Perched on the edge of the command chair, stolen from an Endeavour of old, Sidda pulled the duvet around her again to maintain her modesty, not for her sake but for the bridge crews, as she watched the tactical plot on the viewscreen while Gaeda and Orelia had brought her up to speed. Trid had dutifully backed the cloaked Vondem Rose away from Alturas like she’d been ordered to and they’d started towards the asteroid that Ardot had advised them held al-Jabar’s current bolthole.

But the display was a web of lines still as shuttles and even the odd runabout was still making their way towards the Alturas from across the system. And while she would bet a near-modern Klingon cloak could defeat a mere shuttle’s sensors, there was no point in risking it if, so the ordered route had been set to avoid the shuttles as best they could.

Gaeda was just finishing off about how the Inquiry they’d detected had been the cause of the call to battle stations, how he’d been the one to so rudely wake her, fearing that they’d been detected and likely Starfleet was going to want to have some pointed words with them. There after all could really only be one reason for a support ship to be surveying an entire star system with a battlecruiser hiding nearby – they were hunting al-Jabar as well.

And finding a cloaked Klingon ship, even a duly registered ‘armed merchantman’ like the Vondem Rose would no doubt force any Inquiry-class captain to want to force some sort of answer out of them. Doubly so for a ship with their admittedly well-deserved reputation.

“…but something obviously spooked them because that Inquiry-class is booking it,” Gaeda continued. The tactical plot hadn’t followed the departing ship, but a small information box had been opened to show details they could get while it was still in range. The ship was travelling at a speed greater than the Klingon computers had on file as the class’s maximum rated speed, which said something about whatever emergency had called it away. “She showed up, moved away from the planet as quick as she could, then went to warp and hasn’t slowed down. And only a minute later every shuttle in the system starts heading back for Alturas.”

“Course?” she finally asked. She pulled her feet off the floor, rubbing them against each other. The metal decking was cold and adrenaline from the alarm sounding was wearing off, letting small matters like cold feet come to mind.

“Nothing I can think of,” Orelia said from Ops, before switching the display to a local galaxy map with a bright yellow line across it. The battlecruiser wasn’t heading for Starbase 23, but somewhere far to the galactic anti-spinward. “Nothing important out there that someone else couldn’t get to quicker than they could.”

“Zoom it out,” she said and was rewarded with a much more pulled-out view of the major Alpha and Beta Quadrant powers. “There,” she pointed at a spot on the viewscreen, standing to walk over and tap at a blue dot that the yellow line intersected. “Barzan.”

“Starbase 38?” Gaeda asked. “That’s the other side of the Federation core. There have to be other ships nearby.”

“Who the hell knows,” she answered him, turning to him with a shrug. “Starfleet being Starfleet, could be something as simple as an admiral wanting a specific coffee.”

“Been there,” Gaeda said. “But they’re out of our hair now and soon Alturas will be as well.”

“And then we can go say hello to Mr al-Jabar without any interruption,” she added. “I should go get dressed.”

“If you want to lead an assault, probably for the best,” Gaeda agreed with her. “Don’t think Revin would appreciate you getting her duvet shot up.”

“She doesn’t appreciate me stealing her duvet either,” she said, then started for the door off the bridge. “If I don’t come back, I’ve been murdered for stealing a blanket. Avenge me.”

“What’s that?” Orelia said jokingly. “Totally justified cause for murder? Think we can let that fly.”

“Think so,” Gaeda added. “Timeshare who runs the ship afterwards?” he asked Orelia.

“Works for me,” Orelia answered. “Love you cousin,” Orelia then said to Sidda as she crossed the threshold into the corridor outside, holding the duvet closed around her with one hand and offering her bridge crew a single upheld finger with the other hand.

By the time she got back to her quarters her feet were aching with the cold. The thick pile rugs she’d thrown over the floor were a welcome relief, as was the gloomy lighting she’d walked into. It meant that a certain someone hadn’t woken, or gotten out of bed, triggering the lights to raise further. Carefully making her way to the small side room that Klingons had afforded their captains as a separate bedroom, she could see Revin still laying there, the bedsheet still drawn over her.

She stopped, admiring, a smile growing on her face before she padded over and unslung the duvet from her shoulders, gently laying it back on the bed and over Revin, who stirred somewhat before snatching her wrist. “Hello love,” she said as Revin’s eyes remained firmly shut, but she turned to face her as she spoke.

“Come back to bed,” the Romulan woman drawled, pulling lightly on her wrist. “Some fiend left me with just a sheet and now I’m cold.”

“It’s warm enough in here that you shouldn’t be cold,” she countered.

Revin’s response wasn’t a further argument, just a tightening of her grip and a more insistent pull before she rolled away, pulling Sidda down towards the bed.

With a sigh, she climbed back into bed, curling up behind her fiancée, arm draped over her and tightly held by Revin. “I can’t stay long,” she warned. “Be a couple of hours before we get to –“

“Plenty of time,” Revin countered.

“I’ve got to get dressed, have something to eat, check my –“

“Plenty of time,” Revin repeated. “Just…cuddle.” It wasn’t a request, but an order. “Please,” Revin added to soften the statement.

“Yes ma’am,” she answered happily, then kissed the back of Revin’s neck before pulling both of them together tightly, earning a contented sigh from Revin.

“I guess it’s true what they say, you can’t actually be late to your own party,” Deidrick Osterman quipped as Sidda entered the large transporter room. The space was large enough for a pad that could double as a cargo transporter, but in this case, served its original purpose of transporting large boarding parties in a single go.

Deidrick, Orin, Telin and a dozen other men and women were milling around, totting a variety of weapons from across the Federation, Klingon and Romulan Empires and a dozen other smaller entities making trade in weapons across the galaxy. And only a handful of the weapons were modern as well, with the oldest being an old yet serviceable phaser rifle that looked like it came from the first Federation-Klingon War.

And all of the people and their collected weapons were waiting on her.

“Just confirming something on the bridge,” she informed Deidrick. “Namely that those Starfleet ships weren’t turning back around once we decloaked.”

I told you that already, Orin signed at her, an exasperated look on his face. But did you even read your messages?

“No,” she answered him. “I was busy.” Busy rushing about getting dressed, fending off Revin’s insistence on climbing back into bed, and finding something, anything to eat before launching an assault. And in the end, all Kevak had allowed her was some toast and jam. Something about not having to heavy a meal before fighting, but needing something at least.

At least he’d let her have a second piece.

“Busy,” Telin said, his deep and gruff voice a poor echo of what Orin had lost. “Busy getting –“ he shut up when Orin slapped his chest with the back of his hand and then withered him down with a glare.

Manners, the larger of the two Orions signed.

“Sorry,” Telin said meekly, then looked directly at her. “Sorry, that was rude.”

She and Orin both just stared at him for a moment. Telin, apologising for being rude? The universe could only handle so much change. “Uh, thank you. But maybe you should apologise to Revin later as well?” she said, knowing where his crass statement was going to go. She owed Bones a great deal if she was whipping Telin into shape.

“Yes ma’am,” Telin answered.

“Now, the bolthole is blockaded, and their defences have been neutralised, but we could still be facing a stiff resistance once we beam over. We beam over, we secure the whole place, we capture Jamal al-Jabar and we get some answers,” she said, briefing her people.

“Which means,” Deidrick spoke up, nice and loud to be heard by all, “we don’t kill anyone until we are certain we have our target. So that means weapons on stun.” Immediately a few hands went up. “And if your weapon doesn’t have a stun, then get another,” he pointed at the armoury lockers setup in the transporter room.

With grumbling protests, weapons swapped and a shooing of people onto the transporter pad, she surrounded herself with her two cousins, Orin and Telin, with Deidrick at her back. A few deep breaths, she drew her disruptor from her holster, adjusted a setting dial on it, and then looked to the transporter operator, giving a curt nod.

Red baubles of light immediately formed around her, joined by a shimmering curtain of crimson that parted into all-encompassing red, before another parting revealed the shuttle bay on the asteroid base that her precious Vondem Rose was hovering over. The whole base had been dug into the asteroid, the walls of the bay bare rock and metal for the most part.

The landing pad that had been constructed was empty save for a handful of stacked containers to one side and a single individual waiting a mere ten metres from her. Jamal al-Jabar was seated at a small table, an empty seat opposite him. A teapot, a couple of cups and saucers, and even a plate of biscuits was set on the table.

No defenders. No barricades. Just her target, sitting, waiting for her with tea.

The new Last Pirate King was certainly a lot more courteous than the last.

She held up a fist, her people staying where they were, but poised to strike, looking around for any traps or hidden defenders. Deidrick sent two people to check the crates, taking a wide path to do so. And with that she then approached the table by herself, raising the disruptor in her hand as she did, levelling it at al-Jabar and depressing the firing stud just enough for it to start charging. Deidrick had ordered her people to stun anyone they found. She however had a reputation to uphold of firing weapons at ruinous power settings.

“I surrender,” al-Jabar said in his smooth, calming and well-enunciated voice. It sounded well educated, or trained to be as such. As did everything about him really. “I do not have the manpower to resist the mighty Kingslayer or her band of vigilantes. And especially not a Klingon battlecruiser since Starfleet dutifully scared off my space-based defenders. So I’ve elected to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

She stepped right up behind the empty chair, facing him directly. The weapon in her hand finished charging, the noise gone, but the threat was obvious.

“Do you take your tea with or without sugar?” he asked, leaning forward to pick up the teapot, unconcerned with the weapon pointed at him. As he poured both cups out, he looked up at her. “Vondem rose tea,” he said. “I figured I should have some on hand should I find myself in a position to entertain you once again.”

“Where is Brett Gavalore?” she finally asked, giving her disruptor a slight wiggle to draw attention to it. “And where the hell is T’Halla Shreln?”

al-Jabar set the teapot down, sat back in his chair and held out a hand to indicate the empty chair. “Perhaps you would care to sit while I answer your questions?