I've taken a bit of liberty with the Klingon culture. I'm not that familiar with it, but I hope I've done it justice.
o.O.o
Chapter 2 – When Starfleet Calls
The crowd roared, stamped their feet and shook their fists at the battle taking place. Tonight, at the Arena, was the event of the year: Unarmed Combat Champion Nutros was defending his title against whichever challenger emerged on top.
Twenty people had challenged. Eight preliminary fights had taken place, then four, then the semi-finals and then the finals. The winner of the final match would face Nutros for the ultimate honour as Qo'nos' champion fighter.
Sirella took a shaky breath, the roar of the crowd heavy in her ears, her heart pounding a thousand beats per second, and-
"Hey, you, get over here!"
She jerked back to the present, gripped the sides of her tray, and rushed to the person who'd called her. She displayed her tray, rattling off her wares.
"I want some fried pipius."
She dolloped a serving of fried pipius and handed it to the customer, who tossed a talon on the tray. She grabbed the precious coin and stuffed it in her pocket before someone else could swipe it.
In the corner of her eye, she saw the fight begin. The crowd screamed and chanted, each with separate bets on a winner. The finals were between an eighteen-year-old woman called Stoga (an ex-classmate of Sirella's), and a thirty-year-old man called Morrd. Morrd strolled onto the ring, confident as anyth-
"Hey! Food!"
She dragged her eyes away from the match and went to her next customer. As the match continued, she kept her gaze averted, instead focusing on serving customers. Her boss would have her head if she didn't earn two-hundred talons.
Stoga won the finals, then there was a break while she rested to prepare for her battle against Nutros. Sirella didn't have a moment to breathe for the next thirty minutes, as everyone decided that eating was the best way to pass the time. A few junior fighters took to the ring during the break, but it wasn't nearly as entertaining as watching experienced fighters.
When the finalists walked onto the ring, the betting station overflowed with support for Nutros – most likely because he was twice the size of Stoga and had four times the experience she did, having defended his title twelve times successfully.
Nutros won, though the margin was slim. Stoga put up a good fight, but was ultimately overwhelmed by his superior endurance. Once Stoga's unconscious body was carted from the ring, Nutros was given his award, and the crowd dispersed. Tonight would be a good night to stay off the streets. A majority of the crowd was riled up by the fighting, and the Law Stations would most likely be brimming with offenders by the time morning came.
For the next few hours, Sirella cleaned the Arena, picking food scraps from around the seats and cleaning sweat from the ring. It was well into the morning by the time she was finished, after which she went into the storage room, curled up on her makeshift practice-mat bed and slept.
o.O.o
"Four-hundred talons. Good." Her boss leant over his desk and carefully counted forty. "Your ten percent."
"I appreciate the payment." Sirella accepted the coins, pocketed them, and left her boss' office. She made a quick detour to the storage room to grab a towel, then made her way to the other side of the Arena, to where the gym was.
A dozen fighters and athletes were already training, despite the early hour. Sirella averted her gaze from the superior athletes, and made her way to the bathrooms. They were thankfully empty, and she dove under the stream of water and sighed as it washed away the grease from the previous night. After showering, she stood in front of the mirror and attempted to comb her hair with her fingers.
She was softer than the average woman, her cheekbones less-defined and her forehead ridges less-prominent. Her brown hair, the same deep shade as her eyes, was bushy and never did what she wanted it to. And the rest of her body? Thin. Weak. She thought of Stoga's strong legs and slick hair. Why couldn't she look more like that?
After failing to dispel those negative thoughts, she got dressed and wandered, downcast, to the restaurant that was attached to the Arena, where she dug around the leftover bin. It might not be desirable, but the restaurant staff didn't care and it was the cheapest way to get all the nutrients she needed.
While eating some leftover pipius in the corner of the restaurant, her mind wandered to the fight last night, only to be interrupted by a newscast from the nearest viewing screen.
"-Starfleet Academy are now open. All you need to do is go onto the Application website, inscribe your basic information and select an interview time. Time is running out, so if you are interested in applying, do it now."
The oily pipius slipped from her fingers and she stared at the screen. She thought the exchange program was a hoax. It had been the talk of the gym the previous day, with most people agreeing that it couldn't possibly be true.
After all, who would want to dishonour their family by turning their back on the Klingon way?
Her heart raced, and Sirella rushed from the restaurant.
o.O.o
She was next. Sirella fidgeted in her seat, constantly glancing at the huge double-doors that led to the interview room. The waiting room where she sat contained three other people, all men between the ages of twenty and forty. They were young, strong, and muscular. They sat confidently, all sure that they would be chosen to represent the Klingon Empire.
What chance did she have?
"Sirella Varrin."
She jerked to her feet and walked stiffly through the double-doors. Inside, three elderly men sat boredly at a table. She took the seat in front of them.
"So, Sirella Varrin, are you related to Goroth Varrin?"
"He was my Grampa," she replied. "My father is Darok Varrin, diplomat for the Orion Embassy." She clenched her fists and hoped that her father hadn't made the disowning public.
The men nodded, suddenly interested. She exhaled and relaxed.
"You have strong political connections, which works in your favour. Tell us, what experience do you have?"
"I was accepted into the Flight Academy at age twelve as one of the youngest students there. I consistently received high marks in almost all my classes."
One of the men glanced at his papers.
"It says here that you were expelled."
"I… was." Her mouth was dry. Of course, her academic failure would be on public record. How would she bluff her way out of this one? "I failed Battle class consistently and it dragged my average to below acceptable. However, I believe that it would work in my favour at Starfleet." She fidgeted at their curious looks. "Humans are sympathetic creatures, likely to believe every sad story they hear, and it'd be much easier to get them to let their guards down."
She knew exactly what they were looking for. They didn't care how good she was, or how smart she was. They wanted to know where her loyalties lay. They wanted to know if she would be willing to spy on the Federation.
The answer was no. But if she managed to bluff her way through this interview and onto the Starfleet ship, the lie was worth it.
"If you found yourself threatened by a group of humans, how would you react?"
"I'd try and diffuse the situation diplomatically, like my father."
"And if that failed?"
"I wouldn't fight back. I'd memorise what they look like, then report them to Starfleet. I'd be a guest of the Federation, and under their protection." She clenched her fists, hoping that they would buy the answer.
"You're very young. Why would a lack of experience benefit us?"
"I can retain more information, and they wouldn't expect anything dangerous from me."
"This is true."
The men put their heads together, speaking quietly, and then pulled back.
"Thank you for your time. We will notify you of our final decision."
"Thank you very much." She stood, bowed low, and left the interview room. Once the door shut behind her, she leant against the wall and breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her shaking body.
If this worked, if she managed to get to Starfleet, she might be able to bring some honour to them after all.
o.O.o
She glanced up at the dark sky, noting the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. She didn't have long. Sirella hurried to the First City graveyard, travelling the well-known route that she took most days.
She knelt in front of an expensive marble gravestone, in which the words 'Goroth Varrin' were inscribed. Sirella bowed low, her forehead touching the ground.
"Hi, Grampa," she said. "I hope you're enjoying yourself in Sto'Vo'Kor. I… really miss you. I think Gramma does too. Things have been… harder without you. I'm just not a good fighter like you. Or Ba'el. But… there's a chance. I might get to honour your memory and follow my dream, and bring honour to my family at the same time. It just depends. We'll see." She sighed and glanced at the sky. The clouds had moved closer. "I love you, Grampa. I'll come visit again tomorrow."
She rushed home after that, and made it just before the sky let loose a storm of epic proportions.