“Talk to me,” Sidda said as she walked onto the bridge with Orelia at her back.

“Three raiders, two nausicaan, one orion.” The human at Ops said. “Few stray shots but guessing the magnetic interference is messing up their targeting.” He then stepped to the side as Orelia took station, then manned part of the console when she pointed at it for him to manage some aspect or another.

“Incoming hail,” Orelia then said before throwing it up on the main screen.

A brutish looking Nausicaan took up her screen, ugly even for an ugly species in her opinion. She recognised him as someone’s chief lieutenant, or head thug, whatever the day of the week was really, but couldn’t put a name to the face, though the name would probably scamper off given a choice.

“Captain Sidda,” the words worked past the spines and gnarled teeth of the man. “We’re here for our bounty. Surrender and I promise to ask my captain when I free him from your cells to only sell your crew into slavery versus spacing the lot of them.”

She rolled her eyes as she sat herself down in the command chair, turning to face Orin and holding up two fingers before looking back to the main viewer. “Our compliments on finding us. Give me a second to formulate a response.”

With a simple gesture of her hand, the confirmation sound of disruptor banks firing, followed by the thump-thump of two torpedoes rang out across the bridge and the viewscreen cleared. “Trid, evasive manoeuvres. Orelia, get Orin the best sensor lock you can. I want to end this fast.”

****

Everyone had a place to be during the midst of a battle aboard a warship save for Revin. She knew it was Sidda’s overprotectiveness, a holdover from when they first met and her condition up until recently. But she wasn’t as useless as she had been. Being sheltered, kept at arms distance in certain scenarios to protect her, was becoming starting to become something she resented. So, with nowhere else to go, save for her shared quarters as the ship traded shots with those out for blood, she instead made her way to the ship’s mess hall.

She’d never understood that term until she could actually see what a klingon mess hall looked like and scent alone had done the place justice. But Kevak had started to turn the place around and as she made her way to the recently rechristened dining hall, the door parting at her arrival, she was greeted by the sound of the large klingon man grumbling from the galley, along with the clanging of cookware, dominating over the sounds of the klaxon.

No door on the ship would deny her and that extended to the one leading into the galley itself as Kevak and his two assistants, and Orelia’s recent conquers if rumours were to be true, covered pots, secured cookware and cupboards, all while the ship rocked, sometimes violently as combat was had. She watched for only a moment before taking to the task at hand, avoiding the cookers, but attending to cupboards and cabinets, securing doors and drawers.

Kevak’s curse upon seeing her was short-lived as something heavy slammed into the ship and threatened a large pot, forcing the man to attend to it first. The klingon cooks all took to the matter with practised ease and secured everything in quick order before Kevak grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back out into the dining hall, the ante-chamber of his personal domain. “Princess,” he growled. “My kitchen.”

She rubbed at her arm when he let her go, to rub feeling back in and in disbelief that he had dared, a mere klingon male, to touch her. “My ship!” she hissed back at him quietly, defiance no doubt in her eyes, muted by their artificial nature.

“No, it’s Sidda’s,” he snapped back, but then seemed to deflate some as the name passed his lips. A jolt that nearly toppled Revin barely seemed to affect Kevak, a sturdy hand offered to help her balance, which she wasn’t too good to ignore. “What are you doing here? You should be in your quarters.”

“Room with a view,” she answered. The outer compartments had all been evacuated, including her and Sidda’s quarters. While a klingon captain took quarters near the heart of his ship, to be equally near everything, Sidda had opted for a compartment with magnificent windows and spent a fair bit of time and effort renovating it into a stunning suite, but alas with a flaw. “And the galley is far safer in combat, yes?”

Kevak chuckled at that, then indicated a seat for Revin to take as he leaned through the serving window into the galley, barking an order in klingon and getting a bottle of something blue in return, two glasses soon following. The colour of liqueurs was still something she was working on, but the smell hit her as soon as he opened it, just as another series of jolts gave pause to his pour.

“Kali-fal?” she asked, taking her glass and sampling the aroma. “How?”

“Your fiancé took a few bottles from the Last Pirate King and I bribed our local ferengi into giving me one.” His grin was downright predatory. “Now talk Princess or you’ll see no more of this bottle.”

She looked at him, trying to figure out this enigma before her. Klingons were brutes and warriors, honour bound with their primitive barbaric sense of honour, not true honour like her father had insisted her family followed. He bribed ferengi and cooked food, not picked up weapons and fought like some wild thing like she’d been taught.

And he was fat.

Not some muscle-bound, brain-dead threat like she’d been taught her whole life, but a fat, happy, wise, philosophical cook whom she’d come to at least admit knew his way around a kitchen. And gave counsel to Sidda as well. And if pushed could fight as she’d seen him do.

Her father clearly had never met a klingon she was beginning to realise.

And neither would she if he’d secluded her away as he had wanted, or that her life hadn’t taken a very interesting diversion a few years ago. Or more recently when he had finally taken Sidda’s offer up to get artificial eyes.

She stared into the glass, smelt the kali-fal, a drink she’d never actually tasted before, reserved for the men of the family she was always told, then downed it like she’d seen so many others do, swallowing it in a single gulp.

And instantly regretted it.

Her coughing had done nothing but give Kevak something to laugh at, a hearty, deep-rooted laugh that filled the room, bouncing off the walls and he took the chance to refill her glass before she could mount a protest. “You’re meant to sip it,” he said, the laugh still in his voice. “Stick with me Princess and I’ll get you drinking like a klingon. Now,” his voice returning to seriousness. “Talk.”

“I feel useless,” she offered as her throat burned. “More so than when I couldn’t see. Sidda treats me far better than my family ever would have, but still keeps me out of harm’s way, wanting to keep her prize safe.” She looked up at Kevak. “I’m still just a prize to her, aren’t I?”

“Foolish girls, both you,” he uttered before a sip of his own drink, then waited till she’d copied his action. The drink still burned, but not nearly as much. The aroma was overpowering, forcing its way into her nostrils and demanding to be paid attention to.

“You both love each other. I’m old enough to recognise it,” he continued, stopping her protest with a glare. “But you’ve had your eyes a few scant months. She’s still wanting to keep you safe in a hostile world. And you, you’re a prideful, stubborn, self-obsessed romulan.”

Her eyes went wide, her mouth may even have opened a little. How dare he? How dare he! And before she could demand an apology he started to chuckle, halting it with another ship of his own drink. “You want, need, demand to be important and of use. To take charge. Well, you’re not of use, you’re right. You’re a senator’s daughter and now a…vigilante’s love interest.” His last words just felt like a mask for others he’d wanted to use. “What skills do you have huh? Name them!” he challenged.

This was not the conversation she’d ever expected to have. Was this the type of counsel he gave to Sidda? Insults and challenges? The impertinence! She sat up straight, opened her mouth to speak and then stopped. Just what skills did she have? Her hearing was excellent, trained since a young age. Her memory was terribly sharp, her wit too when she felt like it. But what skills did she have that could be of use on the Vondem Rose.

With that revelation, the universe went quiet.

Though the klaxon ending might have had something to help with that, broken immediately by demands for damage control teams to move about the ship over the ship-wide comms.

“As I thought girl,” Kevak said, nodding triumphantly to himself. “Finish your drink. See to your woman,” he said, stoppering the bottle. “Be here tomorrow morning start of alpha shift.”

“Why?”

“You want skills, I’ll teach you. Cooking, cursing, fighting. Just enough to let you impress upon your fiancé that she should really find you a proper tutor in combat.” He finished his glass of Kali-fal with a final gulp. “Your people are insane to have ever made this drink,” he muttered with a shake of his head and then turned to curse back into the galley. The fight was done, now he had to return to the constant battle against empty bellies.

Start of alpha shift he had said. She nodded to herself, then took the last sip of her own drink.

She’d impress Sidda and horrify her father, a win-win.

She’d also need to brush up on her klingon too.