“Douglas has made it through…moving away from the aperture.”  Ensign Gabriela Castillo wiped the sweat from her forehead as both ships drifted away from the opening to Underspace.  Suddenly, there was a rumble, and the bridge clattered from the impact.

Commander Thasaz reported from science, “The aperture has closed.  I’m not detecting the opening any longer, captain.”  She mourned the loss of the exploration that could have been had.  She torn.  The implications of Underspace in a universe full of bad actors were hard to ignore.  No love was lost with the Cardassians for her, yet she understood why they’d worked so hard to slam the door on everyone.  Power mattered to them, and control was second nature.

Walton hadn’t stood from her chair, “Report on the Douglas?”

Ensign Carolyn Crawford turned in her chair at engineering. “Shields are at 35% and holding. Their three bottom decks have buckled. There have been minimal injuries, and they’re reporting no fatalities.”  She smiled, “We made it safe and sound, captain.”

Walton still hadn’t stood, “Sound maybe.  We’re still in Klingon space, Ensign.  Safe will need verification.  Kondo – who’s coming to greet us?”

Lieutenant Kondo De La Fontaine’s threat screen had lit up within thirty seconds of their arrival.  “Five Bird of Preys are converging with two Vor’cha and one Negh’Var class.  They will intercept us within two minutes.  Their shields are up, and their weapons are fully armed.”

Commander Park wondered from her seat to the right of her CO, amused, “What no Bortasqu’ class?”

Walton side-eyed her, “They send that type of ship; we won’t live to see the hour.  Mr. Reede, send a message to the lead ship with our report on what’s happened.”  She turned to her left, “Commander Hargraves, it’s time to convince the Klingons we are not here to kill them, and they are not here to kill us.”

He stood from his chair, PADD in hand with the details he had worked out with Ensign Shaw on the Douglas.  He had to believe the Klingons would see reasons for their sudden appearance in their space with two modern and advanced starships with the power to inflict significant damage quickly.

Reede reported, “Lead ship is hailing us, sir.”

The screen flickered, and a middle-aged Klingon captain appeared.  “I am Captain J’Klast of the House of Koloth, Internal Security Division.  You are not supposed to be here, Captain.”  His face didn’t have anger in it.  Confusion, perhaps.  Annoyance?

“I’m Commander Charles Hargraves of the Federation starship Dragonfly – Chief Diplomatic Officer.  You’ve received our reports.”

J’Klast nodded half-interestedly, “Our science officer is inspecting them now.  I’d rather hear it from you.”

Charlie went with the truth, “We were trapped in Underspace…and this was our only safe way home.  Our other choices were the Devore…or the Romulan Free States.”

The Klingon Captain chuckled, “Those are all terrible choices indeed, Commander Hargraves.  You chose to come here, then?”

Wren stood from her chair, standing at the side of her chief diplomat, “Captain Wren Walton.  I’m honored to meet you, Captain J’Klast.  We’re here because we understand the Great House you serve is friendly to the Federation.  That we would find friends here.”

J’Klast leaned in, his eyes searching her face, “Captain Walton…you commanded the Mackenzie until very recently.”  She frowned, and he smiled as innocently as a Klingon could, “I keep track of ships I like.  Your predecessor was Captain Harris – he commanded the Edinburgh…which is how I came to know him.  We promised each other we’d meet again.”  The face of the Klingon captain flickered with a moment of reflection.  “I was saddened to hear of his passing.  He was one I looked forward to meeting again.”  He turned and accepted a device, read it, and tossed it back with a grunt, “Your story appears to…as you say, check out.  Given the state of the Empire, I’m recommending you stay with us until your other ship is well enough to travel…and we can make certain…arrangements to assure you safe passage home.”

Walton replied, “We’re honored by your actions, Captain J’Klast.”  He looked ready to close the channel but stopped.  Wren waited for him to speak, but he appeared to be in thought, unsure of what or how to ask what was on his mind.  She gave him a moment longer before asking, “In the spirit of cooperation – and to assist in whatever cover story you need to create…you would be welcome aboard the Dragonfly for a dinner and reception.  We’ve not had a chance to use the diplomatic facilities.”

He waved a finger at her, a growing smile on his lips, “You are a clever captain, Captain Walton.  I will bring several of my senior officers to dine with you and yours tonight.  Shall we, as you humans would say, bring anything?  Bloodwine?  Other spirits?”

Walton’s face went slack, and her voice flat, “No, Captain J’Klast.  No wine, no spirits…just yourself and your staff.”

He feigned insult, “Captain, you wound me.  You would accuse us of bringing liquids to ply and loosen your lips?”

Walton’s face remained unmoving, “Wasn’t an accusation, Captain.  Just a statement of fact.”

He laughed deeply, “You, I like.  I look forward to our dinner and discussions.  I shall bring our troupe of instrumentalists to help the evening’s party mood.”

The channel closed, and she turned to the bridge crew, “You heard the man.  Let’s plan a party.”