Khitomer, Klingon Space. One year earlier.

"I'm telling you," Specialist Azetai said, with the cheerful pedantry that only a drunken science officer could manage. "It has to be some sort of cultural hangover."

"G'day't!" Force Leader Madsa answered, slamming a fist down on the table, spilling both their tankards. "What if they're just dumb? Do they need a reason for building targets for us to shoot at?!"

Scout Captain Khage said nothing. He'd lifted his own drink from its place beside Madsa's helmet just in time, so he simply took a cool sip, allowing his second in command and his Marine officer to bicker away goodnaturedly.

It was a good day to be arguing about exactly why Federation starships had such impractically large command hulls, and a table in one of Khitomer's outdoor taverns was a good place to be doing it.

In theory, Khitomer was an ordinary frontier outpost that just happened to be demilitarized and opened to outsiders. In intent, it was a showpiece world, designed to impress diplomatic envoys and curious alien tourists. In practice, visitor numbers were low, and Khitomer was mostly used as a comfortable second residence for the Empire's own high ranks – and a pleasant stopover for Navy crews on frontier assignments.

The three senior officers of the IKV Harrier were seated to one side of a curving terrace, constructed of artfully laid smooth stonework, overlooking an artificial pool large enough to land a battlecruiser on. Beyond that, a dark, eternal forest and jagged mountain peaks, clear skies. It was very much the Klingon idea of perfection.

Still on shipboard time, they were the only people drinking this early in the local day. Most of the other visitors Khage could see were Klingons, with purebred Imperial Race predominating. There were a few familiar neighbors – Orions, obviously, and Capellans and Elaasians, recognizable by their distinctive costumes – plus some less Klingon-shaped sentients who might have been kuve, whether their own or someone else's. It was hard to tell.

"What I want to know is why they have such big crews," Madsa was saying, warming to a favored theme. "No Marines, no prize crews, and their red shirt Security don't even die well."

"What I want to know is why they have such big ships," Azetai countered. "Using those battlecruisers – or, worse, something the size of this new Enterprise – for long range exploration that could be handled by a scout with a decent science section? It's just wasteful."

Khage kicked them both under the table – gently – with his armoured toecaps. "Zet, Mads, quiet. Fed, starboard fifteen, my mark."

The girl was standing with her hands on her hips, looking around with an interesting expression, pride disguising anxiousness. She was a being who liked to be in control of things, but she felt more unsettled here than she'd anticipated, and she didn't like it.

Madsa had already shrugged and returned to her tankard, but Azetai was studying the girl with interest – admiring her trim physique with the keen expression of a scientist faced with an interesting and exotic specimen.

She had the distinctively pale complexion that was so marked among high-caste Feds, with pale blonde hair and an even lighter skin color. By Klingon standards, she was ridiculously underdressed, wearing only a short, sleeveless tunic of some flimsy, patterned stuff, which billowed a little around her torso in the breeze. It was hard to tell if the strappy leather things on her feet were meant to be shoes, or just jewelry like the bands around her wrist.

"She looks lost," Azetai said, with a mocking smile. The pretend pity in his voice made it sound like he was saying poor kuve.

Khlage wasn't so sure, though. The way the human was looking around reminded him of a lot of females: she was looking for a way to re-impose her control. And that meant she was looking for a pliant male.

"Go and talk to her, then," he suggested, grinning mischievously. He wasn't sure if it was his challenging expression that decided it, or the dismissive eyeroll from Madsa.

"You know? I think I will." Zet's eyes shone brightly, and he pushed back and stood up, turning towards the girl.

"Kai, the Scientist," Khage grinned, raising his tankard in salute. "Blue lights, Zet."

In truth, he was curious to see how the girl reacted. Azetai was tall enough, but slender by Klingon standards, with a precise, efficient manner, a refined brow ridge, and angled tips to his ears that betrayed his mixed genetic origins.

As Madsa liked to say, Science Officer Azetai's non-Klingon DNA would never let itself be mistaken for Romulan.

Madsa, in contrast, was purebred Imperial Race. And she was humming Vengeance Flies At Morning, as if to accompany Zet with a war song as he closed in on the human, but she was tapping her foot off the beat, creating a slow, moody rhythm that subverted the whole effect.

"You're ruining that song," Khage warned her.

"No, Zet is ruining the reputation of the Navy and the ship by trying to chat up humans."

Khage grinned. "I think they're actually getting on well." Zet and the human did seem to be hitting it off – a lot of eye contact, swaying movements of their bodies that seemed to be part of an unconscious dance, answer and response. As he watched, one hand gesture maneuvered around the other. They were smiling as they spoke.

Madsa snorted. "I thought Feds were kleoni. Why would that one want to bed him?!"

Khage ignored the unspoken implication of spy. "Perhaps it's his Vulcan DNA. The Fed women have a thing for them. You wouldn't believe the stuff we had to look at in Detached Service…."

Madsa's expression was a picture of purebred disbelief. "G'day't, Captain. That's worse."

"Maybe," Khage chuckled, and gestured for to her to be silent, as Zet and the girl turned back towards the table. "Now play nice."

She obeyed, glaring slightly.

Khage watched the girl as she approached, chatting with Zet. She did a good impression of looking interested, and there was a sway to her body as she walked. Could be a spy. Could just be female.

"This is Carol Wallace," Zet said. "An exoscientist at Daystrom when she's not on holiday. Unclassified research into comparative transfer mechanisms, parallel to my own Accreditation work." Then he shifted into the Federation language. "Carol, Captain Khage, my ship's commander, and Force Leader Madsa, our Marine officer."

"I can tell by her helmet," the human smiled. She was probably lucky that Mads didn't understand much of Fed beyond the word Marine.

"Did he tell her I report to Security, too?" Madsa asked, giving the human a hostile look. She folded her arms, and glowered. It was the expression she wore when she was imagining someone in the agonizer booth.

The human lifted one of her flat-forehead eyebrows at Zet, requesting a translation.

"That's her way of saying hello," Zet replied, sounding unconvincing.

The girl's eyes showed a flicker of uncertainty, but she hid it with a bright grin. "Well, I suppose I did come here to investigate the local wildlife," she said, sitting down with a shake of her head.

With that gesture, Khage noted the way she wore her hair, with an asymmetrical parting, and straight edges that framed her face before they curled up under her jawline.

"Zan Karol," he nodded, figuring she must have enough 'aase to understand that. She did, so he glanced at Azetai, as he settled in his seat beside her. "You did tell her I'm just a Scout Captain, Zet?" He'd noticed the flash of interest in the girl's expression when she heard his rank, and he had all sorts of reasons not to want her overestimating him.

She looked at Zet, chin tipped up, eyebrows lifted. Waiting for a translation.

"The Captain's pretending not to speak your language," Zet translated, with a grin. "He wants me to make clear that the military side of Harrier's mission's not that important."

Khage supposed he could let that pass. Zet's science section was impressive, and not just for a ship the size of Harrier, although the powerful sensor package wasn't exactly single use civilian equipment.

"You're from the B6 parked in orbit, right?" she asked, with another of those bright human smiles. "I saw it from the observation lounge as we came in."

"I'm impressed," he said, in Anglish, pushing a tankard over to the human. "Now we see how well you drink."

She gave him a grin. "Captain Khage. Are you challenging me?"

"Of course. I'm a Klingon. Are you in?"

She raised her eyebrows again, then lifted the tankard. Her grip was probably stronger than it looked, and her gaze was steadier than her expressive body language would suggest. She had blue eyes, matching her dress and fingernail paint.

She raised the tankard in salute. "I'm in."