Chapter Text
Part Three
The Numekk nebula was, objectively speaking at least, a beautiful sight.
A swirling, bewitching mass of brightly coloured gas and dust, it spanned almost the entirety of the Numekk sector itself, an enormous patchwork canvas of deep red and golden hues, painted against the inky dark canvas of the surrounding space.
If the Numekk nebula had any sort of sentience, rather than merely being a vast amorphous cloud of churning galactic matter, it would have been forgiven for having an inflated sense of pride. As galactic nebulae went, the Numekk nebula was a fine example for scientific study.
A dedicated science team, or deep space exploration vessel, would likely have felt as though they had won the Ferenginar Lottery had they been given the opportunity to study the complex array of materials that comprised this interstellar phenomenon. Exotic elements were waiting to be catalogued, complicated interactions and fluid dynamics to be observed and analysed, and emission spectra to be scanned and interpreted. The endless array of colourful particles would offer infinite opportunities for sample collection.
Even the most grizzled and cynical Federation starship, the type that spent years studying endless gaseous anomalies without ever making a first contact, or resolving a planetary conflict, or running into a Borg invasion, would have found some serious levels of excitement studying such a unique and fascinating interstellar phenomenon.
Unfortunately for the Numekk nebula, and any theoretical concept of pride an anthropomorphised version of itself might have possessed, it was located deep inside an area of the galaxy that was overseen by the Orion Syndicate. The Syndicate didn’t exactly spend a lot of their time on voyages of scientific discovery.
And so, on a more subjective level, the Numekk nebula was an awful lot less beautiful. Especially when you got close.
It was a place to avoid, rather than to explore.
The chemical composition of the nebula made sensors largely ineffective at any great distance, which made it the perfect place to conduct any business considered underhand even by the standards of the Syndicate.
And that was before you got into the more fundamental navigational issues caused by the swirling eddies and currents within the gas cloud itself, sufficient to knock ships off course, or leave them blind and lost inside its confines.
Of those ships that went into the nebula, not many came back out. And few of those disappearances were ever investigated in any great detail. Whether they had come to grief thanks to the nebula itself, or something that was contained within was never pinned down.
All things considered then, there were a lot of reasons to give the Numekk nebula a wide berth. But as Denella looked out at the approaching maelstrom from inside the stocky Yridian mining shuttle, she knew she only needed one reason to go in.
Sarina.
Her fingers danced across the faded control panel in front of her, as she performed her fourth full sensor sweep of the nebula’s interior. As with the first three, she got little more than a bunch of static and shadows back from the readouts. It didn’t come as a surprise, but it was still a disappointment. As Randos had suggested, it looked like one of the quadrant’s best hiding places. For one of the quadrant’s most dangerous men.
Still, what scans she could carry out on the maelstrom in front of her left her satisfied that there were no external sensor nets, alarms or tripwires installed. Nothing that Dar had installed to let him know when any ship entered his fortress. Which at least allowed herself the reassurance that no matter how blind she was once she was in there, the odds would be even.
In fact, they should be tilted slightly in her favour. The shuttle’s tiny size should render it even harder to detect. Plus, she was looking for a needle in a haystack, while they didn’t even know there was a needle in their vicinity.
She made one final check of the shuttle’s systems, and the modifications she’d managed to put together.
Not for the first time in her life, she knew that a fight was near.
* * * * *
They stood on opposite sides of the Bounty’s nearly empty cargo bay. The Klingon man and the Orion woman shared a moment of meditative silence, as they faced off against each other.
“You are sure you want to do this?” Klath asked, breaking the silence.
Denella nodded immediately. She had been onboard the Bounty for several months now, and she was starting to get used to the idea that this was her new home. That she’d left the Syndicate behind for good.
Already, she had proved to be an invaluable member of the crew. Not only by getting the Bounty patched up into shape, fixing any number of issues across the length and breadth of the ship. But also by bailing the crew out several unhappy scrapes that they had ended up in.
She was definitely getting used to the idea that unhappy scrapes were very much part of life on this particular ship.
Still, despite all that she had done, she felt as though she was missing something. She didn’t just want to get by with her engineering prowess alone.
It helped that she had finally come to terms with her actions during her escape. She had never taken a life before, but while she had felt some residual guilt for her actions in killing the bartender, she also couldn’t help but take some satisfaction from it. Especially given that the bartender in question had never had any issues ignoring his own moral compass when he was around her.
But the experience had been new. She had been taught the basics of defending herself by her mother, but never anything more than that. And so, she knew there was only one member of the Bounty’s crew that she should seek out.
In front of her, the Klingon took a measured breath and gestured to the Orion dagger on her belt, an identical design to the one her mother had given her on Orpheus IV that she had replicated.
“Attack me.”
Denella paused for a moment, then slowly withdrew the dagger from its sheath. But she remained where she was standing, unsure of what to do next.
Klath emitted a low growl and broke from the defensive posture he had adopted. “I thought you wanted me to train you.”
“I do.”
“Well, if I am to do that,” he continued, “It is vital that I know how you fight already. So: Attack me.”
He returned to his practised defensive pose. But she still didn’t move.
She tried to bring up memories of her previous actions, when she plunged the blade into the bartender to save Jirel. How she had found something primal and impulsive inside her to go along with what her mother had taught her.
But on the other side of the cargo bay, she saw no threat. All she could see was a gruff, but warm-hearted Klingon warrior. Albeit one that was starting to get a little frustrated.
“Denella—”
“It’s just—My mother taught me self-defence,” she explained, “I want to practise, and to learn more about defending myself. Not attacking.”
Klath returned to a neutral stance and considered this for a moment.
“On Qo’noS, when we are young, we are told the story of K’omek the Vigilant. He was an ancient ruler, back when my people still lived as separate tribes across our homeworld, before Kahless united the Klingons.”
Denella listened on intently, dropping the hand holding her dagger to her side. She’d never taken Klath to be a storyteller, but here he was.
“K’omek’s people deeply respected him. He led them fairly, and provided well for all of the men, women and children across his tribe. During an age when leaders were often challenged and deposed not long after taking charge, he reigned unchallenged for many years, and his tribe prospered greatly. But, K’omek’s warrior instincts were limited. He was a cautious tactician. He never attacked another tribe, or sought to expand the boundaries of his territory. He focused on defending and maintaining that which they already had.”
Klath paused for a moment. In truth, he’d never taken himself to be much of a storyteller either, but here he was.
“For a long time, K’omek’s strategy worked well enough. Each time a rival tribe attempted to invade his territory, or launch a raid on one of his outer settlements, he would raise an army and repel them, to protect his people. But each of these acts of pure defence had a cost. Warriors were killed, land was bloodied and razed. K’omek was weakened, slowly but surely, with a thousand cuts. And eventually, one day, he was weakened to the point that he was defeated. His tribe, and all that he had done for them, was lost forever.”
“I see,” she nodded after a short contemplative pause, “So, you’re saying that I really need to learn how to—”
Before she could process what was happening, the burly Klingon suddenly charged at her from across the bay, teeth bared, growling in anger.
Without her even realising, her instincts kicked in. Despite being wrong-footed, she grabbed Klath’s outstretched arm and deftly stepped out of the way of his body. In the same fluid movement, she moved her leg around behind Klath as his momentum carried him arcing around her, taking his legs from under him and sending him toppling to the ground.
She pounced on his prone form and brought the dagger to his throat. Only then did her instincts stop her from going any further.
The Klingon stared back at her. He didn’t look angry, or concerned, or embarrassed at the way his brute force attack had been parried. Instead, he was smiling.
“Impressive defence,” he grunted, as she slowly retracted the blade, “I will not have to teach you quite so much after all.”
She managed a smile of her own as she clambered off him and helped him back to his feet.
“But, you are right. You must do more than that. As K’omek learned, defence will only get you so far in combat. No warrior will ever be able to accomplish all of their goals if they always wait for their enemies to make the first move. Eventually—”
In a flash, the Klingon grabbed her wrist that was holding the dagger in a vice-like grip, and used his strength to lift her up and over his back. She landed on the floor in a shocked and pained heap, her weapon went skittering uselessly across the deck. She could do nothing but stare up at her victorious attacker, who was just looking down at her with a knowing glare.
“—They will be surprised.”
The shock of the second attack had her heart pounding, but she mustered a nod of understanding as she accepted his hand to help her back up. More satisfied than ever that she had come to the best teacher.
“So,” she offered as she panted, “What now?”
Klath stepped back across the deck and kicked her dagger back over to her, before assuming a familiar defensive posture.
“Now,” he said, “Attack me.”
* * * * *
The chirp from the console in front of her, indicating that her final status checks were complete, snapped her back to reality.
Everything was ready.
The shuttle’s warp drive had been recalibrated to make it as efficient as possible, she had channelled additional power from the tiny ship’s reserve cells into hull integrity and shields. And there were a couple more tricks she had up her sleeve.
None of which boosted her chances all that much. The average Syndicate cruiser would still tear her tiny shuttle apart with a single disruptor blast. But she tried not to think too much about that. She knew that she just needed one shot for her plan to work.
She stared out at the imposing nebula in front of her, still no closer to knowing exactly what awaited her inside the turbulent storm. But she tried not to think too much about that either.
She was only really confident about one thing. This time, provided she got that one chance, she was going to attack.
Denella the Vigilant was no more.
Leaving the relative calm of normal space behind, she fired up the impulse engines and prepared herself for battle.