Chapter Text
Archanis IV
Near the Federation-Klingon border
Stardate 48002.17 (January 1, 2371)
Starfleet Marine Barracks, Archanis
Lance Corporal Brigid Geraldine Kelley, Starfleet Marine Corps, stood in front of the mirror and fussed over her uniform's gig line within her shared barracks. To celebrate the new year, she received a liberty pass to explore the city. She would not depart the barracks without ensuring that she represented the Corps in the best possible light. Her attention to detail reflected her twenty-six weeks of boot camp inspections and eighteen months of service since induction. She could still hear the Assistant Drill Instructor shouting so close to her face that flecks of spit would hit her cheek with every sharp consonant. After all, any discordance of her uniform’s line, extending from her neck to her trousers, had immense consequences for the Federation’s future.
She finished her adjustments and scrutinized her reflection. With her dark brown hair kept to the personal grooming regulation of shoulder-length, it framed her tanned face better than it did when she first reported for duty. Kelley followed the rigorous physical requirements for her short stature and admired how the uniform showcased her well-defined arms and thighs.
Kelley's career as a marine began as a heavy weapons private with the first platoon of Bravo Company, within the Fourth Marine Expeditionary Brigade (MEB). No marine ever aspired to be posted to the less prestigious units assigned to the fringes of Federation territory.
Unless they wanted to create distance from the core worlds, possibly because they were running from something or someone.
Kelley was among those trying to put her past behind her. However, being posted to a border colony world felt like going back home, since she grew up on the Federation colony on Kessik IV.
She submitted the results of her prerequisite medical check, her physical fitness certificate, and a copy of her secondary school diploma (including eighteen units of university-level coursework through advanced placement) with a high grade-point-average to Staff Sergeant Palamo of the Starfleet Marine Corps. The kind NCO gave her the option of joining the next recruit training class in thirty days, or wait four months before the next class would assemble.
Because of the distance between Kessik and the Marine Corps Recruit Depot (MCRD) on Andor, it would take three weeks and change to arrive there. The first leg of her trip was a runabout to a nearby Starbase, then a transfer to a marine transport to Andor. Kelley understood she had to depart immediately to arrive on time. That suited her just fine.
Her father, an elected member of the township's council, often took out his frustration upon the members of his family who could not defend themselves. With regularity, her father would express himself through physical and emotional abuse. The more he vented against Kelley, the deeper her conviction that she would leave Kessik at the earliest opportunity.
That led to a discussion with the non-commissioned officers at the Starfleet office. Although they urged her to seek a commission as an officer given her grades, an appointment to Starfleet Academy (or any university for that matter) required her parents' permission as she'd not yet reached the age of majority. Her father had very particular designs on her life that Kelley disagreed with. The only course of action, given the narrow circumstances of her situation, was to wait until the day of her eighteen birthday to enlist. Since she sought strength and power, her choices were to join Starfleet Security or the Starfleet Marine Corps. Staff Sergeant Palamo charmed her with the traditions and culture of the Corps that appealed to Kelley enough to press her adult fingerprint to the enlistment contract.
On the night before her departure, her mother and younger sister, Riley, held a birthday party for her. Her father arrived ready to celebrate the occasion, however, her party came to a sudden end when Kelley broke the news. True to fashion, her father objected in the strongest possible terms, and years of Kelley's pent-up anger resulted in her use of physical violence against him for the first and only time. She dislocated his right shoulder, then stomped on his right elbow resulting in a compound fracture.
Despite the extreme level of physical damage done, her parents never called law enforcement to their home in order to avoid tarnishing her father’s reputation. While her mother repaired the damage done with an in-home bone knitter and dermal regenerator, Kelley spent the night in a transient housing facility in the township, then left for the spaceport. Since that night, neither a missive from nor to her home passed within subspace.
She passed through Receiving and entered Class 14/48 on Andor and for eighteen weeks as a Private Recruit, where Kelley used her rage to push herself to the physical limits and train as hard as she could. She excelled at the confidence course and led her team during the Crucible. Her performance as a recruit resulted in being lauded by her drill instructor and her company commander, and she carried the guidon for her class during graduation, where she received her Delta, Stars, and Anchor and was sworn in as a Marine.
She received a promotion to lance corporal upon graduation because of her pre-enlistment college units, and the military assigned her to Archanis in a heavy weapons platoon. There, she took the annual weapons qualification and proudly wore her Expert Bar for Phaser Rifles and Phaser Pistols. She qualified for compression rifles and cannons shortly after; leading to her assignment. Kelley found she had a flair for all weapons, especially phaser rifles and bladed weapons.
Kelley checked her reflection once more before moving out of the bunkroom she shared with her squad mates and into the company's complex. Archanis IV housed the entire Fourth, but Alpha, Beta, and Gamma Companies received housing within the capital city's center. She counted herself lucky that she got the assignment to Archanis instead of some of the other, more depressing colonies like Sherman's Planet or worse, the guard detachment at Tantalus. At least Archanis had an entertainment center large enough to house a majority of the Starfleet personnel assigned there. Not to mention the occasional Klingon military detachment that found themselves guests of Archanis' hospitality after long patrols of the shared border with the Federation.
Such as that week. The colonial government had invited members of the Klingon Defense Force, the Bajoran Militia, and the recently reformed Cardassian military to discuss Alpha Quadrant relations regarding the impending threat of the Dominion in the Gamma Quadrant. The primary concern for the marines lay in rubbing shoulders with the prideful Klingons and Cardassians as they walked the streets of the colony's capital city. Orders from her company commanding officer outlined that any incidents with Klingon or Cardassian military personnel may lead to "political solutions."
Her company's gunnery sergeant clarified that lance corporals would be expendable under those circumstances.
In her time at Archanis, Kelley made it a point to keep her head down and focus on her duties. When given the chance, she stuck to her usual spots instead of trying anything too different. She made fast friends with the owner of the Furball Bar & Grill near the city's outer limits, far from the prying eyes of the government and the law enforcement agencies. The owner, a former marine himself, took an instant liking to her and treated her like his long-lost daughter.
Owen Hardester made it to the rank of master gunnery sergeant before calling it quits and retiring on Archanis. With over thirty years in the Corps, she valued his advice on fast promotion to corporal. His advice led her to pursue and get certifications in many departments, acquiring qualifications in various weapons along the way. He guided her to study for the rank examinations. Kelley completed the exam six weeks prior and expected to place high on the corporal's list within the next two weeks, after the selection committee made their decision. He promised to throw her a party when her promotion came through.
Promotions within the lower enlisted ranks found competition as you reached for non-commissioned officer status, and any negative mark on her record would sink her ambitions and lead her toward a career as a "terminal lance."
"Going out for a night on the town, are we?" asked the muscular human buck sergeant. The departmental insignia of the base Provost Marshal sat on the upper left arm of her uniform. She stood, along with a male Andorian corporal and two PFCs, within the gatehouse into the barracks facility. She inspected Kelley's liberty order with a jaundiced eye.
"Yes, Sergeant," Kelley replied as respectfully as she could. She disliked the hassle one needed to endure in order to pass outside the gate. Privates and lance corporals were seen as unintelligent by officers, commissioned or otherwise.
The sergeant nodded. "Very well. Six-hour pass for liberty," she noted to the corporal, who jotted down the determination on his PADD. Her attention returned to Kelley. "Make sure you check back in here by oh-three-hundred."
She intended to return sooner and came within a hair's breadth of saying so with a biting remark in mind. Her caustic wit inherited from her father and grandfather was drilled out of her personality the very first week at MCRD Andor. The now-Pavlovian response to an NCO's order continued to be, "Yes, Sergeant."
"Stay safe out here, Kelley, and keep out of trouble. I don't want to wake up your lieutenant to get you out of the city jail. Understand?"
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Off you go, Lance Corporal."
"Yes, Sergeant," she repeated for the last time and entered the city's main thoroughfare along the center of the governmental section. Kelley waved her hand at the nearest taxi and took a seat inside once it drew near.
The human driver appeared to be significantly younger than Kelley's twenty years. "Where to?"
"You have your hack license?" she questioned warily.
"Yeah, I've got it, General," he promised as he twisted around to give her a look up and down. "Where to?"
"The Furball."
Gunny Hardester greeted her as he usually did when she appeared at the Furball. At forty-one minutes past twenty-one hundred Kelley received his customary big smile, big hug, and a big announcement to the rest of the patrons that the marines have landed. Few of her fellow active duty marines went beyond the city limits, especially not to a place lacking the desired entertainment of an intimate nature.
Kelley smiled at Hardester. "Thank you for that, Gunny."
A couple of fingers of a blue liquid within an old-fashioned glass appeared before her on the bar. "On the house, Brigid," said the bartender with a smile on her lips. The Gunny always extended a courtesy to Kelley whenever she patronized the establishment.
She uttered her thanks and moved away from the bar as quickly as possible with the drink in hand. She was led to a private room in the bar area, away from onlookers. Inside, he set up an intimate area where his friends and family could enjoy a meal or a drink without sharing their conversations.
This inner area, Kelley learned on her second visit to the establishment, played host to people of all walks of life. To her knowledge, she was the only active duty marine granted access there. The gunny told her a month after he introduced her he found her to be a trustworthy person. She knew how to keep her mouth shut, and most marine officers "can't look past the bars on their own uniform to take in the big picture."
Not much had changed; she had replied that night.
Kelley settled into the bar within that area and plunked down her Federation credit chit so that the bartender could keep an open tab for her. While the first drink may have been free, the second through ninth drinks allowed him to turn a profit. Tonight, however, she accepted the first free drink and ended it there. Her dinner arrived soon after she ordered it, being a locally famous dish involving a native fish and potatoes grilled with spices that the gunny said was a family secret. Regardless, she couldn’t resist sampling it every time she went to the Furball.
Card Night at the Furball saw games taking place between pairs and quintets in the corner of the room. Poker, blackjack, rummy, even a game of Go Fish appeared to be in store for her that night.
"Can I interest you in another drink?" asked the Gunny.
"Not for me. I'm on a six-hour pass tonight."
The Gunny nodded his approval of her discipline. "Well done. You're going to go far in the Corps, I can promise you that."
She accepted his praise with a smile. "Thanks, Gunny. I'm still waiting to hear about the exam results."
"Don't you worry about that, now. Tonight, enjoy your dinner and join in on that poker game over there with Gerry and Vincent," he said with a point of his finger. "They're trying to get a money game going."
That piqued her curiosity. Poker for money or barter was one of the many ways they passed the time at the barracks during the long stretches of time between watches. Since the company was already forward deployed and holding position until new orders came down from the Command Element of the brigade, cards were in demand. So far, she had accumulated an extra week's service allowance from the Corps for use within the city's economy.
"Sounds like fun to me," she admitted, trying to keep the excitement out of her expression. "Maybe I'll hit them up,later, but right now, I'd like to give this fish a new home."
"Temporarily, of course," said the Gunny with a wink. "I'll let you be. Come find me before you leave, tonight. I want to give you something."
Kelley cocked her head to the side, but knew to exercise patience. "All right."
Before oh-one-hundred, Kelley took her winnings from the table and thanked the men for "teaching" her how to play. She kept her eyes on Gerry and Vincent, the Gunny's two younger brothers and also veteran marines, looking for their tells and reading their expressions. Despite losing the first five hands, she ultimately outplayed the two hustlers. Although they begged her for a few more hands, she opted to take her leave for the night and call herself a taxi back to the barracks.
She approached the bar and passed by the door, back out into the front dining section. The Gunny took himself a meal at the bar as the crowds had died down since her arrival a little under seven hours ago. Kelley took the stool next to him and set her now flush credit chit on the bar's surface. She noticed he consumed the same dish she had earlier and smiled at him. "You wanted to see me, Gunny?"
Gunny Hardester swallowed the bite in his mouth and nodded. He reached behind the bar to pull out a long, thick gift box, and placed it on the bar. A red and gold ribbon kept the top of the box secured to the bottom. "That's for you."
Kelley hesitated to accept it. "What is it?"
"Only one way to find out."
"I couldn't possibly-"
He interrupted her, "Yes, you can. Consider it an order from an old NCO who still outranks you. Besides, I don't have any kids to give it to, and you're the closest thing."
She eyed him for a long moment, still hesitant about accepting the gift. In the end, she chose to not embarrass him by insisting against it. "Thank you, Gunny. I appreciate it."
"Aren't you going to open it?"
"Right here?"
"Of course."
Kelley took the box and tugged on the ribbon and it undid itself under the pressure. She pulled the top off and peeled back the tissue paper, keeping the contents from her view. Upon recognizing it, her eyes grew wide and her protest intensified in ferocity. "I cannot accept this, Gunny."
The Gunny waved her off. "Take it. Once you make corporal, you're going to need your own, anyway."
"I haven't made corporal, yet."
"You will."
"Then, maybe you should keep it until then," she said, inching the box back toward him. "I can't really be caught with one of these things in the barracks before it's time."
The Gunny grunted, "If they give you any shit about it, you tell them it‘s a personal gift from Master Gunnery Sergeant Owen Hardester of the Fourth Marines. You tell them to come out here and take it up with me."
As the taxi sped her back toward the marine barracks, Kelley laid the box across her lap. Only that night did she grasp the true bond she shared with the Gunny, and she fought hard to keep her emotions in check. Luckily, the Gunny recognized this and allowed her to take her leave of the Furball quickly and with no thanking him.
"It's getting a little too warm and fuzzy in here for my liking," he had told her.
She ran her hand over the gift, appreciating its beauty as not just a decoration, but a functional part of any marine's repertoire. Kelley wondered how long it would be until she received her promotion, as she considered it an honor to wear it as part of her duty as a non-commissioned officer in the Starfleet Marine Corps.
"Hey, Corporal," called the driver, an older human woman with silvering blonde hair. "I think we have some trouble up ahead."
Kelley peered around the head of the driver and narrowed her eyes. Five Klingons, who had bloodwine earlier, stood in the street. They were singing, scaring the people walking the surrounding streets, and not bothering to move to the sidewalks like everyone else. She quickly scanned both sides. Impossible to move forward with other cars behind blocking the way.
She cursed at her luck, running dry at the worst possible moment. Just a few more minutes and she would have reached the front gate, checking with two hours left on her pass. "I'll get out here," she told the driver.
"You sure?"
"Yeah," Kelley replied, pressing her hand against the credit plate, allowing the colony's bank to draw against the Corps' account. Any marines assigned to a colony using currency-based economics, Starfleet paid for their transportation costs. "But it would be an idea to contact local law enforcement. They're creating a public hazard to traffic in this area."
The driver nodded and opened up a commlink just as her now-former client disembarked.
Kelley walked on the far sidewalk, away from the street, with the long box on her shoulder. She glanced at the three Klingons; all of them wore the accouterment of the KDF's ground forces. The most senior was equaling a marine corporal, what the Klingons called a Da'. As they had not yet seen her, she continued walking and made sure not to make eye contact with any of them. Despite it being unseemly for a marine to retreat from danger, facing any of the Klingons would mean disregarding orders from her company commanding officers to avoid conflicts.
"Hey!" called one of them.
She kept walking, pretending not to hear them.
"I said, hey! You! Starfleet girl!"
Shit, she thought. She continued walking.
"I wasn't aware that they commissioned short and ugly girls in Starfleet," guffawed the Klingon who called her.
The others redirected their attention to her. One of them pointed at her and laughed along with the Da' who spoke to her.
"You're all standing in the middle of a busy street. I'm worried that a passing vehicle might hurt you," she told them, in her best commanding voice. "Please move to the footpath, where you can continue to make all the jokes you wish."
The Da' replied, "Very well, little girl. We will join you on the path." He gestured to the others, and they approached her position. Seconds later, the three approached her position and flanked her.
"My name is Lance Corporal Kelley, Starfleet Marine Corps. I'm not a police officer, so I can't really do anything about where you want to stand." She gestured toward her destination. "If you don't mind, I'm going to keep walking."
The Klingons moved toward her and out of the street. "But we're not done with you," he said to her. "We don't know this city very well, and we hoped that someone like you could show us around."
As they drew closer, she could already smell the alcohol on them. "Somehow, I don't think that's true."
"Pardon me?"
Kelley turned to face them once again. She felt the corner of the box against her palm as she squeezed it reflexively. "I said, I don't think that's true. You know where to find an endless supply of bloodwine."
"Are you challenging me?"
"I apologize, sir," she said. Pride had no place in what her commanding officer will label as an 'incident.'
"That's better. Now, make it up to us by showing us around."
"I apologize, again, sir. I'm afraid I'm required to report back to my barracks."
The Klingon grabbed her shoulder. "You can make an excuse, I'm sure. Starfleet is good at that."
Kelley frowned as she glanced at the hand resting on her shoulder. "Would you please remove your hand, sir?"
"And what if I don't?"
Technically, it constituted an assault on her person. Technically, she would be acquitted of any charges because of the condition of self-defense. And technically, she knew her company’s gunny would ignore the situation if it had involved anyone other than the very Klingons the brass ordered the entire brigade to avoid.
But... he had to place a hand on her.
"Sir, I'm going to ask you one more time to please remove your hand," she shot him a sharp glance to match her tone.
"And again I'm going to ask you, what if I don't?"
She grabbed his hand and gripped it tight enough to pull it off. She noticed the look of surprise at her sudden strength and even more so at his arm being twisted in an unnatural direction.
At his cry in pain, his comrades moved to flank her. Gone was the carousing attitude they held until that moment, replaced with implacable rage at the perceived unprovoked attack. They all took a defensive stance not altogether unfamiliar to her. Klingon forces, like the Marines, preferred hand-to-hand combat.
She released their friend by moving through the motion of disabling him by spraining his arm. "I asked him twice to remove his hand," Kelley reminded them.
They stared at her. Either they did not comprehend, or they pretended they did not understand.
The Klingon to her furthest right made a move toward her. She could see his shadow under the streetlamp with his arm outstretched. Kelley bent over at the waist and spun her left leg around to contact the Klingon's midsection, pushing him away from her. The others saw that as their signal to join in, as they all moved in to follow up with the now-laying Klingon began.
Kelley spun around again, using the box as a weapon. One, two, and three impacts against it broke the thin board that comprised it and the gift made its appearance: a saber within its scabbard. The gold-colored briquet gleamed within the light and slapped against each of the Klingon's skulls as she danced with it.
Now that the box was useless, she grabbed the saber by the briquet without removing it from the scabbard. She tied the ribbon on the handle over the edge of the scabbard in order to secure the blade within. Kelley tested its full weight. She started with her right hand and then switched to her left. By this time, the Klingon she pushed away with her foot was now on his feet, seeing his friends on the ground, holding their heads.
He shouted at her in his language, which she understood, meaning that he was questioning her upbringing. Although she studied some languages, she only knew a smattering of Klingon. She thought about this as her commbadge (which doubled as a universal translator) sparked and fizzled on the sidewalk to her right. She lamented the loss briefly before turning her head back to her opponent.
She said nothing in response, instead taking a defensive stance with the saber in hand. "I wish I could warn you off, but I don't think you're going to take me seriously, anyway."
Where the fuck are the police? she thought.
As she expected, he moved toward her with his fists, angrily screaming as he did so.
Kelley sidestepped his attack, using the scabbard against the base of his skull with all of her might. He collapsed immediately, slapping his forehead against the edge of the curb with a sickeningly hard sound. He let out a sigh, rolled onto the sidewalk, and then stopped moving. Purple blood flowed out from his forehead and dripped down in rivulets into the gutter.
The one with the sprained arm reached for the scabbard and closed his fingers around it tightly. When she pulled it back, the sword unsheathed when the ties parted. She flipped the blade around when he approached her menacingly. Using the hilt, Kelley used both hands to jam it hard into his temple. She felt it make contact with the hard bone and knew that she incurred a fracture.
The force of her strike surprised the Klingon; he stumbled backwards, dropped the scabbard to hold his head as he regained his bearings. The other two members of the group moved in different directions. One flanked Kelley while the lent his aid to the one with the sprained arm.
Kelley kept the blade level, using the hilt to ward off her attackers. With one down and bleeding out, she swiveled her head back and forth to confirm their proximity.
Sprained Arm shouted instructions toward the others, and they moved away from her. She allowed herself a flash of pride as they staggered away, still reeling with the effects of being slapped around with the Gunny's NCO saber.
"Stop right there!" shouted a sharp, masculine voice. "This is the city police!"
Kelley stood her ground, allowing her saber to slap against her thigh. She stood over her possibly dead assailant and waited to be taken into custody. As she felt them relieve her of the saber and slapped binders on her wrists, she sighed and told herself, Maybe I'll get a private cell in the brig.