Chapter Three
When Captain Drake emerged onto the bridge nearly two hours later, Kana was still very much present, although by now she had detached herself from McDonald's throat, and was loitering around Alix's side, looking and acting very much like a bored child. The arrival of the captain on the deck was the first event of any interest to happen in at least an hour – even Alix hadn't been talking to her, too focused on pretending to be working – and the Destroyer was going out of her mind with boredom. One might have expected her to be more used to the monotony of a Starfleet officer's life, given that she had lived inside of Alix for the past two decades, but she had never come to accept the tediously long periods of inaction.
"Captain on the bridge," muttered the spirit, and when a yeoman repeated her call out loud a split-second later, she hissed at him: "Yes, I said that."
McDonald vacated the command chair and took over her position at communications, leaving it free for Drake. The captain smiled at her, a silent expression of thanks, but he made no move to fill the vacant seat. Instead, he approached the helm and leant over Alix's shoulder, taking a quick glance at her instruments and not quite being able to read any of them – he'd never been a pilot.
"How are we doing?"
"On course, holding speed. We can drop off our guests in just under twenty-three days. Sooner, if you'd like."
"The general wasn't expecting to make it home before midway into next month, so I don't see any need to go faster."
"Yeah. We're carrying plenty of stores for a few months in space," Alix agreed. "To be honest, I don't mind a long, slow cruise. It's just…"
"What?"
She glanced about, suddenly uncomfortable. No one was listening – eavesdropping was hardly a Starfleet pastime – but even so she dropped her voice even quieter, and her next words were spoken in Vulcan, there being no Vulcans on the bridge and the difficult language was not often studied by humans. "Nothing I'd say here."
Drake nodded, understanding his friend's discretion. Alix had some troubles on her mind – he had a good idea what they were – and she would not say anything in front of her shipmates, for fear of upsetting them. He knew her well enough to know that she would not share whatever she was thinking with anyone else; that normally she would have sat on her thoughts, but he was both her treasured friend and her greatly respected captain, and so she would open her mind to him. He appreciated it.
"Commander McDonald, Lieutenant Nain, will you join me in my ready room?"
The captain's small, comfortable office was located just off the bridge – a room where he could work and think, even sleep if necessary, in peace and still be just a second away from the bridge if an unexpected action were to develop. The ready room had been incorporated into the earliest designs of Starfleet vessel, but had been dropped by the time the Constitution-class came into service. It had been felt by the admiralty at the time that, with turbolifts so markedly improved over the earliest versions, the captain was never more than five minutes away from the bridge anyway, and therefore the ready room was unnecessary. A few high-profile disasters in space had proved them wrong, and with the new generation of starships the ready room had been reintroduced. The Endeavour, benefiting from a recent thorough upgrade to bring her as close into line with modern technology as the old boat could be made, now boasted a ready room off the main bridge – one that spent more of its time being used as an informal briefing room than for the purpose Starfleet had originally envisioned for it.
Drake took his place behind his desk, Commander McDonald in the seat across from him, and Alix sprawled out comfortably on his couch. For once the first officer chose to ignore the breach of protocol – she was far more interested in what the captain might have to say than yet another bit of misbehaviour from Alix.
"How are our guests, sir?"
"For the moment they seem to be happy enough. How long that will last is anyone's guess. They enjoyed the tour – General Kavagh in particular was very interested in everything I had to show him. He told me that he had fought a ship like this one, the Eagle, and he was delighted to now know where she got her incredible power from."
"That was nice of him to say," said McDonald, feeling that some sort of a response was required of her. She was of the new breed of Starfleet officer, who looked on the Constitution-class as an antique, something belonging to yesterday's fleet, but she knew that the captain was heartily attached to his vessel and she would say nothing that might offend him.
"Cross your fingers that there might be some action on this voyage, Will," grinned Alix Nain. "We could give Kravft something to be really impressed about!"
Drake laughed, sharing in his old shipmate's enthusiasm. "Yeah, we could. Tell Brok to keep his eyes peeled, Alix."
"Brok?" She snorted. "Wouldn't trust him to notice a planet, let alone an enemy ship."
Some good-natured laughter followed, and McDonald smiled. The captain was in a wonderfully good mood, and it was infectious – his beaming grin and shining sea-green eyes brought warmth into everyone who saw them. Even Kana, slumped invisibly against a wall and listening with half an ear wasn't unaffected.
"I've been thinking that we should do something to really welcome our guests aboard. Show them the hospitality of the Endeavour."
"A party? Great! Leave it all to me, Will. You won't be sorry."
Drake, who had been to a few of Alix's parties, very much doubted that: he'd need his guests to be able to stand up the next day. "Actually, I was thinking something more along the lines of a formal dinner."
This dampened her spirits, but only momentarily. "That's an even better idea, actually. Klingons love a good feast. They'd certainly appreciate it."
McDonald threw her support behind the plan. "It's a good idea, sir. But are we in any shape to throw a dinner party?"
"We're well founded in terms of stores," said Drake. "Alix and I made sure of that. But as for the preparation…I've never asked for anything like this from the galley on this voyage. Our old cook could have put together a feast fit for an Andorian king in a couple of hours, but the guy we have down there now…" He shook his head. Quality chefs were hard to come by in Starfleet, and Drake bitterly regretted the loss of the man who had served him on previous commissions. He had wanted to rejoin the ship, but he had been out of the system, and they hadn't the time to wait for him, so Drake had been reluctantly forced to recruit a replacement.
"I'll see what I can do about motivating the galley, sir."
"I'd appreciate it, Vicki. I'm thinking of inviting Mr. Harrow and the two Klingons – obviously – as well as the senior staff. I've already done a little background research in preparation, and it doesn't look like Chef will have to worry about any speciality dishes – no vegetarians in the party, and no allergies that I could see."
"Always makes things easier," said Alix. "What are you thinking of serving?"
"Good question. Something in the poultry line? I'm not brilliant at planning these things."
"Duck's always good," offered Alix, purely out of personal preference – she couldn't get enough of the stuff. "Goose, too."
"Fish usually goes down well," suggested McDonald. "A range of small dishes might be the best approach, Captain."
"Pick and mix."
"Something like that," agreed the commander, actually smiling at Alix.
"It's the way I'd go. Only thing I'd suggest is to stick something raw and bloody in for our Klingon guests – they like their food as close to freshly slaughtered as it can come. A roast of beef, cooked raw, should do the trick."
"You think?"
A shrug. "Always tasted to me like I was biting a cow's arse when I had to eat it."
"Fine; add it to the menu. What do you think about wine?"
"I think it's okay. I prefer Malibu."
Drake chuckled. "I meant what wine would be appropriate for the dinner? Red? White? I have no idea about these things."
"I'm hardly the epitome of sophistication myself, Will. Commander?"
McDonald shrugged. "I'm afraid it is not my area of expertise, either. I'm sure Chef will know."
"Yes," Drake agreed. He'd certainly be surprised otherwise. "I was thinking of wine to accompany the main course, but after that…it's a pity we're not carrying any Romulan Ale, or that firewater the Klingons are keen on."
"Blood wine. I might have something kicking around in my bottom drawer that'll do." When she saw the look that McDonald was giving her, Alix smiled and reassured the commander: "Nothing illegal, sir. Promise."
"That's not what I was worried about. Have you got enough bottles to go around, Lieutenant?"
Alix appreciated the effort at being civil, she appreciated it greatly, and a beaming grin appeared on her face, an expression of such tremendous warmth and affection that McDonald couldn't help thinking it was worth cutting the girl a bit more slack in the future, if only to be blessed with that smile again. "Plenty, sir. My bottle drawer is crammed to bursting."
A few more details of the planned dinner were settled, and then Commander McDonald took her leave to go and rouse the galley. When she was gone Drake moved from behind his desk to sitting on the couch next to Nain, her head resting on his shoulder and her eyes lightly closed, resting, composing herself.
"Imagine you not having a dress uniform," Drake chuckled, thinking back to the reception in the transporter room.
"Imagine that."
"How can you not have a dress uniform?"
"I guess I never got around to buying one. I had a big list of things to buy when you first talked me into this Starfleet thing, but I never got around to half of them."
Drake laughed again, unconcerned with whether this was the real truth or just a story that Alix had invented that moment. The truth was flexible with her.
"What's on your mind, Red Eyes?" He asked, calling her by the pet name he had for her; the one that always made her smile coming from him, despite its cheesiness.
"Klingons. I've got nothing against the Klingons, Will, you know that, but there are others that do. Not too long ago skirmishes between our peoples were common. There's a lot of hard feelings."
"I know." It was one of the most difficult things about the new peace, setting aside old grudges and moving on. Not everyone could do it. Indeed, Drake had been surprised by how difficult even some old friends in the service found it.
"Point is: there could be some people not exactly comfortable with sharing the ship with the Klingons."
"Anyone in particular you're thinking of?"
A shrug. "Nah. Can't say there is. I don't really know the new guys well enough to guess. I'd be surprised if there isn't at least someone, though."
Was she being completely honest with him, or did she actually have a couple of names in mind and just didn't want to say them, out of some sort of respect for the people involved?
Drake wouldn't think about it. "So would I. We can't hope for miracles, Alix, but I don't think it's too unreasonable to expect a fairly quiet cruise."
"Fingers crossed."
"Right. And if anyone has a grudge they feel like taking up with Kravft or Grownel, I'm sure you can persuade them to change their minds, right, Red Eyes?"
Those eyes flickered open now, smiling brightly. "No problem."
"That's my girl."
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There were Klingons on the ship. Klingons! Filthy, barbaric savages! Her throat tightened with fury at the very thought of two (not just one, but two!) of the brutes sharing the same decks as her, breathing the same air. It was a repugnant thought, one that she felt in every fibre of her being.
She had long known that Klingons would be joining the ship, of course. Their mission had been no secret, and she had been aware since the beginning of the commission that the time would come when she would have to pretend to set aside her feelings and greet those monsters as friends and allies. The thought had always sickened her, and if there had been any way of avoiding it, she would have taken it. Unfortunately, the only way she could have gotten out of the meeting was by rejecting the Endeavour placement, and that would have been both a slap in the face for Commodore Harte, who had worked so hard to get it for her in the first place, and tantamount to shooting herself in the foot as far as her career was concerned.
Starfleet was currently going through a phase of cutbacks. With the long cold war with the Klingon Empire now officially over, the need for such a vast fleet had suddenly disappeared. A lot of the more battle-orientated ships were being mothballed, and there were currently no plans to replace them with more peaceful vessels of exploration. As a result, Starfleet suddenly had a lot more personnel in its ranks than it knew what to do with. Unemployed officers and crewmen could be found kicking around on starbases and planets throughout the Federation, assigned to no ship and with no real chance of getting a posting soon.
She had previously been a science officer on the carrier Indefatigable, one of the first ships to be put into mothballs following the signing of the Khitomer Accords. For eight months she had been stuck on the shore, looking desperately for any ship that might take her and finding none; every other unemployed science officer in the service was doing the exact same thing, and there were a great many superior to her out there. She was lucky to have a friend in Commodore Harte, lucky that the Endeavour had been rushed into space, or else she might never have seen active duty again.
She was grateful to be on a ship; she loathed being on a ship with Klingons.
At that moment, while Drake and Alix were talking in the ready room, the science officer was on her way back to the bridge. She was the primary watch science officer, and her usual place was at the vast bank of monitors in the starboard bulkhead, just next to the number one turbolift. She would have been there now, had she not been called down to one of the labs to view the results of an experiment being run by Ensign Pini on some plant samples the junior had brought aboard from her last posting. The science officer had enjoyed the distraction, but now she was anxious that Commander McDonald, a taught first officer, might have a few words to say to her.
The sight of the commander emerging from the turbolift was a shock, and for a horrible fraction of a second, the science officer actually thought that McDonald had come looking for her. That thought vanished when the human's head turned towards her and an unexpected smile appeared. "Sarn. On your way to the bridge?"
"Yes, Commander. I was called down to the lab to participate in an experiment."
"Did it go well?"
"Fascinating," replied the Vulcan science officer, knowing that her superior was not even slightly interested in any matter of science.
"Glad to hear it. I'm on my way down to the galley at the moment, and the captain's in conference with Nain. If you hurry, the bridge will be yours," cried McDonald, her face flushed with thoroughly uncommon pleasure. Sarn wondered for a moment if the woman was quite all right, but she didn't say anything, and she and the commander parted.
Drake was still away from the bridge when Sarn arrived, and she hesitated for a moment outside the turbolift, trying to decide between taking her place at science or enjoying the comfort of the command chair. Mr. Moore was manning the console in her absence, and he was one of the sharpest and most capable sensor operators in the ship. Logically, therefore, the best place for her was in the centre chair.
Conveniently, this was just where she wanted to be, and she settled into the high-backed chair happily.
"You look far too comfortable," murmured Brok, who had come down to stand at her side.
Sarn turned her chair so that she was facing her friend. Her dark eyes twinkled, which was as close to a smile as she would allow herself on the bridge. "I could get used to this. Brok, how are our Klingon guests doing?"
"I wouldn't know. I'm tactical, remember? Not security. You should ask Wolf when she gets up here."
That was exactly what the science officer did when, a few minutes later, Lieutenant Wolf prowled out onto the bridge. The predatory woman seemed a little surprised by the question, and even more so by the quiet hatred in Sarn's voice when the Vulcan said the word 'Klingon', but she but she didn't presume to ask questions of her betters. "I took them to their quarters when the captain was done with them. They have been peaceful, so far. They seem to be happy with their rooms."
"You're monitoring them?"
"Yes. It's…it's…" she struggled for the right phrase; mercifully it came to her: "Standard procedure."
Sarn nodded, reassured to know that their 'guests' were under the watchful eye of Lieutenant Wolf. Klingons were dangerous and untrustworthy, and with two of them aboard they could do a lot of damage before a human security team could stop them. Wolf was a different matter, however. If the Klingons were stupid enough to try anything while she was watching, she'd tear them limb from limb, and possibly eat the remains. The ship was quite safe.
Now, if only the Klingons would do something stupid…
The ready room doors hissed open, and Sarn suddenly found herself alone in the centre of the bridge, Brok having scampered back to the tactical console as fast as his portly form would permit, and Wolf quickly replacing Manning at navigation – the young man sliding across to the vacant helm. The tactical and security officers put up a very good pretence of having been working diligently all this time, but Brok's face had turned a much paler blue than usual and he had guilt written all across his forehead.
"Interrupting something, was I?" Enquired Alix Nain, laughter flowing freely from her lips. The helmsman stood just outside the ready room, her arms folded across her chest and glee shining from her. She was particularly delighted by the panic she had caused to erupt in Brok, even more so because he was now scowling murderously at her.
"Ha, ha! Should have bloody known it was you!"
"You should have seen your face, Blue. It looked something like this." She snatched up a PADD that had been lying unattended on an auxiliary science console and raced a stylus across it. Holding it up for Brok to see, there was a crude sketch of a baldhead with great big bulging, terrified eyes.
Some restrained laughter drifted around the bridge, accompanied by Brok's low moan of irritation. Alix was easily one of the strangest people who had ever worn the uniform, but she brought some humour and fun into the ship, and consequently she was quite popular amongst the crew. There were a few people who thought poorly of her because of her largely unknown (and what little was known wasn't exactly nice) history, and few would claim to really trust her, but she was a welcome presence.
"Sitting comfortably, Sarn?"
"Very much so. I take it I will be required to relinquish the seat soon?"
"Probably not. The skipper's busy planning a big dinner for our guests, and I imagine it's going to take him a while. Relax everyone. Not you, Blue; you're relaxed enough already."
He'd have told her to leave off, if it wouldn't have sounded whiny and pathetic. He had started this war of insults with Alix, but the human girl was carrying it off far better than he did.
Still smirking, Alix jumped down to the large desk console that housed the helm and navigation boards. "Wolf, I'm glad to see you're up here. I noticed an ion storm ahead, one point to starboard. We won't come near it until tomorrow morning, but I'd like you to keep an eye on it. It's not going our way right now, but those things can turn around without any warning, and I don't want to get caught in the middle of a storm if we can avoid it."
The woman's bright cobalt eyes swept across her instruments. Very quickly she found the storm that Alix was referring to, and she could see why the helmsman might want to avoid it. The Endeavour was a tough ship, and ancient mariners would have called her weatherly, but that storm was churning something fierce, and going into it would be uncomfortable. "I see it. I'll monitor it closely."
"Thanks. You taking the graveyard shift tonight?"
"Of course."
"Great. Saves us having to leave a memo for anyone. I'll probably pop in during the night and take the helm for a couple of hours, myself." She smiled. "Right now, I'm off down to the galley to talk to Chef. Keep the chair warm for me, Pat."
"Commander McDonald is speaking to catering now."
She didn't slow down at all. "I know, Sarn. I've got a couple of thoughts of my own to add to the menu."
Sarn was curious. Out of all of her new crewmates, Alix was the one who she knew the best. They spent a lot of time together off duty, and Sarn knew quite well the girl's likes and dislikes, and the way her mind worked. They'd shared a few meals together, and Sarn had often been surprised by the kinds of food the woman would happily shovel down her throat. She wondered how important it was to the captain for this meal to succeed, and how wise it might be to let Alix get any more involved than eat it. Even that might be a bit much, Sarn supposed – the girl's table manners left a lot to be desired.
"Alix…"
"Sorry, Sarn, but I gotta run. Later." She disappeared into a turbolift and was gone before Sarn could remind her that she was a lieutenant commander, that she outranked the helmsman, and that if she wanted to talk then Alix could damned well stand there and listen for as long as it took.
Of course, knowing Alix as she did, Sarn was pretty sure that any such comments would have fallen on deaf ears, anyway. The girl only heard what she wanted to hear, only did what she wanted to do.
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Vicki McDonald was having a hard time explaining to McDuff, the ship's senior chef, what it was that she wanted his galley to do. She had thought that the concept of a dinner party was a simple enough one, but apparently it was something that McDuff at least had never heard of in his life, and he had stared wide-eyed at the list of dishes she had given to him to make up.
"What the bloody hell does the captain want with all this bloody food?"
"The captain is inviting Mr. Harrow, his staff, and the two Klingons to dinner."
"From the looks of this list I'd say he's inviting half the bloody fleet to dinner. Christ, you could feed the crew with half of this."
"We're not asking for big dishes, Chef. A wide selection of small things, so that people can pick and choose."
"Small? Oh, aye. And just where the hell am I going to find a small goose? Small. Pfft!"
And I thought Nain was difficult, reflected McDonald. She had expected something like this from her previous dealings with ship's cooks – she had never encountered one who wasn't a trial. Even with her past experiences, and the chef on the Gallant had been a real pain, she hadn't quite been prepared for this level of stubbornness. She could have reprimanded the man, but there was no point, and even McDonald knew that. An officer's powers on a starship were vast indeed, but somehow they failed to encompass the galley.
She tried to be reasonable instead. "These are Klingons we're inviting, Mr. McDuff. They are used to big meals, and the captain wants to impress them with a feast."
"Aye, I understand. But this isn't just a dinner. This is a bloody Tudor feast!"
"A what?"
"Tudor. One of the families that wore the English crown for a time. King Henry VIII, a Tudor, was notorious for his extravagant feasts: tables groaning under the weight of multiple oxen, pigs, and geese."
"I didn't realize you were a historian, Lieutenant."
"I read a lot. Anything I can get my hands on."
Pity you've never read the regulation manual. The thought popped into McDonald's head of its own accord, and at another time it might have popped out of her mouth, too. This time, in her mind was where it stayed, a token gesture towards unity between the officers, and McDonald was grateful that it was made, for a moment later the Scottish chef turned his attention to Alix.
"Great. Maybe you can read a cookbook. Then you can give me a hand here in the kitchen, trying to prepare all these dishes the captain's demanding."
His aggressive tone had put McDonald off-guard when she was confronted by it. She was so unused to being spoken to in anything like that manner by Starfleet personnel that she had been stunned, and she had left it too long to make any kind of reproach. This insubordination to Alix was new, and she now had the perfect opportunity to drop the rulebook on McDuff from a great height.
Alix had other ideas.
"The skipper's not demanding anything. I am," said the girl kindly, but her eyes sought McDuff's and they were positively aflame. McDonald caught a glimpse, and it shocked her, but the chef took it full on; his skin paled until it matched his apron. "That's a hell of a frightening stare you've got there, Lieutenant," he said, when he'd regained the power of speech.
"You found that frightening?" She sounded surprised, and a trickle of laughter, faintly sadistic laughter, ran from her lips. "That was just a glance; not even any anger behind it. But if there isn't any food for this dinner – good food – I'll be happy to show you the full force of these red eyes of mine."
Threatening a shipmate on a Starfleet vessel was an offence, and even Nain had to know as much. McDonald would have been doing her duty if she had had Alix taken away by security and thrown in the brig, but she did no such thing. McDuff had been difficult with her, insubordinate even, and it was a little…gratifying to see him put in his place. Besides, what charge could she really bring to bear against Alix? Threatening to look at the chef? It sounded too ridiculous.
Anyway, the galley was outside the sphere of an officer's powers, as the commander reminded herself.
"I'll get right on it, Lieutenant. Although, seeing as it's short notice and everything, I can't promise miracles."
"Good food, Mr. McDuff."
"Aye aye, sir. I'll certainly do my best."
He turned to head back into the galley and make good on his word, but Alix stopped him. "There's one more thing that I want to add to the menu. Could you whip together a haggis?"
"Not a chance, sir. Don't have half the proper ingredients. But I can put together a facsimile so perfect my own grandmother couldn't tell the difference."
"Perfect. Thank you, Mr. McDuff."
The cook retreated into the kitchens, his private domain far from the reach of the officers – and especially that helmsman with the terrifying eyes. Alix smiled broadly, pleased with herself, and turned this expression on McDonald. Once again, the commander was surprised by just how much warmth there was in a happy Alix Nain. Her own mood, brought low by McDuff's stubbornness, was lifted up again, and she started to understand why the captain had fought so hard to hold onto his friend. Someone like that, who could pick you up with just a look when you were feeling low was valuable. That she could also fly a ship better than Hikaru Sulu in his youth, and put the fear of God into a man with a severe glance only made her more so.
"What are you doing down here, Nain? Shouldn't you be on the bridge?"
"The skipper and I kept talking after you left. I came down to add the haggis to the galley's list of chores, and to tell you what Will's decided for the dress code."
"Formal, I suppose?"
Alix briefly considered a sarcastic reply – something about grass skirts and Hawaiian shirts with a pineapple motif – but she reluctantly dismissed it. The first officer wasn't her usual stiff self at the moment, but she was still unlikely to be appreciative of Alix's particular breed of wit.
"Yup. Formal. Our guests can interpret that how they want to. For us, it means best duty uniforms. Will had been thinking about dress uniforms, but I thought that might be a bit too showy."
McDonald smiled, seeing entirely different motives at work in Nain. "Right. It had nothing to do with you not owning a dress uniform?"
"Nothing at all," grinned Alix conspiratorially.
The two officers walked away from the galley and headed back towards the turbolift. Once inside, McDonald was about to have the 'lift carry them up to the bridge when something made her hesitate. Even Alix, whom the commander still thought of as a little dim, would have used the comm if all she had to do was get the galley to prepare a haggis and tell the first officer of tonight's dress code.
"What else were you doing down here, Lieutenant?"
"Delivering invitations, actually. Will asked me to go door-to-door and invite Mr. Harrow and the others to this thing. Hey, would you come with me, Commander? No offence to Harrow, but I've met some diplomats who can be right bastards; get easily offended if they think they're not being shown the proper respect. An invite from the first officer might appease egos better than one from the lowly helmsman."
Her argument was sound, her logic valid, and yet McDonald did not believe a word of it. There was something sly in those red eyes. She wondered what Alix really wanted. Not that it much mattered, she told herself. Whatever the real reasons for wanting her presence, Alix had been right in saying that the invitations might be better coming from the ship's executive officer. "Maybe you're right. We'll make the calls together."
"Aye, sir."
The reason for Alix's little scheme might have been a mystery to McDonald, and it would have probably perplexed Will Drake as well, but Kana grasped it instantly. A nasty smile tugged at her lips as she turned towards her host and said: "As a guess, Yeoman Hope will be invited to this party?"
"That's right."
"So that's why you're inflicting McDonald on us. You don't trust yourself to behave."
"No, I don't. I wish I could learn to listen to my head, rather than my hips, but I can't."
"You could always try ignoring them both and listening to me."
"Oh? And what advice might you have for me?"
"Right now, I'd advise that this turbolift is small, that it is unmonitored, and that a source of very great aggravation for us is within arm's length."
"Kana…"
"Just reach out, Alix. Wrap those soft hands of yours around her head and break her neck. I can take care of the rest."
"Kana!"
The Destroyer shrugged, entirely unmollified. "Just a suggestion."
Deck eight, and the guest quarters. McDonald took the lead, Alix a step behind, and Kana loitering about as far back as she could. She didn't feel any guilt or shame about her dark talk in the turbolift, but she did feel angry at Alix for snapping at her quite like that. The human knew very well what she was like, and if Alix had been surprised that the Destroyer might suggest something mindlessly violent and evil then she was a fool. Kana had no time for fools.
Mr. Harrow had been relaxing in his cabin, enjoying the peace and quiet – so precious to him after weeks of round the clock negotiations with an awkward Klingon general; negotiations that had, despite what he might have hinted at to Drake, got exactly no where at all. He was delighted to be on the Endeavour, ecstatic to be away from the starbase and its only-too-familiar conference halls. He did not even resent his quarters, even though he was restricted to a bedroom, living room and bathroom, the biggest of these rooms smaller than the dining room in his suite on the starbase. There was ample enough space for one man, even a man as used to luxury as Harrow, and right now he was sprawled out on his sofa, enjoying the way the distant pulse of the ship's warp core travelled up through the deck plates and massaged his back.
The door chimed. Harrow rolled onto his side and resolved to ignore it, but at the second chime he was on his feet and pacing across the room. He was annoyed with the interruption, but he didn't let it show when he greeted Commander McDonald and the strange red haired helmswoman.
"Mr. Harrow, the captain has sent us to invite you and your party to dinner tonight in the captain's mess."
"Dinner?" Harrow laughed. "I'm sorry, it's just that was a completely unexpected offer. My sincerest thanks to Captain Drake for his courtesy. I assume that 'my party' includes General Kravft and Commander Grownel?"
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent, excellent. Yes, I can see how the captain's mind works, now. A brilliant idea; Klingons love a good meal. I should have thought of it myself!" He laughed again. "Your captain has a sharp head on his shoulders. Yes, yes. My sincerest thanks to Captain Drake –"
"You've already said that, fool."
"– and what should I wear?"
"The event is to be semi-formal," said McDonald. "Ship's company will be attending in best duty uniform."
"Even me," put in a smiling Nain.
"For yourself, sir, whatever you feel is appropriate for such an occasion."
"Thank you, Commander. I'll dig through my drawers for something presentable. Are you extending this invitation to General Kravft personally, or am I to do that?"
"It's the ship's invitation, so we'll take care of it."
"Of course, of course. Thank you, Commander. Thank you too, Lieutenant."
"No problem," said Alix, tapping a finger to her head: a semi-formal salute.
"Oh, one last thing."
"Yes, sir?"
"What time is this meal?"
McDonald felt a flush of embarrassment, but Alix – who knew they had forgotten something – stepped in smoothly with the answer. "Seven o'clock," she said, opting for the civilian method of time measurement. "One of the crew will call on you and escort you up to the dining room."
"Thank you. Much obliged."
Hope and Ling happily accepted the invitation to dine. The yeoman in particular seemed to be thrilled beyond words at the prospect of sitting at the captain's table, and neither Alix nor McDonald could claim to be untouched by her heartfelt gratitude. Ling's reaction was far more muted, and indeed it almost seemed that he considered it his right to be the captain's guest. He didn't say anything aloud, and neither did he breathe a word of his disgust with regards to Nain's earlier treatment of him, but McDonald understood both loud and clear.
"What did you do to him?" The commander asked, as they took the short walk down to where the Klingons were.
"Just gave him a stare."
Hellish red eyes came into McDonald's mind, a memory of that terrifying look Alix had shown to McDuff in the galley, and she nodded mutely. Ling was a proud and difficult man, she had realized that instantly. No doubt Alix's sharp stare had frightened him (how could it not?) and he had shrunk away from her, but now he had recovered from it and he felt that his pride had been stung. He would have liked to reproach her, liked to have had Alix punished for her transgression, but the truth of the matter was that she hadn't done anything punishable. He knew it, and that irked him all the more. She had attacked him, made him looked weak and foolish, and she had gotten away with it, too.
The first officer supposed that she could mollify Ling's feelings a bit by taking Alix off to one side, having a quiet word with her, and then sending her back to apologise to the aide, but she decided nah, stuff it. She'd met people like Ling in the past, and keeping them happy was nearly impossible, emotionally and physically draining, and always ensured that she was unhappy. If Alix wanted to cast a glower the man's way every now and then, so long as it shut him up for a while, that was fine with the first officer.
It wasn't exactly regulation, but there were times when even McDonald was prepared to ignore the rulebook.
She tapped the door chime outside the Klingon leader's room and waited a moment. The door opened and she launched straight into what she had to say. "General Kravft, Captain Drake sends his compliments and invites you to dine in the captain's mess, tonight at nineteen-hundred hours."
"I would be most happy to accept the captain's gracious invitation."
"A crewman will escort you up at the appropriate time." They turned to depart.
"Destroyer." Alix looked back. "Will you be attending?"
"All of the officers, Mr. Harrow and his aides will be at the dinner."
Kravft nodded, giving no indication whether he considered this to be a good thing or a bad thing, and went back inside his cabin. Alix frowned for a moment, before deciding that she couldn't be bothered to debate what the general might be thinking, and returned to McDonald.
The first officer was studying her with curiosity, and Alix just knew there were going to be questions. She wasn't at all surprised when the commander opened her mouth and said, "Why does he call you Destroyer?"
"Old nickname from my privateering days."
"No it's not. It's my title. And I do resent the way you've gone and taken it to use as your own."
"Friends share, Kana."
"Why Destroyer, though?"
Alix smiled secretively. "Long story, Commander."
Commander Grownel listened to the offer, gave the acceptance that was expected of him, and then began to complain. "Why have you locked us in these rooms, Commander? Are we prisoners on your ship?"
"You're not a prisoner, sir; you are our guest."
"Guests. Pah! We are under guard, confined to these cabins. No better than prisoners."
"You are not under confinement, and the guards are there for your own protection, sir. You're free to leave your quarters at any time, and security will escort you wherever you want to go. You are a guest," McDonald repeated again, emphatically.
Grownel grunted. "I was not 'guarded' aboard the starbase."
"This isn't the starbase."
"Lieutenant!"
McDonald was ignored. "Different commanders have different ways of doing things. The captain thought if for the best if you had an escort while you were aboard the ship."
"Pah! Drake does not trust us."
"On the contrary. There is no one more trusting, or more committed to the peace process than Captain Drake. He just doesn't want there to be an incident on his ship."
"An incident?"
"There are still hard feelings between our peoples, despite the progress that we have made," McDonald said, not trusting Alix's diplomatic skills to be sufficient to handle a subject so delicate. "The Endeavours are a good body of people, but we just want to make absolutely certain that no unpleasantness should develop."
"I see." The Klingon pondered. "So long as I am accompanied, I may go where I wish?"
"Yes."
"Except restricted sections, obviously," added Alix.
Grownel looked at her strangely, and for a second McDonald feared that the Klingon might be getting angry with the helmsman. He surprised her. "Since I must be accompanied, perhaps you would take the role of my escort, Destroyer?"
Alix looked at the first officer, obviously unsure. Strange request for the Klingon to make, McDonald thought. On the strength of keeping their guests happy, the Commander was inclined to grant it. Alix seemed to sense this opinion in McDonald and she hastily said: "I'm on duty, Commander. There are still four hours to go of my shift."
"Then I shall wait."
"He's insistent."
"Yeah. Why, though? I've never met him before."
"Maybe Daddy's been telling tales?"
Alix frowned. "Daddy?" She muttered in her mind, while aloud she said: "In that case, I'll be happy to escort you – after my shift is over."
"I look forward to it, Destroyer."
"Commander," said Alix as they walked away, "I don't mind saying that I'm a little…uncomfortable." Despite her words, she obviously minded saying it a great deal.
"Grownel's interest in you?" Guessed McDonald.
"Yeah," she nodded. "From Kravft I'd understand it: we've met before. I'd never seen or heard of Grownel before we started this mission, and I don't like how interested he seems to be in me."
"If you're concerned you don't have to accompany him. Someone else could do the job. Wolf, for example."
Alix shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, sir, but I've already told him that I'll meet him, and Klingons get easily offended. I'm not really worried as such, sir. Not about my safety, anyway. I'm worried that…" She trailed off.
"You? Worried?" Kana's eyes were wide, amazed by the very idea, and even more so because her host seemed entirely honest in what she said.
"Worried about what, Lieutenant?"
"That he might have heard stories about me," Alix admitted. "That he might want to test and see if they're true."
McDonald, who had heard stories about Alix as well – some from rather unreliable sources; others from Drake, who would certainly know the truth – had an idea what about Alix might interest a Klingon warrior. "They're not?"
"They are. That's the problem."
"Only a problem for everyone else."
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Time drifted along its course and the Endeavour on hers. On the bridge, Alix held her place at helm and watched the light years tick slowly by on her panel. Now and then she was obliged to tap a button or two to nudge the ship around a planetary body, or subspace phenomenon, but for the most part there was nothing for her to do while the ship was at warp. The computer could handle all of the light manoeuvres required to get the ship from point A to point B along a relatively straight line; the only reason a living helmsman was needed on the bridge at all during warp flight was in case of some drastic, unexpected development – a subspace disturbance forming nearby, the sudden appearance of a spatial anomaly, or an enemy ship. Such things were incredibly rare events, much more so than the writers of the fictional starship stories that were so popular amongst civilians made them out to be.
As with every other helmsman in the fleet, Alix had long ago constructed ways of amusing herself while on duty: little games that she could play that kept her mind from falling asleep. Her favourite was teasing Brok, a game with endless potential. During more relaxed periods, she would happily engage in some banter with the big dumb Bolian, and the ensuing war of insults would keep herself and the rest of the bridge amused. With McDonald currently holding the centre chair verbal sparring was not an option, but there were other ways of getting enjoyment out of the Bolian.
Today, Alix had a reluctant associate in her teasing, and she was grateful for it. She had written a neat little program that let her (or any other) change the torpedo inventory display on Brok's terminal – only on Brok's terminal, this was a practical joke to wind the Bolian up, not anything malicious. One of her favourite teases was that Brok was paid to sit on the bridge and make sure that none of the ship's torpedoes walked off and got themselves lost – a comment that always ensured a good funny sneer from him. Now, thanks to this little program, she could make it seem that the torpedoes were walking away of their own accord.
The results were as hilarious as Alix had predicted. Brok hadn't noticed at first that the count on his screen was going down – which showed how much attention he paid to his job, Alix thought – but after six torpedoes had vanished he suddenly woke up to the fact that something was going on. At first he had been panicked, but when two more disappeared while he was watching he smelt a rat.
Brok's first accusation had been bang on target. Not wanting to make a scene on the bridge – and knowing that McDonald would probably flay Alix alive for what was really a harmless little joke – he had made his way over to the helm, leant across Alix's shoulder as though he wanted to check something on her boards, and told her to stop it. Alix had thrown an innocent expression at him, and when Brok had explained that he got the joke – ha, ha, very droll – she had assured him that she was running no such program, and had let him inspect her console to be sure of the fact. Brok had found everything as it should be, except for a rough portrait of herself that Alix had been drawing on her starchart by plotting nav points and connecting them with lines. Perplexed, he had returned to his station.
If he had leant across the shoulder of Alix's neighbour he would have discovered the culprit. Alix had given Hannah Wolf the program to run from her navigation console. The security officer had been reluctant, but Alix had assured her that it would be a laugh, and something about the girl's eagerness and enthusiasm had made it hard for Wolf to say no.
She did not have much of a sense of humour, Wolf, couldn't really understand humour, but she did derive some…pleasure from Brok's and Alix's antics, so she had agreed to do this. Alix had been right, it had been interesting. Even now, Brok had no idea who had pulled the prank on him, and although they had long since switched off the program, the Bolian was still paying rapt attention to his screens, just to make sure that nothing else odd happened.
Alix yawned and stretched in her seat. Time was ticking on; there were just a handful of minutes left until the end of her shift. Normally, she would look forward eagerly to the end, to having a few hours to herself to do what she wanted, where she wanted. She tolerated the monotony on the bridge as best as she was able, but she had always been an active, adventurous individual, and sitting around idly for hours was difficult for her. In this respect, as in so many others, she was entirely unsuited for Starfleet life – which was long periods of boredom, interspersed with moments of heart-stopping terror. She had known as much since a young age, and she would never have been drawn into the service, nor stayed in it, if it hadn't been for Drake. For him, and only for him, was she prepared to at least make an effort towards towing the line.
She needed her freedom; she needed her off duty time. More than anyone else, it was vital for Alix to throw off her uniform and indulge in her pastimes. Especially as Kana was no more patient towards inaction than she was, and the Destroyer lacked Alix's devoted loyalty to Drake. For this reason, a good portion of Alix's free time was given over to Kana, so that the alien could enjoy herself.
Today, with the promise she had made to Grownel, and the dinner party in the evening, Alix feared that Kana was going to have very little to be happy about. There would be no opportunity to leave the ship and blip over to one of the more dangerous, exciting parts of the cosmos for a few hours of hectic fun; even a couple of hours wiping the floor with wrestling partners in the gym was probably out of the question.
"Today's going to be very boring for you," apologized Alix.
"Oh?" Kana looked up from what she had been doing and showed Alix her teeth – to call her expression a smile would have been too generous. "I doubt I'll be bored. There may not be much chance of bloodshed and fun, but I think things will be interesting enough."
"I hate it when you say things like that."
"Why?"
"Well, the last time you made that sort of prophecy I found myself mixed up with those Orion treasure-hunters: Habrig and his lot."
Kana laughed fondly at the memory. "That was interesting! Fun, too."
"We nearly died."
"That happens to us a lot."
"True. You're a bad influence."
Kana huffed. "I'm a bad influence? You don't need me to be a bad influence. As I recall, you've got into plenty of scrapes without me."
"Alix? Why are you smiling?"
"Just remembering a joke I heard," she told Wolf. The security officer looked at her strangely for a moment longer, before turning back to her boards, a mutter escaping under her breath – something that sounded like "Humans."
"Yes. What strange creatures they are," agreed Kana – whose senses were probably the best on the ship; certainly the most advanced. "I've lived inside this one for more than twenty years, and she's still a puzzle to me. The race as a whole is an even greater mystery. How such primitive, unevolved beasts ever mastered flight, let alone warp propulsion is a question I will never answer. And how they went from blowing themselves up on one miserable little planet to policing ten thousand light years…the mind boggles."
"Ahem," coughed Alix. "And just which primitive, unevolved beast are you living in now, Kana?" The Destroyer grinned, pleased with her teasing. "We haven't done so badly, we primates."
"I didn't say primates. Although, it's not a bad term."
"What –" Alix twigged. "You're winding me up."
"Indeed I am."
"This is why I hate you."
Kana didn't believe a word of it. "You love me really."
Alix did indeed. Kana was the person she was closed to – literally and figuratively. She was Alix's best friend, mentor, protector, and the only real family the girl had ever known – her parents having been killed as part of a landing party when she had been very young. She loved Kana immensely, but it was equally true that she hated the creature – hated certain things about her, anyway: her deeply ingrained, irredeemable evil, for one.
The turbolifts opened, both at more or less the same time, and a wave of fresh hands poured out onto the bridge, led by Lieutenant Adam Claise, commander of the night shift. He was, Alix had heard, an attractive young man, and she knew a couple of crewmen who had their eyes on him. Glancing over her shoulder, taking in his square form, silky hair and kind brown eyes, Alix supposed that he was an okay enough example of a human male, but she felt nothing stir in her, no pull of attraction. She was a great admirer of beauty, in particular bodily beauty, and while she found no man physically attractive she had met one or two whom she considered to be beautiful. Claise was not such a man, and she wondered what Pini and the others found so damned appealing.
"Day shift is relieved," said Claise and Pini, over at Science II, melted. Alix rolled her eyes in disbelief. There was nothing remarkable about the way Claise spoke. He did not have a big voice like Kravft did, that made each word he uttered sound like a godly proclamation. Neither did he possess Drake's warm and friendly, yet powerful, firm, way of speaking. Claise just…spoke, as far as Alix could tell.
"What do people see in him?"
"You're hardly qualified to speak on the attractiveness of men."
Alix gave her friend a look. "All right. You've shagged more than a few. Find him cute?"
"No."
The Nains were not alone in their opinion. Commander McDonald greeted Claise with a polite smile and a few words, but there was nothing in her body language or expression that suggested she was drawn towards the man. Similarly, Lieutenant Wolf was entirely unaffected by whatever magnetism Claise possessed.
Not that that was an uncommon occurrence in itself. Wolf was the most frigid person whom Alix had ever met – disappointingly so, actually, as Alix couldn't deny a certain interest in the predator woman. It was an interest that Wolf certainly did not return, nor did she seem to find anyone, of any species or gender, appealing. Alix had seen her look straight through men and women that the helmsman would have pursued without any reaction at all.
Oh, well. Her loss was Alix's view.
The day shift filed away into the turbolifts, their night side counterparts slipping in to take their places. The helmsman muttered a few things to her replacement about the ion storm ahead, pulled the data chip with her program from Wolf's terminal, and flicked it across the bridge to Brok. He caught the chip, looked at it once, then at her, and his expression made Alix roar with laughter.
"I knew it was you!"
"Not just me," said Alix, holding up a finger. "I just wrote the hack, Wolf ran it."
"Wolf?"
The security officer shrugged. "She said it would be funny."
Until now, the mirth had been restricted to the two women at flight control. Now, although they had no idea of the particulars of the joke, both the day and night bridge watches knew that another prank had been played on Brok, and some laughter was circling.
Alix joined in for a while, before turning serious again and saying quietly to Brok. "That's the only copy of the program, and I've included a few suggestions for improvements to the security protocols to plug the holes I took advantage of."
He pocketed the chip and nodded. "Understood." This wasn't the first time that Alix had played a joke using the ship's computer, and every time after she'd had her fun she'd surrender her hacks and point out how she'd got them to work. In some respects, it was good for the ship that Alix liked to wind up Brok so, and that she had a sense of fair play; slowly but surely, all of the weaknesses in the security software were being identified and weeded out.
Her fun over, Alix drifted over to where Sarn was waiting for a 'lift.
"Hey."
"Alix."
"Are you busy? It's just I've got to play Grownel's bodyguard, and I was thinking that some company would be nice."
A flash of intense, irrational hatred shot through Sarn's deep, dark eyes at the sound of the Klingon's name, but before Alix was really aware of it it had passed, and the Vulcan was saying: "I am afraid that I'm needed in the science lab, Alix."
"Oh. No…no problem. Wolf, you busy?"
"No."
"Great," she said, bundling Wolf into the turbolift before she could change her mind. "I've just got to swing by my cabin first and grab something. I'll meet up with you and Grownel. Take him wherever he wants to go – I'll find you."
"Aye, Lieutenant."
"We're off duty," laughed the girl. "You don't have to say 'aye'. And never call me 'Lieutenant'. Titles make my skin crawl. I'm Alix."
"Alex," said Wolf.
"No." A chuckle. "Alix. Not Al-ex, Al-ix."
"Alix," tried Wolf again. She did not feel embarrassed about her mistake – such a complex emotion was beyond her abilities – but she did feel foolish. She had the sharpest ears on the ship; she should have been able to distinguish the difference in the sound of the helmsman's name and the common name Alex.
The oddly-named girl got out of the turbolift on deck five and headed off towards her quarters. Outwardly at least she appeared normal and cheery, but beneath the surface she was upset. Sarn's refusal had stung, especially as Alix knew for a fact that she was not at all busy; a lifetime of lying made Alix quite an expert at detecting falsehood in others. That brief flash in the Vulcan's eyes had told her the real truth.
So Sarn didn't want to be around the Klingons? She hated Klingons with a passion? That was fine; Alix did not care in the slightest. She had spent all of her life with a creature that hated, so a display of fiery passion had little to no affect on her. What did trouble her was falseness. She was strangely sensitive about being lied to. Perhaps this was hypocritical of her, as her lying was near-constant, but it was the way she was. She liked Sarn a great deal, and that made the lie sting all the more.
She determined not to think about it, but as with most people just making that decision guaranteed that she would be able to think about nothing else. She might be host to a godlike alien, but she was still only human.
