Captain Sands kept his hands around his drink, cupping it as the warmth spread over him. He didn’t drink alcohol – synthetic or otherwise – but he loved coffee. He smiled gently as he watched his Klingon guest, Pay’tor, and his communications officer, Ashworthy, laugh in between sips of their own, harder beverages.
Pay’tor had outright refused to meet in the Captain’s ready room or any of the Gilroy’s conference rooms. He wanted to see the real ship – and get a real meal.
“I was about a day away from boiling my boots,” he announced loudly, before biting into a heavy piece of replicated meat. “This is much better.”
“Does your craft not have replicators?” asked Ashworthy.
“Too small,” replied Pay’tor. “The Vuth’ra is made for speed and scouting.”
“But you had space for disruptors,” added Captain Sands, though there was no resentment in his voice.
“Of course. It’s a Klingon ship, not some human luxury shuttlecraft,” said Pay’tor, his own voice low but amused. The man took a heavy sip of his drink, cursing at the quality of the replicated blood wine, and slammed his cup on the table before wiping his hand across his mouth. “I had expected you two days ago. I’ve been orbiting around these Romulans for too long. You can’t blame a bored Klingon for wanting to get off a shot or two – even if it’s at a little ship like yours.”
Ashworthy craned his neck to get the attention of a crewman and pointed at the Klingon’s empty cup with a pleading look. When he got a nod of understanding, he turned back to his Captain and guest.
“We weren’t due to the Klingon outpost for a few days still, Pay’tor. Why the rush to reach us?” asked Ashworthy.
The crewman dropped off the next cup of blood wine, for which Pay’tor offered a nod of apparent thanks before taking a heavy sip.
“Consider me the official diplomatic envoy of our outpost,” he said. “I’m here to make sure those Romulans don’t entrap you into giving them extra resources or time that otherwise belong to us.”
That was reasonable enough, thought the Captain.
“Well, welcome aboard,” said Sands, his voice slow and warm. “As the official envoy, then, you are welcome to observe our actions on the ship and continue to remind me of the needs of your own outpost.”
Pay’tor smiled and slammed his fist into the table before cheering.
“And I would like to formally communicate to you that should you – or any other Klingon – fire on my ship again, you’ll get to see what this ‘little ship’ can do.”
