“There,” Sidda said with a shot of her disrupter, “is,” another shot, “just a never,” a third shot when a target dutifully presented itself, “ending tide of these idiots.”

Save that with those shots of her disruptor and a fusillade of fire from the rest of her people, the advancing Remans had either been dropped, either unconscious or moaning in pain from disruptor wounds, or had opted to end their advance like sensible people.

The advance on the governor’s palace had taken a turn away from a heist and towards urban warfare when a roving band of Remans had found them on the streets. Both groups had just opted to stare at each other for a good minute before something was said and the Remans had started shouting and running at them. Weapons fire had only scattered the group and soon enough another couple of bands had appeared from side streets and alleys, forming a veritable horde that was far more mobile than they were.

That mobility had forced them to enter a building, its purpose unimportant for now, which afforded a controlled field of fire at least. There was, at least on first impression, only one way in or out. That would change once they were fully encircled, but for now bought time. Windows were smashed out in quick succession and from there they’d proceeded to use their weapon’s advantage in range to thin the horde. Clubs and spears and repurposed garden tools didn’t quite measure up to modern firearms.

“Who the fuck are these people anyway?” R’tin asked. “And who the fuck answers ‘Hello’ with ‘Death to the Romulans’ anyway?”

“Slaves who’ve had enough,” Trid answered. “I’ll tell you about Bajor another day, but trust me, a group of people will happily run on racial hate for a very long time.”

“Sad but true,” Revin answered, her tone of voice a lot calmer than anyone else’s and surprisingly still sing-song-like. “This certainly looks like a slave revolt, but where is everyone else?”

“Dead or forming their own groups. Or they’ve already fled the city,” Sidda said as she checked her disruptor’s charge levels. “I really need a new cell for this thing.”

“Wouldn’t be a shit cell if you stopped firing it at full power. Which, by the way, thank you for not doing today.” R’tin offered a cheeky smile back along the line to counter the glare sent his way. “Okay, this truly sucks. The whole city has gone mad, our ride is gone and where the hell is Orelia dammit?”

“Defence platforms,” Trid answered. “Bet they’ve gone live. Would need a small task force to punch through.”

“More have arrived,” Revin said. She’d dropped below the window frame, back to the wall, eyes closed and a hand on the floor. Taking in all the sounds around her and her warning convincing all to be quiet so she could focus. “Too much noise, they’re too far away.”

Everything had gone quiet, the lull before another fight as the Remans were preparing in some way or another. Then a loud thump drew Sidda’s attention as she leaned around a door frame to see what the source was. Out in the open stood a single Reman, a truly impressive specimen for the species in height and build, wielding a weapon that looked like a hastily assembled maul by someone who’d heard what a maul was. Or taken it from a gladiator pit where weapons needed to look menacing for the spectacle of it.

“Romulans!” the man shouted and in the quiet his voice echoed across the building fronts of the small street. “Have honour and fight me!” The challenge had been made.

“We send out a champion, you let everyone else go peacefully!” Sidda shouted back.

Immediately she was grabbed and pulled back out of view, though the darkened building would have done much to hide her features anyway. “What are you doing?” Revin hissed at her.

“Seeing how sensible these people are willing to be.”

“You are not fighting a Reman commando,” Revin dictated to her. “Look at him.” While she’d never seen a commando, sight had been a gift only in her youth and more recently, she’d at least conceptually put a description and what she saw just now together.

“When have I ever fought fair?” Sidda answered with a wink before leaning back to shout again. “Well? What do you say?”

The Reman just stood there, the maul’s head resting on the ground, staring at the building front. “No disruptors. Fight with honour” he finally bellowed.

“That wasn’t an answer.”

Another ten seconds passed. “Your fellow slavers may flee like cowards if they wish, your champion can die with honour.”

That was mostly what Sidda had been expecting as she settled back to sitting on the floor. “Right you three, through this building, out the back. Make a break for it, and head back for the spa. I’ll buy time, then catch up when I can. From there we’ll figure out a new plan.”

“No,” Revin said.

“You mad?” R’tin asked.

“Aye ma’am,” Trid answered. Which immediately earned her a look of betrayal from R’tin and Revin.

“No arguments, I’ll be fine,” Sidda said. “Trid, you’re in charge.”

“No,” Revin repeated. “I am not leaving.”

“Yes you are,” Sidda stated. “You’re far too important to lose and I swore I’d do everything to keep you safe.”

“You can’t if you’re dead.”

“I won’t die.” She offered a cocky smile. “I’ve survived at least a handful of challenges before I met you, love.”

“Three boss and you got smashed each time.” R’tin was making a show of checking his weapon. “Everyone had to bail you out. We aren’t running. We shoot this guy in the face, take out everyone that comes at us and shoot our way out”

“See, that’s a plan I like,” Sidda said with a slight chuckle. “But there were a lot of them and likely a lot more. Got to conserve our fire best we can for now.” She holstered her own weapon, then went to stand but was pulled back down. “Revin, trust me, I got this.”

It was unearthly quiet for a moment before Revin leaned in and kissed her on the lips, holding her there before breaking the kiss. “I won’t forgive you if you die.”

“Haven’t died yet,” she answered, then stood and stepped into the doorway.

Only after she heard Trid leading the others deeper into the building, seeking a rear exit, did she step out into the afternoon light with a grin on her face that spoke of either confidence or cockiness. Or both. One hand was on her sword’s pommel, resting comfortably, the other free to go straight for her disruptor if need be. But no sudden firing or charging Reman came at her, so she stepped forward again.

“An orion? They send out an orion! And a woman at that!” the Reman bellowed and laughter could be heard from various places all around that would serve as decent enough barricades. The building fronts on the opposite side of the street echoed with laughter, the Remans clearly occupied those in response to her group’s earlier defences. “You don’t have to do your slavers bidding any more orion. We are all free of them now! Let us kill them and we’ll let you flee to your kind.”

“I’m gonna have to decline that offer. See, those romulans are actually my romulans and no one gets to hurt them today.”

Confusion was rarely an audible thing, but when you heard it you knew it. The muttering of voices, questions being asked as everyone makes sure they actually heard what they heard. Even the brute looked back behind him.

“I thought this was a fight of champions,” she declared loudly before conclusions could be drawn and thoughts reasoned out. She deftly drew her sword, admiring the near mirror sheen of the blade. “You know, I always thought it important to know about the story of certain weapons. It’s name, it’s history, any notable people it’s killed so you know who you might be joining. So Chuckles,” she said, christening the Reman with a name that just went right over his head, “what’s your story?”

He paused for a moment, thinking, then hefted his weapon, lifting the weighted  head up and resting the haft of the weapon on his shoulder. “I have fought and killed twenty gladiators with this weapon! I have bested Remans, Romulans, Orions, Nausicaans and even klingons!” Shouts could be heard, faces even seen now as the Remans grew confident enough to watch without suddenly being shot at. “And your puny little sword orion?”

“Endeavour,” she loudly declared, inspecting the blade and deciding right there and then on its name. A smirk on her face as it had come to her and she said it too. “Made from the broken hull of a Federation warship!” Federation seemed to have gotten some attention at least. Likely these now freed Remans had either very little interstellar knowledge, or none at all. Rumours and hearsay likely from Romulans. “Never tasted blood. Eager to see how it does.”

“HAHAHAHAHA!” The brute’s laughter echoed as he stomped forward a few steps, bringing them from shouting at each across a wide street to within a few decent strides of each other. “I look forward to killing your romulans.” And with that he charged the rest of the distance, the maul swinging in for Sidda’s head.

She ducked straight away, swinging wildly with the sword in his general direction as she scrambled backwards badly. She didn’t feel any resistance but a bellow of pain told her she must have scored a hit. She kept moving, turning to face her opponent only to find him swinging again, but with a gash on his chest seeping green blood.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, swinging to parry the maul, hoping to at least deflect it some and scoot under it again. She wasn’t expecting the blade and maul to meet, her blade to be pushed back by the haft it found, but not by much as the haft drove itself upon the blade, cleaving the maul’s head off and sending it flying under its own momentum behind her.

The sudden loss of weight at the far end of the maul sent the brute stumbling backwards as physics dictated, utter confusion on his face as his weapon was cut, and on Sidda’s own as she looked at her blade, failing to catch herself before she too stumbled to the ground.

Both fighters scrambled however and soon enough were on their feet, staring at each other. Sidda with her impossible sword and the brute not with a very sharp impromptu spear. They circled, studying each other. She knew this wasn’t going to favour her in the long run, her leg and left arm hurting again, telling her to take it easy. But she needed to buy more time to let the others get away.

And to give her time to think how to get away herself.

That time however never came as the brute charged and she was forced to parry the haft, shaving off the top quarter, then another sliver on the continuation of the again, then once more. The brute was determined to close the distance, get inside her guard where he could get his hands on her. So she swung at his arms, hoping he’d get the message and stay away.

Just as he pushed once more.

Blade met flesh and bone and cared as much for them as it had for the haft of a gladiator’s weapon.

She sidestepped him as he carried on past her, crying in agony at the stumps of his arms, collapsing to his knees in quick succession.

“Fucking hell!” she shouted, offering the weapon a quick glance, then her eyes went to the building fronts all around and saw the equally stunned Remans there looking back at her, at their champion, at her again and the weapon in her hand. A weapon that could seemingly cut through anything. What the hell had T’Ael done to this sword?

And that’s when she took the chance to run back the way she came without caring to look back one bit.

Shouts, even some stray shots followed her, but only until she entered the building and rushed through it. They had their own to take care of after all. Their champion badly wounded, their first waves still lying on the street outside – plenty to keep them distracted.

She had to slow, reduced from an adrenaline fueled run to a very fast hobble within only a couple of blocks, though in the warren that was this part of town, only a few face souls still seemingly around and busy hiding, it was difficult to tell. Two? Three? She was still going in the right direction, yes?

Turning a corner however brought her to a stand still. There in a small courtyard between a few buildings, where they’d passed earlier in the day, were her people, all on their knees, hands behind their heads and surrounded by Orions.

“Oh for fucks sake!” she exclaimed.