A shimmer of excitement buzzed in the chest of Lieutenant Commander Katris as she walked. It had been a constant over the last few weeks since she had been endowed with the news that she was getting her own command. She was fairly familiar with the more usually trodden areas of Starbase Bravo, and yet each little area seemed more vibrant, each unknown crew member happier, each textile more vivid, each plant greener. The place had taken on a new air of positivity in her mind. Passing officers smiled. Perhaps it was because she herself was smiling.

This, it must be understood, was not common for Katris. Her usual overt disposition of seriousness to scowling elicited an uneasy response from those around her. Their knowledge of her personality made to this no difference. Katris was powerful, erudite, intelligent and a good leader, but her temperament was as Klingon as the ridges that rose from her brow. She had been brought up in The Empire and despite half human heritage she had a reputation. Tired of her blustering her previous Captain had given her the opportunity she always claimed she would make good. Now was her chance. Katris turned off the promenade and strutted a long, curving Corridor towards the quarters she was using until her room aboard the Erigone was ready.

Approaching her rooms, Katris caught sight of a body leant against the wall adjacent to her door. Her first thought was that it was her pilot, Ensign Henderson with whom she had an evening planned. But this thought was soon disproven. The size of the person was immediately too large, the skin too dark. The posture too…. Klingon. As she approached Katris recognised the man. He was Motar, son of Garnek, dressed in a Gold Starfleet uniform, his broad Klingon chest giving the impression of imminently breaking free of its cloth at any moment as most Klingons in the uniform did. Two pairs of keen, brown eyes locked. Katris scowled.

“I turn you down for my crew and you track me here?” She spat, pulling herself even more upright to her full five feet and nine inches. It was still well short of her unwelcome guest. He pushed off from the wall effortlessly and squared up to her, his jaw set. But his eyes… they were not eyes of someone angered. “I was surprised you dared apply to be under my command,” she continued, through gritted teeth, the distaste for him quite apparent. “Your father…”

“My father was wrong!” Motar exclaimed, sharpened teeth bared in the utterance. “I ask only that you hear me. After which you will not see me again if that is your desire.” His gaze was unwavering, until his last word, which was accompanied by a deferential look toward the ground. “Commander.”

Katris’ own human-esque teeth were not the match of Motar’s for instilling fear, but they were bared none the same. She took a deep breath. What would her friend and Executive Officer Lieutenant T’Lera do? Eventually she nodded and leant on the door release.

“Come.”

Katris’ quarters were warm and dimly lit in firey orange. The Commander removed her uniform jacket as she entered, throwing it to the bed casually. It was a sign she was comfortable, that she didn’t fear him. She had nothing to fear of course, any move on her would be gross insubordination. But her Klingon instincts were still available for posturing, even if it was unnecessary. She turned quickly, her gaze fixed on the engineer who came in behind her, the history of their houses boiling in her heart.

“Say your piece, Motar, son of gha’nIq.”

The houses of gha’nIq (Garnek) and Qennagh (Krennag, of whom Katris was the second daughter) had held a pact lasting back to the Dominion War. Garnek had taken heavy losses during that time and their ships that remained after the conflict were insufficient to defend their lands and territories. Krennag, by contrast had a surplus of ships, but those left after the war were old. House Krennag lacked engineering know-how to keep them running and upgraded to be relevant. And so a pact was made, crew and Engineers from house Garnek kept House Krennag’s B’Rels and D7s in good order and strong armament for the purpose of defending both of their territories, while house Garnek rebuilt their fleet. But rising anti-Federation sentiment in the Empire had caused Garnek to break the pact, in part because of Katris and her human mother. Both houses had suffered since, Garnek coming off by far the worst of the two. With little to defend them and Krennag’s ire putting pay to any chances of rekindling their arrangement the House of Garnek was quashed into non-existence by the larger houses, their lands and peoples destroyed or captured. Motar was one of the few left. Choosing the path of less humiliation he left the Empire and applied his engineering talents in Starfleet. Katris knew of this but never knew why. Maybe tonight she would find out.

“I did not support my father’s decision to break the pact,” Motar explained getting straight to the point. “I wonder what allies he thought he had besides Qennagh. But, he was the head of our house, his worth proved in battle with The Dominion. It made him complacent. His many victories from the bridge of his cruiser made him think he could achieve what he could not. His allies in battle against a common foe were not his allies once the war was won. His judgement was flawed. I saw it, I tried to reason with him but was silenced. I had not the support to move against him. I had no choice but to watch the remnants of our house burn in the fire of others’ greed.”

Katris listened. She wanted to spit words of fire and acid, but she channelled T’Lera. She heard him, as she said she would. Motar continued, his brow focussed in the fight.

“I faced a difficult decision, to languish, honourless, some peon ever to scrabble for remnants in the houses that had conquered us, or to try to find my honour somewhere else. I came here, to Starfleet, where I knew you were gone. They are not Klingon, but their work is sound. They have honour, even if they do not thirst for Glory.”

Motar’s chest rose with another big breath.

“I would not have had any of this destruction befall either of our houses. I look now only for building a respectable life. To replace my past inaction with worthy deeds. This is not home. But it is…” Motar swallowed. “It is what I feel I must do.”

Katris’ lip trembled with resentment.

“It is not home. It is not home. I of all should know that this is not home!” She replied, hotly. “I was sent here because of gha’nIq and his foolishness! My mother… my mother who had only ever served my Father and her house in ways few Humans have ever tried and succeeded was forced back to Earth in shame! The fault was not hers. The fault was not mine and yet we suffered humiliation and dishonour! And now, after all this, you have the nerve to apply to my crew, to ride the wake of my success in this… place of gentility… and caring and compassion. These are noble things, but they are not Klingon, this…. is not Qo’nos. This is not the Empire.”

Katris nostrils flared and she took a moment to consider her stance.

“I don’t know for certain that we would not have been forced out anyway by now, pact or no. The direction the Empire is taking these days is concerning. That is why I have heard your petition. Your skill as an engineer is not in question,” she said.

Motar nodded slowly, choosing his words carefully.

“You speak the truth of this place. Noble it is, but hot home. Let it become more like our home for both of us. We are outcasts wherever we are. Let us be so together, and in being so put our demons behind us and focus on the honour of our achievements here, where we are now committed. I see you, qa’trIS, daughter of Alicia. I see your pain, for I feel the same pain also. It does not have to be this way.”

A look of revulsion passed on to Katris’ face.

“We both reside here, outcast, absorbing the panicked looks of the frail when their eyes rest upon us, and burying them in our souls, but you do not know me, son of gha’nIq! I have heard your…”

The chime to Katris quarters sounded, breaking her flow. Katris took the opportunity to bring her tone down a level or two.

“You have said your piece, Lieutenant. Rest assured you will know my reply.”

Katris crossed past him to activate the door. In the bright light of the corridor stood a young woman, smaller than Katris. The red uniform and Klingon ridges they had in common, although both were of a different class. Katris looked at Motar pointedly and he made his move to leave.

“Motar!”

Motar stopped, just through the door and turned to face the Lieutenant Commander, the bright incandescence of the corridor lights striking across her face in a dramatic line of war-paint.

“This is Ensign Elanna Henderson, my pilot.” Elanna nodded to Motar, unable to hide a slight look of apprehension. Katris stared at Motar for a long moment, her right eyebrow edging in thought, just slightly.

“Elanna, this is Motar, son of gha’nIq…”

She clenched her teeth, her gaze unwavering.

“…our chief Engineer.”

Motar nodded in turn, first to Elanna and then to his new Captain. Katris regarded him coolly, the Ensign’s eyes flicking between the pair of warriors in-between whom she stood.

“Come,” Katris said eventually, putting a hand on Elanna’s back and guiding her out of the bright lights and into her quarters. The door closed behind them leaving Motar to consider his victory.