Chapter Text
Part One (Cont’d)
“She was definitely checking me out.”
“She was definitely not doing that.”
The debate hadn’t really progressed beyond each side’s opening remarks in the ten minutes they had been at the table, but it was at least killing some time.
Jirel did his best to ignore the continued bickering as he idly toyed with his glass of Andorian brandy and checked the time again. His attention was still focused on Klath, and specifically with the person they were here to meet, who appeared to be running late.
The bar itself was a particularly cheesy theme bar located on the main promenade of Kervala Prime’s spaceport. The sort of establishment that drew you in despite the best efforts of your dignity with the promise of copious cheap drinks and a raucous atmosphere.
It was called the Treaty of Organia, a reference that only Natasha got. And the theme, from what any of them could gather, was mid-23rd century Starfleet. The walls of the two-storey establishment were decorated by facsimiles of information panels and control circuits, covered in dozens of individual blinking lights and buttons, and the waitresses that meandered through the seated areas of the bar were all dressed in crudely-rendered blue, red or yellow mini dresses, noting down orders with stylus pens on enormous electronic clipboards.
If you wanted to browse the drinks menu, each table had a curious viewing device as a centrepiece, which appeared to have been fashioned out of an old-school tricorder, designed to present information on the tiny viewing screen, and also to call a waitress over. All in all, it was a gaudy and kitsch sort of a place. But it was also cheap and easy to find. And, as Jirel’s drinking companions were demonstrating, a decent place for a robust debate.
“I’m telling you,” Sunek insisted, “That Caitian at the bar was checking me out.”
“And I’m telling you,” Natasha countered, “She definitely wasn’t.”
“Was too—”
“Guys,” Jirel sighed, “Can we please try to focus a little bit? I can’t believe you’re not more worried about Klath.”
Natasha conceded for the moment with a nod, but Sunek seemed less keen on going along with the real reason Jirel had brought them all here. “Why would we be worried about him? It’s just Klath. You know how he is.”
“Actually, I’m not sure I do,” the Trill sighed, “You saw him in his cabin. He’s like a lovelorn teenager. I can’t believe how hard this is hitting him.”
“Maybe I should have a word with him,” Natasha mused as she sipped her own cocktail, “After all, as someone who has actually been married, I’m always willing to let other people know just how much of a terrible mistake it is.”
Jirel ignored the residual pang of jealousy that still annoyingly fired off inside him at the mention of Cameron Kinsen, her ex-husband, who at this point was many thousands of light years away on a survey mission in the Gamma Quadrant. “Might call that Plan B,” he offered back with a shrug, before gesturing to Sunek, “Take it you’ve not got any pearls of marriage wisdom to give him either?”
Now it was the Vulcan’s turn to internalise a pang of something.
His own marriage had been one of convenience, many years ago, to a fellow V’tosh ka’tur member called T’Len. After the ceremony, he hadn’t seen her until a few months ago, when she had dragged him into a dark revenge plot by several former members of the Vulcans without Logic movement. An experience that had plagued his emotional state for some time.
Still, he was sure he was over all that now. She he suppressed the pain, and affixed a far more Sunek-ian grin to his face. “Sure,” he shrugged, “Always make sure you consummate things first before you decide not to see each other for the best part of 30 years.”
Jirel met this with a withering glance, but before he could offer a retort, he spotted a familiar face walking through the crowd towards them.
K’Veth sat awkwardly down in the empty seat at their table and nodded at the three of them, before glancing around at the gaudy surroundings, and a passing waitress in a cheap red mini dress, with a thoroughly disgusted glower.
“Don’t worry,” Jirel offered with a friendly smile, “They stock bloodwine.”
“I will not be staying,” the Klingon woman grunted back to him, “But I received your message, and I still owe you and your crew for getting me here from Brexis II. So, I am here.”
With that, she folded her arms in front of her in a manner that rather underlined to Jirel that there wasn’t much point attempting any further pleasantries.
“Fair enough,” he nodded, “Truth is, I wanted to talk to you about—”
“Klath, yes,” she replied curtly, “We mated.”
Jirel was a little taken aback by her candour, to the point that he had to take a sip of brandy. An action which gave Sunek enough time to jump in.
“We know,” the Vulcan smirked, “The whole ship knows you mated. Thin walls on those cabins, you know? Hey, by the way, did you see if there was a Caitian standing at the bar when you came in? Kinda average height, short skirt, looked like she had a thing for ruggedly handsome Vulcans—?”
“Shut up, Sunek,” Natasha muttered on everyone’s behalf.
“I was more talking about the whole…proposal thing,” Jirel persisted to K’Veth.
“Ah, yes, I see,” the Klingon nodded back, “He suggested that we be joined. And I declined. What more is there for you to know?”
“Is that really all that happened?” he pressed, “Because he’s entirely messed up about all this, and I feel like I’m missing something. I just wanna help him.”
K’Veth paused for a moment, looking a little uncertain. While she had no issue candidly discussing her mating habits, she was more circumspect about other factors that were at play here. “I…apologise if I caused him pain.”
“Nah,” Sunek chipped in, “I think he liked that part.”
“I fear,” K’Veth continued, having learned to ignore the Vulcan, “Klath may have allowed himself to see more in me than there really is. I am dishonoured. An exile.”
“Um,” Natasha offered, feeling she was stating the obvious, “So is Klath?”
K’Veth shook her head, suppressing the irritation she was starting to feel about having to talk about these matters with people she barely knew. The details of her family’s history, of her grandfather’s part in the Khitomer conspiracy, had all come out back on Brexis II. But still, she didn’t want to delve too personally into her own shame.
“It is not the same. Klath has dealt with his dishonour. And he continues to deal with it well. But I have not. Especially after my part in my father’s attempted treachery on Brexis II, on top of our house’s past crimes. I cannot inflict that on Klath. And, deep down, he knows this to be true.”
“But—” Jirel began. She cut him off immediately.
“He will recover, in time. He will find peace with his emotions. But I cannot drag him down with me. I cannot be his wife. And that is how it must be.”
With that, she stood from the table and walked back out of the Treaty of Organia, pushing her way past a waitress in a blue mini dress without so much as an apology.
Jirel watched her leave with a sad sigh, feeling no nearer to being able to help his friend.
“So,” Natasha offered, after a moment of contemplative silence had consumed the table, “What are we gonna do now?”
Jirel didn’t really have an answer. Sunek, inevitably, did.
“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m gonna go see if that Caitian’s still around…”
* * * * *
“Hey, wait!”
Denella reluctantly paused in her hurried retreat just as she reached the outer landing pad where the Bounty was parked. She turned to see Erami racing across the pad from the covered walkway that led all the way back to the main dome of the base. Even though night had fallen around the spaceport, great striplights all around the pad made it almost feel like high noon.
“Wow,” the Bajoran managed as she caught up and caught her breath, “You can really move when you want to, can’t you?”
Denella stifled a sigh. She felt a curious mix of shame and anger. Shame at herself for what she knew had been a completely over the top reaction back in the restaurant. But also anger at everything in her life that had led to this being so difficult for her.
“Ok, I’m sorry for leaving. But I—”
“Hey, say no more,” Erami countered quickly, “I get it. And it was my fault for going so over the top for a friendly night out. I mean, empathic waiters? What was I thinking?”
She laughed, and Denella found that she couldn’t help but join in. The Bajoran seemed to have that sort of effect on her. Besides, it was also clear to her that whatever Erami might have been trying to cultivate between them, it was at least based on good intentions. Which was not something that she was used to dealing with.
“Yeah,” she managed in reply, “Although, given the sort of emotions I was giving off as I left, I feel like I should go back and apologise to them.”
“I wouldn’t,” Erami grinned, “I did a runner.”
Denella’s expression hardened for a moment, even as Erami’s features creased into another grin.
“Kidding.”
The Orion found that she wasn’t quite sure if she believed her.
Erami gestured for them to continue walking, as they headed over to where their respective ships were parked up on the landing pad. “Anyway,” she continued, “That was all dumb of me. The whole evening. And I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. So…friends?”
She held out her hand for a handshake, and Denella accepted it. A far more well-telegraphed form of contact than the Bajoran’s unexpected hand across the table in the restaurant. “Friends,” she nodded back, “But I really do need to go get some rest. Like I said, first thing tomorrow, we should—”
She stopped with a gasp of shock as she saw the state of the Kendra.
“Holy crap.”
Erami looked over to what she was referring to and immediately grimaced. The Kendra’s side door was wide open, and various items from inside had been left strewn around the landing pad next to the ship itself. It was immediately clear that the small shuttle had been thoroughly ransacked.
The two women approached the mess with some caution, but there were no sounds apparent from inside. Erami poked her head inside to make sure, as Denella surveyed the situation. “Nobody there,” the Bajoran reported, turning back and shrugging, “It’s fine.”
“It’s fine?” Denella scoffed, “Erami, someone’s broken into your—”
“I said it’s fine,” she replied, a little too quickly, “Nothing’s taken. Must’ve just been bandits looking for latinum. Guess I forgot to lock her down.”
The Orion looked back at the Bajoran with mild incredulity, not believing a word that she was telling her. Erami, for her part, started to idly pick up the detritus strewn across the pad and toss it back through the open door of the Kendra.
“What the hell is going on?” Denella pressed.
Erami glanced back at her and forced her most convincing smile onto her face. “Nothing,” she lied, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you in the morning.”
With that, she picked up the final few bits, climbed up the step next to the shuttle’s doorway and disappeared inside. The door closed behind her, leaving the Orion woman alone on the pad.
And despite Erami’s suggestion, she found that she was very worried indeed.
End of Part One