Chapter Text
Prologue
The soothing tones of the Bajoran folk ballad filled the air inside the cockpit of the Ferengi shuttle Kendra as it warped on through space. The gentle strings and delicate flutes layered over each other in what most experts felt was the most relaxing musical genre in the whole galaxy.
Without warning, the calming melody transformed into a violently harsh and discordant crackle, before the cockpit was plunged into an unerring silence. For a moment, at least, before a distinctly irked voice filled the void.
“Computer, you have got to be freaking kidding me.”
“Please restate the request,” a clipped male voice replied, a distinct audio crackle accompanying the words of the computer as well.
“Ugh. Just…resume playback!”
There was a brief flurry of clicks and chirps from the Kendra’s computer, indicating that the system was valiantly attempting to carry out that deceptively simple request. But the strings and flutes showed no sign of returning.
“Unable to comply. Corruption of audio files in primary databank.”
This dispassionate announcement was greeted with a deeply frustrated scream, a response that the computer also failed to recognise as a legitimate request.
Juna Erami dragged herself out from underneath the main console of the shuttle, her face streaked with dirt from the repairs she had been in the middle of attempting to complete. “The whole lot?” she groaned, “Tell me the file backups are recoverable, at least. If I’ve lost all my music, you’re gonna have one pissed-off pilot on your hands.”
“Secondary databank is online,” the computer affirmed.
“Well, that’s something, I guess.”
The Bajoran woman ran a hand through her matted hair and took a deep calming breath. Looking around the worn-down interior of the Kendra, she had to admit that she’d made better impulse buys.
At the time, she thought she was getting a good deal. She had needed transportation and had plenty to barter with, and she had gotten herself more than just a ride. She’d gotten a whole ship. But, as soon as she’d actually started to push the Kendra out in space, the problems began. And any attempt to correct one malfunction seemed to lead to three more developing, like the whole vessel had been cursed by the Pah-wraiths. It was starting to get to her.
With another sigh, she accepted that she was going to be working in silence and crouched back down to return to the more pressing issue of bypassing the shuttle’s broken aft deflector grid.
“You know,” she tutted into the ether as she worked, “It’s a good job you’re here. Otherwise I’d end up talking to myself.”
“Please restate the request.”
“Ugh. I really need to meet some new people—”
She was cut off by a sudden shower of sparks that belched out from the panel she was working on, causing her to stumble back in shock.
“Agh! Crap! Crapping crapping crap!” she cursed as she hopped around, shaking her hand where the sparks had stung her palm.
And then, as always happened with the Kendra, one problem begot another one.
“Warning,” the computer calmly sounded out, “Power overload in warp coil. Emergency deceleration is imminent.”
Erami braced herself as best she could as the Kendra suddenly and violently slowed, pushing the inertial dampeners of the tiny vessel to their limits. “Thanks for the warning,” she grimaced.
“Warp drive offline,” the computer confirmed, without any apparent concern for her well-being.
After making sure she was still in one piece, she flopped down into the tattered pilot’s chair and tapped the controls with renewed urgency.
“Please say we made it into the system before all that. Cos I am really not in the mood to spend the next three months coasting in on impulse, talking to you.”
The computer didn’t respond, but she was relieved to see that they had indeed arrived at the Kervala system before the failure. Kervala Prime, and the spaceport she had been aiming for, was a short journey away.
“Well,” she smiled as she laid in a course, “Nice to have a bit of luck for once.”
“Warning. Corruption of audio files in secondary databank.”
Her mood darkened all over again as the Kendra limped on.
* * * * *
Juna Erami strode down the steps at the side of her shuttle and took in the view.
She had landed on one of the outer pads at the main port on Kervala Prime, some distance away from the bulbous main structure. It made the journey there a little more of a trek, but the parking costs were cheaper this far out, and she needed to save latinum for the repairs themselves.
Usually, landing pads this far out tended to be deserted. But today, she found that she was in the company of some fellow cheapskates. On the other side of the rectangular landing area stood a battered Ju’Day-type raider.
She ambled over, intrigued by the ship itself, and also by the figure that she could see was working on it. A green-skinned woman in oversized overalls. She looked both the ship and the engineer over and smiled.
“Nice ship.”
As soon as she opened her mouth, the Orion spun around, caught off-guard. In an act of instinctive self-defence, she brought the object in her hand to bear on the stranger.
Erami looked down at the small engineering tool she was being threatened with and scrunched her wrinkled nose up in amusement. “Is that…an isodyne coupler?”
The green-skinned woman sheepishly looked at the somewhat inoffensive object, then at the disarmingly friendly face of the Bajoran, with her straggly mass of black hair and dusty brown tunic and trousers, and struggled for an answer.
“Well,” Erami continued with a grin, holding her hands up in mock surrender, “Take whatever you want, but please don’t couple my isodynes.”
The Orion lowered the engineering tool and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. I just don’t like—I didn’t hear you come over.”
“Hey, no, I get it. My fault. I know what it’s like, working on your own at a port like this. Still…all I said was ‘nice ship’.”
The other woman cast a glance up at her ship, the hodgepodge of different shades and colours of metal panels indicating the constant running repairs it had been through in over thirty years of long-suffering service. As far as she was concerned, it was the most magnificent ship in the galaxy. But she was entirely used to being in a minority of one on that particular subject.
“Yep,” the Bajoran continued, as she glanced over the ship’s hull, “She’s a beauty.”
“Um,” the Orion managed, “Thanks? I guess we’re not used to getting compliments.”
“Ah, I don’t believe that for a second.”
She accompanied her comment with a warm enough smile, but the taller woman immediately flinched, and her grip on the isodyne coupler tightened. Erami noted the telltale signs that she was laying it on a little strong, and turned her attention back to the ship, walking around the port wing of the raider with continued admiration.
“Ju’Day-type, right?” she continued, “Yeah, used to do a bit of work with the Maquis, as it happens. They swore by the things. Maybe a bit old, a little underpowered, but they were scrappy and resilient as hell. One guy told me that, out in the Badlands, two of these working together could take out a Galor-class warship.”
“Can't say we've ever tried that,” the Orion replied, pocketing her tool and wiping her hands on her overalls, more relaxed now the conversation had switched back to the ship, “But we do ok.”
Erami nodded, then paused at the rear of the ship and gestured upwards. “I don’t remember the thruster vents looking like that, though.”
The other woman stepped over, conflicting looks of embarrassment and pride fighting a pitched battle for control of her face. “Ah. Yeah, that’s, um, my design. Stupid things were always overheating in atmospheric flight, so I widened the cooling slats and added a few extra vents along the dorsal side.”
Erami stared back at her with a look of mild incredulity. “You redesigned your ship’s thruster vents?”
“I mean,” the Orion replied with a shrug, gesturing to the ageing ship above them, “It’s not like she’s still under warranty or anything.”
Erami smiled wider and shook her head, before gesturing back to her own vessel. “Well, I could use some of that ingenuity right now. Behold, the mighty Kendra. Sixteen previous owners, about 15,000 light years on the clock, impulse drive as slow as a Lurian transport sled, and for the life of me I cannot get the pilot’s seat to tilt back the way I like it.”
“Na’Far-class,” the Orion noted, “I worked on one of those a while back, with my father.”
She paused and flinched again. It was a reaction that Erami knew all too well, the look of a painful memory being dredged up from the back of one’s mind. Of someone freshly mourning an old loss.
“Um,” the engineer continued, regaining some composure, “I remember we had a hell of a time trying to get the plasma injectors to stop overloading the warp coil.”
“Three guesses what I’m here to fix,” Erami smiled knowingly.
The Orion woman mustered a smile back, and the ever-resourceful Erami spied an opportunity to get a little closer to her new friend.
“Hey, crazy thought, but if you could see your way to giving me some pointers with those plasma injectors, I’d really appreciate it. I’ve tried everything with the damn things.”
“Ah, I dunno. I’ve got a full repair schedule to work through—”
“Woah,” the Bajoran cut in with a disarming gesture, “I’m not trying to take advantage of you. We can work something out. If you give me a hand with the Kendra, I can help you with…?”
She let her words tail off, gesturing for the still-reluctant Orion to complete the sentence.
“Well,” the other woman sighed eventually, “I…guess I could use a hand rewiring our secondary deflector array.”
“Ah, perfect. It’s a deal!”
She smiled even wider and held out her hand in front of her. The Orion woman wiped her own dirty hand again, and tentatively accepted the handshake.
“Juna Erami,” the Bajoran woman said, by way of a formal introduction.
“Denella,” replied Denella.
* * * * *
A short while later, the two slightly incongruous figures walked down the main promenade area of Kervala Prime’s main spaceport.
All around them were bustling shops, bars and restaurants offering all manner of ways for a lonely traveller to part with their latinum. Each venue was a cultural melting pot of disparate species. But even given the dizzying mixture of faces up and down the promenade, Denella couldn’t help but feel like she and her Bajoran companion were attracting more than their fair share of stares.
She tried to dismiss her concerns. After all, attracting a lot of stares was a depressingly familiar part of her life a lot of the time. So she did what she always did, and focused on the job. “There’s a salvage yard just down here,” she explained to Erami, “Cheaper than trying to source new parts. Hopefully they’ll have some compatible injectors for you, and a lot of spare wiring for me.”
“Wow,” the Bajoran grinned back, “You’re all business, aren’t you? We’re not even gonna stop for a quick raktajino?”
She gestured to one side of the promenade, as they passed a gaudy Ferengi coffee chain outlet with a huge snaking line leading up to an understaffed counter, where a trio of underpaid workers slaved away under a large board advertising their new range of I'danian spiced lattes.
“Got coffee back at the ship,” Denella pointed out.
“Huh,” Erami griped, “This is gonna be no fun at all.”
They walked on in silence for a moment, before Erami looked over quizzically at her new companion.
“By the way, I was meaning to ask. How come your secondary deflector array needs rewiring?”
Denella looked back at her and shrugged.
“Tribbles.”
Erami studied the completely sincere face of the Orion woman for a moment, then threw her head back and laughed heartily. “Ok, I was totally wrong,” she managed eventually, “This is gonna be a hell of a lot of fun.”
* * * * *
Back at the bustling Ferengi coffee shop, two figures sat perched at a tall table on the edge of the establishment, staring out at the Bajoran woman walking alongside the Orion from behind two enormous I'danian spiced lattes in replicated takeaway cups.
Both women were too absorbed in their conversation to notice. Denella might have picked up on the unwelcome attention, but it was just a couple of stares amongst the dozens that they were getting, so the two figures were free to focus entirely on the Bajoran.
The shorter of the two Pakleds turned to his colleague with excitement at having finally tracked down their quarry.
“It is her,” he whispered, “She came here after all!”
The taller Pakled took a slow sip of what had turned out to be an incredibly underwhelming drink for how much it had cost, and nodded darkly.
“Yes,” he grunted back, “She is not smart…”