Captain's ready room, IKS Hegh'Ta
The two captains spoke of many things – the situation in which they found themselves, the general progress of the war, their respective orders, and more personal things as well.
Almost the first thing Mackenzie learned about the Klingon was that he had just taken command of the ship after the death of its captain during that desperate fight to protect the freighter and its precious cargo of refugees. Krang was, he discovered, the security officer at Starbase 24, and officially only a passenger on Hegh'Ta, which had been transporting him to Earth to attend a conference when it had diverted to answer Orinoco's distress call.
Mackenzie frowned at that piece of information. "Ah, that's it then. I thought your face was familiar. I think I saw you when I came in for supplies a while back, although we didn't actually meet. At least…" he added thoughtfully, "I assume it was you? There can't have been that many Klingons there wearing a Starfleet security uniform."
Krang nodded. Ships came and went all the time, and he gave them little thought beyond the execution of his duties, but now that the other captain had mentioned it, he thought he did remember. "Yes, that would be me. As you say, there are not many Klingons in Starfleet."
There were only two, in fact, although there were several more that had participated in short term cultural exchanges. The other one was currently serving on the Enterprise. Krang had met him occasionally but could not claim to know him well. There had almost been a third, but she'd got herself thrown out of the Academy around the time he had defected. The last he'd heard, she'd got herself mixed up with the Maquis and where she was now, he had no idea.
"Endeavour is on detached service," Mackenzie told him. "I like it that way, although I'll admit there have been times when I would have appreciated the backup of a fleet. My orders are to keep an eye on things, pass back any useful information and generally cause as much trouble for the Dominion as I can."
"I think I envy you," Krang said with a sigh. "I will admit that it feels good to be out in the field and away from the starbase for a while. I know my work is necessary, but I am a warrior, and it has been… frustrating to be stuck on the station with no active involvement in the fighting."
He could not tell the Terran that Starfleet did not trust him, that they had very deliberately kept him away from the war, and not just because of the problems with the Khitomer Accords. As for his own people, it suited them to maintain the polite fiction that he was on loan to Starfleet and pretend that the highly classified events which had led to his defection had never happened. He shrugged matter-of-factly and changed the subject.
The first interruption, perhaps inevitably, came from Kehlan, who was still busy assisting with the refugees onboard the Orinoco. It had been a simple courtesy call, informing her captain that there was a lot to be done and that she would file a full report when she got back. Krang had acknowledged, telling her that she was authorised to do whatever she considered necessary, before ending the call and turning his attention back to the conversation with Mackenzie.
The second call came from Kerrik, also onboard the Orinoco. The two captains had strayed into more personal talk by that time, with Krang telling Mackenzie that he was married to a Terran woman and that they had five children. "She already had two when I met her," he explained, seeing his companion's surprised look. Five children was admittedly a large family. "I adopted them, of course. We went on to have three more, none of which," he added with a grin, "were planned, but they were very welcome 'mistakes' which I would not change."
Mackenzie, in contrast, was single and could not imagine that ever changing, assuming he even lived through this conflict. The life of a starship captain put too much strain on a marriage and the majority were either single or divorced.
The third interruption came from Mackenzie's side. The voice was female, and from the slightly stiff tone which whilst calm, nevertheless managed to convey a sense of utter outrage, Krang deduced that the speaker was Endeavour's medical officer and almost certainly a Vulcan.
"…and I insist on having the Klingon patients transferred across to Endeavour. I absolutely will not subject my nursing staff to the atrocious conditions in the Klingon sickbay…"
"T'Lia, I…" Realising she had no idea that he was with the Klingon captain who was able to hear every word she was saying, Mackenzie started to speak, in an attempt to cut her off before she inadvertently caused a diplomatic incident. He was not quite quick enough.
"Healer, I have been in command of this ship for less than half a day." Krang interjected dryly. "Please do give me a little time to bring its sickbay up to something approaching your high standards. In the meantime, I will speak to my battle surgeon and ensure that he complies with your request."
There was a long pause, during which Mackenzie sneaked a sideways glance at his companion and was relieved to see that he did not appear to be offended by his CMO'S blunt almost-but-not-quite rudeness. Rather, if the little half-smile on his lips was anything to go by, he was amused by the whole thing. That was good; he did not want to be too close to an angry Klingon without a decent weapon in his hand.
Finally, the Vulcan woman spoke again. "I am with your battle surgeon now, Captain."
That was confirmed by the harsh, masculine voice of Hegh'Ta's medic. Speaking rapidly in his native language, he informed his captain that at Lieutenant Kehlan's orders, he was working on having the most seriously injured patients transferred to the Federation ship. He would be very interested, he added, to go with them and see these facilities for himself.
Both captains quickly gave their permission for that before Mackenzie ended the call with almost Klingon abruptness.
"Your CMO is certainly very assertive," Krang commented with a laugh as soon as the channel was closed. "Almost a much as a Klingon female. Does this cause difficulties?"
"Sometimes," McKenzie said honestly. "But I can tell you with all sincerity that she is a treasure beyond price, and I am lucky to have her. I don't know how much you know about Vulcan Healers, but their training is several times more advanced than that of federation doctors…"
Wisely, the words 'and a hundred times more than that of the Klingons' remained unspoken, although all too aware of his people's medical shortcomings, Krang heard them anyway.
"… and saved so many people that I thought were beyond help. I've never known her to give up on a patient." He was very serious as he added, "Believe me, Krang; if she says the conditions in your sickbay are atrocious, then I'd strongly recommend doing something about it."
"If I remain in command long enough, I fully intend to," Krang said, equally serious. "I've been long enough in the Federation that I've come to appreciate the benefits of good medical care. I will look forward to meeting this doctor of yours in person and hearing what she has to say."
The next call was also from the Terran ship, a man's voice this time, speaking in a deep baritone and in an accent that Krang thought might be Welsh. Mackenzie dealt with the query quickly and efficiently. "That was my marines' commander, Major Speares," he told the Klingon when he was done. "He's doubling as my first officer at the moment, although that can't continue indefinitely." He exhaled heavily. "There's no-one else. We're coping as best we can, but I've lost two first officers in the last six months and I'm already short staffed."
Krang nodded his understanding. He too had staffing problems to deal with, although for slightly different reasons, and it was going to take some serious thought to find a workable solution.
"I desperately need senior crew," Mackenzie continued. "But there's no replacements available and…"
"…and the few that are, are all too young and have been rushed through their training to get them out into combat," Krang finished grimly. "I've seen it in far too many of the starships coming into the starbase over the last few months. And the names on the casualty lists are getting younger and younger.
The discussion was brought to an end by yet another call, this time for Krang. When it turned out to be something that needed his personal intervention, the Klingon swore under his breath and put his now almost empty mug down on the desk with an audible thump. "Understood. I will be with you in a few moments, Kargan."
He got to his feet and was unsurprised to find that, understanding the requirements of command, Mackenzie was already doing the same. "I regret that I must cut our meeting short."
He did regret it, he found. He did not make friends easily, but so far, he liked the Terran captain and thought that he might have made one today, unexpected and unlooked for considering that his closest friend had died only a few hours ago. Mackenzie was not Kay'vin, but he was an interesting man, and Krang would have liked to spend more time talking with him.
"Duty calls," Mackenzie said easily. "Perhaps we could meet later when things have calmed down a little. Once we've had meetings with our various department heads to figure out the best course of action to follow with the freighter, I'd be glad to invite you for a meal onboard Endeavour."
Krang nodded, pleased by the invitation. "I will happily accept. Come, I will walk with you to the transporter room."
They had been halfway through the ship on their way back to the transporter room when something occurred to Krang and he came to a halt in the dark corridor, stopping with such suddenness that he almost caused Mackenzie to bump into him. "I have an idea," he told his fellow captain. "And I think that it will solve both our problems!"
Bridge, SS Orinoco
"I still don't like Starfleet!" Jones folded his arms for emphasis, his face taking on a sulky expression as he spoke.
"Well they did come to our aid," Loxana said reasonably. "And I'm going to take advantage while they're here. I've got a list as long as my arm of minor repairs that need doing, and parts that need updating and replacing – and I'm not talking about the damage done by the Jem'Hadar either! I bet I can get at least some of them off their engineers."
"Well so they should come to our aid," Jones pointed out, not completely sure whether he was more annoyed by Starfleet or by his companion's defence of them. "If they'd given us a proper escort, we wouldn't have needed help in the first place."
The Bolian woman grinned. "But then I wouldn't have these nice new plasma injectors, and a good-looking engineer to fit them for me."
"Oh for…" Jones scowled and muttered something rude.
"Besides," she added, "if it weren't for that Klingon ship, we'd all be dead… and I never thought I'd be saying anything good about a Klingon ship, especially after…" She stopped momentarily as she remembered the multiple occasions on which they'd been stopped and searched by Defence Force ships. Luckily, they'd been carrying no contraband or anything the Klingons might consider illegal, but it had been terrifying nonetheless.
"They were pretty impressive," Jones admitted. "And they did take a lot of damage trying to protect us. Can't argue with that. I suppose the same was true of the Starfleeters, but I still don't like them.
Deciding he'd had enough of their bickering for now, Orinoco's captain let out an annoyed grunt. Haven't you two got anything better to do? I'm not paying you to stand around arguing."
Mansfield did not want to admit it, but he had a lot of sympathy with Jones's views on Starfleet. They did think they were superior. Such rivalry between merchant and military fleets was, of course, nothing new. It had always existed and probably always would. Long before humanity had taken to the stars, Mansfield's ancestors had plied their trade across Earth's oceans, and while the navy got all the fame and glory, it had been the civilian fleets that had kept the populace supplied with food and goods, often under atrocious conditions and at great risk.
What really worried him was that Jones was right. Orinoco should not have left space dock without an armed escort, and he still did not understand why he had been denied that service. Still, it had been his decision in the end. Starfleet had not forced him to… he stopped. Or had they? They must have known he could not wait forever. He had a crew to pay and if they didn't get to their destination in the required timeframe, they'd lose the cargo that was waiting for them, and if that happened too often, they'd go out of business.
Why, he asked himself again. A cold shiver went down his spine, and telling himself he was just being paranoid, he fought back the sensation of nausea. Why would the enemy care about a lowly freighter like Orinoco? There was nothing special about his ship – they were carrying refugees and enough food to feed them, nothing of particular use to the war effort, no weapons or technology to draw the interest of the enemy.
Despite all their precautions, the Jem'Hadar had found them far too easily, almost as though they'd been lying in wait. Surely that wasn't possible; it was just bad luck, nothing more than coincidence. Wasn't it?