Bamet wasn’t yet regretting getting exactly what she wanted, but her mindset was trending in that direction. As it turned out, being the First Officer of a battlecruiser with more than 1300 souls aboard, was a tad more demanding then being the 2IC of a B’rel. Though Klingons weren’t known for robust record keeping and copious amounts of formal paperwork, she knew she would be drowning in Starfleet reports, logs and requisitions had it not been for old Plej’s constant assistance.

“Can you go over this, make sure I didn’t screw anything up?” She handed a datapad to the old Sergeant that contained the finalized duty rosters for the coming exercise. Each shift, primary and relief, would man their stations for one of the convoy assault scenarios, and they would treat the mass engagement in the final phase as a true battle drill. Their four To’duj fighters would be attached to, and operate with the Bortasqu’s squadrons throughout, and their six landing shuttles would be used to perform combat landing and exfiltration drills to support the ships 2nd Shock Legion during the middle phase.

“Of course ma’am.” Plej took the device and added it to a small stack on an end table next to him.

“Just call me Bamet in private, you’ve known me since I was a child.”

“As you wish.”

“So, how are Sergeants reacting to the duel?” She had a hint of unease instead of her usual confident exterior.

“Some are honoured to now be serving under the daughter of Jutarg. Some others are grateful since they despised Drozak.” Plej didn’t look up from the readiness report he was proofreading.

“Are there any more prevailing opinions swirling around the barracks?” She had noticed the quiet glares from some, including a few members of her own extended family.

Plej didn’t respond immediately, instead he finished the section he was editing, marked the spot and put down the pad.

He turned to face the young woman who he had actually known since the day of her birth, “A few view your display in the Rec Hall as a case of a thin skinned aristocrat using her skills with a blade to assassinate a drunk. Though I have not heard any rumors of supporters of Drozak planning redemption, the possibility remains, so do not let your guard down. This may be the flagship of a House you intend to one day lead, but the respect and loyalty of a veteran crew like this must be earned. Your bloodline may earn you some inconsequential deference at times, but not their trust.”

“He was pretty drunk. But I made the challenge and he accepted. They either live with it, or test my ability with a blade.” She shrugged. Throughout her life, Bamet had always been quick to challenge when she was insulted, and many wrongly assumed it was due to her impulsiveness when it was actually her skill with bladed weapons and a more pernicious drive to assert her dominance and validate all her practice over the years.

“He did, but your motivations and methods leave open the appearance of impropriety, and no protestations to the contrary are likely to change those conceptions. I simply advise caution Bamet.”

“I know this is what I wanted, but don’t even know what half of these terms even mean for these Starfleet reports I need to fill out. I’m surprised the Captain even offered me the job instead of requesting a replacement be sent from Caligar.”

Plej considered his choices for a moment before declaring, “The Captain wanted you to challenge and kill Drozak, he likely orchestrated the entire affair down in the Rec Hall. Y’garn had been feeding him drinks and taunting him the entire afternoon. And after you killed him, I saw the smile on his face. It was the smile of a man whose scheme had just succeeded, not a proud ship’s Captain. Your great uncle (Prax, the leader of the Vor’naks ground forces) also told me about a rumor that Dro’zak planned to assassinate the Captain.”

She slammed her fist on her desk in decently sized but still spartan quarters.

“He used me like a pawn?” Bamet launched her own datapad across the room. She had moved in a few days ago, and aside from her the close and few of her favourite weapons hung on the way, the quarters contact a bench and end table, a small metal desk and bed with a thin mat and a few of her furs as blankets.

“No, he played Drozak like a pawn. Y’garn is a cunning warrior and leader of soldiers, there’s a reason he’s retained command of this ship as long as he has.” The white haired servant retorted.

“I can’t keep watching over my shoulder everywhere I go Plej, I won’t be able to do my job if I did.”

“Then do your job well and change the conceptions of the misguided few with deeds instead of words,” the Sergeant checked his chrono, then grabbed up the small stack of datapads and rose, “If you’ll excuse me, my Lady, I must go and tend to my staff in the officers mess.”

Bamet scoffed at being called ‘my lady’, but given her station she couldn’t stop those loyal to her House from displaying their respect with the traditional, but in her mind dated, term. She waved her hand to dismiss him and got up to get ready to report to the bridge.

As she pulled on her tunic and donned her ceremonial metal sash, belt and communicator she paused for a moment and took stock of the series of recurring events in her life like the one she was currently experiencing. What did Y’garn want, what was his angle, and what did he have planned for her? She was already realizing that his decision likely had greater implications than just the staffing arrangements on the vessel.