Troop quarters, USS Bajor, February 2nd, 2411.
I live for showers.
Muscle soreness is a thing even for genetically-modified abominations, and being three times stronger than anyone else on the ship doesn't mean I don't overdo it sometimes. Today, for example, I'm sore all over my upper body because K'tar bet I couldn't bench-press him and Lamont sitting on a barbell with the gravity turned up to double when we had the gym to ourselves. Still, I won twenty credits off of him, so it wasn't for nothing.
Long story short, a hot hydroshower, the kind of luxury you only get on a full battleship or at least a heavy cruiser, is to me like Saint Rock's Good Book to a Campbell-Johnsonist.
I'm just cleaning my armpits-need to shave again-when Lamont knocks on the stall door. "Hey, LT, the Captain's calling your combadge!"
Shit. "On it!" I shut off the water, bolt out the door, grab my towel from the rack, dry off my head real quick, and take the combadge from Lamont. "Thanks."
"No problem."
"Captain, Lieutenant Connor here," I say, wrapping the towel around myself as best I can. "What do you need, ma'am?"
"Lieutenant. How soon can you be ready for a duel?"
"A duel? With swords?"
"Tarin martial arts, actually. Diplo got negotiated into a corner, and the Tarin want to see a demonstration of our soldiers' quality before they make a decision on how they want to approach the Federation." The Tarin are the species we're negotiating with, new kids on the block who've been expanding at the expense of the Talarians ever since the Talarian civil war back in '98 and their pullout from the border with the Federation. They've had warp for about thirty years, and sensibly want to avoid being crushed by the Federation. We're here to learn more about them than "they showed up thirty years ago, are about as advanced as the Talarians were twenty years ago, and are moving into our area but don't want trouble".
A healthy Tarin is a vaguely gorilla-shaped armored thing maybe four feet tall at the shoulder. They're pretty tough for the size and covered in thick robin's-egg blue scales, but I'd tear one up in about twenty seconds. "Ma'am, I can be ready in five minutes, dress blacks or combat?"
"Workout gear. And, Lieutenant-they heard in passing about your Medal of Honor, they want you to fight their best soldier. But you need to throw the fight."
Ahhhh. That makes sense. "How obviously, ma'am?"
"Diplo's still deciding. I'll have Gantumur brief you when you get down here."
"Understood, ma'am. Connor out." I set the combadge aside and tear through my locker, pulling out a basic tank top, sports bra for my meagre tits, and workout shorts. "Lamont, keep an eye on shit, the diplos must be high off their asses again."
"Roger that, LT."
I yank the tank top over my head and shimmy into my shorts, shove my boots on and sprint out the door. The shirt sticks a bit on my back (didn't get fully dry, but what can you do?), and I catch some odd looks, but nobody stops me to ask.
"Deck 6," I order the computer, and the turbolift door hisses closed. On the way, I take the time to tie my boots.
The transporter room's nearly empty, bar the Bolian at the console. "Send me down to wherever I'm supposed to go, the Captain wants me for some ritual duel."
"Gotcha. Good luck, sir."
"Thanks." I stand on the pad, and nod. There's a buzz over my skin and I materialize in an angular room with blocky Tarin designs on the walls. Aly Gantumur's there already, in uniform.
"Connor. Why the wet hair?"
"Gantumur. Just got out of the shower, I goddamn love hydro facilities. Why do the diplos want a MACO on this?"
She grimaces. "Well, the short version is the Tarin trust them about as far as they can throw Ambassador Mendrossen. They apparently believe that they can judge a nation by the conduct of its soldiers?"
"Not a bad idea."
"Sure, but the diplos weren't happy." She's starting to jog; I throttle myself back, can't go too fast. "Îsa, what've you been doing to work out, woman?"
"Sorry, it's a...uh, thing."
"You are a shite liar, you know that?"
I shrug. "So what's the fight thing about?"
"The Tarin want you to fight their best soldier. Since you've got the Medal of Honor for that stunt during Operation Mockingbird, and the Tarin read that as you being our best-or something. It doesn't quite translate properly, they have a sort of decoration for a warrior who upholds the highest principles of their warrior caste, I think is what they said."
"That's...well, I've seen weirder shit."
She chuckles. "Point, there. The end result is, the Tarin won't agree to anything until you do ritual combat before witnesses. Ambassador Mendrossen himself says that you have to throw the fight. He wants you to 'hold your own' for about two minutes, then lose in a way that looks convincing, the point being to make the Federation look like we're not a threat to their security."
"We could crush these people and bomb them back into the Stone Age in two months. Doesn't fucking talking to them make us not a threat?"
"Hey, I'm not Mendrossen." She points to an impressive set of double doors ahead. "Here we are."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it." She even holds the door for me. Nice lady.
The Ambassador is a Human man in his fifties or sixties, skin a bit lighter than mine, graying hair, and an expression of sat-upon outrage. The Tarin lead negotiator is a big one, nearly four foot two, with darker scales than normal, and has a black...toga...thing? Shit, I don't know what to call it, but it's a sort of black cloth wrapped around the Tarin's midsection.
"Uh, greetings, honored to meet you?" I manage, trying not to slip into slang. Mendrossen looks like he's about to commit murder on yours truly. The Tarin makes a strange whistling sound.
Greetings, tenkat-vosh-ta, the Tarin says through the translator. Currently we haven't got a good translation for their lingo.
"Uh, greetings. So...I guess-I mean, I presume that there are rules for the fight?" Gotta stay polite.
Yes. The battle is to the surrender, between our soldier and yours. We have medical personnel on hand and request that you avoid killing our soldier as he will avoid killing you. Step into the arena when you are prepared for the battle. The arena in question is a thirty-foot-diameter circle with a four-foot tritanium fence with three bars supported by posts every few meters, looks pretty solid.
I nod. "Sounds good to-uh, I mean, your terms are most generous." I turn to the Captain and Mendrossen. "Ma'am? Mr. Ambassador?"
"You have been briefed, I presume?" Mendrossen says. I nod.
"Yeah, Gantumur ran it all by me on the way over."
He frowns at my tone and choice of words, but nods. "Whenever you are prepared, I suppose." The Captain just nods.
"So, who am I fighting?" I ask the Tarin leader, stepping over the tritanium bars around the ring.
Our tenkat-vosh-ta, it warbles. Ndar vo-Tarmak, Second Lieutenant in our equivalent to your MACO troops.
The doors on the other end of the room open, and…
The creature that steps through has the same ape-like shape as a Tarin, but it's easily six and a half feet tall at the shoulder while knuckle-walking, and its carapace is dark olive green, ridged with rough, low protrusions. It wears a rougher, grey garment over the center of the body, which is apparently where the Tarin keep their dicks. Whatever it is, it clearly has over a hundred pounds on me, probably more, and it's bulging with more muscles than a Gorn. The giant super-Tarin clambers into the ring, sets its arms in some kind of pose, and roars with a bugle like a dying elephant.
I say the only thing that comes to mind.
"Oh, fuck me."
Let the match begin! whistles the Tarin leader. I think that fucker's laughing. The giant super-Tarin rears onto its hind legs, standing up to nearly nine feet.
Fight well, it rumbles through its nasal passages. Then it charges.
"ShiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTT!"
I dodge sideways with a roll, but the Tarin skids to a halt and leaps after me. I manage to flip onto my back and force my lower body up to slam it in the face with both of my feet. The giant alien bugles in pain and collapses backwards. I roll over and flip myself to my feet, but the Tarin's already recovered. I stand just in time to see its fist coming for my…
Huh, the floor looks funny from this angle.
It takes a moment for me to realize that I just got sent flying by one punch from the Tarin. I turn my head. The Tarin's massive fists block out the light above me and begin to drop, but I roll out of the way and kick out, knocking the creature off-balance before catching it and shoving it onto its side and off of me.
Not as much as Lamont and K'tar, hmm. Even with normal gravity down here. About right for that size, I guess. My jaw's bruised, maybe fractured, and my dentures are off, one of my teeth feels fractured. I slam the Tarin in the face as he tries to rise, and he bugles again, then his right darts out. I duck…
Shit, he had his left ready. The Tarin, still half on the ground, has me in his massive left, holding my leg. I grab his fingers and start to pull, but he hauls me clean over his body and slams me face-first into the floor. My dentures come loose, then go flying under one of the benches. I have a half-second to hope that nobody noticed them before the Tarin's right is slamming down towards my face. I grab it in one hand, my left, and damn but he's almost as strong as me, the impact nearly busts my hand. The Tarin chirps in shock.
"My turn, motherfucker."
I abandon his fingers with my right and punch his left elbow right at the joint of two scutes, and the Tarin bugles, rearing back as I clutch on to his massive fist with my left. He hauls me up as he pulls himself to his full height and I grip that massive hand, then I pull myself up with my abs, ribs protesting, and deliver a double-kick to his chest. It's like kicking solid rock, but I can pulverize a cinderblock with a punch. I let go as the Tarin collapses backwards and hit the ground, then roll to my feet, taking the moment to wipe some of the blood off my face and spit out a couple of serrated bits of broken teeth.
"You're good," I manage through my mouthful of mangled bits of enamel. Those are gonna take a couple of days for the new ones to move in. "Damn fuckin' good. The Herald was better, though. And he died just the fuckin' same." My eyesight's a little blurry. Tears from the pain? Hard to tell.
The Tarin pushes himself back up, bugles something that the translators catch, though I'm too busy charging to pay attention.
The Tarin parries my first blow out of the way, but my second crashes into his midsection. I feel a spark of pain across my knuckles as the skin gets torn up by the ridges, hopefully my adaptation won't trigger, I'm on enough drugs to try to delay it today. The Tarin's off-balance, and I reach up to grab his head as he hoots for breath, then haul his face down to my knee. The Tarin's stunned, whistling semi-coherently, but he's going to recover. I've got an idea, though-I grab him in a headlock with my right arm and haul him to the side of the ring, hooking my left around the top bar. The Tarin tries to shake its head as I set myself, leaning at a deep angle against the bar.
"Oh, no you don't…" I smash the Tarin's face into the bar, and he bugles again. The arms grapple for me, but I slam the Tarin's face into the bar again, and again. The arms grow more haphazard and weaker, but still he manages to slug me a hard one to the back, and I shout in pain.
"Fucking give up already," I growl, slamming the guy's head into the bar again with all of my strength. This time the bugle's fainter and more uneven. I let him go, panting, and he stumbles backwards, wheezing. I stand, take a two-step run-up, and leap up, throwing myself onto the Tarin's upper body and punching him in the face again. He collapses backwards, and I land on his chest. He tries to push himself up with his arms, but I slug him hard on what I think is the jaw. He tries again, and I slug again. His arms slump down, and he continues to wheeze, but he stops struggling.
"Give up?"
He warbles something. I look over to the Tarin dignitary, and at random it occurs to me that I don't even know whether the Tarin leader is a man or a woman or something else.
Our soldier surrenders, it whistles.
I roll off of the Tarin and collapse by his side, gasping for breath. He whistles in rhythm with me. I turn my head, feeling my mouth and nose still bleeding. My nose is already starting to regain its shape at least, thanks to the mods. Hopefully no one notices amid the blood and mess. Huh, my eyes are still a bit blurry, too, I should get that checked out. "Hey. Good fight."
You fought well, the Tarin manages, and the translator picks it up.
I haul myself to my feet and offer the big guy a hand. "Hand up?"
The Tarin accepts, and I pull him up into a sitting position. He rolls his legs under him and staggers to his feet. Then he puts his open hand over his face. I turn, and the Tarin leader and its entourage are doing the same thing. The dignitary lowers its hand and turns to Mendrossen, who looks purple. Oh, shit, I just fucked this up, didn't I?
Your soldier represents your people well, the Tarin warbles. We would like to discuss a closer relationship with you, our new neighbors. Mendrossen looks surprised, but covers it quickly.
"We...are honored, Commandant."
The honor belongs to our people. We will proceed with the negotiations as you wish, and trust that you will request fair bargains in negotiations. Second Lieutenant, you are dismissed. You have served our nation well today.
I am honored to serve our people, Commandant, warbles the giant Tarin. He turns to me. Do you need medical assistance?
"Nah," I say in between breaths. "I'm good, we've got our own. But thanks." I stick out my hand. He looks down. "Oh. Uh, you shake it. It's a thing we Humans do. It's a respect thing."
The Tarin grabs my hand gently and shakes. A good fight. Please shall we not do that again?
I can't help but chuckle. "Yeah. Yeah, for sure. Good to meet you, uh, Ndar?"
It whistles in that freaky rhythmic way that the dignitary did earlier when I muffed the introduction. Close enough.
I stumble to the rail, ribs and right fibula complaining every step of the way, and haul myself over. Aly Gantumur catches me on a shoulder, and nods to the Captain over by the diplos. "Ma'am, I'll take the Lieutenant back to the ship and get her patched up."
"Good. Dismissed, Lieutenants."
Sickbay, USS Bajor. Four hours later.
The Captain comes in to me lying on my back in a biobed just after Wirrpanda finishes calling me eighty kinds of asshole for my broken ribs, broken teeth, sprained ankle, and concussion. I try to salute, and earn a cough and a withering glare from the doc. The Captain waves me down.
"At ease, Lieutenant. So, it turns out that the Tarin have a giant sterile warrior caste that makes up a fifth of their population."
"Really?" I try not to sound too sarcastic. "Never would've guessed, ma'am."
She grimaces at that. "It's my fault I missed it. I only expected to deal with the leadership caste on this mission and I didn't pay close enough attention to the files."
I shrug. My ribs are mostly repaired, but Wirrpanda still gives me the evil eye. "Hey, it worked out, didn't it? And I didn't get shot in the ass this time."
"Shot in the-"
"Long story, skirmish in the Arcaunis Arm back during J'mpok's little war over his undersized dick." The captain snorts and stifles a bout of giggles. "Yeah, that was a bad day. How badly did I fuck up the diplomatic angle?"
"That's the good news. You did better than we expected. The Tarin Commandant said that you showed that our soldiers don't give up against bad odds, fight to comprehensively defeat the enemy, and show mercy when they're done. He said he's deeply impressed, apparently. And before you ask, I took care of the super-strength thing, the official line is that you overclocked high-caliber prosthetics. Also, I advise you not to go near Mendrossen for a couple of days. He's nursing his pride."
"Aw, fuck his-" I catch her eye. "Uh, right, ma'am, sorry, ma'am."
She cracks a grin. "Between you and me, Lieutenant, I agree with you. Command should've sent a different diplomat, but he's senior thanks to connections or something. Now rest up. We need you at your best: the Commandant wants you at some sort of, of 'friendship party', I think is how Esplin translated it. Tomorrow, local sunset, and apparently the local booze is pretty tasty," she finishes with a smirk.
"Yes, ma'am."