluk informed him. “And he may soon follow the others, if I do not receive an adequate explanation for their speaking during inspection, and in what sounded like disrespectful terms.”

“It was my fault, Sir!" both declared, again simultaneously.

Hrelle didn’t bother suppressing his smirk. “They’d make a great act for the Academy Talent Competition. Are you two roommates? Friends?”

C’Riir and Gela looked at each other, each clearly looking to let the other answer first, then stopping, and starting, before finally nodding together. 

Hrelle smiled. “Commander Haluk, when I was touring the Cadets’ Dining Hall I picked up some strange scents from the vents. Probably some dead rats or naphrulls, they always hung around the recyclers in the old days, and got trapped in there when we closed up shop two years ago.” He looked at the cadets. “We’ll need some volunteers to clear them up.”

Haluk looked as well.

C’Riir and Gela looked at each other, each clearly looking to let the other answer first, then stopping, and starting.

And finally Hrelle raised a paw. “We’ll be here all day. You’re both volunteered.”

Haluk nodded. “Cadets, return to your places.”

Gela nodded and started back, but C’Riir remained long enough to look at Hrelle and offer, his tail wagging and his eyes wide with admiration, “Commodore, I just wanted to thank you for everything that you did to help free the Motherworld from the Ferasan Occupation Forces. I’m your greatest hero, ever!”

Hrelle blinked, waiting for the younger Caitian to correct himself, before finally responding. “Thank you for saying that, Cadet. Mr Gela, take your friend back to his place.”

“Yes, Sir.” He took C’Riir by the elbow. “Come on, Fuzzy.”

Hrelle watched them go, as Haluk noted, “My apologies for them, Commodore.”

But the Caitian kept smiling, seeing so much of himself and his best friend Weynik in those two, when they first met at the Academy. “Forget it, Commander. Shall we proceed?”

*

The Klingon woman stood in the cluttered Emporium, examining the eclectic range of goods on the shelves and racks around her, while a pudgy, lime-green reptoid with stubby red ridges running over the eye sockets and up along the skull in tight rows stood near the counter, watching passively, silently. She moved along, debating whether or not to just walk out, not sure why she was here at all.

She turned to leave the store, when the reptoid asked, “Who is it for?”

She stopped and turned to face him. “Excuse me?”

“You seek a gift in Sirizo’s humble shop, but not for yourself. Someone else. Who is it, if Sirizo might ask?”

She was startled by his perspicacity, but still felt the urge to deny him, and depart. Instead, she admitted, “My husband. I have been serving onboard a Starfleet vessel. He is bringing our baby here to visit while I am on shore leave. And I do not believe there is anything you possess here that would make for a suitable gift.”

The reptoid hissed, extending his arms out welcomingly as if to unfurl his golden robes like wings. “Sirizo accepts the challenge. You are already very well gifted, with what I am certain is a handsome, loving mate and a beautiful child.” He glided over to one set of shelves, one clawed hand reaching out to lift an object, showing it to her. “I offer this: a holo-imager, to record your loved ones and preserve those precious moments in time that, once gone, are subject to the unreliable grasp of memory.” He bared thin gleaming rows of teeth. “Shall we haggle?”

Moments later, she had stepped out onto Broadway, pocketing the holo-imager into her shoulder bag, as she ventured towards the Arrivals and Departures Board to check on the transport-

A moan from the shrubbery flanking the Commissary she was passing caught her attention, and warily she drew closer, peering aside the foliage to find a small felinoid child, incongruously clad in a Starfleet uniform, curled up, his face screwed up in intense pain as he cried out.

The Klingon pushed her way through to kneel beside him, checking him out. “What’s happened? Who are you?” When all she received from him were more moans, she lifted him up, softening her tone. “It’s okay, child. I am Dr Jiyajh. I will take you to the Hospital.”

*

It wasn’t long before a summoned Commodore and Counselor Hrelle rushed into the Hospital on Deck 3 together, immediately focusing on the CMO Doctor Masterson, Hrelle starting with, “What’s happened to Misha, Zeke?”

“He’ll be okay,” the human male reassured them, stepping aside to indicate one of the medical alcoves, where Misha lay on his side on a biobed, moaning, attended by Chief Nurse Eydiir, the young Capellan showing an uncommon break in her usual stoicism by stroking the young cub’s fur. Masterson’s Western drawl was lowered so as not to disturb Misha or the others in the ward. “He’s had a little gastronomic adventure in the Commissary.”

Hrelle frowned at him. “The Commissary? He was supposed to be in school!”

Masterson crossed his arms. “Well, near as we’ve been able to piece together, he charmed his way out, telling the teacher he was going to the toilets. Then he apparently tricked some crewmen into leaving their meals early, so he could eat what was left on their trays.”

Kami was growling now. “What?”

The doctor grunted. “And based on what we got out of him, it was an impressive buffet he’d bitten into before it finally bit him back: Klingon pipius claw, Bolian kippers vindaloo, Tellarite algolish pie, Betazoid chocolate sundae, sour shrimp soup, and chorizo sausage risotto, and all washed down with beer and raktajino.” He looked back at the cub. “We’ve flushed the toxins from his system and have him on electrolytes, hydrators and stabilisers, but I’d like to keep him here for a few hours to rest up before releasing him.”

Hrelle felt his own stomach twist inside, seeing his Warrior Prince looking so debilitated. “Mother’s Cubs…”

“Listen,” Masterson added, sounding both reluctant and determined to speak to them further. “I gotta tell you two: when I say it could have been a lot worse, I mean that as a warning as much as a reassurance; some of the foods available from our Commissary can be more than just tough to little critters who don’t know any better. It was a good thing that he was found by a medical professional and quickly brought here.”

Kami looked at him. “One of your staff?”

“No, a civilian doctor contracted to the Katana: Dr Jiyajh.” He pointed to a Klingon female standing nearby, speaking with one of Masterson’s nurses. “She’s on shore leave. Her quick thinking made all the difference.”

“Thank you, Zeke,” Hrelle replied. “And I promise you, we’ll speak with Misha.” As the doctor walked away, Hrelle growled. “I’m gonna have words with that teacher of his.”

“No, you won’t. She’s new, and our cub has a dangerous combination of charm, cunning and appetite. He knows exactly what he’s doing, has been wrapping cadets and minders around his little tail since before he could speak, with nothing more than a purr and a look from his big bronze eyes. I’ll speak with Ms Donovan, she doesn’t need to get chewed up by the Big Commode.”

He shook his head. “He seems to be getting into more and more trouble lately.”

“He’s older, smarter, gets around more, and we’re in an environment we have less control over, while we take on more responsibility. I remember my firstborn Mirow getting the Seven Hells from me for climbing the roof of the Clanhouse to play Battle of Claw Keep. I’m sure you did, too.”

“Hmph. My Sasha grew up here, never got into this sort of trouble when I was her father.”

She snorted. “That you know of. She, on the other paw, has told me of a few misadventures she had when you were off being the Mighty Lion of Salem Sector.”

Before he could respond to that, his combadge chirped, and Zir’s voice filled the air. “Commodore, the Ulyanov has just parked into the Hangar Bay, and Captain Blum needs to see you right away regarding the Klingon attack on the Aquitaine.”

“I’m in the Hospital right now, it’s quicker to have him meet me here.”

“He also asked about a Dr Jiyajh, Sir, a civilian specialist. Shall I put out a stationwide summons for her to join you there?”

Hrelle glanced over again at the Klingon female. “No need, Lieutenant, she’s here already. Hrelle out.” He continued to stare. “Wonder what that’s about?”

“Why don’t you go be the Big Commode and find out, while I take care of our cub?” Kami suggested. “I left Sreen with Professor Tallus. She said take our time, but-”

Both Caitians turned as a number of people entered the Hospital, some Hrelle recognised: Marvin Blum and several Security crewmen from the Ulyanov, and a bearded human male with a baby, the male drawing up to Dr Jiyajh, the three of them huddling with genuine affection. Hrelle came up to Blum. “I just got word, Marvin. What’s going on?”

Blum looked at him. “Commodore, the Klingons who attacked the transport were after this human, Lawrence Talbot, and his son Kurt. They refused to say why until we brought them here to see Dr Jiyajh, claiming to be married.”

Hrelle drew closer to the little family unit, the adults on edge from all the attention, while the Caitian breathed in deeply through his nose before speaking. “I’m Commodore Hrelle, in charge of Salem One. Dr Jiyajh, I was going to meet you anyway, to thank you for taking care of my son, but it appears we have more pressing matters. Like why the Klingons are after you.” 

He focused on Talbot. “And why you’re pretending to be human.”

*

“Where’s the Commodore?”

Zir was allocating additional personnel towards assisting Sternhagen in the Hangar Bay with getting the Ulyanov ready to fly out again, and realised she had forgotten that Salvo was coming up. She straightened up and turned to face the Station Security Chief. “He’s in the Hospital.”

The tall, statuesque, coffee-skinned Nova Roman frowned. “The Hospital? Is he ill?”

“No, his son took sick, and now he’s meeting with Captain Blum down there about the Klingon incident.”

Salvo grunted, looking around. “Where’s Sternhagen?”

“Captain Sternhagen is in the Hangar Bay, supervising the repairs to the Ulyanov.”

The other woman scowled. “She knew I was coming up here! Why didn’t she warn me so I could reschedule?”

Zir regarded her, before crossing her arms and leaning against the adjacent wall. “Well, either she was looking to get one over on you by sticking you with me, or she was looking to get one over on me by sticking me with you.” She shrugged. “Maybe both.”

Salvo sneered… but at least Zir didn’t think it was directed at her. “Typical. I’ll reschedule.”

“Why? I’m the Commodore’s Adjutant. Just about everything gets passed through me first, anyway.”

Salvo stared back hard, her face unreadable, except for that challenging glower that seemed to be the woman’s default. Then she shrugged.

*

Hrelle looked around the Medical Conference Room, wondering when he had last been in here, assuming he ever had. Then he set aside such musings, as he regarded Jiyajh, holding her infant, her partner Talbot on her left, shooting daggers at Hrelle for revealing his apparent secret, Kami on her right, and Captain Blum and Doc Masterson sitting on either side of Hrelle, as Masterson updated the others. “Over two hundred years ago, in pre-Federation days, a group of Klingon scientists tried to bioengineer super warriors from among their people using DNA secured from genetically-modified human embryos left over from Earth’s Eugenics Wars.

Needless to say, it didn’t work out. An Augment Virus was created, piggybacked onto a mutation of the Levodian Flu, and those afflicted lost their external cranial ridges and adopted outwardly human-like features. The Virus spread throughout the Empire, affecting millions.” He looked in Jiyajh’s direction. “Doctor? You’ll surely know more about this subject than me.”

She glanced down at her child, showing a quiet gentleness as she fussed over it that those unfamiliar with Klingons might find surprising. “It took a century, but a treatment was found, successful with most… but not all. Those resistant to the treatment were called HabwI’, and would pass their altered genes to descendents.”

Kami was leaning in, purring at the infant and making him gurgle with approval, but now she stopped and confessed, “I must admit, I knew that some Klingons looked different to others at some stage in the past, I’ve seen historical documents, but I never knew the details about the reasons behind it. I just assumed that there were different races, like humanoids.”

“Klingons do not like to speak of it, Counselor,” Talbok explained, looking around him, as if daring anyone to make a comment or joke. “Or be reminded of it.”

“Maybe Federation medicine might be able to assist in finding a cure for all the HabwI'?” Blum suggested.

Hrelle heard and smelled the indignant reaction from Talbok, but it was an equally-perceptive Kami who countered with, “Perhaps the HabwI' don’t feel like they need ‘curing’, Marvin? That despite what many of their people might think or say, they don’t feel like they should have to assimilate?”

The Klingons looked to her with admiration, Talbok following with, “Yes, Counselor, you understand.”

“Oh,” Blum answered, looking at Talbok. “Sorry, no offence.”

“None taken.”

“But still,” Hrelle ventured, focusing on Jiyajh. “It can’t have been easy. I take it your House is one of those who look down on HabwI'?”

She nodded. “House Uklass is of noble lineage with traditional values, though our fortunes have declined some. We have gained renown and influence for our business: salvaging and repairing ships for the War Effort, as well as research and development on the Enemy’s weapons and vessels. My father had designs to marry me to the eldest son of K’Tal, a powerful and influential member of the High Council.”

She looked at her partner. “Then, while I was away, completing my medical degree on DuSaQ, I met Talbok, a teacher of young people, whose heart was as sharp and strong as any blade. Our passion grew… our child Khurst is the product of this.”

“And when word reached your House?”

“It was a very public scandal. My family believed I had irreparably dishonoured them. And they believed the only way they could regain their standing among our people was through what is called Karo’kar.”

‘Honour Killing’,” Hrelle translated, grinding his teeth. “Of you.”

“And my child.”

“Son of a bitch,” Masterson breathed out. “Where in the Hell’s the honour in wanting to kill a child?”

“The Klingon Empire can’t condone such actions,” Blum asked, looking and sounding appalled. “Can they?”

“Not officially,” Talbok admitted. “But among many of the more traditionalist parts of our society, a blind eye is sometimes turned. Especially if such acts are committed by more powerful Houses, like Jiyajh’s.”

“Our former doctor on the Surefoot, Kline, is also a member of your House,” Hrelle reminded Jiyajh. “He’s the one who arranged to send you to work for Starfleet.”

She nodded. “Kline is my uncle, and though he has no influence with my father, disagreed strongly with the idea of Karo’kar, and did what he could for us. Talbok took Khurst to Triacus, purchasing a human identity for himself and our son, until we could reunite here and plan our next moves.” She grunted. “Obviously my father tracked us down first.”

Hrelle breathed out, letting his claws extend to tap against the conference table. “Kline should have been forthcoming about the situation. So should you, Doctor. We could have been better prepared.”

The Klingon couple looked at each other, before Jiyajh responded, “We regret any trouble caused to you, Commodore. We will leave immediately, seek a neutral world-”

“No you won’t.”

She blinked, clearly not expecting his response. “Sir, my family-”

“My tail may be a little kinked at the lack of prior communication about your problem, but you, your child and your partner are part of Starfleet now, and under its protection… and mine. And if your family doesn’t like it they can kiss my furry ass.”

His announcement silenced the room, until Masterson asked, a smirk lifting his bushy auburn moustache, “It’s good to see becoming a Flag Officer hasn’t softened your saddlebags.”

Talbok’s mouth opened, but nothing came out, leaving Jiyajh to answer for them both. “Are you- Are you certain of this course, Commodore?”

“Oh, he’s certain,” Kami assured her, her purrs directed towards her husband now. “We can protect all three of you here, while we call in some favours owed to us from the Klingon Empire. The Commodore and I have had dealings with some high-ranking Imperial officials over the years.” She shrugged. “Honour is honour, but I’m betting a word from the Vice Chancellor can paper over all that…”

*

At that moment outside Salem One, the darkness of space rippled and wavered, as four Klingon vessels appeared in equidistant points, aiming and firing simultaneously…

*

In Operations, proximity alerts made the assembled stop and take notice, Zir and Salvo rising in time for a Tactical officer to shout, “Four Klingon vessels decloaking around us! They’re projecting some sort of dampening-”

The lights, intercoms, computers and other machinery went blank and silent.

For a second, it seemed to have rendered the Operations personnel blank and silent as well, before Zir tapped her combadge. “Lt Dassene to Commodore Hrelle! Lt Dassene to Captain Sternhagen!”

Beside her, Salvo drew her phaser as she looked around, then checked the display on her weapon, before snarling and holstering it once more, storming up to the centre of the Ops stations. “Report!”

Zir joined her, as Ajik announced, “We’ve lost all power! Even the portable devices! I’m guessing it’s some sort of damping field, but we didn’t have time to properly scan it!”

“What about life support?” she asked one of the Engineering crew.

“It’s down along with everything else, but the system’s designed to let us survive without it for several days.”

“What about the Klingon vessels detected?” Salvo asked.

“They’re probably still out there, we can’t scan for them now, call for help-”

The Orion rushed up to one of the windows, feeling Salvo follow, the pair of them peering out at the starscape lit by a nearby yellow sun, and the extended cage of the exoframe array for ships too large to fit inside the Hangar Bay.

But they focused on the winged vessels, one near the starboard shield radiator panels, and the other barely visible near one of the Deck 5 external airlocks. Zir frowned. “Definitely Klingon… but I don’t recognise the design. Something new?”

“Something old,” the Nova Roman corrected. “D5 Class Battle Cruisers, first deployed in the 2150s.”

“They’re still flying ships over two hundred years old?”

Salvo shrugged, still studying the vessels. “The designs are that old, but they were making them well into the next century, and we have plenty of ships from that time still in operation, especially to supplement the War effort.” She pointed at the nearer one. “These have modifications to them; energy field projectors, not weapons.” 

“Causing the blackout,” Zir concluded, turning back to the Ops crew and raising her voice. “Initiate Reduced Power Protocols! Check backup systems-”

“Lieutenant,” Salvo interrupted. “What are you doing?”

Zir faced her again, confused. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m following Command protocols!”

The Nova Roman stepped forward. “This is a Security Emergency. I am the Station Chief of Security. It is patently obvious that I am more qualified to take over.”

Zir stared back, sparing a moment to wonder if the older, more experienced woman was correct. But then that wonder passed with her doubts… and her lingering feelings of intimidation from Salvo “The chain of command established by Commodore Hrelle is explicit. I don’t doubt your combat and tactical skills, but that doesn’t make you more suited to command.”

Salvo bared gleaming pearly teeth. “You do not want to get on my bad side, Orion-”

“Enough!” This came from Ajik, standing with the others watching the exchange. “There’s no time for a pissing contest, or whatever it is women do! We have to assess the situation-”

But then he himself was interrupted by the shimmer of crimson transporter columns lighting up the darkened Operations Centre, and four Klingons materialised, fully armoured, wielding bat’leths in their hands.

And letting out battle cries as they charged at the unarmed Starfleet personnel.

*

Deck 4 - School:

Srithik looked up from his desk as the coal-skinned equinoid walked in, speaking with Ms Donovan before she nodded and left hurriedly. The young Vulcan knew of this entity from Misha: Sre Gyver Timbrel, a member of a non-Federation race called the Paladel, who had served as a Support crewman on the Surefoot before transferring to Salem One along with many others. 

He appeared fascinating… but Srithik was more concerned with Misha, who had disappeared for some considerable time to use the toilet, and never returned. The young Caitian proved to be… rambunctious… but utterly friendly and willing to accept Srithik into his home. He felt protective and responsible towards him, as an older child, and raised his hand for attention. “Excuse me, Sir, but has something happened to Misha Hrelle?”

Timbrel turned to him and stepped closer, his hooves clacking on the floor and his long narrow snout tilted up. “Master Misha… did not return to the classroom as he should have. Instead, he wandered over to the Commissary and ate something which disagreed with him, and is currently recovering in the Hospital.” He looked around at the rest of the class, as others reacted. “He will be fine, and back in class tomorrow. But this incident stresses the importance of following the rules. They are there to protect you, because we want all of you to be safe-”

The lights went out. Children started reacting, making sounds of alarm, even as lights came to life above, and from the chemical reading lamp in the corner of the room.

“Everyone, stay calm,” Timbrel urged gently, moving to each child to set them back into their seats. “I am certain the power will return in a moment.”

Srithik rose too, aware of the unease from among the younger members of the class, and driven to assist. He had been in battle with his aunt T’Varik in space on the Surefoot, and was determined to pay back some of the compassion shown to him since leaving Vulcan. He moved to Abby Boone and Naida, Misha’s declared ‘girlfriends’. “Mr Timbrel is right, stay calm and remain in your seats.”

Then he noticed that the PADDs on everyone’s desks had gone blank too, and he frowned; they operated on independent power supplies, and shouldn’t have been affected by any power failure on the station.

Crimson columns of energy appeared in the corner of the room, as two Klingons appeared, looking fearsome in the reduced lighting as they stepped forward.

Children called out in fear, some rising and knocking over their chairs, and Srithik stepped in front of Abby and Naida, while Timbrel stepped between the class and the Klingons, calmly asking the latter, “May I assist you, Sirs?”

One Klingon regarded him with a sneer. “What manner of creature are you?”

“If you wish to learn about my race, please take some spare seats and I will enlighten you-”

“Where is the Klingon child?” the other Klingon demanded.

“There is no Klingon child among my class.”

“You lie! We detected these children here! The little bastard must be among them!”

“I do not lie, Sir. And I must ask that you refrain from profane language, and leave. You are frightening the class.”

The second Klingon laughed harshly. “We will do more than that, when we cut off your head and mount it on the wall as a new lesson for them!” 

The equinoid held out his arms, his three-fingered hands extended. “I give you my word there is no Klingon child here. I must respectfully ask once more that you leave now. Station Security will be here momentarily to confront you, and I do not wish the children to see acts of violence-”

“Kill him already, Oklang,” the first one urged.

The second one drew an elaborate blade, one which extended smaller blades at the hilt at the touch of a button, before he rushed at Timbrel.

The children cried out, though Srithik remained silent, watchful. He had studied martial arts in school on Vulcan, had even taken a few lessons from his two Aunts while on the Surefoot. He was older than the others. He needed to show he could contribute. It was logical.

Yes.

But logic failed to make his legs move as he watched the second Klingon attack Timbrel, the gentle equinoid… easily throwing the Klingon over his shoulder to land hard on the classroom floor.

The first Klingon drew his own knife and charged now, but Timbrel was able to easily block and parry the strikes the Klingon made despite being unarmed.

But then the second Klingon rose and attacked from behind.

And Srithik’s legs still didn’t work. This wasn’t logical. There was something wrong with him. That was the only rational explanation. He was ill.

At the head of the class, Timbrel dodged a strike from one of his opponents, allowing him to pick up a heavy chair and swing it up and over the head of the second Klingon, bringing it down hard on him, and leaving Timbrel to jab at the first Klingon’s throat, making him stagger back and drop his knife, as Timbrel finished him off with a vicious kick of his hoof into the Klingon’s abdomen, doubling him over.

Immediately Timbrel stepped back, offering to his opponents, “I am sorry.” Then he turned and drew up to the children in the back. “We are leaving for the Evacuation Point in the Park. Please take hands and form a chain, do not let go, and follow me.” He looked at Srithik. “Are you hurt, Master Srithik?”

Srithik was about to answer in the affirmative, when his body found it could in fact move again for some reason, taking Abby’s hand as instructed, but he did ask, “Should you not retrieve their weapons for your own use, Sir?”

Timbrel glanced back. “I have no need or taste for them… as I have proven. My priority is get all of you to safety - no, Charles, leave the ball and take Oxa’s hand, please - now, everyone come along.” He saw the Klingons beginning to stir. “Hurry, please.”

*

Deck 1 - Officers’ Quarters:

Professor Tallus had been sitting at her table, examining a shard of pottery from Axyllus, protecting it within a sterile force field and only handling it with antigrav gloves, trying to focus. But she couldn’t keep from smiling to herself as she listened to Sreen Hrelle, sitting nearby in the playpen with Tallus’ grandson Jaxan, the Caitian babbling away telling some story, broken periodically with made-up songs, while Jaxan sat entranced, occasionally clapping his tiny hands.

I should sell tickets, Tallus thought to herself, the Roylan academic happy to help out the Hrelles… especially as she was already minding Jaxan, too young to go to the station school with his older sister Naida. But Tallus really had to have a talk with that son of hers; Weynik needed to settle down and find a mate. A part of her wondered if he still hadn’t let go of the memories of his late wife Fala-

Something from outside the window caught her eye, and she looked behind in time to see a vessel of Klingon design decloak, with white glowing projectors on the wingtips. Seconds later, the lights went out.

So did the force field and antigrav gloves protecting the Axyllan pottery. It dropped unceremoniously to the table, the ancient clay shattering.

Great.

“Oooh,” Sreen cooed. “Seepy Time! Lights out!”

Jaxan looked up. “Gamma?”

Tallus rose to her feet, the loss of the artefact forgotten as she stared out at the Klingon ship. She had tangled with more than a few of them during previous expeditions, and she knew that this power loss was obviously tied into it.

Transporter beams appeared in her living room, and she rose to her feet, stepping between the intruders and the infants as she took in the new arrivals: Klingon males, armoured, carrying their bat’leths in one hand as they approached, one of them looking down at the diminutive Roylan… and laughing. “What are you? Some house elf?”

“Hab SoSlI’ Quch,” she replied calmly, studying the men, the surrounding furniture, calculating the best way to bring them down, take their weapons or get to her own swords on the wall display, and get the children out.

Her curse made the Klingons stop laughing., the other one sneering, “You talk big. The only big thing about you!”

“Oooh, a joke about my size. Never heard that before. What are you doing here?”

The Klingons looked past her to the children. “We detected children in this room. Is one of them Klingon?”

“No.”

One of the Klingons made a sound and tried to walk around Tallus to draw closer for himself.

Tallus struck him in the side of his leg with her foot, her Heavyworlder muscle mass driving a crippling blow, while she turned to the other. “So tell me, what do you plan to do with this Klingon child you’re looking for?”

The other Klingon looked down at his companion that she had disabled with seeming ease, but then quickly recovered, “The House of Uklass has lost honour because of the existence of a HabwI' half-breed and its mother!”

Tallus nodded in comprehension. “Ahh, so they seek Karo’kar from the mother and child?”

He reacted, eyes wide. “You do understand…”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Then she drove her fist into his groin.

The other Klingon doubled over in agony, as she leapt on top of him, reaching under the collar of his armour to press at selected nerve endings, making him shudder as if electrocuted, before passing out.

Then the Professor climbed off of him. “But you’re not murdering any mother and child on my watch.”

In the playpen, the children clapped with delight at the display.

She offered her audience a bow, before seeking out some extra-strong climbing ropes to tie up the Klingons, and then deciding on her next course of action.

*

Deck 5 - Academy Dining Hall:

“Move,” Kalong ordered the old Vulcan before him.

It should have been an easy, straightforward task. Once the Uklass ships activated the Deadlock Field around the station, Kalong and his fellows were beamed onto the deck containing the Starfleet cadets. Then they herded the cadets into the dining hall, and kept them under control with disruptor rifles and awaited the signal. 

The Starfleet Academy brats were as typically meek and compliant - Klingon Academy cadets would have overwhelmed any invaders in seconds - but their leader, some bearded old Vulcan, seemed to be senile. He stood near the replicators, hands behind his back, staring at Kalong and replying loudly, “Ma-Klingon a mane, a itlhamile ka dithunya tša go šitiša.”

Nearby, Galtuk looked over at the exchange with annoyed amusement. “What is he babbling about?”

“How should I know? His Universal Translator must be malfunctioning.” Slower and louder now, Kalong pointed to the assembled captive cadets. “Move… over… there… you… old… bastard!”

“Ba re boloka mo, ma-Klingon a mangwe felotsoko seteišeneng,” the Vulcan replied, again loud and clear, staring straight at him.

Galtuk laughed. “Maybe he’s senile?”

Annoyed by his cousin’s reaction, Kalong shoved the tip of the disruptor rifle under the Vulcan’s chin. “Is he right, petaQ? Shall I end your misery now?”

“Rotogela go Operations, ba tsebiše ka boemo, adima thušo.”

Kalong pushed the weapon further into the Vulcan’s throat, snarling, “Three... Two…”

“Ah, my Universal Translator has finally reset.” The Vulcan stepped back. “I am Commander Haluk, in charge of these cadets. Please excuse the temporary malfunction, I can understand you now. I will sit with the others.” Then he stepped around Kalong and joined the rest.

Kalong sneered at his departure… taking no notice of the vent that had been directly behind where Haluk had stood, or the fact that the panel had been hastily replaced as the Klingons had beamed in.

*

On the other side, in a Jefferies Tube, Cadets C’Riir and Gela sat on either side of the equipment kit they were using as part of Commander Haluk’s punishment on them. Gela shook his head, his voice low. “What was that all about? Why was Haluk babbling?”

“He wasn’t,” C’Riir replied soberly. “He was speaking in Old Caitian. I never knew he understood it.”

“Then why didn’t his UT automatically translate it?”

The Caitian looked at him. “I heard a rumour that Professor S’Li, the Caitian who helped develop the modern Universal Translator over fifty years ago, put a secret algorithm in the matrices that prevents Old Caitian from being translated or stored, so our people could use it in emergencies-” He shook his head. “Look, never mind that! Commander Haluk knew we were still back here! He was sending me secret messages!”

“What was he telling you?”

He looked at his friend. “‘Four Klingons, armed with bat’leths… They are keeping us here, other Klingons elsewhere on station… Ascend to Operations, inform them of the situation, lend assistance.’”

The Ferengi gasped. “Klingons! What in Debt’s name are they doing here?”

C’Riir raised a shushing finger to his snout. “Get moving, we have our orders!”

“Who put you in charge, Furball?”

“Haluk, when he spoke to me in my own people’s language!”

“Only because Ferenginese is too complex for most hyoomanoids!”

“What’s complex about it? 95% of it is just versions of ‘No Refunds’.” He smacked his friend across one of his ears. “Get moving, or I’ll climb up ahead of you, and you get to stare at my ass and feel my tail in your face all the way up!”

Gela sneered in disgust and started crawling.

*

Deck 12 - Hangar Bay:

Sternhagen sat on the floor of the huge enclosure, the cold reaching her ass even through the insulated material of her Starfleet uniform, a discomfort seemingly not shared by her fellow captives: Station Chief David Sakai, currently seemingly distracted by making his fingers move and tap each other in seemingly random sequences, and the Engineering crew, a mix of Starfleet and the Paserak refugees Hrelle found living here when they reopened for business.

While around them, Klingons with bat’leths and blades milled about, growling and menacing. Sternhagen watched them, some of them focusing on the Ulyanov, dominating the centre of the Bay, empty for safety reasons, the crew billeted on the upper decks of the station.

It seemed like hours since the power went out everywhere, and the emergency chemical lights came to life just in time for a dozen armed Klingons to appear, with none of the Starfleet hand phasers or combadges working. Their captors remained silent, unless someone tried to rise or speak up.

“Enough of this crap,” she muttered, raising her voice now. “Hey, Shithead!”

One of the Klingons emerging from the Station Chief’s Office with a scavenged bottle of Saurian brandy stopped and growled menacingly in her direction.

“Oh, so you know your name,” she continued, undeterred. “You must be one of the top-of-the-line models. Clearly you prodigies haven’t read the Handbook.”

The Klingon approached, drinking from the curve-necked bottle and wiping his mouth on his sleeve before demanding, “What are you talking about, Hag?”

She leaned back against the Bay wall behind her. “The Bad Guys’ Handbook. When you take the Good Guys prisoner, you’re supposed to taunt them by telling them your plans. You’re really beginning to disappoint me.”

He sneered at her. “Typical human arrogance: assuming you’re the ‘Good Guys’ here.”

“Oh? Why don’t you prove me wrong and tell us what it’s all about?”

He raised his rifle in her direction. “I have a better idea: why don’t you shut your Hag’s mouth, before we order you and a few more of you out into space?” He glanced at Sakai, who continued to play with his fingers, as were the Paserak nearby. “What are they doing?”

“Them? Meditative exercise taught by our Counselors, to help relieve stress and anxiety. Personally, I prefer bashing in the brains of Klingons. Wanna help me out? Bet you don’t use yours much.”

The Klingon laughed and walked away, declaring over his shoulder, “You have gall, Hag, I’ll give you that. We admire gall.”

She offered his back her middle finger before turning to Sakai, her voice low now. “Well?”

He continued to manipulate his fingers, but looked ahead at the Paserak sitting opposite - in particular their young leader, Turikana Benjo, who was gesturing quickly. “The Paserak think they’re using a duonetic-type dampening field, affecting power, communications, weapons, the works.”

“Thanks. I figured all that out myself.” Sternhagen had known of the Paserak for years, of course, having served on the station and in this sector, but had always been wary of their motives, despite Hrelle’s assurances. That a pack of them had snuck onboard the station when it was shut down and had been living here all along didn’t put her at ease. The revelation that they also employed a sign language amongst themselves to covertly communicate in the presence of outsiders was the cherry on top.

Sakai, on the other hand, had embraced their presence, their expertise… and evidently, their secret sign language. “Any idea why they’re here?”

“Not yet.”

“Any idea what we can do to take back control?” 

“Not yet.”

She looked up at the Ulyanov, which was also affected by the dampening field, and had a skeleton crew trapped inside. But it was locked up, and none of them could make it inside before being shot. 

And then there was the issue of the life support being down while under the influence of the field; while the existing oxygen would last for some time, the temperature, especially in the Hangar Bay, would quickly drop… not a good state for reptoids like the Paserak, or for those with old bones like Sakai and herself.

They had a duty to do something, no matter how desperate. She could only hope that before it came down to that, Hrelle was somewhere, fully aware of the situation and already halfway to solving it.

*

Deck 3 - Hospital:

Kami had been in the midst of offering her reassurances when the lights went out, leaving them in darkness, though the Caitians’ vision compensated. Hrelle rose to his feet immediately and tapped his combadge. “Hrelle to Ops: what’s happening? Ops? Anyone?”

Beside him, Kami and then Blum and Masterson tried their own, just as the emergency chemical lights came to life, and Hrelle turned to peer through the conference room windows at the rest of the Hospital, as confused staff turned to see a half-dozen crimson transporter columns drop Klingons into their midst.

And begin striking out with their bat’leths.

In the main room, Eydiir turned to see the Klingons emerge, knocking over tables and trays as they moved in all directions towards the Security crewmen, who were drawing their phasers and trying - and failing - to fire. In response, the Klingons attacked, stabbing and slashing. One of them looked at her. “Run away, woman! You cannot hope to stand against a Klingon warr-”

She never let him finish, as she reached inside her nurse’s smock, drawing out her kligat, her crescent-shaped Capellan throwing blade, and flung it at him, one end striking his right temple and sending him falling, even as Eydiir reached him to finish him off and retrieve the blade.

“I see them!” another Klingon cried out over an old-fashioned communicator. “Lord Uklass, they are in the Hospital! Join us!”

Eydiir flung her blade at him now, before she was tackled from behind. She twisted around underneath her attacker, trying to strike upwards, but she had little purchase. Her attacker snarled from above as he raised a three pronged dagger-

A roar distracted him, and a second later, a heavy body slammed into him, removing him from Eydiir. She rose in time to see Commodore Hrelle force the dagger from the Klingon’s hand - by breaking both - before slamming his head against the floor. “Get everyone into the Post-Op Ward and barricade yourselves!”

She rose, even as more transporter columns glowed with the promise of reinforcements from the enemy. Captain Blum and Kami emerged from the Conference Room and charged into the fray beside Hrelle, as Eydiir retreated, guiding the medical staff further back into the depths of this part of the Hospital.

Hrelle resisted the urge to tell his wife off for joining the fight - Caitians equalled Klingons for strength, and surpassed them in speed and agility, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be – as he focused on the new arrivals, picking out the obvious leader: grey-maned, scarred, his House decorations on his armour marking him as the Head, Uklass. 

Hrelle turned and roared at them, startling them enough to distract them before they attacked, before bellowing, “STOP THIS! NOW!”

Uklass glared past them to Jiyajh and her partner and child, baring jagged teeth as he snarled, “This is not your fight, Commodore. Stand aside.”

He glanced at his fallen crewmen, seeing them rising, holding their wounds but still mobile, before he studied the new arrivals; Uklass had two Klingons flanking him closely, their scents similar enough to suggest to Hrelle close blood relations… but one appeared less… eager… than the other to be there. “That’s not happening. Drop your weapons and surrender.”

“Klingons do not surrender!” the Klingon on Uklass’ left declared. “Stand aside, petaQs, or you will fall before our might, too!”

“Rein it in, pal,” Blum warned. “No one’s falling anywhere today but your side!”

“This is an internal Klingon matter, Starfleet,” Uklass growled.

“It stopped being an internal Klingon matter the moment Dr Jiyajh and her family left Klingon space,” Kami suddenly interrupted, her scent reeking of a tension greater than Hrelle expected, even given the situation. Then she added, in Old Caitian, “Esek, Misha is crawling towards them, getting closer.”

Hrelle tensed, trying not to be caught looking past the Klingons… and confirmed what his wife had secretly told him: Misha was under the nearby biobeds, eyes fixed on the invaders, and trying to sneak closer, thinking he had to join in on the fight, not knowing the danger he was putting himself in, if the Klingons discovered him. And Kami and he couldn’t warn him.

Mother’s Cubs… “Lord Uklass, there is no need to fight. There is no need for anyone to fight. Dr Jiyajh and her partner and child have left the Klingon Empire, and they’re not likely to ever come back. That must surely satisfy any sense of lost honour-”

“Then clearly you don’t understand what this means to us,” Uklass responded, pointing past Hrelle. “They have cast an unforgivable slur upon our family’s honour. Only their deaths will balance the scales!”

Behind them, in the darkness, Misha was slowly crawling closer. Like it was some damn game. Stop, Son of Mine, please, please, please-

*

Deck R2 - Command Centre:

Zir lifted up a spare chair as she charged headlong against the arriving Klingons, while Salvo grabbed a pole holding the Federation flag, each woman silently choosing opponents closer to them.

Zir set aside her instinctive urge to give in to her fears and withdraw, her training taking over as she tightened her grip on the back of the chair, using its legs to counter and trap the curved edge of one of her opponent’s bat’leths, letting her twist it to one side while she drove her boot into the groin of its owner.

Her second opponent snarled and charged, swinging up his own bat’leth in a high vertical - and dramatic-looking - arc. She dodged, letting the tip of the bat’leth come down and strike the carpeted floor with a sharp screech of protest as the tip of the weapon broke. Then she released her hold on the chair to pull a dagger from the sheath on her second opponent, slamming into him as she stabbed him repeatedly in the side, feeling the jagged blade pierce the vulnerable area below the Klingon’s rib cage.

Her other opponent had recovered, and was pursuing her again, and she shoved her first opponent down as she adopted a defensive posture, stepping back and around, letting the Klingon swing out wildly, again and again, his beady eyes bright and angry. “Stand still, you coward!”

And let you gut me like a fish? No thanks, Asshole. Zir kept moving, kept letting him wear himself down - You can control a fight without delivering a single blow, as Commodore Hrelle had once taught her - while she looked over at Salvo, wondering if she needed help with her three opponents.

No. Definitely not. One of them was already on the floor, bleeding out, while she used the flagpole and flag like it had been designed as a weapon all along, distracting and blocking the view with the flag while blocking bat’leth blows and striking back with the pole.

One of her Klingons cut the pole in half - but that only gave the Nova Roman two weapons now, Salvo immediately compensating and roaring with triumph like her opponents as she quickened her attack, clearly in her element.

Zir’s attention returned to her own fight as the remaining Klingon drove at her, slamming her into a wall, pressing his armoured forearm into her throat. He was tall, and strong, and had breath like a mugato’s armpit, but she focused on what she could use against him- then she focused on not passing out-

Something struck the Klingon from behind, and he dropped to his knees, letting Zir reach down below his collar and find his supraclavian artery, pinching it until he struggled and dropped completely.

Then she looked up at Ajik, standing there with a dynospanner in his hand, looking stunned at what he had done.

But she had no time to thank him, focusing on Salvo, who had brought down her final opponent - and was raising one of the poles, ready to impale him with the jagged end.

“NO!”

The Nova Roman froze - but glared up at the Orion. “Stay out of this!”

“They’re disabled, disarmed! We can lock them in a spare office until we regain control! There’s no need to kill them!”

“They’ve invaded, attacked us! Stay out of this!” She raised the pole again.

Zir stabbed a finger at her, her blood feeling like it was boiling. “As Acting Commander I’m ordering you to stand down and secure them, not kill them!”

Salvo gritted her teeth, looked ready to defy Zir… before stepping back, quickly gathering the fallen Klingon weapons. “Schlesinger! Konicek! Clear out the furniture in that little office by the Head! Santana! Pick up a bat’leth, you’re on guard duty now!” Then she looked back in Zir’s direction. “I swore an oath to obey my superiors… even you. So, what are your other orders, Lieutenant?”

Zir started. Typical; how can Salvo manage to set her up and then trip her up at the same time? Then Zir recalled some other words of wisdom from Commodore Hrelle: ‘Your people know their jobs. Don’t be a Kirk and micromanage, you’ll only get ulcers.’ “What’s your recommendation, Lieutenant?”

Salvo reacted now, before straightening up. “I can take the vertical shaft straight down to Security on Deck 7, get reinforcements and ballistic weapons, secure essential sections until you and the Gearheads get auxiliary power going.” As the Klingons were moved into the office, she handed the confiscated blades to the Operations crew. “When the power returns, focus on sending out a distress signal and activating the weapons.”

“Lieutenants!” It was Ajik, who had discarded his dynospanner for what appeared to be Klingon communicators taken from the prisoners. “These are short-range units operate on simpler technology not affected by the dampening fields! I might be able to adapt them for our use!”

Zir nodded. “Do it, then give one to Lt Salvo, she can stay in contact with us when she heads for Deck 7-”

Suddenly, the nearby Jefferies Tube hatch began unlatching.

Immediately Zir and Salvo grabbed blades and rushed up to it, raising them as the hatch dropped away-

-Revealing a pair of cadets, a Caitian and Ferengi male, looking up in shock.

Then the Ferengi pointed to the Caitian. “He made me come up here!”

*

Deck 4 - Park:

The reptoid sat on the rock and held the holoprojector up in his clawed hands, bringing the image of several huge starships, moving through space before the eyes of the schoolchildren, and people from other parts of the deck who had gathered in the Park following the lockdown. “Sirizo’s people are called the Paserak. We have lived in this sector since the dawn of time, though we claim no world, no star, as our own… for we believe no one can…”

The children, and Professor Tallus, sitting there with the infants in her care, all appeared rapt by the presentation… except Srithik, who stood back, as if distracted by the memorial plaque on the wall for those who had died during the Bel-Zon raid on the station in 2362.

Timbrel approached him from behind. “Master Srithik, are you worried about the Klingons coming back? We have barricaded the entrance.”

“No, Sir. I am Vulcan, I do not worry. However, I do regret.”

“And what is it you regret?”

He turned away. “Much. I knew that Master Misha had some mischief planned, but said nothing, as I am a guest with his family and did not feel comfortable getting him in trouble, and because of my inaction, he ended up requiring medical care.

And I wanted to assist you in fighting the Klingons, but did nothing, because... because I was afraid... and once again because of my inaction, you could have ended up also requiring medical care, or worse. I have failed in my responsibilities since arriving here, to the Hrelles and to you-”

“Master Srithik.”

The tone in the use of his name compelled Srithik to turn and face Timbrel, who stood formally, with his hands behind his back, his long narrow muzzle raised up. “Master Srithik, I cannot speak for the Hrelles, but speaking for myself, I can confirm that I did not require nor ask for your assistance. On the contrary, had you participated, you could conceivably have distracted me and caused me to be injured, or worse. You did nothing wrong, I can assure you.

Now, please join the other children and learn more about the Paserak; they are a prominent race in this Sector, so knowledge about them will prove useful to you during your time here.”

The Vulcan nodded, unconvinced, but determined not to argue any further.

*

Deck 12 - Hangar Bay:

Sternhagen sat there, watching the Klingons continue to move back and forth around their captives, and she tapped her fingers together in thought, until Sakai nudged her. “The Paserak are gonna think you’re swearing at them in sign language.”

“A duonetic-based field disrupts subspace scanners, communications, energy weapons, power cells,” she replied in a mutter. “It should also disrupt transporter beam locks. I think that they beamed these jokers in before the full disruptive effects could take hold, and now they’re stuck here like the rest of us until they switch off the field and beam them away.”

The older Asian man nodded, still watching the Klingons. “And the threat to beam us into space if we didn’t behave was just a bluff to keep us in line. But how are we going to test it?”

“I have an idea... Signal to the others to stand ready.” She abruptly helped herself back to her feet, shaking off Sakai’s hand to stop her. As the senior officer present, it was up to her to… well, to probably get herself killed.

The Klingon leader turned to her. “Sit down, Hag.”

“Go to Hell.” She rolled her neck and cracked her fingers, working the kinks in her muscles from sitting for so long. “I’m done letting you and the rest of these rubber-spined, knuckle-dragging shaved apes waste my time.” Now she beckoned to him. “Come on, let’s dance.”

The Klingon looked to his fellows… and bellowed with derisive laughter. “Has senility finally caught up with you, Hag?”

She shook her head. “Not yet, I can still recognise a shithead when I see one.”

Now his laughter burned away, as he lifted his bat’leth higher in her direction. “You no longer amuse me, Hag.”

“Well, if you’re still out for a laugh, have a look in the mirror… or down the front of your underpants. I’d tell you to go screw yourself, but I’m pretty sure you’d end up disappointed. Still, maybe you should go ahead and try it, the only other chance you’ll ever have of getting laid is to crawl up a bird’s ass and wait.”

The Klingon snarled, raising his weapon higher, his beady eyes flaring. “Are you looking to be beamed into space, Hag?”

“Not really... but then I think that threat is about as weak and flaccid as the rest of you. I think you’re stuck here with the rest of us until your tribble-loving buddies back on your ships switch off their little dampening field. Am I right, Chuckles?”

He reacted... and she saw something in his eyes, something past his bellowing command, “No! Now sit down or you will die!”

She stepped forward, memories of unarmed combat lessons from decades ago fighting with her body protesting over the sheer insanity of this course of action. “Make me, you brainless petaQ. Come on, you miserable, honourless coward! COME ON!”

He roared.

But never reached for his communicator, instead swinging out with his bat’leth.

Sternhagen twisted, but couldn’t entirely avoid a pointed end of his weapon catching the side of her head. She went down, covering her face as she hit the floor of the Hangar Bay - but remained conscious enough to hear the rush of Paserak and Starfleet personnel, rising up as one and attacking the Klingons.

She felt someone grab her, drag her back and turn her over, as Sakai looked down at her, examining her temple. “Why would you do that? It should have been me, or one of the younger officers-”

Her head wrung like the bells of a thousand cathedrals, and she felt blood seeping down from her wound, but she shook off his touch. “Get to work on the distress beacon! And help to get the Ulyanov opened up, they’ll have Security cells, ballistic weapons-” She winced. “And some painkillers.”

*

Deck 3 - Hospital:

Hrelle tried to stay focused. This had to end, end now, before more were hurt… especially his brave, idiotic son. “Lord Uklass, I cannot believe that your family can only regain their perceived loss of honour through the murder of your own daughter and grandson. What about naDHa’garh? Renunciation of an individual’s connection to a House?”

Uklass bared jagged, stained teeth, reacting to Hrelle’s reference. “My treacherous daughter’s actions have gone far beyond such measures!” He looked past the line of Starfleet to Jiyajh, shouting, “You publicly shamed us! No Klingon would accept any other path to regain their tarnished honour!”

“Liar,” Kami replied.

Uklass and his fellows looked to the Counselor, taut fury in his gaze. “What did you call me, Starfleet?”

She remained in a defensive posture. “I called you a liar. And I stand by my words. Klingon Honour is not One Size Fits All; it’s always been relative, interpreted differently. Some Klingons believe there is no honour in taking prisoners, others disagree. Some believe there is no honour in attacking an enemy while cloaked, others disagree. Once, no self-respecting Klingon would have believed the Empire would ally with the Federation, that it would bring irremovable dishonour to your people.

I’ve worked with many Klingons, fought alongside them, even earned the Star of Lukara from the Klingon High Command. And none of those Klingons would agree with your interpretation of how to reclaim your alleged lost honour.” She glanced at the other Klingons. “And I can see that there are some among you now who do not support you.”

Uklass started, glancing on either side of him, as if expecting an attack. “You are the liar here! My family, our allies, are unquestionably loyal to my command!”

But even as Uklass made his declaration, Hrelle could see, and could scent the increased hesitation in the Klingon, the other son, on Uklass’ left. “Are you sure about that?” Behind the Klingons, Misha was crawling closer. Stop, Son of Mine, please… “Uklass… Jiyajh is your daughter. She always was, always will be.

There is nothing our cubs can do that can ever change that…. nothing. My son did something bad today, something he is going to be punished for. But if he was putting himself in danger, I would still say to him, ‘Misha, stay exactly where you are, do not move, do not do anything!’”

Uklass looked back with bemusement, letting Kami take over to distract the Klingon further. “We’re at a stalemate here, Lord Uklass. But you can still salvage honour from this, and without anyone having to die! Renounce the Karo’kar.”

The Klingon leader glared at her. “Stalemate, Caitian? I think not. I can simply leave and order my ships to blow this station to atoms. Then Karo’kar will be satisfied.”

Hrelle grunted. “Who’s still lying? It has to be by blade, and by your hand, to make it official and above board... and of course honourable. Besides, I don’t think you really want to kill anyone else here; you’ve been pretty careful all along. Maybe it’s out of genuine decency… or just fear of reprisal from Starfleet. 

Whatever the case, Uklass, it’s a start. And we can build on that-”

“Father.”

Uklass, Hrelle and others turned to see Jiyajh drawing closer, shaking off Talbok’s hand as she continued to cradle her child in her arms, focusing on her father. “Father… I’m sorry. I’m not sorry for the decisions I took, for the heart I gave to the man who became my husband… and especially not for this life I conceived. But I am sorry that my decisions clashed with your plans for me, for the House-”

“‘Clashed’? You ruined us! Disgraced us in front of all the Great Houses by whoring yourself to a HabwI’ and bearing his mongrel child!”

Now Talbok entered from the office, standing protectively beside Jiyajh and their child. “My wife is no whore, Uklass, and my child is no mongrel… and I am as strong and as brave as any of you. You would do well not to repeat such insults.”

“DenIb Qatlh!” spat the Klingon on Uklass’ right.

“Stay out of this, Tinzakho!” Jiyajh snapped, returning to her father. “This bigotry towards the HabwI’ Klingons is the true dishonour here! Many of the bravest, most respected Klingons have at one time been HabwI’ ! Even Dahar Masters like Kang, Kor, Koloth! It is our heart that makes us Klingon, our fire! Not what we look like on the outside!”

She shifted in place, to let him see their child. “Khurst has your ridges.”

The name made Uklass start. “You named him after your grandfather?”

She nodded. “The finest of our House. I was as moved by the stories of his valour against the Romulans and the Tholians as my brothers were. I wanted to honour him.”

Uklass’ expression softened… just a little… as he regarded the infant, and his voice grew almost - almost - apologetic. “This... This was all my fault.”

The declaration made her start. “Yours?”

He nodded, still staring at Khurst. “I never gave you the attention I gave your brothers. You were small, quiet, passive, content to remain in the background, never fighting to be seen or heard. I let you do whatever you wanted… study medicine, go off world. I should have had a tighter rein on you.”

Jiyajh made a sound, looking to her brothers. “I may not have been as loud and strident as Narrom or Tinzakho, Father, but I was no less resolute than them. I chose my own path, and would have bit through whatever rein you might have tried to fit on me.”

Uklass looked ready to argue, but then thought better of it.

“Sometimes,” Hrelle interjected softly. “The Universe Has Other Plans for us. And we’re driven by a need to find what we think is order, justice, vengeance… honour. But that doesn’t mean the path we find ourselves on is the right one.”

“Lord Uklass,” Kami added softly now. “Honour can be gained and regained in many ways. It doesn’t have to be painted with shed blood, but just with the knowledge that you could shed blood. There is power and strength and especially honour in mercy, too.”

“Why are you listening to these infidels, Father?” Tinzakho demanded on his right. “Let us take them! Finish them off now before more Starfleet arrive!”

Uklass tightened… still staring at his grandson. “I have publicly declared Karo’kar. To turn back now, to add defeat to dishonour-”

Hrelle pointed to Jiyajh and Khurst. “Can you honestly tell me you are willing to take your blade and end the lives of a mother and child? Your own kin?”

Uklass continued to stare. Before declaring in a low murmur, “No. There isn’t. Daughter, I-”

“NO!” 

Tinzakho drew up to Uklass, seemingly punching his father in the back. Hrelle heard the sound of sharp metal piercing armour and flesh, however, saw the expression on the older Klingon’s face, and knew better.

Chaos erupted.

“Father!” Jiyajh cried out, even as Masterson was pulling her and her child back, and Talbok joined Hrelle and Starfleet in the fight.

Tinzakho grabbed Uklass and threw him towards Narrom. “ATTACK!”

The other Klingons launched themselves again at Hrelle, Kami, Blum and the wounded Security crewmen.

“Mama!” Misha crawled out from under a biobed to join in the fight-

-Only to be caught by Eydiir, appearing and easily holding the struggling cub as she drew him out of the conflict.

Thank you, Daughter of Kaas, Hrelle thought, letting him focus on the Klingon who attacked him, Tinzakho: young, strong, driven to collect his pound of flesh, and wielding a blade still stained with the blood of his father, driving Hrelle back against a wall, bringing it up to Hrelle’s throat, the tip piercing furred flesh-

A body tackled Tinzakho to the floor: his brother Narrom, driving his own knife down into the other’s chest, as the lights suddenly came back to life...

*

Outside the station, the four Klingon ships broke their formation, as a Sabre-class vessel popped out of warp, phasers striking one of the Klingon ship’s port nacelle and sending it spinning.

The other ships drew back and regrouped to counterattack, even as the Hangar Bay doors of Salem One parted and the Ulyanov emerged to join her sister ship.

Then the first Sabre broadcast a message: “This is Captain Weynik of the USS Katana. You outnumber the Ulyanov and us, but reinforcements are on their way, and we’re tough enough to hold out until they arrive… or until the station reactivates their own weapons systems.

As your people say, ‘Only a fool fights in a burning house’.

Don’t make me burn yours down.”

*

Hrelle was lifting Uklass up onto a biobed and stepping back to let Masterson and his team work on the wounded Klingon, before checking on his wounded Security crew, just as Salvo and a fresh Security team entered, phasers drawn, the Nova Roman snarling, “Weapons down, hands in the air!”

“Stand by, Lieutenant.” Now he checked on his wife, who was holding Misha in her arms like a lifeline. Then he turned to Narrom, who stood with his sister and her husband and infant. “Thank you for your assistance against your brother… but you and the rest of your people are going to have to go to the Brig for now.”

Narrom glanced at Uklass, before nodding. “I understand, Commodore.”

As he joined Salvo and her team without resistance, the Klingon’s reaction prompted Hrelle to ask Masterson. “Will he live, Doc?”

The human never stopped his work. “Not sure yet, Commodore; Klingons have lots of redundant systems, but they also know their own vulnerable spots. Dr Jiyajh, would you care to assist?”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Without hesitation she handed over her son to his father and joined Masterson.

Hrelle took one look at the dead Klingons, now moved away and placed on biobeds nearby for the moment, the cold readings from the overhead sensors a grim confirmation of their status. What about the rest of your station, Esek? He tapped his combadge. “Operations: Report.”

“Lieutenant Dassene here, Sir. Klingons have been found and apprehended in Ops, the Hangar Bay, Cadets’ Dining Hall, the Children’s Class, and Professor Tallus’ Quarters. No fatalities or serious injuries reported. The Katana and the Ulyanov are covering the Klingon vessels, as are we, now with our weapons systems back online.”

“The Katana’s back?”

“Yes, Sir; apparently they were ferrying Commissioner Nam-Seon back from Marcos XII when they were contacted by Dr Kline, warning them about what might happen, and when Captain Weynik couldn’t reach us, he returned at top speed. All systems report Nominal, we’re running further Security sweeps.”

“Good work, Lieutenant, I’ll be right up. Hrelle out.”

Nearby, Salvo was surveying the Hospital. “She took command, fought like a warrior. She did well… for a plebeian, of course.”

Hrelle regarded his Chief of Security with a smirk. “Going soft on me, Lieutenant?”

“Ascendo tuum.”

Now he approached Kami and Misha, seeing his son’s head tucked deep into the crook of his mother’s neck, his arms around her. “I have to go. Will you two be alright?”

“Of course, this isn’t our first fight, and I’ll be needed here. Go on.”

He nodded, stroked Misha’s head and departed, already trying to sort out how he was going to resolve matters. It was going to be a diplomatic as well as a Security nightmare. Still, that was why they gave him the proverbial Big Money.

*

Zir was in the midst of collating a status report for Commodore Hrelle when her attention was drawn back to the two cadets, the Caitian and the Ferengi, who had made their way up in the Jefferies Tube. She had put them to guard the captured Klingons, but now that Security had arrived, they were standing there arguing with each other.

“We should report back to Commander Haluk, they don’t need us up here any longer.”

“Are you kidding, Furball? We’re here, in Ops! This is our chance to make names for ourselves! Rule of Acquisition Number 9: ‘Opportunity plus instinct equals profit’.”

“The last time we made a name for ourselves, we ended up cleaning vermin out of the Tubes! Come on, Big Ears, let’s just quit while we’re ahead and sneak out!”

“Hey!” she finally snapped, getting their attention. “You two Squabs can report back to Commander Haluk!”

The pair of them jumped like she had just phasered them, both responding simultaneously with, “Yes, Ma’am!”

Zir watched them scurry to the turbolifts, reluctantly adding, “You did good here; I’ll be sure to note your names in my report.”

The cadets looked to each other, both replying, “Thank you, Ma’am!”

The Orion shook her head and turned away - seeing Lt Ajik grinning at her, his wrinkled Bajoran nose creasing further. “What?”

He shrugged. “Do you remember being like that at that age?”

She blinked, recalling her cadet days: pulling all-night study sessions, or arguing with Astrid about the amount of beauty products she left around the shared bathroom, or worrying that her boots were polished enough to pass inspection. Stuff that seemed so important, at the time.

A lifetime ago, it felt like. “Too long ago. You want to go for a drink after all this?”

*

Sternhagen sat in the Hangar Chief’s Office, feet up on the desk, cradling her temple as she called out through the open doorway, “And I want that area cleaned of the Klingon blood! The Ulyanov has to get back in here to finish the work on it once the Klingon ships are locked down!”

Sakai appeared at the doorway, looking both concerned and amused. “Captain, go to the Hospital. Get that head wound checked out, you probably have a concussion.”

“Oh, and you’re a doctor now, Chief?” She pointed through the transparent aluminium window. “Get that lazy pack of good-for-nothings to work! You get taken hostage and you think you get the rest of the day off? Not on my watch!”

*

Srithik heard the knock on his bedroom door, and almost chose to contrive being asleep and not available for visitors, before thinking better of it - it is not logical to delay the inevitable - and rising from his chair. “Enter.”

Kami slid the door open, the sepia-furred Caitian female’s tail swishing behind her as she stood and regarded him. “So, how long do Vulcans usually wallow?”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs Hrelle?”

She stepped inside, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. “Wallow. You’re familiar with the word?”

“Of course. But I do not understand the context here.”

“I mean to self-indulge in something, usually an emotion.”

He raised his narrow chin to her. “Vulcans do not-”

Then she raised a finger to cut him off. “Don’t even go there, Sweetheart. Let’s cut to the pounce, shall we? I’ve spoken with Gyver, he told me about what happened in the Classroom, and about how you felt guilty over letting Misha out unaccompanied and not joining in on fighting the Klingons who appeared.

You have no reason to feel guilty about either. Gyver was right about you not joining in on any fight… as for the other matter…” Now her finger beckoned to him. “Let’s get that sorted out.”

He followed her into the family’s living room, where Sreen was shuffling around the floor, her exoframe compensating for her Neurodystraxia, while Misha sat on the couch, refusing to look at her, still scowling from the lecture Srithik heard his mother give him for the actions which put him in the Hospital.

Kami scooped up Sreen before she could crawl under a nearby side table and pointed her to crawl in another direction, before facing Misha. “Cub of Mine, as your punishment and your father being busy means Game Night has been cancelled, I’m going to take the time to clear things up for all concerned.

Srithik is not a guest. He is Family.” 

She looked at the Vulcan. “Now, as I’m sure you’ve worked out already, Misha is a wonderful, charming, beautiful bundle of trouble. Now, a little trouble once in a while is not a bad thing. But Misha can take it to extremes… and when his parents and other authority figures are not present, he could use some mature guidance around him to keep him from taking it too far.”

Misha crossed his arms, still looking away. “Rude to talk about people like they’re not here!”

Kami ignored him, still focused on Srithik. “This does not mean we are taking you on as his nanny. I meant what I said when I said you were Family.” She paused to walk back to Sreen, who made a tiny roar of protest as her mother guided her away from taking over the kitchen. “And as family, though we have our own lives to lead, we also have responsibilities - to each other, to watch out for and care for each other.” 

She returned to Srithik. “And this will help you learn a few things along the way, too. Well, what do you think? Care to try?”

The Vulcan looked between the mother and son. “I have no experience as a sibling.”

“You’ll learn. And it’s not always about supervision and discipline, either.”

“I believe I understand, Mrs Hrelle. May I?”

She stepped back, smiling. “Be my guest.”

Srithik turned to Misha, who seemed like he was trying to bury himself in the plush cushions of the couch. “Misha, our teacher supplied me with your school PADD, and the lessons you missed while you were in Hospital. I propose that, as I have finished my homework and you have recovered, you and I can work on them together.”

Misha grunted.

Srithik raised an eyebrow. “And if you complete them correctly and in time, I would very much like to learn from you how to play Purr-Prowl-Pounce. I understand you are very proficient at it.”

The offer made the young Caitian turn and smile, his bronze eyes brightening.

*

Deck R1 - Commodore’s Office

A recovered Uklass and surviving son Narrom stood before Hrelle’s desk, Salvo and several Security crewmen on alert nearby, along with Jiyajh, Talbok and their child, and Commissioner Nam-Seon, newly returned, but letting Hrelle lead the meeting. “Lord Uklass, the Klingon Empire and the Federation have been allies for decades, fought valiantly beside each other during the War. But this incident can’t be ignored, or forgiven.

You invaded Federation space, attacked ships, our station, boarded, injured crew members and threatened civilians’ lives. Because this was not sanctioned by the Empire, it’ll be treated as a criminal matter. Can you confirm for the record that you agree to accept full responsibility for this incident, and are prepared to face Federation criminal proceedings?”

Uklass nodded, occasionally glancing over at Jiyajh. “I will not contest the charges, Commodore. I have already relinquished my authority over my House, and have passed it to Narrom.”

The younger Klingon nodded formally. “And as the new Head of our House, I can renounce the Karo’kar against my sister without our House losing further honour.” He looked at Jiyajh. “She, her child and partner will no longer be threatened.”

The Klingon doctor nodded. “We thank you for this, Father; if you will permit it, we will arrange to visit you, at wherever you end up incarcerated... or at least, send you recordings; I have obtained a holo-imager recently.”

Uklass nodded back, with emotion. “I will accept either, gladly. You, and your Klingon husband and son, are more than welcome.”

She nodded in gratitude at his concession, and then turned to Narrom. “And we thank you too, Brother, for saving Commodore Hrelle, and for freeing us from the fear of death. We know what this has cost. And will continue to cost our House, in honour and revenue.”

“We can’t help you with the former,” Hrelle admitted, capturing the attention again, “But we may do something about the latter. As I understand it, your House’s business is salvaging and refurbishing starships and support vessels. Well, we have Sabre Squadron One, but we need more civilian ships out here, sturdy, reliable support ships to increase trade and transport within the sector… and Klingon ships have always had a reputation for being sturdy and reliable.”

The Klingon males looked to each other, Narrom asking, “You would still make such an offer, after what has happened between us?”

“Enough blood has been spilt… and your father will continue to pay for this day. Bear that in mind in your new role, when you consider how to respond to the addition of your sister’s child and husband to your family. Honour is not some eternal, universal constant like the speed of light… and even that can be bent or circumvented under the right circumstances.”

He turned to Jiyajh. “Doctor, you’re more than welcome to remain under civilian contract as the Katana’s chief medical officer… and Mr Talbok, we could do with another teacher on Salem One, and provide you and your son with permanent accommodation. With our station as the Katana’s permanent base of operations, Jiyajh will be back frequently… and you’ll all still be under our protection, should anyone else wish to come along and start trouble.” 

Talbok and Jiyajh exchanged meaningful glances, Talbok responding with, “I would be honoured, Commodore. And I swear to protect the children under my supervision with my life.” 

“I’ll be satisfied if you can keep my son under control. My Station Chief will make all the arrangements with you for billeting, personnel assignment and so forth. Dismissed… Commissioner, would you wait behind, please?”

As the rest of the occupants filed out, Hrelle turned to the young Terran. “So, Commissioner, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Nam-Seon blinked. “How did you know I wanted to speak with you?”

“Decades of association with humans has left me attuned to more subtle inflections than most Caitians. Did something happen at the arraignment of the Zorin personnel at Marcos XII? Did they try to throw some corporate influence in court?”

“On the contrary; I think the likes of Bill Buford and his crew are being thrown to the proverbial wolves. But I did want to talk with you about Zorin Interstellar, however. The Federation Council has received a new number of applications for more projects in the Salem Sector from the company.”

“Projects?”

She nodded. “Among others, there’s a Colony Project Application for Nepenthe, a Mining Project Application for Scesity, and a Scientific Project Application to establish a Long Range Subspace Radio Telescope Array to study the Galactic Core.”

It was the last thing he expected to hear. He moved to the drinks cabinet. “Why would ZI want to invest in our Sector? And do we want their further involvement here, after what they allowed to happen on Ucarro Major?”

Nam-Seon crossed her arms. “Corporations rely on their public image, and will tend to overcompensate when that image is tarnished. As for their suitability to continue to invest here, I suspect they’ll be extra careful about their operations.”

He returned, with a tumbler in each paw. “Or extra secretive. Can’t we refuse them?”

“On what grounds? We need the commerce, the traffic, it’ll give us leverage to secure the sector, build on the infrastructure.” She accepted the tumbler, frowning at the contents. “Spican flame whiskey? It’s my favourite. Did you know?”

He smiled. “I asked around. And if Zorin is making investments here, I’m going to keep a sharp eye on everything they do.”

“Fair enough.” She sipped at her drink, nodding with approval. “Good age to it: my compliments, Commodore.” Then her expression sobered. “I’m still recalling when I was last in your office with your wife, examining the recordings of Max Zorin himself. Her assessment of him as a psychopath-”

“I remember.” Hrelle didn’t want to think about him, content to imagine Max Zorin too distant and busy to take Hrelle’s shutdown of his operations on Ucarro Major II personally.

*

Elsewhere:

The old Orion sat alone in the nameless bar, his thick green fingertips fighting his growing inebriation to maintain a hold on the bottle of Terran vodka he had purchased with the last of his latinum. 

The old Orion sat alone in the nameless bar, with no sense of time, of place, with no notion of where his next money would come from, or his next meal, or where he would be sleeping that night, or even if he would survive to finish this cheap piss that was passing itself off as alcohol.

The old Orion sat alone in the nameless bar, content to, well, if not live, then exist, because it was easier to do that than anything else. Even kill himself, a thought which always lingered nearby, like a bad smell-

“Good evening.”

The old Orion no longer sat alone in the nameless bar. His heavy-lidded eyes barely moved as he took in the new arrival sitting opposite him: a human male, older, bald, gaunt to the point of skeletal with an aquiline nose and dimpled chin, and clad in a plain black business suit. He folded thin fingers together and raised thin lips in an attempt at a cordial smile as he repeated, “Good evening.”

The old Orion who no longer sat alone in the nameless bar tried to echo the greeting, couldn’t remember how to speak, and instead responded with a raise of the vodka bottle up in salute.

The human regarded the remains in the bottle and turned slightly towards the bartender. “Another bottle for my friend here, please?” He paused and corrected, “On second thought, perhaps coffee, or something else sobering?” Now he smiled again. “Forgive my incivility. My name is Mr Kobayashi.”

The old Orion who no longer sat alone in the nameless bar tried to introduce himself, but decided to finish the bottle in his hands instead.

“That’s alright,” Kobayashi granted genially. “Your reputation precedes you: Surinh Dag, the former owner of one of the largest Deathmatch Rings on Orion Prime, watched by hundreds of millions in your Empire and beyond. You were as much a celebrity as your fighters. You had a palace. Slaves. Wealth beyond the dreams of avarice.

But that was a while ago, wasn’t it? Now you’re far from home, alone, destitute, eking out what passes for a living through freelance thuggery. And if there are erstwhile moments of lucidity, perhaps you wonder where it all went wrong for you… or more accurately, who took it all from you.

Allow me to answer that for you: Esek Hrelle, your greatest gladiator, the one who operated under the nom de guerre The Beast.”

The old Orion who no longer sat alone in the nameless bar reacted as if dropped into Lake Ngagum in the dead of winter. “Hrelle…”

Kobayashi nodded. “Yes, Hrelle. For years he was your most popular, most profitable possession. Then he tricked you, deceived you into believing his fighting career was over, and so you sold him to a Corvallen freighter, to aid in his eventual escape from slavery. 

With his absence, your popularity and profits dropped, you could no longer afford the protection money to the Syndicate, and they commenced a hostile takeover of your Ring.”

The old Orion who no longer sat alone in the nameless bar felt his sobriety resurface with every word from the human, with every emotion the memories of that time evoked. Esek Hrelle, the Beast, the Caitian Starfleet officer who had done so much for his master. Oh yes. He didn’t quite remember it working out the way Kobayashi described it, but also knew it had been an eternity ago.

Still, the bite that the recollection delivered felt fresh enough. He bared jewelled teeth as he repeated, “Hrelle.”

Kobayashi nodded again, sounding and appearing sympathetic. “How cruel the Fates can be. Here you are, while Hrelle has been promoted, decorated, remarried, and has returned to command the sector he once defended. 

Happy, content… and laughing at your misfortune, even as we speak.”

He leaned in closer. “Would you like to silence that laughter, while restoring your fortune? Would you like to be Surinh Dag once again?”

The old Orion who no longer sat alone in the nameless bar set aside the bottle, no longer interested in just existing. “How?”

Kobayashi gave him a cadaverous grin. “Let Zorin Interstellar help you...”

*

Elsewhere  still, a huge striped felinoid warrior sat cross-legged on the cold floor of his starship, lost in meditation, his gaze focused on the broadsword resting on scarlet Kzinti silk before him... and his mind focused on the Caitian that had returned to this part of the Galaxy after so long. The Caitian that had somehow defeated his people, time and again.

The Caitian whose head would be mounted in the trophy room of the warrior.

Soon. Quite soon...

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT UNIVERSE WILL CONTINUE IN…