Part Four
"Help me!"
She didn't even react to the voice any more. She stood in her quarters, back in front of the mirror, staring at herself. More specifically, staring at the uniform.
The ensign in the corridor was going to stay with her, she could see that now. His bloodied face, his twisted body, his cry for help, that wasn't going anywhere. The only question was whether she was going anywhere.
She considered the clean lines of the freshly replicated uniform. Could she just brush her experience on the Navajo under the table, push everything else to the back of her mind, join Cameron onboard the Copernicus and just carry on with her Starfleet career?
Like a freshly replicated uniform, she could be reborn. No trace of what the uniform had been before, or where it had come from. Just the crisp, clean lines of Starfleet, brought to life out of thin air.
Her gaze wandered over to what was behind her in the reflection, the empty quarters. The bare walls and furnishings of a guest room bereft of any sort of personal items, any sign of who she was. What sort of person lived here.
A blank slate. Just like the uniform. She could be a blank slate, dressed in a blank slate.
Lieutenant Tabula Rasa, reporting for duty.
And yet, as her attention returned to the Starfleet insignia, the pips on her collar, could she live with herself in this uniform? Given all it stood for, could she ever feel like she wasn't making a mockery of it every time she put it on?
She sighed deeply and tore her attention away from the mirror. She couldn't wait any longer. A decision needed to be made. And deep down, she realised that she'd already made it. Or maybe there had never been a decision to make in the first place.
She moved over to the door and stepped into the corridor with as much purpose as she could muster, despite the weight of her sins on her shoulders.
She walked on, down the empty corridor. Feeling like she was being followed by the ensign's face.
'*'*'
'*'*'
The Klingons continued their standoff on the hilltop, as Sunek tried to process what he was being told.
"Um, Klath," he offered eventually, "What the hell's he saying?"
"Nothing," Klath replied quickly.
"Good. Cos, just for a second there, it sounded like the crazy Klingon with the disruptor pistol over there just called you a war criminal."
"Yes," Kolar hissed, "That's exactly what you are, isn't it, Klath?"
Klath didn't respond, but he felt the pang of shame growing inside him. Kolar took advantage of his silence to keep talking. "You see, many years ago, Klath indeed served with the Klingon Defence Force. A fine officer as well, most honourable. He even reached the rank of captain."
"Huh," Sunek mused uncomfortably, "You think you know a guy…"
"And that," Kolar continued, "Brought him command of the IKS Grontar-"
"Stop this," Klath growled, "This is between us!"
His words did little to throw the other Klingon off his story. "Klath, Son of Morad, commanded that ship, during the Klingon Civil War. The Grontar was loyal to the forces of Gowron-"
"Enough!" Klath roared, instinctively drawing his bat'leth. Kolar kept his disruptor trained on him, but took a step back.
"Woah, woah," Sunek said quickly, "Remember, buddy, disruptor beats sword."
Klath stared back at the disruptor and lowered his bat'leth, but kept it in his hands should a chance present itself. Kolar, unperturbed by his sudden outburst, returned to the tale he was telling. "One day, while patrolling along the outer edge of Klingon space, the Grontar detected an unidentified ship in the Tygon Nebula, and honourable Captain Klath immediately set a course to investigate."
The battle-scarred Klingon couldn't have put more sarcasm into the word 'honourable' if he had tried. Across from him, Klath growled impotently. "They were attempting to hide from our scans. It merited investigation," he explained, to himself as much as to anyone else, "We were acting on intelligence that suggested those loyal to the House of Duras were running illegal weapons across the borders near that very nebula."
Sunek listened with rapt attention, having forgotten all about his useless efforts to release himself from his bonds.
"Yes," Kolar muttered, his eyes flashing with anger, "That was your mission, wasn't it. And what did you find in the nebula? A ship, belonging to the Sons of Marlek."
"A ship that was covertly operating well outside of recognised procedures!"
"Captain Klath wasted no time. For the glory of the empire, and for Gowron, he opened fire as soon as he was in weapons range-"
"The vessel was working for the House of Duras. It was a legitimate-"
"It was a freighter!"
Kolar bellowed out into the night, silencing Klath on the spot. Sunek didn't know a lot about Klingon culture outside of the basics, but he was getting the picture.
"A simple old freighter on a resupply mission," Kolar spat, "No weapons. Limited shielding. Versus a fully armed Bird of Prey. The Grontar cut through it in seconds. They didn't stand a chance."
Klath experienced a fresh rush of shame. He felt Sunek's gaze on the back of his neck. He refused to turn and meet it, telling himself that was because he didn't want to take his eyes off his adversary, rather than because he didn't want to have to make eye contact with his friend.
"There had been traps sprung on our forces before, from battleships hiding away from sensors," he explained, "The nebula interfered with our attempts to identify the vessel-"
"And yet you could identify that it was a ship loyal to Duras," Kolar shouted out, "You were still able to target your weapons and plot your attack run. You were able to do a great many things, for a vessel so crippled by this nebula."
Klath reached for a response. He failed to find one.
"Twenty-seven Klingons aboard," Kolar continued, "Every one of them condemned to a death without honour!"
"I mean," Sunek offered meekly, "It was still a battle-?"
"It was no battle. It was a slaughter! And my brothers, the Sons of Marlek, were denied their right to enter Sto-vo-kor. And I was condemned to a life of misery."
He absently ran his free hand back down his scars, his eyes narrowing at Klath. "Tell me," he continued, "Was there a great feast onboard the Grontar that night? Did you toast each other with bloodwine and sing songs about the glorious battle of the Tygon Nebula?"
"The High Command punished me for my actions," Klath replied, "When the war was over, they judged that my actions had not been honourable. I was...discommended. And I carry that punishment with me every day."
"Not good enough."
Klath stared back at the other Klingon. He felt the shame that he had carried for so long rising up inside him. He wasn't entirely sure that he disagreed with Kolar's comment.
"So," Klath offered, "You have been killing the crew of the Grontar."
"Each of them left without their honour," Kolar affirmed, "All suffering the same fate as the one you bestowed on my brothers."
Shaking with the rage he felt, he brought the disruptor to bear once again, pointing it straight at Klath's chest.
"And now, it is your turn."
'*'*'
'*'*'
Some distance away from the lonely hilltop, Natasha walked briskly down the corridor of the starbase, experiencing a different kind of loneliness.
She had been walking for some time, ignoring the other Starfleet personnel she had been passing along the way. In fact, if she'd counted right, this was her fourth lap of this particular length of corridor. And she was approaching the door again.
The first time around, she had walked straight past it, without even a glance.
The second time, she had at least slowed her pace and looked the door straight in the metaphorical eye. But at the last second, she had sped up again and embarked on another lap.
Third time lucky, she had actually stopped in front of the door for several seconds. To the point that, if the person on the other side had walked out, they would probably have had the fright of their lives. But eventually, she had set off on lap number four.
And now, here she was again.
She stopped in front of the deep red coloured door and stared it down again. It looked identical to every other door on this level, and most other doors on the starbase. Each one of the doors on this level led to a set of quarters. After a few more moments of staring, she reached out towards the door chime. Her finger paused over the sleek black surface of the controls.
"Doctor, help me!"
Just as they had done over the controls to the escape pod on the Navajo, when she saw the face of the ensign in the corridor. The one she had left behind.
She took her hands away from the control panel as if it was on fire. If she hadn't known before, she definitely knew now. This was the wrong door. She turned away and walked off back down the corridor. Just as she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, the door opened and Cameron peered out, looking both ways down the corridor.
Behind him, on the floor, a small pile of luggage stood, ready for him to beam up to the Copernicus before they left orbit. But as he was placing the last container down, he thought he'd heard somebody. In fact, given that he still hadn't heard from Natasha, he rather hoped he'd heard somebody.
He shrugged and walked back inside his guest quarters.
Must've been nobody.
'*'*'
'*'*'
A short time later, Natasha stood in front of a similar, but somehow more imposing door. But she had no issue pressing the door chime of this one, despite the lateness of the hour.
"Enter," a familiar voice boomed out from inside.
She took a deep breath, and stepped through into Admiral Jenner's quarters. The admiral himself sat at his desk, still in uniform, with a stack of padds piled in front of him. He looked surprised to see her, which she couldn't exactly blame him for.
"Lieutenant Kinsen," he said, keeping his tone even and calm, "I don't usually get visitors at this hour unless someone's declared war on us. And it's a really bad sign if the medical staff are reporting that sort of thing."
She stood in front of his desk, at attention. She licked her lips and took a gulp of dry air.
"I apologise, sir," she managed, "Actually, I'm here to resign my commission."
'*'*'
'*'*'
Klath stared at the dirty mottled barrel of the disruptor pistol and braced himself.
He still had his trusty bat'leth in his hands, but he knew that there was no way he would be able to traverse the distance between himself and Kolar and actually use it in anger before the trigger was pulled. He needed a miracle. And the overwhelming sense of shame he felt inside was telling him that he didn't deserve one.
Behind him, Sunek had returned to straining against his bonds. He hadn't had time to fully process what he had heard during Kolar's speech, but as far as he was concerned, that could wait for later. Right now, he was only concerned with helping Klath, he was only worried about the disruptor being pointed at his friend.
Except, there was no way he could help Klath, because he was tied to a tree.
Not that even his own substantial ego could claim that, if he wasn't tied up, he would rush the huge Klingon warrior with the disruptor and wrestle him to the ground. After all, he always considered himself a better talker than a fighter. But at least he might have been able to do something.
He was worried for his friend. And, if he was being entirely honest, he was worried about himself as well, given that once Kolar had shot Klath, he was pretty sure that the Klingon would have no reason to keep Sunek himself alive.
Still, there was nothing he could do to help. As he struggled against his bonds, he felt impotent, useless, and was still consumed with some serious feelings of embarrassment for the ease with which he'd allowed himself to be kidnapped. If only he'd realised that there was no way he and his big stupid mouth had managed to convince those two Starfleet ensigns that he was worth anything.
And that was when he realised. He did have something he could use.
He had his big stupid mouth.
"Holy crap! What the hell is that?"
He screamed it out at the top of his voice, looking out ahead of him across the valley below at nothing in particular. It was, Sunek immediately thought, probably the worst attempt to distract someone in the entire history of the universe. And Kolar didn't fall for it. He didn't even consider looking in the direction that Sunek was looking.
However, the surprising should of the Vulcan opening his big stupid mouth did at least cause him to briefly glance over at where he was tied up. And to do that, he took his eyes off his quarry.
That was all the invite Klath needed. He attacked.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"You're sure about that?"
Admiral Jenner's words were still calm and measured.
"Yes sir," Natasha replied, still standing to attention in her uniform in front of his desk.
He regarded her for a moment, then slowly and wordlessly poured himself a cup of green tea from a pot next to him and gestured for her to take a seat opposite him.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked, gesturing at his drink. It wasn't exactly standard Starfleet protocol for an admiral to propose getting a lieutenant something to drink, and she declined the surprising offer, even though her mouth felt dry.
"I'm sorry to hear you say that," he replied eventually after taking a sip of his tea, "Truth is, I think Starfleet Headquarters were hoping to make you a post-war poster girl."
"Sir?"
"These days, we need all the happy stories we can get. And you...surviving out there for so long, coming back from the dead, so to speak. I think the admiralty were very interested in spreading that news around the fleet."
He offered her a smile. She couldn't bring herself to smile back. In fact, she felt sick again. "I'm sorry sir," she managed eventually, "But I've made my decision. I just...felt I should tell you in person. Sir."
He nodded and took another thoughtful sip of his tea. "Forgive me for prying, Lieutenant, but what will you do with yourself instead?"
Natasha looked back at him, but she didn't have an answer. In a way, her silence answered the question for her.
"I understand," he continued down a different track, "You told Jirel about our earlier conversation."
She was slightly thrown by this change of subject. Not the first time that Jenner had moved one of their talks in such a way. Her brain began to connect the dots. "It was off the record, sir," she replied simply, "And I thought that he should know."
"I'm also going to assume he's offered you the chance to join his little crew? Which I'm sure is a very tempting offer."
Despite the sarcasm in his tone, this threw her even further, but she managed a nod. The admiral paused and looked down into his almost empty cup of tea. "I wondered," he continued with an odd hint of reluctance, "If you ended up taking him up on that offer, if you could do something for me, Lieutenant?"
"An order, sir?"
"I lost the priviledge to give you those as soon as you made your big announcement," he reminded her, "Think of this as more of a...friendly request."
"Off the record?" she asked, intrigued.
He nodded tightly and continued. "Lieutenant, you've served Starfleet well. So, regardless of what your future holds, I trust you. And I've appreciated your candour in our conversations so far. I'm requesting that if you do end up taking Jirel up on his offer, if you'd...keep an eye on him for me."
She grasped for a response, too many questions floating around in her head all of a sudden. "You want me to...spy on them, sir?"
"Not at all," he replied with a shake of his head, "This would just be an informal arrangement. I'd just like to be...kept apprised of Jirel's movements. If you take up his offer, that is."
Her head was swimming. "Admiral, forgive me for asking, but why are you so interested in..."
And then she realised. And she couldn't help but smile in disbelief.
Jirel. The orphan Trill. Brought up on Earth.
By a Starfleet officer.
'*'*'
'*'*'
She found him sitting at a cafe in Starbase 216's main arboretum, at a table by himself.
Jirel was staring out across the green scenery in front of him, with an almost untouched glass of what he'd been unhappy to discover was synthehol in front of him. He could really have done with something stronger.
He'd made no headway trying to get to Denella. He'd not heard from the admiral since their somewhat explosive encounter in the reception hall. And he had absolutely no idea where Klath or Sunek had got to. All things considered, he was feeling lost.
All around him, he could hear the merry chatter of conversation as myriad different species from across the galaxy walked through the arboretum in matching uniforms, coexisting in blissful, relaxed harmony.
Jirel scowled. He hated Starfleet.
And then, he saw Natasha approaching him. In a uniform of her own. And he smiled. He was glad to see her. Or at least, he was until she opened her mouth.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, eliciting a look of confusion from the Trill.
"Tell you what?"
"That Admiral Jenner is your father."
'*'*'
'*'*'
Klath charged forwards, his eyes focused on the disruptor pistol.
Despite being temporarily distracted by Sunek's not especially clever plan, Kolar quickly realised that his opponent was making his move, and brought the pistol back to bear. But he wasn't fast enough. Klath slammed into his side and sent him crashing to the floor. The pistol flew from Kolar's grasp and skittered away across the dusty ground.
The two Klingons continued to desperately wrestle for the upper hand, grappling with each other on the ground. Kolar ensured that he maintained close combat to ensure that Klath's bat'leth remained unusable for the time being. For a moment, Kolar gained the upper hand, rolling Klath only his back and sinking his hands onto his throat.
Klath grimaced with effort as he choked and spluttered a fraction of a lungful of air, and desperately used the last of his strength to kick his opponent off him.
Kolar went flying through the air with the force of the sudden powerful impact and landed in a cloud of dust.
"Yeah! Go Klath!" Sunek shouted out from his immobile vantage point, adopting the role of impromptu cheerleader for the time being.
Freed from the clutches of his rival, Klath ignored the pain and sprung back to his feet, finally able to bring his bat'leth to bear. A few feet away, Kolar regained his own footing and drew the d'k tahg from his belt. Now both armed with more traditional bladed fighting weapons, Klath allowed himself a sliver of satisfaction. This would be a good fight. No disruptors.
They circled each other again. Klath thrust forwards a few times with his larger two-handed blade, testing out his opponent's defences, and Kolar deftly parried each one away with a strong flick of his dagger.
"You fight well," Klath noted, panting slightly from the exertion of the fight.
"I have had to, all my life," the scarred Klingon replied, his words still bereft of warmth, "Thanks to you and your crew."
Kolar jabbed out with his blade, and Klath parried the arc of the weapon away. "Still," he countered again, "There was no need to hide behind poisons. We could have settled this like Klingons from the start."
"Your crew did not deserve a fair fight. And neither do you. I am sorry that you will die in combat."
Klath whirled his bat'leth around in another attacking arc, and Kolar deftly jumped back out of his reach.
"I have lived with the guilt of my actions since that day," Klath replied, "And I will do so until the day I die."
Kolar thrust forwards again, anger flaring in his eyes. "That day is today, Klath. Today the Sons of Marlek have their vengeance."
Klath channeled a fresh rush of shame into something more productive, charging forwards with his bat'leth raised to his chest. He parried the thrust of Kolar's dagger, before spinning his own weapon around and delivering a firm blow with one of the ends to the other Klingon's stomach. Kolar staggered backwards, threatening to lose his footing on the stony ground.
Without waiting, and still powered by his sense of shame, Klath immediately sought to capitalise, rushing forwards while his enemy was off balance to deliver the killer blow. But the turbulent mix of guilt and remorse that was currently powering him caused Klath to miscalculate. Kolar regained his footing sooner than he had been expecting, and he had been anticipating Klath's attack.
He dodged the sharp edge of the bat'leth and slammed his dagger down onto the end of the weapon's handle, catching Klath off guard and sending his trusty weapon skittering away out of his hands. A bulky boot to the stomach sent him flailing to the ground. He tried to right himself, but before he had the chance to do so, he felt Kolar's foot come down on his arm.
He roared in pain, the sound echoing out into the darkness with enough intensity to cause Sunek to flinch, and almost put him completely off what he was trying to do.
Through the gloom, Klath could see Kolar standing over him, the glint of the blade raised above his head. And he stopped struggling. Perhaps today was a good day to die. He prepared to embrace whatever lay ahead on the other side.
Of all the things he was expecting to see in his last moments, a disruptor blast fizzing into Kolar's right arm was not one of them.
Now it was the other Klingon's turn to scream out in pain, instinctively grabbing his arm and losing focus on his prey. The air was thick with the stench of burnt flesh. Klath's acceptance of his fate was forgotten. He slammed his leg up into Kolar's torso and pushed him back.
Kolar toppled back onto the ground. The d'k tahg dropped out of his grasp. Klath pounced on it and grabbed the weapon. He stood above the ailing Kolar, their positions suddenly reversed. Through the agony of his bloodied and burnt arm, Kolar stared up at him. Klath stared back.
"batlhbIHeghjaj!"
May you die well.
He cried out the Klingon phrase as he plunged the blade down into his enemy's chest. Just before the blow was delivered, Kolar's expression changed. From pain to relief. And then his eyes glazed over. The blade remained sticking out of his chest, even as Klath removed his hands from the grip and sunk to the ground in exhaustion. It was over.
As he usually did after a battle, he felt a surge of power and strength. As if he had absorbed some of the life force of his slain foe. But this time, he felt something else. Regret.
He sat panting next to his fallen enemy and took a moment of contemplative silence.
"Um, a thank you would be nice?"
Sunek's voice broke his respectful moment. Klath looked over to see the Vulcan still trussed to the tree trunk, with Kolar's disruptor pistol underneath his right foot.
"You?" Klath managed through his weary gasps of breath.
"Well, who the hell did you think did it? Section 31? Now, seriously, if it's not too much trouble, can you untie me?"
Klath forced himself back to his feet, wincing at the injuries across his body, and walked away from Kolar's unmoving form. He avoided eye contact with Sunek as he approached and began to untie him. He was keenly aware now of how much the Vulcan had seen. How many of his secrets he now knew. And given how talkative Sunek was, he feared that they wouldn't remain secrets for very long.
Sunek, for his part, remained silent. Despite his usual candour, his focus was on the dead Klingon further across the clearing, a thousand questions spinning through his head. And he wasn't sure how many of them he wanted answered.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Denella lay on the bed staring at the ceiling.
She wasn't entirely sure how many hours she had been in the holding cell now, but it had been long enough that the game with the rubber ball had lost all of its lustre. She sighed. Still worried about Klath, but increasingly worried about herself. With still no sign of any of her crewmates, she was wondering whether she really was heading for a Federation penal colony.
It probably wouldn't be that bad, she had eventually surmised. After all, this was the Federation. It wasn't like they were about to send her to Rura Penthe. Still, it wasn't exactly what she'd been planning to do with the next ten years of her life.
Just as she started to contemplate the most efficient way to get her sentence reduced for good behaviour, she heard footsteps approaching, and the forcefield being deactivated.
"Get up," the familiar voice of the female security officer barked, "You're free to go."
Denella looked up in confusion. The officer stood impatiently in the entrance to the cell, gesturing for her to leave.
"What're you waiting for? Room service? Get out of here."
She uncertainly swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, not entirely this wasn't the officer's especially cruel revenge prank for the number of times Denella had distracted herself with the rubber ball game. But the officer did nothing as she carefully stepped out of the cell.
"I don't understand," she managed to get out, once she was safely on the other side of the cell's forcefield.
"Neither do I," the blonde woman replied with a shrug, "But those were the orders we received. If you really want to stay, I can contact the head of security and ask them to check for a fourth time?"
Denella decided not to push things any further, and instead she quickly made for the door, planning to get back to the Bounty and figure out exactly which one of her shipmates had finally come through for her. And what the hell had taken them so long.
As she stepped out into the corridor, she was shocked to see Lieutenant Kapadia waiting for her. Her eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.
"You? You did this?"
The engineer shrugged meekly and nodded, then gestured for them to start walking away from the security area. She didn't need a second invitation. "I, um, did what you said," he explained as they walked, "I checked the records on your ship. For what you'd accessed. It was just like you said. Nothing critical, nothing major, just the base's transit logs for the last two weeks."
"Yeah," Denella nodded, "Just like I said. But-?"
"So, I got in touch with starbase security, and I said I'd done it."
Denella stopped in her tracks and stared back at him. "You did what?"
"Um, y'know, I said I was working on repairing your ship. It's an old design, and the ODN relays we had in storage would probably be too fast for your data couplings. So I wanted to check if there were any older Federation vessels on the planet or in orbit that we could ask for some spares. And, um, because I can be too eager sometimes, I accessed it from where I was...on, erm, your ship."
She looked back at her fellow engineer with a mildly amused grin. "Our data couplings'll work just fine with any old ODN relays."
"I know," he shrugged, "Fortunately, the head of starbase security doesn't."
"So...what?" Denella asked, "You're gonna take the ten years in a penal colony instead?"
"W-Well, actually, all I did was access Starfleet records from a non-standard interface," he replied with a slight grimace, "It'll stay on my permanent record, but they're not gonna be sending me to a holding cell any time soon. I hope."
He smiled back at her. She studied his face a little more, hoping that her gut feeling she was now having wasn't accurate. "Hang on," she said sternly, "Please tell me you didn't do this because you wanted another chance to try and ask me-?"
"No," he said quickly, flushing with embarrassment, "It wasn't that. I just...I saw the logs. What you did wasn't an act of treachery. It was an act of loyalty. And given the sort of risk you took, and where you ended up, I figured that had to be one good friend."
Her face dropped as he said it, as she remembered the significantly more pressing issue that she had to deal with. "Crap," she whispered, "Klath."
She took off in the direction of the Bounty's landing pad as quickly as she could, before Kapadia even realised what she was doing. The engineer was left on his own, looking slightly sheepish in the middle of the corridor. But after a second, he smiled and walked on.
Must be a really good friend.
'*'*'
'*'*'
It didn't take Denella long to reach the landing pad where the Bounty sat, and she tore straight up the landing ramp.
She didn't even bother to check the state of the repairs, as she climbed the ramp, ran through the cargo bay itself and into the main living area of the ship. She stopped when she got to the medical bay. There, she saw a dishevelled Vulcan and a battle scarred Klingon sat tending to their wounds as best they could.
Sunek was running a dermal regenerator over his wrists, which seemed to be covered in some sort of rope burn, while Klath was tending to his right arm and wincing slightly. They both looked up as the Orion woman stood staring at them.
"Look at the state of you two," she managed with a relieved smile, before stepping over to Klath and wrapping him in a warm hug.
Klath writhed uncomfortably from within the hug, only partly because of the additional pain it was causing to at least three separate injuries on his body.
"Please, Denella," he managed to grunt, "Not in front of the Vulcan."
Denella's relieved smile became a relieved laugh as she broke the hug, looking back at the impish grin of Sunek from the other side of the small medical bay.
"Hey," he said, holding his own arms out, "Where's mine?"
The Orion woman shook her head and glanced from one to the other, a more serious look on her face as she sized up their injuries. "What the hell happened?"
Klath remained silent, and she noticed with concern that he looked away from her when he heard the question. As if he had an answer for her, but didn't want to give one. Confused, she glanced over at Sunek, who she was certain would be distinctly less circumspect in giving her all the gory details. Instead, the Vulcan looked over at Klath, then back to her, and shrugged.
"He won."
That didn't clear anything up for her. But something about the atmosphere in the room told her that it might be best not to pursue that line of questioning too deeply for the moment.
"So, it's all over?" she offered instead, to Klath.
This time, he looked up at her.
"Not quite."
'*'*'
'*'*'
More so than before, Jirel wished that he had something stronger than synthehol to hand. He hadn't said anything to her question, but the look on his face was all the proof that Natasha needed that she was right.
She took his lack of a response as a cue to sit down at his table. They were away from any other patrons at the arboretum cafe, giving them plenty of room to talk.
"Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?" she asked, in lieu of any forthcoming comment from the Trill. She was almost offended.
"Honestly?" he replied eventually, "Didn't think you'd be interested enough to bother."
She shook her head as he idly toyed with the glass in front of him. "I really should have realised earlier," she continued, "Everything you said about being adopted by a Starfleet officer, and this 'understanding' you have with the admiral, and then seeing how you both seemed so interested in what each other was doing."
"The others never figured it out," Jirel shrugged, "Though in their defence, they're definitely not interested enough to bother."
They sat in silence for a moment, before he reluctantly forced himself to continue. "Well, now you know. That's my big secret. Not that there's many family ties left, from what I can tell. He's made it pretty clear to me that he wouldn't be too upset if the Bounty was sucked into a quantum singularity."
"Really?"
"Really," he nodded, "Apparently, I'm nowhere near as important as I thought I was."
"Well, I could have told you that," she offered with a smile.
She took a moment to look out across the benign serenity of the arboretum grounds and sighed gently. "It was a good lie," she continued, not letting on about how much of an expert she felt she was becoming at that sort of thing these days, "But you really shouldn't have pushed it with that whole bit about going to the Academy."
"Actually…"
She turned back to him in surprise. He winced and continued. "I mean, I never actually made it to the Academy, so much, but the old man was very insistent that his son took the entrance exam."
"Huh," she mused, "And you…?"
"Oh, flunked it," he nodded quickly, "Like, super flunked it. Not even as if I just missed the cut. And, while I'd like that to all be a crowning act of teenage rebellion, the sad part is I was actually trying."
"I guess that didn't impress him?"
"Nope. That was kinda the final straw," he sighed, "I genuinely think up to that point he thought I was gonna somehow make good, turn everything around and follow in the Jenner family tradition. His father was a starfleet captain, his grandfather was a starfleet captain, his great-grandfather was-I mean, you get the idea."
She nodded. He continued. "And, that was that. I'd been nothing but a letdown, so shortly after that, he went back to the captain's chair, and I left Earth for...well, a lot of stuff."
"And your own captain's chair?" she offered with a slightly smile.
"Yeah. Finding your first command in a scrapyard doesn't count in his eyes though. Apparently, finders keepers isn't a legitimate route to captaincy. Still, he's kept an eye on me through the years. And, by the sounds of what he's been asking you, he still is."
He paused for a moment and looked out across the peaceful serenity of their surroundings with a sad shrug.
"Just...I dunno. Might be kinda nice if he asked me, instead."
A moment of silence descended again, before he took a deep breath and turned back to her, trying to locate his usual happy-go-lucky self.
"So, there's your big scoop. No more secrets."
"Really?"
"Well," he added, more meekly, "Some more secrets."
She leaned back in her chair and considered what she'd heard. And then considered her own secrets. "I resigned my commission," she said, apropos of little.
"Really?" he asked, "I mean, I know you said that was your plan, but I thought you'd changed your tune. Especially with, y'know…"
He gestured around the spotless arboretum. "This. It's a lot to give up."
She felt a rush of sadness, looking down to the ground as she did so. A familiar bloodied face crossed her mind.
No more secrets.
"I ran," she muttered, almost to herself, "Back on the Navajo. I ran away."
"You ran away from the spaceship that was about to explode? Yeah, I think I'd have been with you on that one."
"No," she said, failing to keep the emotion out of her voice, "I didn't tell-I haven't told anyone. But there was a man. A boy, really. In the corridor, as I was getting to the escape pod."
Her voice dimmed to a whisper. Jirel listened intently. In her mind, she was no longer in the arboretum. She was back on the Navajo, standing in the door of the escape pod, staring at the bloodied ensign.
"Doctor, help me!"
"I couldn't have saved him. His wounds were…" she stifled a sob, "But I could have-No, I should have done something. Helped him, comforted him, been there for him. But...I froze. I panicked. I ran away, and left him to die."
"But...you said you couldn't have saved him-?"
"That's not the point," she said quickly, "I failed. Right there and then. I failed myself, failed that poor ensign, failed my uniform, my training, my oath as a doctor…"
Her voice trailed off. She looked over at him, tears welling in her eyes.
"The worst part is...I didn't even know his name."
She heard her voice waver. She composed herself as best she could.
"Of all the four hundred and seventy five people onboard the Navajo, I have no idea who he was."
She sank down in her chair, defeated. Jirel considered her words in silence, mulling over the gravity of her impromptu confession.
"Would that make it any better?" he asked eventually.
She looked out across the arboretum. She didn't have an answer. "So," she managed instead, wiping away a tear and composing herself as best she could, "No secrets here either. That's who you're dealing with. You're dealing with the woman who ran away, and hasn't stopped running since."
"Hmm," Jirel mused, "Sounds like you'd fit in perfectly on the Bounty after all."
Of all the things she'd been expecting him to say, giving her another job offer hadn't been near the top of her list.
"Wh-? Really?"
"Really," he nodded, "One way or another, we're all running away from something."
Now it was her turn to pause and consider what he was saying.
"In my case," he added with a familiar cheeky grin, "About half a dozen Nausicaan creditors and a couple of really angry dabo girls. Unrelated incidents."
This time, it wasn't much of a stretch of her deductive powers to see through the lie. But she also saw something else. Instead of just a cocky wannabe space adventurer with some annoying level of unrequited feelings for her, she now saw the orphan Trill with the impossible to please father, forever living in the shadow of a Starfleet admiral.
"Listen, Nat," he said, more seriously, "Whatever you did, you were in the middle of a war. And you don't need me to tell you that war can do funny things to people, especially when they come face to face with their own mortality. So, I dunno, should you be proud of what you did? Probably not, by the sounds of it. But you can't keep beating yourself up over it forever. You know why?"
He gestured around the arboretum, at the other Starfleet officers and personnel walking here and there throughout the grounds. "Cos I'll bet that, in that exact same position, most of these people would have done the exact same thing. Everyone's a Starfleet officer when things are going well. But when you're all alone, and everything around you is falling apart, we're all just fragile, fallible people."
Natasha looked around at the other officers, at their pristine uniforms. She couldn't help but picture the ensign's face again. She gestured to her own outfit. "I just...don't think I can wear this any more."
"That's your prerogative," Jirel shrugged, his cheeky grin flickering back into play, "Just say the word and we can Betazoid wedding this place right up."
He playfully grabbed the corners of his tunic top. She managed a smile. "I'm serious," she replied.
"So am I. About the job offer, I mean."
She looked back at him and saw the seriousness in his eyes. She slowly nodded. "Also," he added with a twinkle, "Totally serious about the 'you and me getting naked' thing if you're-"
"Let's stick with the job offer for now."
He nodded back and smiled. They stood up and started to make for the exit of the arboretum. As she walked, she remembered something else. No more secrets.
"There's one issue," she said, "Admiral Jenner wants-"
"Wants you to spy on me? Yeah, I kinda figured as much. But I guess I can live with that."
"Really?"
He looked back at her as they reached the exit. "Sure," he smiled, "At least dad's finally showing an interest in me."
She smiled back. She felt odd. It took her a while to realise why.
She no longer felt numb.
'*'*'
'*'*'
On top of the hill, as the first signs of the twin dawn started to break over the horizon, Klath stared down at the body of the Klingon in front of him. He allowed himself a moment of peace, to take in the serenity of the moment.
A serenity that was shattered seconds later.
"Ugh," Sunek grouched as he stepped up next to him, "It's freezing up here. Why the hell didn't I bring a jacket this time-?"
"Sunek," another familiar voice called out, "Don't ruin this."
Denella stepped up on the other side and looked down at the body.
Klath knew it was probably a bad idea to come back here, given that it wouldn't be long before Kolar's body was discovered, either by Starfleet or the local Kraterites. But even as he tended to his own injuries, he felt an urge to return. And when they had heard why, his colleagues had insisted on coming along.
He had felt slightly uncomfortable about accepting their requests, but deep down he was also glad for the company. Even from Sunek.
"He looks kinda peaceful," Denella offered, "Should we bury him?"
Klath looked up at the two deep orange suns poking their way over the horizon and shook his head. "There is no need. The body is an empty vessel now. His soul has departed."
"For Sto-vo-kor?" she asked.
Klath looked back down at Kolar's unblinking eyes.
"Perhaps."
Denella considered this cryptic response. She was still sure that she hadn't got the full story on what happened out here from either of them, but for the time being she had resolved not to push the matter any further.
"Klath," she mused, "If this Klingon was actually trying to kill you-"
"Oh, he was," Sunek chimed in.
"-Then why do you want to do all this?"
Klath considered explaining the full story. About the reason he was so eager to bestow honour onto this particular Klingon. But, just as Denella had decided not to press her questioning, Klath decided not to reveal the truth just yet. Another day, he thought darkly.
"Because he fought well," he replied instead, "It feels wrong for us to leave here without doing something."
Denella considered this, then nodded. "You know," she said to him, "You still owe me an apology. A warrior does not let a friend face danger alone, wasn't it?"
Klath grimaced. "Yes," he offered, "I apologise."
"Well," she said with a slightly brighter tone, "If we're gonna do this, I think I might have just the words for it."
Klath and Sunek looked over at her curiously as she sucked in a deep breath and filled her mouth with phlegm once again.
"nuqDaq 'oH puchpa''e'."
She looked back at Klath and smiled proudly, certain that her pronunciation had been a lot closer this time. Klath merely looked confused.
"Pretty good, eh?" the Orion woman beamed.
"You just said 'Which way is the bathroom?'."
Sunek stifled a laugh. Denella's face dropped. "Oh. Well, what's the one that goes: May you never defeat your last enemy, great warrior of Kahless?"
Klath's mouth curled into a smile. "I will teach it to you tomorrow," he replied, "For now, we should begin."
She nodded. Sunek cleared his throat.
"Just so long as my voice is up to it," he offered with a grin, "The cold doesn't agree with my vocal chords."
"I'll be sure to remember that," Denella fired back.
Klath ignored their banter, and took a step closer to the body. The other two followed him. And followed his lead as he began to roar into the sky as the suns continued to rise.
On a lonely hilltop, a scant few kilometres from a Federation starbase, a disgraced warrior, a former slave girl and a laughing Vulcan joined together to perform the Klingon Death Howl.