Legal Bit
I don't own the rights to Star Trek and I don't pretend otherwise. All of the characters in this story, except for Azetbur are my own creation – I think Sulu gets mentioned as well, and maybe Picard, but neither appear, so they don't count.
This story uses some of the same characters as my Endeavour NCC-194 stories but does not belong to the same timeline/universe.
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Chapter One
Mister Sheldon Harrow of the Federation Diplomatic Corps was directed to a large view port built into the side of the starbase's gently curving hull by the young yeoman Admiral McCaffrey had assigned to assist him. He had professed an interest in seeing the arrival of the vessel that was to convey him on his long journey into Klingon space, and Yeoman Hope, being eager to please, had raced him up through the decks of the mammoth starbase to the upper starboard observation gallery, so that he might have the best possible view. Harrow was not an old man, and he kept himself in reasonably good condition, but even so he found himself hot and breathing deeply following the struggle to keep up with Hope's youthful energetic pace.
There was nothing to be seen out of the view port; nothing that Harrow had not seen before, at any rate. Out of the corner of one eye he could make out the dark crescent of New Manchester, the M-class colony world the starbase permanently orbited. Sunrise was only a few hours away, but for now the visible side of the planet was still deeply bathed in darkness, its presence more of feeling than fact. There was no sign of the starship that was to convey him and his Klingon counterparts into Imperial space. A quick glance at his wristwatch informed him that there were still a handful of minutes to go before the ship's appointed time of arrival, and so he should hardly be surprised by her absence from the skies. Captain Drake was known for many things, but his punctuality was hardly foremost amongst them. He was a greatly resourceful captain, and he enjoyed the service of one of the finest helmsmen in the Starfleet, but he seemed to have difficulty when it came to being on time for anything.
The ambassador reflected on the man while he waited. Originally, he knew, Hikaru Sulu and the Excelsior had been the admiralty's first choice for this duty, but Sulu was otherwise engaged with a particularly difficult (and apparently classified, since Harrow had heard nothing official about it) mission on the other side of the quadrant. A replacement had had to be found. There were other starships available, but they were all of the smaller classes, and commanded by junior, markedly inexperienced captains – one of them, T'lak, the master of the Polychrest, having only been appointed to his post a week ago. Drake was the most senior captain currently in the sector, his ship, the Endeavour, the largest available.
He was also, as Harrow knew well from reports he had read, a highly respected fighting captain; one who had seen more than his share of action in space. He had had several encounters with both Klingon and Romulan warships, as well as uncountable scrapes with pirates and other scum. Drake had a reputation, and it seemed to be one that had spread quite far and wide – Harrow well remembered the look on Kravft's face when he had mentioned Drake's name. The Klingon general seemed pleased by the notion of travelling under the care of the captain; seemed to take it as a compliment, and perhaps that was a good thing. The peace negotiations were going well for the time being, but they remained delicate, and Harrow was very conscious of giving offence.
A flash of light outside caught his attention, and as he watched the strong, surprisingly graceful form of the Starship Endeavour appeared suddenly just outside of the window, decelerating from many hundreds of times the speed of light to a relative stop in the space of a second. The massive vessel banked slowly and settled into a peaceful orbit around the station, her running lights brilliantly illuminating her silvery hull, so that even without any sunlight falling on her the Endeavour was a brilliant near star against the background darkness of space.
"There she is, sir," beamed Hope, pointing excitedly at the starship. Like everyone else in the service, her greatest ambition in life was to one day serve aboard a starship, to go out into deep space and experience the excitement and adventure of exploration first-hand. She was also a great admirer of Drake.
"So she is," Harrow said, unable to match the almost childish excitement possessed by the yeoman, although he tried. He was impressed enough by the sight of the great starship, however; her beautiful lines, the obvious strength that she possessed. Yes, she was an old vessel now; built nearly enough fifty years ago and belonging to the now antiquated Constitution-class; and yes, she was technologically behind the times, but there was something indefinably right about that ship. She belonged to the same class as Captain Kirk's famous Enterprise, and she was the kind of vessel that most people instinctively saw in their minds whenever the word 'Starfleet' was mentioned.
They stood and looked at the ship for a while longer, before Hope reluctantly peeled her eyes away from the gorgeous craft, and settled them on the rather less pretty face of Mr. Harrow. "We had best head down to the transporter room, sir. The captain will expect us aboard promptly."
"Of course."
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"Where is that girl?"
William Drake paced back and forth in front of the main transporter dais, his hands clenched angrily by his sides and a matching look of intense irritation scratched deeply into his face. He was a handsome man, tall and strongly built, his face round and possessing intense sea-green eyes that shone like jewels whenever he was pleased, and darkened into storm clouds when something happened to upset him. This was one of those times when a hurricane could be seen in the bearded face of the captain.
The reason for his mounting impatience was that he was about to receive Mr. Harrow and his party, and one of his welcoming group was nowhere to be seen. Commander Victoria McDonald and Security Chief Hannah Wolf were at their places, and behind the transporter controls stood senior transporter officer Israel Sawyer and his mate, all present and correct, but the final member of the party, Drake's old friend and the person with least excuse for being late, was absent.
McDonald watched her captain pacing and bit back the 'I told you so' that was forming on her tongue. She had initially objected when the captain had decided to include his old friend in the party, on the very grounds that she was unreliable and likely to bring discredit on the starship. The commander was hardly fond of the young woman, and this sort of unpunctuality, disregard for duty was just like her. She had no business being on a Starfleet ship in the first place, and was only on the Endeavour because of Drake's influence. Unlike the rest of the officers, she had not attended Starfleet Academy – she hadn't earned her position in the crew.
Drake was just getting ready to contact his errant friend and find out where she was and what she was playing at, when the doors to the transporter room slid open and the young woman charged in. She skidded to a stop right in front of the captain, took a moment to catch her breath, and smiled at him apologetically. "Sorry I'm late. Had a hell of a time –"
"What are you wearing?" Demanded McDonald, who was far less interested in the woman's explanations – call them what they were, excuses – than she was in her bizarre getup.
The young woman rubbed a hand down the smooth black leather of her jacket and her smile turned bashful. "Well…you said to dress smartly."
"I said formal dress, Lieutenant. Dress uniform."
"I don't have a dress uniform."
McDonald sighed heavily, feeling a familiar exasperation well up inside of her. She had only been first officer of the Endeavour for a few weeks, since the ship had been hurriedly put into space to convey Mr. Harrow into Klingon territory, but in that short time she had already come to dearly loathe young Alix Nain, the ship's long-standing helmsman. The two of them had confronted frequently on a number of matters – almost all of which could be traced back to discipline, and Alix's apparent lack of it. It was fast coming to the point where McDonald, usually one of the most stubborn people in creation, was beginning to think that there was just no point in trying anymore.
On the other hand, Drake's bad mood evaporated at once. It was impossible for him to stay angry with Alix for any length of time, and he smiled at her fondly. "You look fine. A little unorthodox, but fine."
In fact, Alix looked pretty much as she always did: her dark red hair was swept back from her forehead into spikes, and she wore her usual combination of navy blue trousers, a brightly coloured shirt, and a black leather jacket that had been battered by years of wear. She had obviously spent a great deal of time polishing her shoes to get them to shine so brilliantly, but otherwise there was no real difference between a smartly dressed Alix and a casually dressed one. This did not surprise Drake terribly: he had known Alix since childhood, and she had told him often that she didn't feel comfortable unless she was wearing her own clothes.
"This is no way to greet a diplomatic envoy," muttered McDonald to herself. Wolf caught her whispered words and glanced over at the first officer, but McDonald ignored her. She was grateful that the security chief was the only one who had heard her – the captain was very protective of his friend, and Alix could be surprisingly sensitive at times; and she was terribly intimidating when she got upset.
"You know," said Drake quietly into his friend's ear, "if you don't have a dress uniform, a regular duty uniform might have been more appropriate."
"This is appropriate."
"How, exactly?"
Alix pulled one of her practiced secretive smiles. "In the words of the window-washer, all will be made clear."
How often have I heard that from her? Drake asked himself. A lot more than once, that was for sure. Alix hated to give a straight answer where a cryptic one would do just as well.
A group of lights began to flash on the transporter control panel, and Sawyer announced to his captain: "Sir, we're receiving signal from the starbase."
He saw the three women with him straighten themselves up and took a second to inspect them. Vicki McDonald's uniform was immaculate, of course, and her curly, dyed-blond hair was tucked up into a knot at the back of her head – not a good style, and it detracted somewhat from what was otherwise quite a pretty face, but it was practical.
Hannah Wolf was tall and lean; her dark-blond hair was shoulder-length and tatty, looking like it hadn't been brushed recently; her cobalt blue eyes held a predatory gleam. There was something just wrong about her in a Starfleet uniform; Drake always half expected to see her wearing animal skins, and Alix had confessed to having similar thoughts.
Although, if they were for the same reason…Drake didn't know, and frankly didn't want to ask.
And Alix looked like…Alix.
"Very good," he decided, happy with his party. "Energize transporter beams, Mr. Sawyer; bring them over." And in an undertone to Alix: "Best behaviour."
"Scout's honour," she promised, but her red eyes twinkled with barely contained glee, and Drake didn't hold much hope of her sticking to her promise.
Columns of sparkling light appeared above the dais and began to resolve into the forms of five people – three humans and two Klingons. In a matter of moments, the transport process was completed, and Drake stepped forward to greet the new arrivals. "I'm Captain William Drake. Welcome aboard the Starship Endeavour."
The three human members of the party consisted of a young woman wearing a Starfleet uniform, a taller Asian man carrying a briefcase, and another man, at least ten years older than Drake, dressed in dark, elegant clothes. He came forward now, smiling comfortably. "Thank you, Captain, for that warm welcome. Allow me to present General Kravft of the Klingon Imperial Defence Fleet, and Commander Grownel."
"Gentlemen," said Drake diplomatically to the two Klingons, impressed by the size of them. The captain was over six-feet tall, but even he found himself craning his neck to meet the eyes of the elder Klingon. Kravft had to be close on seven-and-a-half-feet, and even Grownel had a good couple of inches on the captain. Alix, at five-foot-four, would have to tip her head right back to look the Klingons in the face. However, this did not seem to be something that his young friend intended to do. She was holding her head downcast, so that her eyes were on the floor. Why, he did not know.
"Allow me to name my officers: Commander Victoria McDonald, executive officer; Lieutenant Hannah Wolf, head of security; and my helmsman, Lieutenant Alix Nain."
For the first time since coming aboard, Kravft spoke. His deep voice rumbled through the transporter room like thunder, strong and clear, but what he said took the captain by surprise. "Destroyer."
From the baffled looks on Harrow's and Grownel's faces, Drake guessed that the word didn't mean a whole lot to them.
A soft chuckle came from behind him, and Drake turned to see Alix's shoulders shaking with humour. The girl looked up at last, and her red eyes were roaring with laughter. This was obviously exactly the reaction she had been hoping for. She had dressed to be recognized, and it had worked. "Hello again, General. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. I'm sure it was richly deserved."
Kravft nodded, but gave no verbal response. His attention became focused on the young woman, however, and Drake wondered if he should be worried about that. Alix had encountered a good many people during her adventurous life, and while she had friends scattered throughout the quadrant, she also had more than her fair share of enemies. Hers was the kind of personality that allowed for either loving or loathing, no middle ground. He knew his own position when it came to her, and wondered which side of the line Kravft lay on.
Quickly, so as to avoid any sort of incident, Drake spoke again: "Let me show you to your quarters."
Harrow stepped in. "Actually, Captain, we need to talk about the particulars of this mission. Is there a meeting room or similar where these things could be discussed in private?"
"Conference room is on deck six," replied Wolf in her growling voice. "This way."
"Thank you." And then, to the Asian man and yeoman, "Please, deliver our baggage to our quarters," sweeping a hand to encompass the cases and bags that lay around the feet of himself and the two Klingons.
"Yes, Mr. Harrow."
There was a lot of luggage there, Drake saw, and he doubted that the two humans could handle it between them. He was about to assign Lieutenant Wolf to give a hand when his helmsman spared him the necessity.
"Come on," said Alix, stepping forward and taking one of the heavier cases from around the Klingons' feet in her hand. She lifted the weighty piece of luggage without any difficulty. "I'll show you the way."
As she passed Captain Drake, she smiled up at him and whispered, "I told you it was appropriate."
"Behave yourself, Alix," warned the captain, looking over her shoulder at the yeoman on the transporter stage: a few years younger than Nain. She was a pretty young thing; not exactly beautiful, but Drake knew well what his friend was like.
"I'll fight temptation."
And then she was passed him, leading the two servants away at a brisk pace that caused them to struggle to keep up. Drake watched her go; hoping that for just this once Alix would be as good as her word. He also hoped that she would explain to him whatever association existed between her and General Kravft, but he didn't put too much faith into either thing happening. Alix was reckless, impulsive and secretive. A promise from her was hardly binding, and it often seemed to him that there was nothing she hated more than being completely honest about anything.
"This way, please," he suggested, gesturing for the men to follow after Commander McDonald. He waited behind until the train of bodies had left the room, gave his appreciation to Sawyer and his mate for a smooth and rapid transport, before falling into place at the back of the line.
As they were led down the short stretch of corridor between the transporter room and the turbolift shaft, Kravft dropped his voice to a whisper and said to his junior: "The Destroyer is here. Be vigilant. Always keep one eye on her."
For a big man with a big voice, he could be remarkably quiet when he wanted to be. Of everyone present, only Hannah Wolf caught the words. Curious, she listened carefully for Grownel's reply.
"Yes, General." Was what he said, sounding disinterested.
"Take this matter seriously, boy," Kravft hissed in warning. "The Destroyer is more dangerous than you realize."
Grownel quite obviously did not believe what the general was telling him, and neither did Wolf for that matter. From what she had heard in the transporter room, it seemed that this 'Destroyer' was Alix Nain, their smiley-faced, slightly odd helmsman.
And how could that tiny little girl be dangerous to anyone?
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"Deck eight," announced the incalculably dangerous Nain, grinning broadly, enjoying her time playing tour guide as she led Harrow's two servants around the starship. The Endeavour had been her home since her late teenage years, and to Alix its halls and rooms were as easily recognizable as her own fiery red eyes – unique amongst humans, and quite beautiful, at least in her opinion. She knew that she could find her way around the starship blind – not an exaggeration, she had actually had to do so a few years back, when they had lost all power and been plunged into pitch darkness and freezing cold following a devastating accident. The only reason the ship and crew were alive today was because of Alix's familiarity with the vessel, as well as one or two…other things that were known only to her.
It was apparent to her that the two servants had never been aboard a Constitution-class vessel before, and she further assumed that they had very little, or even no actual experience with starships at all. The yeoman was openly gaping at her surroundings, enchanted by everything that she saw; clearly, just setting foot on the Endeavour was a dream come true for her. This ship was a wonderland, and she moved about it as though she were in a beautiful dream.
Alix glanced occasionally at her out of the corner of her eyes and found herself smiling right along with the yeoman. The woman's tearing great mood was infectious, and Alix admired spirited people. She was already coming to regret her promise to Drake that she would for once listen to her head, rather than her hips. It was so tempting to just disregard that vow, as she had so many in the past, but she was able to refrain from doing so by reminding herself that there was no guarantee that the yeoman would even be interested in her advances. That didn't usually bother her – she was hardly shy – but the ship was on an important mission here, and she could not afford to do anything that might jeopardise it. Even if that something was just a bit of harmless flirting.
The Asian man, who was an indifferent example of a human male Alix felt, was rather less blown away by the ship than the yeoman, and while he glanced at everything they passed just as she did, his was more of an inspectory eye than the girl's. He was judging how worthy a conveyance this was for a person as important as Mister Harrow, and Alix got the distinct impression that he was giving the ship very low marks. This caused a good deal of anger to course through her, for Alix was passionately attached to the Endeavour. She loved the old vessel like a sister, and the very idea that someone was thinking ill of her made Alix mad.
"This way," she said to distract herself, putting a bit of a skip into her step as she led them down one of the thousands of seemingly identical corridors. She hesitated for a moment by the door to one of the junior officers' quarters and glanced behind an exposed conduit that ran from floor to ceiling beside the door. What she saw caused her to chuckle, and the good humour that ran into her quite wiped away her previous sour mood. With renewed good spirits she led the servants on, noticing how they were glancing at each other and wondering what it was that she had been doing back there.
The answer was simple enough: a long time ago, Alix had carved her initials, and those of someone very close to her, into the bulkhead behind that pipe, back when she had been living in that cabin. Now, after at least three major refits and countless smaller ones, the four letters, A.N. and K.N., were still there and just as visible as they ever had been. She wondered how long they might last, and merely thinking that brought a pang of regret into her heart. Not for much longer, was the sad answer. Not for much longer.
It was a difficult thought for her to dismiss from her mind, but Alix put it away as best she could and focused on the here and now instead. Live in the moment; it had always been her approach to life, and what was the point in changing it now? Whatever the future had in store for her, that could wait until it became today.
She was so distracted that she almost walked straight past the cabins that had been assigned to Mr. Harrow and his party, and would have done so too if a voice in her head had not purred to her, "Isn't that where you want to be?"
"So it is," observed Alix, glancing back and reading the serial number off the portal. Bit of a slip, that – she had almost gone striding straight past it. What a fool she'd have looked if that had happened. Imagine not being able to find the guest quarters on her own ship!
"Here we are." She announced, opening the door and gesturing for them to go inside. The two servants did so, still looking about at everything, and once they were inside Alix followed and unceremoniously dumped Mr. Harrow's large and very heavy suitcase on the room's small sofa. She was very glad of all the combat training that she regularly undertook, which gave her formidable strength in her arms and torso, for without those hours of exercise she would have never been able to get that case out of the transporter room. Even as it was, the object had become a burden a while ago, and she had been very tempted to dump it on someone else. Maybe she should have let Wolf show the guests around – the security chief certainly wasn't lacking in strength.
The Asian man took one look around the small, undecorated, gun-metal-grey room and turned towards the lieutenant with disgust. "You are expecting Mr. Harrow to live in accommodation such as this?"
His attitude did not endear him to Alix in the slightest. She put her hands into the pockets of her leather coat and flashed an insincere smile at him. "Yeah. I expect him to live in accommodation exactly like this."
"This is an outrage!"
"These are the guest quarters; they are the nicest rooms on the ship. You should see what the officers and crew live in."
The familiar taste of a lie was on Alix's lips as she mouthed those words, for the truth of the matter was that these were not guest quarters in the sense that they were a special set of cabins reserved for carrying distinguished visitors, but rather that they were some empty rooms, nominally accommodation for junior officers, into which guests could be shoved if necessary. The Constitution-class had no designated guest quarters, for she had long since been downgraded from the prized flagship of the fleet to a medium-cruiser, good only for long-range patrols and exploration. She was a working ship, not a diplomatic courier.
Soon she wouldn't even be that. The Constitution-class was fifty-years old, and the general opinion was that she was behind the times. The new Excelsior-class was the way of the future; the few remaining Constitutions would all be decommissioned before the end of the year.
Alix's own set of rooms was far more comfortable than Mr. Harrow's accommodation, and the captain's was a further leap up the scale. This wasn't a reflection on their higher rank (although Drake, as captain, did command more space than anyone else) but on the amount of time and finances they had devoted to making their bare quarters into a more homely environment.
Her false words, designed to mollify the Asian man, had no effect whatsoever. "Mr. Harrow is one of the most accomplished diplomats in the Federation, and you expect him to tolerate squalid living conditions such as these? It is inconceivable!"
"Wait until they see their own rooms," purred that dark voice in Alix's mind again, and she nearly chuckled aloud. But even that thought was not enough to dispel her growing bad mood, and Alix fixed Harrow's assistant with a sharp eye. Her smile, false to begin with, was beginning to flicker and fade. "This is the best available."
The helmsman was a small woman, and while she was lean and clearly very fit, there was nothing particularly intimidating about her. Her smooth oval face was so naturally accustomed to smiling that it was difficult for it to display any other expression. However, while her lips were almost constantly tucked up at the corners, her eyes often told a different – and far more truthful – story. Those fiery red eyes, the same colour as her hair, were deeply disturbing to those not used to them, even when she was in a bright and cheerful mood. When anger seeped into them they became the eyes of some demon from the pits of Hell, terrifying to even Alix's closest friends.
Her stare was not quite so intense at that moment, but there was a current of cold anger running about in it that quite petrified the Asian man.
"Delicious."
Alix ignored the voice, and the trickle of sadistic laughter that echoed about inside her head. She fixed the man with a stare that he could not escape from, nor tolerate to hold, and said again in a cheery voice quite at odds with her expression, "This is the best available. Mr. Harrow will have to make do as best he can. I appreciate his importance, and we are all familiar with his virtues, but this is a ship of war, not a pleasure cruiser. We have done the best we can; now he will have to do likewise. Okay?"
She held the man in her torturous gaze for a long moment more, watching him squirm, before she released her grip on her anger, some warmth returned to her eyes, and she smiled politely at him. It was an expression that she swept about to include the yeoman, who had been working diligently while her pompous associate and the helmsman had their restrained argument, neatly stowing the diplomat's bags and putting the Klingons' things to one side, ready to move into their rooms.
"I don't think I caught your names."
The man was in no condition to speak, but the girl had escaped Alix's glower and she was happy to provide the details. "This is Mr. Shao Ling, aide to Mr. Harrow. I'm Yeoman Caroline Hope."
"Nice to know you. If we're done with Mr. Harrow's room, I'll show you to the Klingons' accommodation, and your own."
Housing the Klingons had been a problem that had consumed Captain Drake and Commander McDonald during much of the flight to Starbase Seventy. The cold war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire was now officially over, the Khitomer Peace Accords had been signed by all the relevant parties, and the leaders of both sides had publicly declared an end to all animosity. However, the political and the practical truths, as ever, did not hold a great deal in common. There were still bitter feelings on both sides, mistrust and resentment, as was inevitable. The Federation and the Empire had been adversaries for close on a century, and there were a lot of long-standing grudges that would not just disappear over night – if ever they would.
So where to put the Klingons? On the one hand, they were supposedly friends now, and the crew certainly couldn't treat them as anything but, or risk damaging the peace process. On the other hand, there wasn't a person on the ship who would claim to trust a Klingon, and no one was happy with the idea of their guests being too close to sensitive areas – or too near to their own rooms.
In the end a section of deck eight had been cleared of ship's personnel and designated the guest area. It was in this region of the ship that the diplomatic envoys from the Federation and the Klingon Empire were to be housed. Additional security sensors had been discretely installed so that Wolf and her people could keep an eye on everything that happened, and the Klingon and human parties were to be berthed at opposite ends of the corridor, with security officers on patrol twenty-four hours a day to ensure that nothing happened.
Alix personally stowed General Kravft and Commander Grownel's belongings, and as she handled the heavy bags she knew without doubt that there were bladed weapons carried within. Kravft's big, old, wonderfully elegant bat'leth sword was tucked away in one of his cases, she was sure. She hoped that she would see that blade again during the voyage, and even more so that she might be given the pleasure of facing off against it once more. It was rare for her to encounter someone who fought at even close to her own level, and that long-ago encounter with then-Colonel Kravft had delighted her utterly. Although he had aged noticeably since then, a rematch would certainly still be a great deal of fun.
Once she had taken care of the Klingons' belongings, she showed Yeoman Hope and Mr. Ling where they would be staying. Individual cabins had been set aside for both members of Harrow's entourage, and the yeoman at least was delighted with her quarters – far more spacious than the room she shared with three others on the starbase; more of a hotel suite than a resting place for a tired military woman. Ling, on the other hand, who had been born and raised on Earth to a wealthy family, and was therefore used to every kind of luxury, was quite appalled by the sparse, cramped nature of his accommodation – far smaller than the affront to living space that the honourable Mr. Harrow was forced to endure. There were a great many things that he wanted to say on the subject, but the warning look on the young lieutenant's face caught the words in his throat. He recalled all to vividly the hell he had seen in her eyes before; he had no desire for a second viewing, and so he muttered a few words about the kind consideration – appreciated the gesture – and set about his unpacking.
Out in the corridor, Hope approached with a look of bitter regret and sorrow on her pretty face. "I have to apologize for him, Lieutenant. He can be…difficult, I know, but he is utterly devoted to Mr. Harrow, and to the peace process."
"That's good to hear," she said, grinning. "But don't worry about it; he came off far worse than I did. These red eyes of mine can be pretty scary."
"Red eyes?" Said a wondering Hope, who until now had not brought her gaze above the height of Alix's neck, even though to do so she had to tilt her head a way downwards. She did not feel that she had the right to look an officer in the face without invitation, but the lieutenant's words now caused her to look up and she saw there shining in the woman's friendly visage two dark red eyes, full of warmth and gentle good humour. "Oh my."
Hope blinked and her face took on a look of surprise, but she was hardly frightened, as so many were when confronted with Alix's strange eyes – so much the stranger, for they sat out markedly on what was otherwise an entirely human face. "Are they natural? Oh, I'm sorry! Please, I beg your pardon, Lieutenant. I shouldn't have…"
Alix laughed and waved aside the girl's distress. "Forget it. And the answer to your question is yes; I was born with red eyes."
"Extraordinary."
The helmsman grinned, enjoying being the focus of Hope's attention. She could tell that the girl was curious about her bizarreness, but Alix had no plans to tell her how she came to possess such inhuman eyes. It was a secret that she shared with no one, and the reason for her red eyes, her odd hairstyle and clothing, was one and the same – and further, it was the reason why she was so incredibly dangerous.
Yeoman Hope had no idea of any of this. All she saw standing before her was a bright, cheerful young woman. But then, that was all that most people saw when confronted with the enigma that was Alix Nain.