“Okay, so,” Trid started as she set her plate down on the mess table and sat herself down, “I’m confused. Just who the fuck is Revin?”
The three other individuals at the table all looked up at Trid and to the outside observer, independent of the fact this conversation to be was taking place on an old Klingon B’Rel, could be confused for thinking it was a great powers meeting. An orion, a romulan and human were all seated and if you threw in the klingon in the attached galley, you could be excused for that line of thought.
It was the orion who spoke first. For the rest of the crew, Orin was a mountain of muscle, but this individual was bigger still. He cracked a smile, looked down the table at Trid and then spoke with a deep guttural tone you expected from the overly large bully he actually was. “Captain’s plaything innit she,” he said, punctuated he was finished with a large bite of the animal leg he had in his giant paw of a hand.
“As always Telin, your miss the true subtlety of the matter,” R’tin said, setting his fork down and then looking up from his plate at the bajoran woman who had sat down opposite him. “Revin is Sidda’s current companion. Though, I must admit, I believe the longest yet,” he looked in Kevak’s direction, receiving a single nod in the affirmative from the older klingon cook.
“So, captain’s woman then?” Trid asked.
“If you must put it so crudely,” R’tin answered. “But my sister and I tend to think there is something more there. Revin tends to keep to herself and Sidda is…protective.”
“Huh huh huh,” Telin grunted from his isolated spot down the table. “One way to put it yah git. Fucking kill-happy is what yah mean. Look at Revin wrong and you’ll have a knife to yah neck.”
“That’s just you Telin,” the older human woman at the table said. Her blonde hair was going grey, but didn’t look old enough for the advanced state of silver. Maybe in her late forties, if Trid’s guess was right. “Now if you can’t say anything nice, keep your mouth shut,” the woman whom Trid only knew as Bones said, holding her rather sharp steak knife up, pointing at the colossal orion. “Or I’ll do worse then Sidda did to you.”
The whole room, save for Kevak in the galley, attained that stressed silence as a threat had been made, something the walls of this room just seemed primed to echo and enhance, like the ritual of a fight had taken place many a time here. But something just wasn’t quiet right with the orion as he stared the woman down, then caved slightly. He loaded both hands with the animal legs on his plate then stood and took three large steps for the door, his departure breaking that tension.
“Okay…” Trid said, then looked to R’tin again. “So, I get everyone on this ship but for the orions. Sidda’s a fucking mystery, and the twins are just…polar opposites?”
“What Telin has in muscles, Orin has a sophistication. And there isn’t much to get really. Orin and Telin both owe Sidda debts for different reasons. As for our illustrious captain…she’s the daughter of an orion merchant prince. Only child, spoilt rotten with a ship her father procured. Lucky for us she pays well and is actually good at her job. Certainly better then any navy captain I ever served with.”
“This true?” Trid asked in Kevak’s way, getting a grunt and a nod from the man as he finished chopping up some orange root vegetable and slid the contents of the cutting board straight into the vast pot.
“True enough,” he said. “Though her father didn’t buy the ship. She hired me because I actually served on this ship,” he actually spoke, shaking a few different spice containers over the pot, thinking clearly about each added. “This very ship that I helped steal from a KDF depot.”
“Okay, hold up, I need to hear this saga,” Trid said, having chosen that last work on purpose.
Some magic that word contained seemed to get Kevak’s attention as he looked up at the young bajoran woman. His left eye was partially closed from a scar, but the burning soul behind both eyes grew as his grin showed teeth. Then he reached into a cupboard, pulled out an unlabelled bottle and poured a good swing into the pot before walking around with it and sitting at the head of the table, Trid on his left, R’tin on his right. “This wee man has heard this story,” he started.
“And happy to hear it again bard,” R’tin interrupted, rolling his eyes with genuine mirth.
“Good! It’s a story of daring and long odds, of two warriors fighting side by side and stealing a ship steeped in history and glory to give her a true warriors end one day, not left to rust in a depot, forgotten by all.”
“Telin tried to speak to me again this morning,” Revin said, as she lay on the bed beneath the black satin sheets with Sidda, gentle tracing a single finger in a complex pattern on Sidda’s exposed right arm.
“I’ll geld him later,” Sidda said, simply staring at the ceiling of her quarters. Charitably called the captain’s quarters, they were marginally larger then all the others on the ship. Perhaps more so since she had ripped out the vague hint of a desk and work station that had been placed by the KDF some refit during the ship’s career.
Her quarters now couldn’t be mistaken for a klingon captain’s quarters. The slab they would have been called a bed had been replaced with something much softer and comfortable that dominated what space there was. Bolts of coloured cloth had been used to hide the walls, to give the same feeling as parts of her father’s estate, with a cozy but not oppressive feel. Soft lights illuminated the room when needed, but otherwise only a single pale red light would do the job, her one concession to the klingon designers.
It didn’t prevent her sleeping and it meant if something went wrong; the light of her room would match the corridor to the bridge at least. It would also mean she could find a top in a hurry. There did not need to be a repeat of the Topless Battle of Torvin.
“That will not be needed love.”
“Okay, I won’t geld him.”
There was silence for another few minutes, Revin’s finger drawing moving up to Sidda’s bare shoulder, then along her collar bone. “You are distracted love.”
Sidda turned to face the woman at her side, a gentle smile forming on her face as she saw those eyes looking at her. Revin’s eyes could steal her soul and she’d be happy with it. That beautiful green sea, the thousand-yard stare as she just looked right past Sidda. Normally that look wouldn’t do it for Sidda, but something about Revin just took her breath away.
“What gave you that impression?”
“I only ever get to your shoulder when you are distracted.”
“Everything we’ve heard the last few days has got me thinking. Klingon raiders, Starfleet suddenly showing up and merchants forming ad hoc convoys. This isn’t limited to our part of the sector. And the raiders are House D’Ghor. Nihilistic death cultists who fight like they have no honour.”
“So the stories go,” Revin said, her finger stopping and then drawing down Sidda’s chest, hooking the bedsheet providing the barest hint of modesty in the dim light.
Sidda’s left hand caught Revin’s, stopping her from baring her and she looked back to the bulkhead above her. “Starfleet’s going to be caught behind it’s blasted rules. The Klingons aren’t really going to want to get involved. Where’s the honour in fighting the self-damned who are attacking the Federation?”
“They will temper the Federation, make them stronger.”
“Some great lord is probably saying those exact words to justify their inaction,” Sidda said, the smirk on her face not a happy one.
“You intend to do something about this? To be some folk hero?”
“Can’t be a pirate queen if there’s nothing left to pirate.”
“Where do you plan to start then?” Revin asked while trying to move her hand once more, making a little bit of progress before being stopped by Sidda.
“Kyban. Once there I’ll call papa, see if he knows anything. Failing that I’ll see if the Witch will answer. But in the meantime…” Sidda didn’t let go of Revin’s hand, but guided it down letting the sheet be pulled off of her as she then pulled Revin close once more.
“Gaeda, you wanna here this,” Lewis Chin said from the helm station.
The Vondem Thorn didn’t really need terribly many people on the bridge when she was underway and so it came to the only two human males on board at this odd hour. Just a way the complex rotations schedule had worked out.
“Okay,” Gaeda said, not even looking up from his padd.
“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is the SS Avalon Prince! We are under attack by a klingon bird of prey! We need immediate assistance!”
Gaeda had stowed the padd upon the first Mayday and by the third was at Lewis’ console, looking at the sensor feed. The Avalon Prince was less then five minutes away at current speed, less if they pushed it.
“Change course Lewis, maximum speed. Don’t care if they can see us cloaked,” he ordered, then stepped back to the command chair, jabbing one of the actual physical buttons present, not some touch screen like he’d grown up on. Something cathartic in a dire situation about a physical button.
“Battlestations! Battlestations! Captain to the bridge!” he shouted, his voice filling every compartment on the Vondem Thorn as her ancient klingon battle klaxon started firing off.