Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

Chapter Text

The Star Beagle Adventures                                                
Episode 4: Starship Trooper
Scene 8: Picasso

4.8
Picasso

“be’ Qo’ nalqaD!”  

Lance Corporal Petra Spitze drew a painful breath and spat a heavy load of mucous and blood at the klingon who had just slapped her. She followed that with a squeak and a grunt as she received a punch in the stomach. She made a quick sign behind her back for the benefit of the three young privates in her charge - all of whom were chained to the wall behind her: “Keep your mouths shut!”

“Stop trying to speak thlingn Hol!” The klingon who had been punching and slapping Spike now lifted her by her collar, his face close to hers. He growled quietly, his voice full of menace: “This is not a mating ritual. But what I choose to do with your empty shell…” 

“Tarron Rerg!!” Spike said - and was promptly thrown across the room for it. She landed in a crumpled heap on the floor against one of the barred walls of the cage she and her marines were being held in. She slowly, painfully got to her feet again. “I have a gift from General Krank for Colonial Shozek!”

“Enough!” Her interrogator swept out a d'k tagh and activated the side blades.

The cage door banged open, admitting a much smaller and older klingon into the cell:

“How do you know my name, human?”

Spike had been beaten badly and could barely stand. Her face was swollen and bleeding. She barely managed, “Gift... for... Colonial Shozek…” She drew another painful breath… “From... General... Krank.” She slumped heavily against a wall, but managed to stay on her feet.

The older klingon, Tarron Rerg, stopped and assessed the scene. He had brought two klingons with him. There were six others in this room, including Spike’s tormentor. After a moment, he said, “You will come with me.” He turned to leave.

Spike managed to push herself back to her feet. “My marines.”

Rerg started to respond again, then stopped and looked around. Selected two different klingons with his eyes. “Get them down. They come too.”

Both klingons hesitated, apparently doing math in their heads. At a slight hand signal, the two klingons Rerg had brought with him drew their disruptors - something none of the other klingons in the room had. 

The other klingon still had his d'k tagh drawn. He was also doing the math. “They are mine! I captured them on my patrol!”

“How did this one know my name? How does she know the colonial is here?” Tarron Rerg asked as the other marines were released and lead out of the cell along with Spike. He turned and walked away.

“It’s a human trick!” The klingon with the d'k tagh lunged at the older klingon, who whirled and expertly took the knife and threw the younger, larger klingon back into the cell. He slammed the door shut and locked his attacker inside.

“If she is playing a trick, she will pay with her life.” Rerg closed the side blades on the captured d'k tagh and tucked it into his belt. “If she is not, you will pay with yours.”

Spike wheezed as the older klingon marched her and her 3 young charges rather quickly through the large holding area. Several cells. Many prisoners - most of them orion. Some romulan, some human, some cardassian, some ferengi, other species Spike and her marines did not recognize. This place was far too large to be a ship, but Spike did not remember being anywhere near a planetary system. 

They stepped into a room at the end of the hall, a door slammed shut and Spike could see her new captor was visibly relieved. The room was a lift.

It took a few minutes for the lift to carry them to another level. This was clearly a medical center - a sprawling medical center. They were brought to a small surgery room. Most of the medical equipment was federation surplus. 

“Do what you can for her face,” Rerg said more or less to Raanda Habib. “You have about an hour.”

The older klingon left, along with one of his guards. The other took up station just outside.

When Spike regained consciousness, she was only barely aware of having passed out. She was reclining at an angle, not laying flat, which was good… and she could breathe. Her jacket and shirt had been removed (but not her bra) and three bone knitters were adhered to her chest and belly. She could literally feel her ribs being mended. She could tell that her face and jaw had been treated as well.

“Hands off your face, Lance Corporal,” said PFC Guz Maxwell. 

“This…” Spike croaked, pointing at her face. She coughed and started again… “This your handiwork, Songbird?”  

“I made a few improvements,” Maxwell said.

“I didn’t realize you were such a fan of Picasso,” Raanda Habib quipped.

“Looks more like Salvador Dali to me…” Sasha Soko mused.

Spike laughed and coughed: “Owww… Stop it!” she croaked. “You’re literally killing me…”

4.8