Kronk took a deep breath and stepped into the dimly lit room. The doors automatically closed behind him, leaving Bekka outside. First Officer V’ecna’s gaze never left the Barzan as she fiercely gazed into his soul. “Punctual, as expected.” She stated, more to herself, rather than directed at him. She took her d’k tahg, cut another slice of fruit off, and ate the piece right off the blade. “Tell me. Did you choose this assignment?” This question was directed at him.
“No, Ma’am, it was offered to me.” Kronk answered honestly, not lowering his head or tone. This was not his first rodeo dealing with Klingons; he knew well enough not to show timidness or weakness.
“Ahh, I see. So, they don’t just send us a thief, but an unwilling one. How little the federation must think of us, that they feel their criminals would fit best amongst our crew.” V’ecna commented as she sheathed her blade and set the half-eaten fruit down on the desk.
Kronk suppressed the twitch in his eye at her remark. But now he knew, THEY knew all about him. And if they already knew about his past, and still agreed to allow him aboard, then this most likely was a test, and there was only one way this could go. Still for a moment, he remained silent.
Seeing he didn’t respond to her initial provocation, V’ecna rose from her seated position on the desk top, rising to her full height and taking a step towards him. “And tell me, little thief. What do you get out of this? Assuming you survive the ordeal?”
“A clean record, Ma’am.” Kronk continued, looking forward and not making eye contact with the towering woman.
“So prison wasn’t enough penance? Do they think Klingon discipline will shape you into a better citizen? Because this is not a Starfleet vessel, thief, and under our command, you will be subject to our way of…conduct regulation.” She had taken another step towards him, deliberately invading his personal space as an indirect challenge.
“To be clear, I’m not a thief; I never stole anything. At best, I am a burglar, albeit a bad one since I got caught…” Kronk remarked, looking up at V’ecna with a hard, level gaze.
It wasn’t what he said, it wasn’t even how he said it, despite the tone of sass in his voice. It was the look in his eyes that set her off. The look of defiance at constantly being looked down on. There was only one answer to that form of disrespect. Her left hand rose up quickly, fluidly; yet came down with such force that when the back of her fist struck the side of his temple, the entire room began to spin.
It was over as quickly as it began. V’ecna’s backhand sent Kronk collapsing to the ground as she stood over him, waiting for the federation officer’s next move. Kronk, however, had fallen to his knees, bracing himself at the last minute before completely crumpling to the ground. He did not rise up, he did not look back at her, not only because he could see a warp field of stars passing through his vision, but because he knew this was a customary show of force among Klingons, and he needed to show submission to her without appearing weak or cowardly.
After a few moments, the first officer broke the silence, “On your feet.” She commanded.
Having a moment to settle himself, Kronk did as instructed and stood to his feet. He stood at a relaxed position of attention, not looking at her, but looking forward and doing his best not to show the pain he felt. V’ecna reached out, grabbed his chin, and tilted his head towards the light. There was already a red mark along the side of his left eye forming, but still, he did not flinch. “You took that well…you might just fit here after all.”
V’ecna released her hold on his head and quickly moved around to the other side of the metal desk, “Come, sit.” She instructed, taking a seat and kicking a stool out from under the desk for him to take. As she talked, she produced a jug and two cups, placed them on the tabletop, and began to pour.
Still a little wobbly from the hit, Kronk managed to cross over to the stool without problems and welcomed the seat. V’ecna slid him a filled cup she had poured and began to fill her own as she began to talk.
“The captain was insulted when your federation first offered you for this program, but once we read the file, learned the truth behind your actions, you were put in a more agreeable perspective. But whereas we may be privy to that knowledge, not everyone on the crew will be. To them, you are Starfleet, a temporary fixture, a burden and nuisance they will be forced to endure for the duration of this assignment.” She spoke matter-of-factly, taking a swig of her drink as she continued.
“Several of your ‘kind’ have adopted a delusion of grandeur, thinking life aboard a Klingon Vessel is all fist-fights and binge drinking. It’s repulsive and insulting, and I will not welcome that way of thinking aboard this ship, from anyone.” She spat coldly.
“I assure you, Ma’am, I share no such delusions,” Kronk spoke up, finally taking the glass and hesitantly taking a sip, pleasantly relieved when he found it to be filled with crisp water.
“As a member of Starfleet, we will offer minor provisions to ensure your safety while you serve aboard this ship. But we will not waste our time coddling you. Settle your disputes on your own, and if they turn violent, fight well and with honor. And know this, you may be Starfleet, but you serve as a member of this crew. You will follow all orders given to you without question, especially if they come from the captain. We are under no obligation to explain ourselves, and we won’t tell you twice. Fail to adhere to these directives, and we will dump your ass on the nearest habitable rock with a beacon and the hope your Federation can reach you before you run out of rations. Is that clear?” Her gaze was once again fierce and piercing as her words reverberated in his mind.
As brash as her words might have sounded, Kronk knew she was in no way required to have this talk with him. In fact, one who would have wished him to ‘wash out’ would have simply let him fall into the deep end without giving him any warning at all, just to see him fail. Kronk nodded, indicating he understood. “I understand, Ma’am. Thank you.”
V’ecna nodded her head. “Good.” She relaxed some, leaning back into her chair and yelling out, “THRA’SSK!”
The doors to the office opened once more, yet the light beyond it was obscured by a large figure in the doorway. A tall, bulky, and muscular Gorn in leather pants and a leather chest piece somehow managed to squeeze through the doorframe into the office. Standing at full height of nearly 7 feet, he made V’ecna seem small by comparison.
“This is Lieutenant Thra’ssk. He is Commander of the Guard and the Koraga’s Weapons Master, akin to your Security and Tactical Officer position, and he is your direct supervisor during your tenure aboard this vessel. Your association under him should deter most of the crew from accosting you.” V’ecna clarified. “Thra’ssk, this is Lieutenant Kronk, your new Pilot. Show him what needs to be done, and get him properly settled.”
“Yessss, My Lady.” The oversized Gorn spoke, kneeling to the first officer in a respectable bow before locking eyes with Kronk. “Come, Gronk!” Thra’ssk snapped, turning to depart the office.
Kronk quickly took another swig from his cup before scrambling to his feet. He turned to give the Matron a respectful bow, excusing himself as he hurried after the Gorn. As the office doors slid shut behind him, he could see Bekka leaning against the hallway with a playful grin on her face, “Have fun!” she called with a wave.
“Ignore her, and keep up!” Thra’ssk growled as Kronk followed the Gorn deeper into the bowls of the ship.
[To be Continued]
