My thanks to Commander Argus, campy, Whisper from the Shadows, RealityBreakGirl, spec-tre666, calamite, IncrediRaider8, Nightwing 509, AtomicFire, daywalkr82, Josh84, mkusenagi2, Supreme Admiral of the Web, whitem, JPMod, Ezbok58a, MichaelCross, FAH3, CajunBear73, conan98002, Taechunsa, Trapper44, Uru Baen, mattb3671, Zaratan, kemiztri, Visigoth29527, Molloy, and surforst for reading and reviewing.
Special thanks to campy for his beta and proofing work. As a token of my gratitude, I will not be sending Lwaxana Troi to visit …
If you saw it on KP, it belongs to Disney; if you saw it on TNG, it belongs to Paramount.
Recommendations: Check out Eurotrip by Zaratan and johnrie18, writing as GWA. Good old-fashioned K/R fluff and adventure with a liberal dose of humor and villains. What more could you ask for? And, while I'm touting the GWA, the newest member, Commander Argus, has just posted the latest chapter of The Darkness Within. Get a cup of joe and have at it!
I.
"Excuse me."
Q turned to find himself facing Barbara Jo Stoppable. "Yes?"
"You were Ron's best man," she stated flatly.
"And it was an honor indeed. Your son is the only man in the galaxy who can properly prepare –"
Q, and everyone else on the bridge, was stunned when Ron's mother slapped the omnipotent being across the face.
"Ouch! What was that for?" he yelped.
"You're his best man. That supposedly means you're his friend. What kind of friend lets someone get into the kind of trouble Ronnie obviously found himself in?" she demanded. Much to Q's surprise, Mrs. Stoppable actually grabbed his face and turned it towards Ron. "Look at my boy! Look at what's happened to him!"
"While I'll admit he's no longer in factory-fresh condition, he seems to have done well for himself, if you ask me …"
Q felt as if Mrs. Stoppable's angry gaze was about to bore through his head.
"… Well," he said defensively, "he does know the President of the Federation and he's on a first-name basis with the leader of the Klingon Empire, not to mention he just got married to a very attractive female, though I'll confess she's not my type …"
While Kim and Ron were deriving great satisfaction from Q's discomfort, they both began to fear his patience might be tested beyond endurance and that Mrs. Stoppable would find herself turned into a Rigelian tree monkey or deposited on some uncharted world in the Delta Quadrant. Hoping to forestall any such unwanted development, Ron gently placed a hand on his mother's shoulder.
"Mom, it's okay," he said. "You can let Q go."
"But Ronnie …"
"Mom, it's not his fault. I was on a mission …"
"You? Really? Kim's father said something about that when he called a half hour ago to tell us you were getting married, and a call from you yourself about that would have been nice, young man, but that's not the point at the moment … Ronnie, you're just a chef!"
"He is not just a chef, Mrs. Stoppable. He is a resourceful and enterprising young man," Picard said, before introducing himself. He then continued, "Your son procured critical information vital to the security of the Federation, in addition to saving Ensign Possible's life. You should be very proud of him."
"I'm sorry I didn't get to tell you, Mom," Ron said, "but things have been happening kind of fast here."
"That's pretty obvious," she said, cocking her eyebrow, as she looked at her new daughter-in-law. Ron's mother was actually quite pleased that the two long-time best friends had decided to marry. Barbara Jo knew long ago that it was Kim and Kim alone who was able to get Ron to apply himself. It was Kim, after all, who had given Ron the motivation to enroll at the Culinary Institute and become a chef. And while she now blamed Kim for Ron's disfigurement, she was impressed that Kim was prepared to spend the rest of her life with her one-eyed, savagely scarred son. Suddenly, a thought popped into Mrs. Stoppable's head, presenting a potentialexplanation for why Kim might have been willing to tie the knot. "She's not, you know …"
Ron was confused.
Kim, overhearing the conversation, began to turn red.
Data, with his acute hearing, also heard Mrs. Stoppable's question and, deducing what she was implying, was intrigued. "I, too, would like to know, Kim: are you carrying Ron's child? That would be most wonderful news indeed."
"Data!" Troi exclaimed.
Seeing any number of eyes settled on her, Kim turned a deeper shade of red. "No, Data. I'm not going to have a baby."
"Well, perhaps we should give you two a little time alone so you can get to work on rectifying that," Q suggested. "The galaxy can always use more competent risotto chefs, after all." He began to raise his hand but Picard intercepted Q, grabbing his wrist.
"Q," the captain hissed, "I think you've done enough already, thank you very much. Perhaps you can return the Possibles and the Stoppables to Mars and then be on your way."
Q frowned and sighed. "If you insist, mon capitan."
Picard nodded. "I do." Turning to Kim and Ron's parents he said, "I am so sorry that we have to cut this short, but …"
"It's time to go!" Q announced. Then, turning to Kim and Ron, he said, "Congratulations, love birds! Remember to make the most of your wedding night! And don't forget to name the first Stoppable after its Uncle Q!"
The omnipotent being snapped his fingers, filling the bridge with a blinding white light. After the illumination faded, Kim and Ron noticed that their parents and Kim's siblings were gone. Their friends' clothing had been restored, as had their own. All was as it had been prior to Q's arrival – save that the wedding bands he provided remained on their ring fingers.
II.
Picard had given Kim and Ron one hour to enjoy themselves before Kim had to return to duty. After the newlyweds left the bridge, Picard turned to the task of informing Nechayev of the fait accompli.
"Captain," she said icily, "You never cease to amaze me."
"Admiral, this is all in compliance with Starfleet regulations. As you well know –"
"Don't begin quoting regulations at me, Captain; I know them well enough. You win. For now. Mr. Stoppable can stay on board with his new bride. But in 120 days he's either gainfully employed on this ship, at which time I will order him to surrender the bat'leth, or he will be dropped off at the nearest planet, and if Ensign Possible still wants to be with him, she can resign her commission. Until then, I am holding you personally responsible for the security of the Sword of Kahless."
"Understood, Admiral."
"I'm not sure you do, Captain. I will no longer tolerate you subverting my authority. The next time you do, I will do my all to make sure you are promoted to rear admiral and put behind a desk at the most out-of-the-way Starbase I can find. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Admiral," Picard said, not wanting to contemplate such a dreadful, dreary fate.
III.
The ceremony over, Kim and Ron simply wanted to enjoy each other's company during the hour they had before Kim needed to report for duty.
"So, Mr. Stoppable, what do you want to do?"
"Follow me," he said with a goofy grin.
He led her to the holodeck, but wouldn't say what he had in mind for their visit. Deepening her curiosity, when they got there, he insisted that she cover her ears while he spoke some com-mands into the control panel.
Much to Kim's delight, the doors slid open to reveal the San Francisco to Tiburon ferry, already mid-transit.
"Ron, this is perfect!"
"Thanks, Kim. To be honest, the last few months, as I began to think about us, I began wondering what it would be like to hold hands on deck, so uh, I thought …" Ron admitted.
Kim smiled warmly. "We'd better go find out then," she said, taking Ron's hand and leading him out onto the boat.
A light breeze was blowing in across the great bay and the sunlight danced on the rippling water. The haze had lifted off the city and hills, revealing a beautiful late spring morning.
"I've missed our rides," Kim said, turning her face to the sun. Even if it was a computer-generated illusion, it still felt good.
"Me too. You know, I spent a lot of time on this boat after you left. It was never the same, but it was one of my favorite memories of our time together in 'Frisco. Gave me a way to pretend you were still back on Earth with me. Man, did I miss you."
"Me, too," Kim replied.
They leaned against the railing, their hips touching, riding in companionable silence.
Kim sighed, now holding Ron's hand in hers, gently stroking Ron's fingers. "Maybe someday we can get a place in San Francisco. Something with a spankin' view of the Bay. You'll have your own restaurant …"
"… and you'll be running Starfleet," Ron said. "Yeah. I can see it. Admiral Kim … Hmm. Uh, Kim, what do I call you?"
"Hmm?"
"You know, your name. What's it gonna be? If you want to be Kim Possible, I'll be cool with that. I just want to know what to call you."
Kim looked out over the water towards Alcatraz and Oakland.
"Kimberly Ann Stoppable," she declared.
"You sure?" he asked, unable to hide his surprise.
"Yes, I'm sure, Ron," Kim answered with a wry grin.
"That means a lot to me," he said, feeling a lump in his throat.
"There is one condition, though," she said firmly.
"Yeah?"
"You will not start calling me KS."
Ron turned, leaning on his elbow and looked at the face of his new bride. "I wouldn't think of it. You'll always be my KP."
"Glad to hear it … Mr. Possible," she said as she pulled Ron in for an embrace.
IV.
Though Ed Lipsky may have been consigned to the Klingon version of the Black Hole of Calcutta, depriving his cousin Drew of access to vital Starfleet information, Shego had connections of her own and soon learned the whereabouts and destination of Enterprise. The shuttlecraft, rechristened Mama Lipsky, and Drak Force One headed directly towards the unsuspecting Federation flagship.
V.
"Mr. President, I assure you, operatives of the Romulan Star Empire did not break into the Vulcan Science Academy. We do not have your doomsday weapon," the haughty diplomat stated. "Indeed, I must tell you that we are greatly disturbed to learn that the Federation possesses such a device."
"Ambassador, don't change the subject," Barkin growled. "I've seen the holotapes. And, no offense, but your word isn't sufficient to convince me that I should cancel the fleet deployment. If your government is serious about de-escalating this crisis, they will agree to an inspection of all Romulan military assets."
"That is outrageous!"
"No," Barkin responded. "Stealing a weapon that could destroy a planet with one blast is outrageous."
The human and the Romulan stared at one another.
"I will relay your demands to my government," the diplomat said before leaving.
Barkin, sitting alone in his palatial office, felt very much alone. He was overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia for the crowded halls of Middleton High School and its hundreds of students. Life had been much simpler then.
VI.
"Have you acquired the Sword yet?"
"No," Fiske answered irritably. "The Pretender was able to foil my plan." He then explained what had happened, only to be greeted by cutting laughter.
"So what do you plan to do now that you have been bested by a one-eyed boy?"
"He has not bested me!" he protested.
"So you say. Tell me, Fiske, what are you planning to do?"
"If you must know, I am not sure," he said, unable to conceal his annoyance. "But I will have the blade. It was I, not that buffoon, who was meant to wield the Sword of Kahless!"
"So you say. You seem awfully confident."
"It is my destiny!"
"I hope you are correct," Fiske's interlocutor said with a predatory smile. "We are counting on you."
Fiske ended the transmission. He contemplated what he would do next, what tools he had at his disposal. As he looked out the window at the stars, a malicious grin spread across his face. He would have what was rightfully his, and with it ultimate power. The prospect caused the ambas-sador to laugh, quietly at first. Before long, though, his laughter had taken on a distinctly maniacal quality. The crazed sound reverberated throughout his quarters for some time. Finally, it began to taper off.
Fiske, knowing he needed to center himself, decided to meditate.
VII.
Once Kim returned to the bridge for her shift, Ron and Rufus met up to make some homemade Tex-Mex in Ron's, or more precisely, Ron and Kim's quarters.
"You and Ensign Possible were meant to be mated," Rufus declared as he deftly chopped onions.
"Thanks, Dude," Ron replied as he went to work on the tomatoes. "I still can't believe that Kim and I are married," he confessed, a bit dazed.
"Do you have regrets?" Rufus asked.
Ron thought that the question was preposterous. "Regrets? 'Sha," he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "It's incredible! Who'd have thought it? Kim Possible is Mrs. Ron Stoppable! It's the most badical thing that's ever happened to me or ever will. I just never expected it to happen this way. Heck, when I first got on board ship, I never expected it to happen at all." Ron proceeded to tell Rufus about his and Kim's lifelong friendship and whirlwind romance. "You know buddy, life's weird sometimes."
"Indeed, it is." Rufus, for one, never expected to meet anyone who shared his devotion to Bueno Nacho. "So, what will you do now?"
"Now? I don't know. We've got four months to figure something out. I just know I can't give up that stupid bat'leth and I can't let KP quit Starfleet. So I guess I'll just have to try to change Admiral Ice Cube's mind so I can stay on board with Kim."
Rufus could see that Ron was troubled, deeply disturbed by the prospect of being separated from his mate. He knew that under the circumstances there was only one thing to do. He reached into a satchel he had brought and then offered something to Ron.
It was a fresh-baked cookie.
VIII.
Lord Montgomery Fiske had sat cross-legged on the floor of his VIP quarters for the better part of an hour, his arms extended from his sides, his eyes closed. The lights had been dimmed, candles and incense burned. He held perfectly still, exercising control of his body and fevered mind.
More than two decades had passed since he had first learned the technique on the Klingon homeworld. He had been a young diplomat, eager to learn more about this great culture that he had studied at Oxford. Earlier, during his teen years at Eton, he had first traveled to Qo'noS; he fell in love with the culture, the architecture, the society, indeed, with all things Klingon. From that moment on he dedicated himself to studying the great civilization that over the past few centuries had played such a prominent role in human affairs. Fiske spent a year of his university career studying on Qo'noS. Then, after receiving his degree, he did additional academic work there. Fiske was independently wealthy and so was able to devote himself to his passion.
But in addition to knowledge, Fiske also revered status. And in the society in which he lived, his title, though ancient, meant nothing. So he needed to earn his position. He knew he didn't have the temperament for Starfleet nor the common touch necessary for politics. So he chose diplomacy. It was a wise, indeed brilliant, choice for the English nobleman.
He quickly rose through the ranks, excelling in his postings in Federation consulates on minor worlds. Soon, he was assigned to the Klingon Desk, working in Paris where he produced studies and analysis of the Federation's neighbor. Then he received the posting he had yearned for: second deputy chief of mission on Qo'noS. It was a plum assignment for a junior diplomat.
Fiske took to his work with gusto. He quickly insinuated himself into the upper echelons of Klingon society. At first dismissed as effete, he quickly convinced his hosts otherwise as he demonstrated a mastery of multiple forms of martial arts – and swordplay, which he used as a spring-board to learning the art of wielding a bat'leth.
It was during that tour that he learned of the legend of the Sword of Kahless. The prospect of possessing such a weapon first intrigued, then consumed him. Control of the bat'leth would give him tremendous influence in Klingon society, which would mean great power. And power attracted Lord Fiske.
He always believed that he was entitled to exercise power; his breeding, his education, his intellect all said it was his right. But the egalitarian, meritocratic age to which he belonged demurred. The Sword would help him rectify that misconception.
Yet to truly exploit the power of the Sword (should he ever discover its whereabouts), Fiske would need an ally among the great Houses of the Klingons. And part way through his tour, the young diplomat found one.
They met at a diplomatic reception.
He would always remember that night …
Montgomery Fiske, blood wine in hand, peered across the hall at the young woman; she was wearing traditional Klingon clothing: a long dress with padded shoulders, warrior's boots, and a top that afforded a generous view of décolletage.
There was something both alluring and repulsive about her, something elegant yet barbarous, refined yet rapacious. Later he learned that she felt the same way about Fiske, that she, like him, was of noble blood, that her House was not afforded its due in Klingon affairs, that she believed her people should have been at the helm of the Empire. But that all was to come later.
Fiske made his way across the floor to her and introduced himself with a bow.
"Lord Montgomery Fiske, at your service, M'lady."
The Klingon female bared her teeth. "What kind of services do you provide, human?"
Fiske straightened up and threw back his shoulders. He was not accustomed to such imperti-nence. Yet when he looked at her features, at her eyes and her hair, he found himself feeling not offense, but attraction. "Many kinds. Many kinds indeed."
She grabbed his wrist and held his hand up for inspection.
"Your hand. It is large."
"Yes."
"I have heard stories that large hands on a human male are indicative of other large things …"
Without missing a beat, Fiske replied, "Traditionally, feet are the benchmark by which such things are measured. And while I cannot vouch for others of my species, it is in my case true."
"Perhaps I should be the judge of that."
"Your perspective on the matter could be most – enlightening."
She threw back her head and laughed. "Enlightenment? Who seeks enlightenment? I desire … satisfaction."
A smile spread across Fiske's face. "I believe I can provide that."
"Yes, I'm sure you do. But again, perhaps I should be the judge of that." Still holding his hand, the Klingon noblewoman began to lead Fiske from the hall.
"Tell me," he said. "What is your name?"
She stopped and looked at her conquest. "I am Lursa. Of the House of Duras."
IX.
"Ensign Stoppable, how long until we rendezvous with the Orionisi?"
"At our current speed, six and a half minutes, Captain."
"Very good," Picard said. "Number One, Ensign, I believe we should head to the transporter room to await the arrival of our guests. Mr. Data, you have the bridge."
"Aye, sir," the three officers replied as Riker and Kim rose to follow Picard to the turbolift and Data moved to the Captain's Chair.
As the doors slid closed behind the trio, Picard ordered the lift to take them to Transporter Room Four.
Riker looked at the older man, whose jaw was clenched. It was hard to believe that just a short while earlier he was grinning like a father as he presided over Kim and Ron's marriage. Now he looked like a man who only knew bitterness.
"You okay, sir?"
Picard arched an eyebrow. He and Riker had served together long enough and developed a strong enough bond that he felt comfortable in confiding in his executive officer and he trusted Kim to hold in confidence what he was about to say.
"No, I am not, Number One," he said. "In all the years I have been engaged in diplomacy, no set of negotiations has made me as uncomfortable as those we are about to host. I do not trust the Orionisi. They are not only pirates, they are slavers, totally without honor or scruple. Given the opportunity, they would kidnap Ensign Stoppable to sell her on the slave market, then ask us for concessions."
"I guess it's a good thing Dr. Crusher hasn't taken care of my scar …" she said, touching her cheek – and offering a sly grin.
Picard allowed himself a small smile. "Indeed, Ensign. It would reduce your market value …"
"… and they'd have to deal with Ron and the Sword of Kahless," Riker added.
Kim smiled, knowing Riker was right. Ron was good for his word when he promised that he would always have her back.
"True, Number One, true," Picard agreed before continuing. "And if the Orionisi were like Mr. Stoppable, I would not be ill at ease; I fully understand the desire to protect our flank against the Cardassians. However, I fear that what we are doing is no different than the Romans hiring the Goths to protect them from the other barbarians. No good can come of this."
X.
"Aiieee!" Ron cried out. "What are you guys doing?"
His two former assistants looked at him sheepishly. They'd been trying to prepare the banquet for the Orionisi, who were an outsizedrace with outsized appetites. They were a people who liked to enjoy their food and drink and so were very particular about what they ate and how it was prepared. Unfortunately for Ron's former colleagues, Orionisi cuisine was notoriously difficult to master.
Ron slapped his comm badge. "Stoppable to Stoppable."
"Stoppable here," Kim replied.
"Kim, we've got a problem here in the galley. I came to get some fixin's for the salsa that Rufus and I were making and …"
"Ron, I really don't have time for this," she said curtly. She was sure Ron had to know the delegation was about to arrive and that she didn't have time to chat.
"… KP, listen, okay," he said, suppressing his exasperation; he remembered how Kim used to use that tone with him back when they were teens. "My boys down here aren't quite up to speed on Orionisi cuisine."
Kim could tell from the tenor of her new husband's voice that he was concerned. "How not up to speed, Ron?"
"It looks like you've been down here."
"Oy," Kim said, brushing aside any offense she might have taken at Ron's comment as she recognized just how dire a sitch they were in.
Picard, seeking illumination, looked quizzically at Kim.
"I'm a ferociously bad cook, Captain," she explained.
"I see," he said. "Mr. Stoppable …"
"Captain?" Ron said, caught by surprise.
"… What do you recommend?" Picard asked.
"Sir, if you can delay sit-down by 45 minutes I should be able to whip something up."
"That would be most appreciated," Picard said.
"Hey, as my wife likes to say, it's no big …"
Kim blushed; that was the first time Ron had called her his wife since the ceremony and while it sounded very odd, she found that she very much liked the way it sounded.
"… Just remember, if the admiral asks, I'm just a volunteer doing a friend a favor. I wouldn't want her to get the wrong idea and think I was back on the payroll."
"Understood, Ron," the captain said.
"Ron?" Kim said, momentarily forgetting herself.
"Yeah, KP?" he asked.
"You rock," she said with pride.
"Hey, I try," he replied. "Rondo out."
Picard, eyebrow arched, looked at Kim, who reddened. The captain then smiled. "You are of course quite right, Ensign. 'Rondo' does indeed 'rock.'"
XI.
Nechayev, Fiske, and Bonnie were already waiting in the transporter room, where Miles O'Brien was manning the console.
The captain, after arriving, pressed his comm badge. "Bridge, this is Picard. Are our visitors ready to beam over?"
"Aye, sir," Data replied. "The Orionisi delegation is ready to transport at our signal."
"Make it so," Picard said.
Shimmering gold light and a high-pitched whine filled the landing pad before six green-skinned figures materialized.
There were five large males, all at least as tall as Riker, all hulking, all bald. They oozed menace. But their presence paled in comparison to that of the sixth member of the party.
She was Picard's height. Her black hair was full and long, cascading about her shoulders, bringing a vision of Shego to Kim's mind. The woman wore revealing clothing, exotic make-up and garish jewelry that served only to enhance her aura of dangerous sexuality. The Orionisi female radiated power and hauteur and knew it; none of the Federation party needed to be told that she was in charge of the delegation.
The women of Orion, by choice, rarely ventured out of their star system; when they did, it was because something was believed to be of paramount importance. Instead, they preferred to run the Syndicate from the comfort of home, allowing males to risk the dangers of piracy and space-flight, while they stayed behind and enjoyed the benefits of their galaxy-spanning organization. They ruthlessly exercised ultimate control of their violent, predatory society by using their brains – and other tools – to control the males of their and other species. Even without the benefit of their famous pheromones, the women of Orion were among the most cunningly intelligent beings in the galaxy. That they were also totally amoral made them especially dangerous.
"Ambassador Rayna, welcome aboard Enterprise. I am Jean-Luc Picard."
The woman, moving with the grace of a panther, descended from the platform and stared Picard in the eye. A wry expression formed on her face. "It would appear that you've developed a way to resist my charms, Captain."
Picard smiled. "I hope you understand, Ambassador. I cannot afford to have my crew distracted from their assigned duties." Federation doctors had developed an airborne method for most males to resist the effects of the pheromones of Orionisi females (for reasons yet unknown, the treatment didn't work on Orionisi males); Dr. Crusher had already distributed the agent into the environmental control system.
"A shame," the ambassador said, as she turned and leered at Riker, who actually appeared un-comfortable.
Kim was momentarily bemused by the prospect of the First Officer, who had a reputation for be-ing a player, being eyed for a tryst, before she realized this woman's idea of a one-night stand probably ended with her bedmate being put on the auction block.
The woman then gave O'Brien and Fiske the once over. Then she turned her gaze on the three Federation females, evaluating them the way a fighter would an opponent. She first settled her gaze on Nechayev. "So you are the leader. And you keep these males in line without the use of pheromones?"
The admiral was both appalled and intrigued by the visitor. "I have earned my authority," she said coolly. "That's how we do things in my society."
"Yes, so I've heard," Rayna said. "Still, it amazes me that you deny yourself such a powerful tool."
The green-hued woman turned to Bonnie. "You, however, would have no qualms about using your sexuality to achieve your goals …"
"I –" Bonnie began to stammer, nonplussed by the visitor's blunt, and accurate, assessment.
"… Do not deny it. You are a beautiful, desirable female. There is no reason you should deny yourself use of one of your most valuable tools. You know, I suspect you could make an excellent Orionisi," Rayna said with a wicked smile.
Then she turned to Kim.
"You interest me," the woman said. "Who are you?"
Kim stood at attention. "Ensign Kimberly Ann Stoppable. Aide de Camp to Captain Picard. Ma'am."
"You are a warrior woman. Fascinating," Rayna said before she stared at Kim's cheek. "The scar, does it not detract from your attractiveness to males?"
Kim looked the woman in the eye. Knowing from the briefing materials she had read that the Orionisi would value directness from other females she replied, "My husband seems to like it just fine."
"So you are mated. Very good. I hope you keep him in his place."
"Our marriage is based on love and mutual respect, not one of us keeping the other in place, ma'am. We each bring something to the relationship, we complete each other."
Rayna held Kim's gaze. "Interesting. If he completes you, that makes you weak, since without him you are not whole."
"I beg to differ, ma'am. Ron enables me fulfill my potential as I do him his. We are each strong because of the other. Alone, we are two weak people, together we are two strong people."
Rayna chuckled. "You humans have bizarre, if fascinating, ideas about relations between the sexes. Well, since I am aboard a human vessel …" Rayna, seeing the looks on her hosts' faces, laughed heartily. "Please, Captain, spare me the charade of the Federation. Everyone of your party is a human. You may allow Vulcans and others to sit at your council tables, but we in the Syndicate know that the Federation is in reality a human empire. You are no different than the Klingons or Romulans."
"Ambassador, I must beg to differ," Picard protested.
"Really?" she asked with a playful smile. "Answer me this, then: if you're so different, why are you talking with us?"
XII.
They had gathered around the conference table in the Observation Lounge, Picard yielding his customary seat at the head of the table to Fiske, the senior Federation representative. Rayna sat at the opposite end. The Orionisi sat facing the giant windows; they had made clear that they felt safer that way. Kim found herself wondering who the visitors thought would ambush them; they were on the bridge of the Federation flagship, after all. Paranoid much? she thought when they filed into the room. Though I have to admit watching your back is a good policy when you're a pirate.
Fiske was conducting the meeting with skill and aplomb. Though Kim shared her captain's unease over dealing with the Syndicate, especially on a matter of security, she had to credit the ambassador with the way he negotiated. Watching Fiske and Rayna at work was like watching a complicated minuet, each dancer knowing his or her part perfectly. Even if her preference was to be direct and take charge, she knew that there was a purpose to the diplomatic dance. She suppressed a smile as she thought of how Mr. Barkin, now President Barkin, would feel about par-ticipating in such highly choreographed negotiations.
The talks had been going on for some time; soon it would be time for dinner. Kim awaited word from Ron, who was to call her in her capacity as ADC to report when dinner was to be served. She thought of him and how he was at work in the galley, preparing a meal for those present in this room. She wondered what he was going to serve. This is a ferociously strange way to be spending our wedding night, she mused. It's the first day of the rest of our lives. I hope all the ones to come aren't so weird!
The light began flashing on Kim's padd. That was Ron's signal. "Excuse me, sir," she said to Picard, "dinner is ready to be served."
"Thank you, Ensign. Ambassador," he said to their guest as he rose, "would you allow me to escort you to Ten Forward?"
"I would like that very much, Captain. Negotiations make me very hungry. And I have an insatiable appetite."
XIII.
"Oy."
Shego scowled as she looked at the data being transmitted to her from the Mama Lipsky.
"What's wrong, Shego?" Drakken asked.
"Enterprise has some visitors."
"What do you mean?"
"Du-boy just detected three Orionisi marauders holding station off the port bow."
"Shego, you don't mean to tell me that your pirate friends are attacking my ship?" he whined. "I so wanted a Galaxy-class starship of my own!"
"Chill, Doc," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Even the Syndicate isn't that brazen. No, something funny's going on."
Shego then hit the comm link between the two craft. "Yo, Lore."
"Hi, Hot Stuff!" he said cheerily.
"Don't call me that!" she growled. She'd only known him for a few days, but the malevolent android was quickly getting on her nerves. Attraction was leavened with growing annoyance; she was learning that familiarity really could breed contempt.
"Whatever you say … Hot Stuff."
"ARRRGGGHHHH!"
"I love it when you do that," he said. "So, what's up?"
"The marauders," she snarled. "Can Du or Carter figure out what's going on?"
Lore turned to the two mind-controlled Starfleet officers. "Well, boys? How about it?"
Du and Carter turned to their consoles and began typing away.
It was only a few minutes before Du was able to report. "It would appear that a conference is taking place between the Federation and the Syndicate."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Shego said. "Did I hear you right? You're telling me that the boy scouts and the pirates are having a little pow-wow?"
"It would appear so," Du replied.
"So, the mighty Federation is so scared that they're negotiating with criminals," Lore said. "And the party hasn't even started yet!"
"And it won't get started unless we vamoose," Shego snapped. "Those marauders see us and we're toast."
"But I thought you were on friendly terms with the Orionisi, Shego?" Drakken asked.
"Doc, we're only buds as long as our interests converge. We mess up their little visit with the Federation and they will not be happy."
"So what do you recommend, Shego?" Lore said.
"Pull back, keep an eye on things. After the Orionisi leave, we make our move."
XIV.
They were seated at one large table. While Ron was not present, Kim could see the evidence of his handiwork all around her. She marveled at how quickly he had transformed Ten Forward into an elegant private dining room. She was impressed by the poise of the crewmen who served their food. She knew they had been trained to do this long before Ron's arrival, but something told her that he'd gotten them to step up their game.
"That was a truly exceptional meal, Captain," Rayna said. "I would like to meet the chef."
Picard would have preferred to keep Ron out of sight; Nechayev had been less than pleased when he had explained the situation involving him to her. However, he knew that some discomfort on his part, and possibly Ron's and Kim's, was the price to be paid if the evening was to continue successfully.
He pressed his comm badge. "Mr. Stoppable, this is the Captain."
"Yes, sir," he replied professionally.
"Our guests would like to meet the man who prepared their dinner. Would you be so kind as to come by Ten Forward?"
"On my way, sir. Stoppable out."
Moments later, the doors to Ten Forward slid open, and Ron, in his cooking gear, strode into the room. He momentarily locked eyes with Kim, appreciating her in her uniform; she in turn felt her heart flutter. For some reason, seeing him in the white smock and checked pants excited her.
"Ambassador Rayna," Picard said, "allow me to introduce Mr. Ron Stoppable."
"Ma'am," he said with a slight dip of the head.
"A pleasure to meet you," she said rising from her seat. She looked at Ron, then appraised him as she walked around him in a circle.
Kim felt distinctly uneasy as she watched.
"You and the ensign share the same name," Rayna said. "I will assume you are her husband, and not her brother."
"Uh, yeah," Ron said nervously. He felt like he was being looked over as if he were a piece of meat for sale at the local butcher's.
"You are an excellent cook. Your mastery of our food is most impressive. What other cuisine can you prepare?"
"A bunch of earth styles, classical Vulcan, some Klingon, Ferengi – I'd avoid that if I were you – Andorian, Orionisi. And I've messed around with some other kinds."
Rayna turned to Kim. "You are fortunate."
"Yes, I am," Kim replied.
"How much do you want for him?"
"Come again?" Kim asked.
"I'd like him. I will buy your marriage contract from you."
"Uh, KP …" Ron said nervously.
Kim, ignoring everyone else in the room, rose from her chair, moved to Ron, and took his arm. "He's not for sale!" she growled.
"I could make you rich beyond your wildest dreams."
"What part of 'no' do you not get? Ron's my husband, not something you can buy."
"Ensign, you are young," Rayna said wearily. "Anything, anyone can be bought."
"That is enough, Ambassador," Nechayev said. "Slave trading may be permissible in Syndicate territory, but is not tolerated in Federation space."
"I apologize," Rayna said, still looking at Ron acquisitively. "Tell me, Admiral, am I right in saying your fundamental law forbids commerce in sentient beings?"
"Yes. The guarantee of individual freedom and liberty is a bedrock principle of the Constitution of the United Federation of Planets."
"I see. And does that same document not guarantee all citizens a trial by jury of one's peers?"
"Yes."
"Then how do you explain the Federation's rendition of troublesome individuals to Rura Penthe?"
"Ambassador, I don't know what –"
"… I'm talking about. Yes. Of course. But you know as well as I that you've been sending undesirables to be handled by the Klingons and their rougher judicial system for at least three decades …"
Silence filled the room.
"… Principles are fine. But sometimes there is room for expediency. Knowing you have enough enemies already, you wish peace with the Syndicate. What if I told you that part of the price of our concluding the non-aggression pact with Federation was Mr. Stoppable? Would you still say no? Or would you find a way to deliver him to me? Which would be more important – this one man's freedom? Or the security of your empire?"
TBC …