Engineering report… Engineering report… Forms, forms, and more forms… Memo from the Captain, memo from the XO, memo from L'vor…

The usual boring fare for what mostly amounted to a science fiction desk job piled into my inbox, promising a mild inconvenience for my future self. None of the messages were marked urgent, so I only bothered to look at the ones that were:

"Good afternoon, this is Dr. Lewis Zimmerman to all my beta testers. HoloCAD 4.0 is slated to enter open alpha by the end of this month. If you would like a copy, please send a message my way. And, I'm sorry, but I've been saying this a thousand times now – this software is only compatible with mk 2 isolinear systems and above. If you are on an older system, do yourself a favor and catch up to the rest of us in the 24th century. Thank you for your patronage, have a wonderful rest of your day."

Sweet! I bet L'vor would be happy to hear that news! Or positively neutral!

For a while now, ever since the refit (Thank God! The EPS system hadn't shit the bed in weeks!), we had a holographic workstation installed in Engineering. It was a simple device, a single holographic emitter underneath the center table, not even a forcefield generator to make the projections solid. But damn did being able to see what the hell was wrong with the ship in 3D do wonders for the engineering crew's productivity.

Plus, as a bonus, when we were not busy, it also doubled up as a decent rig for 3D modelling. In our spare time, some of the engineering crew and I had been using it to brainstorm ship class ideas; specifically, a successor to the old Constellation class, as it was clear that it was going the way of the dodo, and somehow, like a tumor, it grew on all of us. Nothing serious had come out of it so far, only vague ideas. But, it was an excuse for me and L'vor to figure out what a ship designed from the ground up with common fucking sense might look like.

"Hey, this is Lorian–" Oh yeah, after that whole ordeal, which included many long hours with Temporal Investigations, some of the old duplicate Enterprise NX-01 crew decided to formally sign up for Starfleet. However, the vast majority of them found that their skills and experience aligned much better in the civilian world, particularly near the fringes. I guess the communist utopia that was the 24th century Federation was a little too far removed from the rough and tumble days of the 22nd.

Lorian himself was now the captain of the SS Enduring Profit, a heavy freighter of the Ferengi-owned Urat-Nerag Industrial Shipping Corporation. Good for him; seems a lot more chill than playing cosmic roulette, poking around every goddamn anomaly and star system in sight. Just take stuff from Point A to Point B, fire a warning shot to the occasional pirate, and swim in the latinum.

Lucky bastard.

Wait, there was still one more message left. I wonder who it was from?... Hmm… Something forwarded from the… Klingdon Imperial Office of Foreign Affairs?

What'n tarnation?

Curiosity overwhelming me, I pressed play–

"YOU DARE–!" Only to be assaulted with a deafening roar. I desperately covered my poor ears and smashed the "Lower Volume" button on my PADD twenty-something times, "–STEAL AWAy my daughter's honor! I promise you, man-whore, I will have your filthy head for this!"

As the slightly-above middle-aged Klingon continued making ever more explicit and creative threats – I checked the attachments, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. The Klingon in question was named Noggra, and was apparently someone important. With the video, was a small document – the format being the Klingon equivalent of a PDF – containing a confirmation of pregnancy for a certain B'Eledor, daughter of Noggra.

Oh...

"Show yourself at once, coward! Before I hunt you down and make a eunuch of you! I swear–"

Oh...

I drunkenly fucked a Klingon's only daughter without protection. Not only that, I fucked her while she was under my command.

Oh, fuck.

Captain's Log, Stardate 41333.3:

As the Earth saying goes, the chickens have come home to roost. Thanks to the fruits of an… er… indiscretion between my SCO and the sole daughter of a prominent Klingon Retainer House, the USS Carpenter has been ordered to Qo'noS to prevent a potential diplomatic incident.

Crewman Lewis Turner, Personal Log, Supplemental:

Wow… Out of all the people in this crew to pull a Kirk, it's Buckley? That pasty, humorless, workaholic asshole with the sexual disposition of a bowl of plain oatmeal!?

Jesus! To think he'd find the time to do the hanky-panky in between breathing down all our necks…

And here everyone was thinking it'd be the Captain or our XO! Way to ruin my fucking bet, asshole – now I owe Barnes an extra phaser!

Three hours until we arrive at Qo'noS… Three hours until my impending doom…

Sinking myself into my work did little to ease the pant-shitting terror. Some of the crew tried to ease my anxiety – even L'vor, in his emotionally stiff, stereotypically Vulcan way, saying that my fear was irrational, and that the Captain wouldn't let anything happen to me. I disagreed – being gutted with a mek'leth by my would-be Klingon father-in-law, who was an experienced warrior in his own right, was a perfectly logical and rational fear!

I didn't know the first thing about Klingon culture, but even I knew damn well that their honor-obsessed selves were no Risians when it came to deadbeat dads.

Out of all the things that could have killed me on this rickety-rustbucket of a ship, never would I have though it would be my Johnson that'd lead me to an untimely end. It should have been obvious, really!

I gripped my PADD with maybe a tiny bit too much force, and I carried on with my inspection of Cargo Bay 4.

Everything was stacked securely – Don't think about Noggra. All the straps were secure – Don't think about Noggra! Hazardous material were stored far away from the – Don't think about Noggra!

Damn it! My longtime-trained paranoia was fucking me over instead of helping me now! I checked the time.

Correction, two hours from Qo'noS, now…

Gragh! I was getting nothing done!

I wanted to go home, to my Ma and Pa. Was that too much to ask? Even a suffocating, icy hellhole (or a sketchy house next to a wooded, meth-riddled trailer park) was better than this demented anticipation…

…Shit! I haven't even told my parents yet! How the hell was I supposed to bring this up to my rural, blue-collar, super-duper conservative Jesus-freak folks!?

Oh, yeah, I knocked up a Klingon girl while I was– I'd be fucking dead and buried by suppertime!

Baby steps, Ethan, baby steps… Worry about the one angry Klingon first, you can deal with the fallout after this. You've dealt with an entire crew of Orion slavers, for goodness' sake! You can do this!

Besides, that poor girl I had that foolish drunken mistake with probably wasn't having a good time either. Being a single mother in such a society – she must be miserable!

One step off the red-tinted transporter pad, I was assaulted with a flashbang of a toothy smile. The Klingon woman in front of me was positively glowing, nothing but joy shining in her eyes upon seeing me.

I had to admit, B'Eledor looked good when she wasn't in a dirty uniform.

And she…I didn't know how to describe it, but, she just…

Well, that flowing red dress certainly complemented her figure, which had filled out particularly in the–

Okay, shut up, dick, you've already gotten me in trouble once, no need to make this a repeat offense.

"Ethan! It's good to see you!" She bellowed loudly in the gruff tone shared by all Klingons. The pregnancy was far from fully showing on her toned abdomen, but the way she covered it made it obvious enough.

Summoning my courage, I opened my mouth, ready to foolishly speak my mind. But a clawed hand covered my maw, reducing what worries I had worries to an incoherent muffle.

"Hush, now… We will speak in private." She stated, giving no room for argument. Her commanding tone also betrayed a slight bit of cheekiness.

She was so close now. I could only dumbly nod as he took my hand with a firm, yet gentle grip, and pulled me along.

Before being walked out into the streets, I caught a faint whiff of cinnamon. It caused that faint feeling in my stomach to twist again… But for some reason, it felt nice in a weird way.

And honestly… she didn't seem as irritating as she did before, either…

"Just so we are clear," I spoke up once we were secure in the privacy of her apartment. It was a large and luxurious suite in the First City, as befitting of her family's status. Though, unsurprisingly given the Klingon mindset, it was rather Spartan and Brutalist. "You intend on keeping th–our child?"

"Yes." She growled, with a sudden protective fire in her eyes, "And if you dare try to convince me otherwise, I will castrate you where you stand!" Then, just as quickly as the anger game, it left with her shoulders sagging slightly, "…Sorry. My rage had gotten the better of me…" Instinctively, her hand brushed over her stomach.

I held my face firm, not daring to react for fear of what she would do, "Alright, then…" I took a deep breath and sighed, "Seeing as we're bringing new life into this universe, I suppose we oughta get to know each other a little better, beyond that of a stupid Human Starfleet engineer and a Klingon heiress,"

"Yes… That would be a good idea…" Beyond the warrior veneer, there was a slight dusting of pink on her cheeks.

Some of the girls I used to date back in the day, before I signed my life away to Uncle Sam, would have glanced away demurely by now… But B'Eledor instead bored her eyes into my own, with a fierce flame roaring behind them – making it clear as day how she felt about me.

She didn't hate me for what happened; quite the opposite. She was head over heels in a way that even a teenage boy with a room temperature IQ could pick up on it. And she wasn't ashamed of it – not one fucking bit!

I… How?... What the hell was I supposed to do?

Calmly, she reached over and took some gagh covered in a pink targ-blood sauce from a nearby bowl, offering some to me. Being the good guest that I was, I accepted the free food. It was tough, cold, and it wiggled on its way down my gullet…

…But it sure as hell tasted a helluva lot better than it looked! I didn't hesitate to grab some more, not caring about the pink mess all over my hand or face. I looked up as I sucked down my second bite – a toothy smile grew on her face.

"Wistan Gagh… my grandmother's recipe to be exact." She explained, grinning as if she had just vanquished a great foe, "She always used to say 'courtship begins in the kitchen' – It's a popular saying up in the far north, those foolish romantics…" She stared out into space with a wistful expression, "She died an honorable death fighting off Romulan pirates."

"She sounded like a wise woman," I thought back to my own late grandmother, much of her advice toward me being continually unheeded until she was long buried.

"That she certainly was,"

I leaned forward to grab another bite, letting the food settle my lingering anxiety, "Tell me about her…"

…

After a few hours of getting to know each other, one thing led to another and…

The next thing I knew, I woke up on a broken bed frame, snugged tightly with her with in a blanket burrito, stone-cold sober without any hangover other than the many bruises and cuts.

Opening my eyes, I saw her sleeping warm form nuzzle into my chest… That subconscious sense of regret which should have come never did…

I… I didn't hate this.

I didn't hate this at all.

The few pleasant days with B'Eledor came to a swift end when I was summoned to the doorstep of a large manor in the countryside, her presence conspicuously absent from my side. That feeling of dread slowly crept back in once more at the prospect of meeting her family.

Her father insisted on meeting me mano-a-mano, and there was nothing either of us could do about it.

This was going way too fast, but on the other hand, it wasn't like I was long for this universe, anyway. Looking back to what I experienced, even my dumb ass could admit now that there really was something between us, even if we only knew each other for a short while.

Not my greatest act of decision-making, to be fair, but rarely was life rational. If you try to plan for everything, you'd just end up alone and miserable, going nowhere in life; last life, I wasted all my social life taking the path of least resistance, never seriously dating, never marrying, never truly falling in love.

Was what I had with her just plain passion without substance, or was there something more which could grow? Who the hell knew!

But, I refused to live with regrets here and now; and if that put me in the path of an angry Klingon noble, well nothing ventured, nothing gained. I was a young man again, I could be forgiven for such foolishness, just this once.

Then, the giant wooden doors thrice my height creaked open, revealing her father and his guards waiting for me on the other side, incandescent rage visible behind his visage.

What remaining feelings of bravery quickly shriveled up under his scorching glare.

This was Noggra, Son of Doqi, Patriarch of the House of Noggra, in the flesh. There was a bit of gray in growing in his hair, but that was not a sign of weakness. It a testament to his experience, which extended longer than I was alive, in either life… and it foreshadowed my soon-to-be very painful death.

He loudly barked an order – I wasn't even sure if it was actually words, or just a pure expression of rage – but the guards caught his meaning. One of them grabbed my arm, his meaty paw engulfing my bicep.

I was then dragged against my will to a nearby empty field, Noggra was already waiting for me, blade in hand, steaming from the nose. From his belt, he pulled out another blade, and tossed it at my feet, "Pick it up, ill-begotten bastard! We fight to death or submission."

I had no choice but to oblige, as the man suddenly charged with a roar. Time slowed down, and my heart rate shot through the roof; I haven't felt something like this since I took fire at Kosovo.

My body tried to react, rusty, ill-remembered CQC lessons being pulled from my subconscious. But my muscle memory wasn't enough; Noggra was faster, stronger. His fist crashed into my stomach with the force of a runaway shuttle. I could feel something crack as the wind was pushed out of my lungs.

I tried to swipe and stab, but my attacks were futile as he parried. Crunch! A few molars were knocked loose for my trouble.

He pressed the attack, but somehow, someway, I remained standing all throughout the asskicking. It was a miracle I wasn't already dead.

Then, my blood roared! Boiling with all the manic energy that only the lizard brain one step from perishing could provide. Like a psychotic chimpanzee, I kept punching, kicking, stabbing, slashing, all of which hit an immobile brick wall.

Noggra was just that tough, while I was hastily turning into a human bruise.

I was thrown, tumbling into a puddle of mud. My bones ached, my muscles burned, but stubbornly, they all followed my command to get up again. I spat out a globule of blood and mucus.

"Wrragh!" I wordlessly screamed as I charged.

He tried to slash at me, but I feinted – only managing to make a light cut into my side. I used my body weight to spear into him, finally managing to take him off his feet.

I jumped on top, ready to end him, to end the man who haunted my nightmares for the past week. The adrenaline reached a fever pitch, I thrusted down, blade in hand.

Chirp!

"Th'Ryn to Buckley, your vital's just spiked! What the hell is going on down there!?"

Thwack!

I didn't see it coming. A blow to my head made the world go fuzzy. Before I knew it, I was thrown around like a rotten sack of potatoes. My body landed on top of the itchy grass, nothing clear registering but a sharp pain in my chest.

Above, a shadowy figure loomed, something sharp in its hand, ready to deal the finishing blow…