Keyboard Warriors
Starbase 84 had seen better days.
Frankly, the Federation had seen better days. If the starbase was some kind of microcosm for the United Federation of Planets, then Lieutenant Keyla Detmer supposed that it filled that role aptly. Because even on approach, she'd seen the scars on the starbase, when it had come under attack by a klingon battle group. She'd seen what was left of the USS Gallipoli drifting nearby, and the USS Toriyama was scarred in the same way as the starbase it was docked at. Scorches from disruptor fire. Sections of its hull blasted off from photon torpedoes. The Federation wasn't completely inexperienced in regards to war – there'd been the conflict with the romulans a century prior – but still, it hit hard. It hit her hard as she'd brought the Discovery in on approach, it had hit her hard as she and her crew had walked through the corridors, and now, relaxing as best she could in a bar aptly titled The Black Hole, what she'd seen, heard, and smelt was still weighing down on her.
The klingons had been repelled from Starbase 84. That hadn't happened before, among other things, their boarding parties had rampaged throughout the starbase. She'd passed the disruptor/phaser scorches, she'd passed the splatters of blood, and she'd tried to shut off her ears from the cries of the wounded. She hadn't been alive during the Romulan War, but her grandfather had. And as terrible as that had been, that war had been fought with weapons far less deadly available to the Federation now, and the conflict had been almost entirely fought ship to ship. Whatever their faults, he'd told her, the romulans hadn't been butchers. There was an almost perverse dignity in starships pummelling each other when compared to close quarters combat. Where scythe and blade would rend flesh as readily as disruptor fire would scorch it.
She hadn't seen klingons up close. Taking a sip of her gin, she prayed she never would. She'd got her scars at the battle that had begun this war, and that had been a battle conducted between ships thousands of klicks apart. The thought of seeing those monsters up close…She took another sip, then another. Discovery's medical staff were helping out, while Lorca had ordered the rest of the crew get some downtime before heading back off to the front – a front that spanned hundreds of light years between two interstellar empires in a war that had already claimed thousands of lives.
Hail the victorious dead, she thought. She took a sip as a man took a seat next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he gestured to the tellarite bartender, and out of morbid curiosity, she listened to what he asked for.
"Water."
Water? Keyla wondered.
"Water?" the tellarite asked. "Are you sure, Terran?"
"Do I need to tell you again? I want some fucking water."
Keyla frowned, and it remained on her lips as he looked in her direction. He was wearing a uniform like hers, but it bore the markings of Starfleet Security. Sweat covered his forehead, and dried blood was caked onto his right cheek.
"The hell you looking at?"
Thing was, she wasn't even sure if it was his or not. A biologist could no doubt list a dozen differences between human and klingon blood, but to the untrained eye, it looked the same.
"Well?" he snapped.
"Nothing," she murmured. She returned back to the gin.
"Nothing." He took the water from the tellarite and gulped it down. "Yeah, that's what a lot of people say. Nothing in a star system that's swarming with the ridge heads. Nothing to worry about, there's no way the klingons could ever win a war against the Federation. Nothing to see here, just go about your business living in utopia." He finished the rest of the glass. "More," he said to the tellarite.
"Should I get you a bottle Terran?"
"Oh would you? That would be great," he sneered.
Keyla wondered if she should move. She could sympathize with the man's aggravation, but that sympathy stopped short when that aggravation made life miserable for others. Glancing around the Black Hole, she supposed that misery was the name of the game. Humans yelled, andorians twitched, heck, even the vulcans she saw looked more morose than usual. Still, if she left, chances were he'd follow her.
"Here you are Terran."
The man poured himself some more water. "So," he said. "What's your name?"
Keyla couldn't help but snort.
"Something I said?"
She looked at him and gave him a withering smile. "This how you work?" she asked. "Start off being an asshole, then go to asking about names?"
He didn't say anything. He just stared at her.
"What?" Keyla snapped.
"You've got, um…" He tapped his forehead, then pointed to hers, more specifically the graft upon it. "You've, er…"
"Yes, thank you for not staring."
He took a sip of water. "Sorry," he murmured. "Just…" He rubbed his cheek, his hand coming over the dried blood. "Lot on my mind lately."
"Sure. No problem," Keyla murmured – she meant it, but she wasn't in the mood to be some kind of angel ready to forgive everyone of their sins. There was more than enough of that to go around. That was why people like the klingons could die, and individuals like Michael Burnham could rot in a hole for all she cared.
"Still didn't get your name," the man said.
She sighed, deciding to play his game. "Detmer, Keyla. Lieutenant, USS Discovery."
The man grunted. "Alright Detmer Keyla, may as well tell you I'm Warrant Officer Martin Brooke, Starfleet Security, assigned to Starbase Eighty-Two."
"Oh, base security then? So you're not a redshirt."
"Excuse me?"
"Redshirt," Keyla asked. "Security slang?"
"Um…"
"Redshirts like those used by the British when they sailed the world," Keyla said. "Like, there's the ship, and then there was the redshirts who went with the captains. Kinda like the modern day?"
"Oh. Okay." He took a sip of water.
"Seriously, what did you think I was referring to?"
He shrugged.
"You've never heard that term before?"
"No. Still, guess it holds up. British Empire was the largest that Earth ever saw, and now, three-hundred years after its end, we're part of the largest empire the Alpha Quadrant's ever seen."
"Hmm." Keyla wasn't sure if that was the case.
"I'm serious," he said. "All indications are that the Klingon Empire is smaller in terms of astro-geography."
"Yes, well, that's because they're less willing to let their people to go off to form colonies."
"I know. Alien bastards have the right idea. Because of all the starry-eyed dreamers that worship Zefram Cochrane, we've got dozens of colonies spread over hundreds of light years, and we've got to protect every one of them."
Keyla didn't contest the point, because it was true. The klingons knew it. It was why the spore drive Stamets was working on was so important, because as fast as Starfleet's ships were, they couldn't be everywhere at once.
"Still," Martin murmured. "Could have used you here."
Keyla nodded. "I bet."
"Do you?" He took a sip of water and glared at her. "Discovery eh? Bet you want to do some actual discovering rather than fighting?"
"Well, yes, actually."
"Of course." He filled his glass again, not with water, but with spit. "Figures. Starfleet's got its head in the clouds-"
"There's no clouds in space."
"…and people like us get to hold the line until the shinies turn up."
"Shinies?" Keyla asked.
Martin tapped her command bars. "Shinies." He poured more water into the glass, leaving Keyla unsure what to do. Walking away was becoming an attractive option, but maybe it was better to let Martin voice his frustrations? Shame it had to be directed towards her, but if she'd survived disruptor blasts and photon torpedoes up to this point, she could withstand words of ill fortune.
"So, anyway," Martin said. "Like, on the subject of…" He trailed off, and Keyla could see that he was gripping his glass like a drowning man clinging to the shore. "I'm sorry, what do you even do?"
"Do?" she asked. "I'm a member of Starfleet."
"Yes, but what do you do? Like, what's your job?" he snarled. "Figure even shinies do something while we're stuck in the muck."
"I'm..." She took a breath. "I'm Discovery's helmswoman."
"Helmswoman eh?" He snorted, and Keyla's eye (the good one) twitched.
"Yes, helmsman," she said.
"Good for you. Must be nice to fly around from star to star."
"More like ship to ship these days," she said. Martin glanced at her from his glass. "Y'know, lining up shots, getting the right angle…believe it or not, fighting in a three-dimensional environment is pretty difficult."
Martin snorted. "You think I give an orion's arse how difficult things are for a keyboard warrior?"
"A what?!"
"Keyboard warrior. Some pansy who thinks that entering in coordinates is the same thing as fighting a war."
Keyla finished off the rest of her gin in a single gulp, before standing up and saying, "take that back."
Martin snorted. "Take what back shiny?"
"Take it back."
"Can't take something back when I don't know what I'm taking back."
"About fighting a war. Take it back."
He looked up at her, from waist, to chest, to face. He smirked. "Careful shiny, think you're popping a vein."
"I said, take it-"
"No," he said, getting to his feet as well. "I'm done. I've had it with shinies who think it's fine to do the flying while men like me do the dying, and whatever scars you've got, I don't care."
"Take it back."
"You probably haven't even lost anyone who-"
Keyla snapped.
What happened next happened quickly, and she was barely aware of what she was doing. She was certainly aware that what she was doing was wrong – not only was humanity meant to be above their baser instincts, but Starfleet training was meant to have eradicated them completely. But still, like in the Third World War, morality didn't keep those instincts at bay. She punched Martin, and what followed was a brawl as the two Starfleet personnel traded punches, kicks, and harsh language. All around them, people yelled, cheered, and whooped. They wanted a show, and damn it, she was going to give it to them. For herself. For Georgiou. For every so-called "shiny" that had given their lives in this war so people like Warrant Officer Martin Brooke could drink water and hurl insults.
"Detmer!"
She barely even heard the voice. But she did feel the two pairs of hands dragging her away from Martin, and through her eyes, one cybernetic, one bruised, she saw Martin get pulled away as well by his fellow security officers – one human, one vulcan. Who was holding her, she didn't know, because her gaze right now was focused on the voice's source – Captain Gabriel Lorca.
"Oh look," Martin sneered as the captain walked over. "Shinny's come to save another shiny. How nice."
Lorca gave him a look, but otherwise ignored the man. The bulk of his attention was focused on Keyla, who right now, was feeling very small.
"The hell is this?" Lorca asked.
"Sir, he-"
"I said what the hell is this?"
"Daddy's upset shiny, little girl's got her hands dirty."
"Shut up," Lorca snapped, glancing at Martin before looking back at Keyla. "Detmer, is it?"
"Yes sir, and-"
"You're dismissed."
"Sir?"
"Shore leave's over. Get back on Discovery, stay there, and don't show your face until we're ready to leave."
"Sir, this is-"
"…not a negotiation," Lorca snapped. "Now move."
Keyla felt the two crewmen who had grabbed her let go. She didn't look at them, she just looked at Lorca. Tears stung her right eye, while he looked at her with his dark ones. His eyes had apparently been damaged in a prior battle, which made him averse to light, but there was still a fire in them. Enough to make her feel very small.
"Sir," she murmured, before exiting the Black Hole."
"Have fun shiny. See you around maybe."
Keyla glanced back at Martin, who'd just fallen limp thanks to the vulcan's nerve pinch. It only gave her a small amount of comfort as she thought of what had happened. What had happened here. What had happened up to this point. What she was doing now, slinking off like a beaten dog.
She was leaving the Black Hole, but she could see no light beyond it.
Only more war.
Only more death.