It had been a few minutes since thingamy and what’s-their-name had left. They had said their names but Kriana couldn’t remember them. Still whatever what’s-their-name had done with the dermal regenerator certainly helped. She could move much more freely now.

Kriana had spent a few minutes watching the unconscious Cardassian they had brought in. Teal uniform meant Science or Medical, Kriana knew that much. Other than that she didn’t recall ever serving the woman in the bar. One silver pip. Officer of some sort. Fearne had taken the time to educate her wife on these things. It had been boring. Kriana didn’t remember most of it. Watching this woman be unconscious was boring too. Positioning a couple of the luminescent drinks so the woman was lit enough to be seen from the bar, Kriana moved on over and started to sweep up the many large pieces of glass into a pan and put them in a convenient bin. Having no power they couldn’t be recycled straight away but it was something to do. With occasional looks back over towards her, the work was largely completed in a couple of clinky minutes. Kriana debated soaking up the alcohol pool with some towels but came to the surprisingly selfless (for her) conclusion that fresh towels might be needed for wounded people.

Kriana huffed as she sat down next to the Cardassian again. She was still breathing. Kriana figured there would be more people at the lounge, designated shelter and all, and supposed that they were probably stuck in other places thanks to the ship being dark. Kriana was an extrovert. She and Fearne could chatter on for hours. The silence in the bar was killing her. Kriana realised one of Fearne’s favourite metal songs was playing in her head. She had to admit it was a good song. She listened and bopped along with the music. It was something to do.

Stirring beside the distracted barkeep, the Cardassian Ensign tried to get her bearings with what little movement her body allowed. The room was noticeable thanks to its decor, allowing her to solve that mystery fairly easily. Why she was there though was another matter. Slowly and gently she reached out with her left hand until she placed it upon the young Klingon’s arm.

“Bah!” Kriana’s head snapped around and she jolted visibly with fright. “You scared me!” She said, her tone unclear as to whether this was informational or chastisement. “How are you feeling?” She asked. That was probably the right thing to do.

Words were not needed as she winced between movements. “Wha… what happened?” the Cardassian’s voice was low and pained, draping her hand over her torso to try and hold in the pain that threatened to explode from her chest.

“Uhhh…” Kriana started, unsure how to answer this, mostly because she had no idea what happened. “There was a big… jolt? I guess? And the lights went out. I guess something hit the ship? I dunno,” she offered, waving her hand a tad too casually. “Some guys brought you here. I think they went looking for a doctor for you.”

A jolt? Something caused a jolt that affected the ship’s systems. Something… Crap! It suddenly hit her what had happened. She’d just detected the likelihood of a solar flare, catastrophic in magnitude, when the star erupted far earlier than she’d predicted. In seconds, the ship had been impacted and all had gone dark. Now she found herself here, in significant pain and with only the bartender for company.

“There should be more people here,” the Cardassian winced as she rubbed her temple for relief. “Under disaster protocols, people should report here if they are in the vicinity. Where is everyone?”

“Dunno,” Kriana shrugged. “The doors are all on manual ‘cause the power’s out, maybe they’re stuck?”

“And we haven’t seen any of the senior staff yet?” the Cardassian used all of her power to sit herself up and not collapse back in a heap. In such a situation, at least one of the senior staff would have checked out the relief zones, surely?

Kriana shook her head proudly, the dim green light catching her forehead ridges.

“No. Just you and the two guys who brought you here. I thought there should be more people here.” Kriana congratulated herself inside for being correct.

“Then we’re going to have to go looking. Consider yourself officially drafted into Starfleet,” Nisha summoned every ounce of her strength to pull herself to her feet and fight the nauseous feeling that swiftly enveloped her. “Grab that medkit over there and let’s get to it…” the Ensign instructed, then stopped. “I didn’t catch your name?”

“That’s ’cause I didn’t tell it to you,” Kriana replied, haughtily. She didn’t like to be ordered around. If she’d been okay with that she’d have joined Starfleet or the KDF or something. “Kriana. I mix drinks and wipe tables.”

“Nisha,” the Cardassian smiled, offering a hand. “I scan stuff and ponder the meaning of the universe,” she made light of the work she actually did, but it was a good sign of her being somewhat normal after the trauma she’d been through.

Kriana raised an eyebrow at this. “Got any good answers yet?” she asked as she collected the bits of medkit back into the pouch and slung it on her shoulder. “I mean… the meaning of… this…” She gestured rather flippantly to the room about them, referring to life, or existence.

“It was a massive solar flare,” Nisha winced, watching as her new deputy collected the bits she could. “Massive, bigger than any I’ve ever recorded. There was something peculiar about it though…” her mind trailed somewhat as her attention diverted to the window across the room. “It was unlike any flare-up I’ve seen…”

“…which either means you’re not very experienced or someone made it,” Kriana observed. The part-Klingon was somewhat more intelligent than her Starfleet wife but definitely had more rough edges. “I’m not one to blow sunshine up people’s asses, ask my other half, but I’ve not met anyone yet on this ship who wasn’t a super proto-nerd at whatever they do, unlike Klingons who just throw shit at the wall for the most part.” Never one for missing an opportunity to slag-off Klingons, Kriana stood with the med kit, slinging the strap over her shoulder and placing a hand on her hip. “Point is, if you say you’ve never seen it before it’s probably someone trying to fuck us. I’ve been in too many dicey situations. This smells like Targ shit.” It was upon saying this Kriana realised how her old ship had actually smelt of Targ shit, how the Hathaway smelt of precisely nothing and how much she liked that by comparison.

Frowning, the Cardassian stumbled her way out of the massive meeting room and headed in search of survivors, all whilst contemplating her new colleagues’ words.

“Targ shit indeed…”