Part of SS Vondem Rose: In a Mirror, Lightly

In a Mirror, Lightly – 3

Valorum Nebula, SS Vondem Rose, USS Vondem
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“Something is wrong about this,” Revin said as she watched her lover adjust the gun belt on her hips before securing it. The two of them had the armoury across from the transporter room all to themselves, the rest of the boarding party already waiting.

“I agree with you love.”

“Then why are you going?” She stepped closer and as Sidda stood straight up, reached out to fix Sidda’s shirt, smoothing a few wrinkles, then the same to her jacket and generally preventing her lover from continuing to prepare.

“Because I want to know why someone is faking a Federation starship and distress call with my homeworld’s name on it.”

Revin smiled and then stepped closer, rocking up onto her toes just enough to plant a kiss on Sidda’s cheek. “It’s also plenty of other people’s homeworld. And a Federation member world.” She was just citing facts, but coincidences don’t just happen so this was aimed at Sidda in some capacity. Just had to be. “Come back to me, yes?”

“You worry too much. I promised I’d keep you safe when we first met.”

“You’ve promised more since then,” she replied, holding up her hand and the engagement ring on it.

With a quick but passionate kiss, the two women left the armoury and straight to the transporter room where Orin had arranged his security detail. Himself, the two Klingons he’d brought onto the Rose and two humans. Five guards for one woman who was dwarfed by even the smallest of them.

Stepping around by the transporter operator, Revin watched as Sidda took her place, did one last check on both of her disruptors and then nodded to the chief, disappearing in a swirl of orange-red motes of light.

Not less than thirty kilometres away those same figures materialised upon a derelict transporter pad aboard the seemingly stricken USS Vondem. Darkness quickly enveloped them as the transporter light faded, then was beaten back by lights being turned on, from shoulder mounted to gun mounted to in Sidda’s own instance a hand-held torch. “Right, on me,” Sidda commanded as she stepped off the padd and went straight for the door, which refused to open, or even acknowledge her existence. “Orin, would you please?”

With an application of brute strength, the door was parted and the party, led by Sidda herself once more, stepped out into the corridor. Only the barest of emergency lights lit the corridors, seemingly free of signs of battle or debris. “Spooky,” one of the humans said quietly.

“Why are you whispering?” the other asked.

“In case someone is listening, duh.”

Before Sidda could say much more, Orin thumped his chest and the two chatterboxes shut up, muttered something and went silent. She didn’t need to look at them or Orin to know the looks on their faces, nor did they need to see the smirk on hers. “We should be on the same deck as Engineering. Should be this way,” she said, pointedly not whispering, before she continued on her way down the corridor. “They must be running life support low on this barge, it’s colder than I like.”

“All Federation starships are cold,” the female Klingon said, earning a chuckle in agreement from her partner. K’tah and Lern as she’d learned recently, were both ex-KDF and willing to fight as long as they didn’t have to do anything to dishonourable.

“No arguments here,” Sidda muttered.

They strode in silence for a few more minutes, stopping at intersections, trying computer panels from time to time. No signs of life until they came across two Starfleet officers emerging from a Jefferies tube hatch in the distance. Both parties spotted each other and before Sidda could get so much as a ‘Hi’ out they were sprinting away and towards Main Engineering.

“Well, guess the jig is up. Shall we go introduce ourselves?” With a round of head nods, the group continued at their pace, knowing they were giving any defenders a chance to dig in.


“Captain, how do you feel?”

Looking up from the padd, Sidda blinked twice as her eyes focused, slowly, on Dr Ward, not helped by the dim light of Sickbay in an emergency. “I feel groggy. Guess it’s what to expect from a concussion?”

“You tell me, Captain. Records show this would be number three for you. Academy Fencing team and a bad shuttle flight I recall.” The Doctor approached closer, a hand scanner coming up so she could wave it in a halo around her patient’s head.

“You’re forgetting the one from the Klingon mosh pit last year,” she corrected.

“Well, it can’t be that had if you’re spotting my tests.” The scan completed, she then pried, with little effort, the padd from Sidda’s hands. “I said no screen time and here I find you reading status reports?” Her own eyes glanced over the summaries then set the padd down just out of reach. “I’m ordering you to relax. Besides, we’ll need you on your A game if what I just heard is true.”

“What would that be?” she asked, blinking to try and kick start her brain, then rolling her head around.

“Apparently a D7 or a K’t’inga class warbird just found us. Though apparently, it’s painted purple?” Ward’s tone indicated not just a question, but utter confusion at the concept of a Klingon ship painted purple.

“House Kurhcill. Minor house on the far side of the Empire.”

“Really?”

Sidda smiled at the Doc, then let it turn into a wicked smirk. “Goddess no! Who paints a Klingon ship purple?”

“You replaced all the bridge and conference room carpets for a nice shade of purple,” the Doctor pointed out.

“Yes, but I have impeccable taste in design, as well as a Captain’s prerogative to redecorate when a ship is in port.”


She wasn’t entirely sure how continuing down the corridor had turned into a standoff, but it had, and quickly. Security had ambushed them clearly, stepping out from around corners with weapons drawn and enough numbers to make Sidda’s little boarding party instantly realise they didn’t stand a chance.

“Guns down folks,” she ordered of her people after instinct and training had caused all of them to snap weapons to bear. Her own disruptor, at least one of them, was holstered as growling behind her and other sounds indicated a distaste for the action, but compliance.

Her own hands were raised soon enough, just the torch in one, as she stepped forward from her group. “We’re just answering a distress call from this ship, figured Engineering was a good place to find survivors.”

Eventually one of the Starfleet personnel stepped forward out of the gloom and past the blinding torch lights being aimed at them, going from a silhouette to an actual person, and one the entire party recognised as someone back aboard the Vondem Rose.

“Captain?” the woman who looked exactly like Orelia asked, her uniform denoting her as a Commander.

“Who the fuck are you?” was Sidda’s response.