Chapter Text
Part Two (Cont'd)
The Officers’ club was every bit as luxurious as Natasha had been expecting.
High up on A Deck in one of the secondary modules of the starbase, right at the top of the dome and completely encased in transparent aluminium, the view was astonishing whichever way you looked. Especially as the twin suns were now setting on the horizon, casting warming red and yellow glows across the landscape which merged into a beautiful spectrum of orange hues.
And that was before you got to the food, a full a la carte menu prepared not in a replicator, but by a team of chefs pulled from the four corners of the quadrant. For a mere lieutenant like Natasha, it was a privileged experience indeed.
Judging by Cameron’s knowing smile as she tucked into her Tarkelean tea-infused souffle with Thalian chocolate dipping sauce, she suspected that he knew that all too well.
“Good, right?” he said, gesturing to her half-eaten dessert with a fork loaded down with a generous helping of his own Mapa bread and butter pudding.
“I know this word has been misused for centuries,” she said, her mouth still full, “But I’m happy to confirm that this is literally the best thing I’ve eaten all year.”
He chuckled as she finished her mouthful and took a sip of the sweet wine that their Benzite sommelier had explained at great length was the ideal pairing for her particular choice of dessert. She didn’t want to admit as much to her ex-husband, but she had needed something like this. Not just the meal, and not necessarily the company, but a genuine moment of indulgence and pleasure, in amongst all of her angst and worry.
The questions that the admiral had asked her after her debriefing still preoccupied her, even while enjoying her meal. They had all been about Jirel, but none of them had been about anything specific, or anything important as far as she could tell. Simply questions about his ship, his crew, and his general frame of mind as she had seen it during their time together. If she thought that his off the record grilling of her was going to be the start of a thrilling unofficial black ops investigation into some sort of smuggling ring Jirel was suspected of being a part of, she ended up being very disappointed.
Across the table from her, Cameron finished his own mouthful of food and toyed with the remaining dessert in front of him for a moment. “It really has been good to see you, Nat,” he said, “I know things…didn’t exactly work out for us—”
“Yeah, I was meaning to ask, how is Lieutenant Ramirez?”
For the first time all evening, Cameron’s warm demeanour dropped momentarily, replaced by a grimace and a slight look of shame. Natasha didn’t necessarily want to dwell on that aspect of the end of their marriage, and the role that a certain junior lieutenant who had served under Cameron onboard the USS Ticonderoga had played in it, but she did take some satisfaction for having briefly knocked him for six.
“Fair enough, I deserved that,” he nodded, setting his fork down and wiping his mouth with a napkin, “It’s just that...when I heard what happened to the Navajo, I really thought you were gone.”
It was her turn to suppress a grimace, simultaneously forcing the face of the ensign to the back of her mind. She put her spoon down, despite there still being plenty of her delicious dessert remaining. She didn’t feel hungry any more. “I don’t like to think about that. About what happened.”
He nodded in understanding, as she drained her wine glass and composed herself. She felt like a traitor all over again, sitting in such lavish surroundings, eating the feast that had been presented to her, when so many more deserving officers had perished out there.
“Truth is,” she admitted, gesturing down to her uniform, “I don’t like thinking about any of this any more. The wars, the killing, the…”
She paused. The ensign’s face was going nowhere yet.
On the other side of the table, Cameron considered her words as he took a sip from his own wine glass. “Listen,” he said eventually, “Things are gonna change. We’ve come through a lot these last few years, but I was in a briefing just this morning where a half a dozen admirals talked at length about the dawn of a new age of exploration for the fleet.”
Natasha suppressed a snort of derision. “Yeah, they always say that. And then, the next thing you know, there’s a coup on Romulus, or Vulcan explodes, or something—”
“Nothing like that’s gonna happen, trust me.”
She looked back at him, seeing something kind in his eyes that triggered memories of a time before she felt like this. Before the war and the Navajo, before Kesmet IV and the ensign in the corridor, before even Lieutenant Ramirez. “Why do you care this much about what I think?” she asked softly.
“Well, I was gonna save this for the digestifs. But I’ve just been assigned to a new posting. USS Copernicus. Nebula-class.”
“Congratulations?”
“Let me finish,” he smiled patiently, “Our first mission is a six month mapping survey in the Gamma Quadrant. And I know what you’re gonna say, but it’s safe now. The Founders are no longer a threat, the war’s over. Besides, we’re not interested in Dominion space. We’re headed to the unknown, unexplored space, where no one has gone before. Remember that?”
“Rings a bell.”
“Thought it might. And...it just so happens that the Copernicus still has half a dozen positions to fill in her medical staff.”
He gestured at her, and the blue undershirt she was wearing. For a moment, she was lost for words. And for a moment, she wondered whether there really was a future for her here, a future where she still wore this uniform.
“Cameron,” she sighed eventually, “If this is your way of trying to make up for—”
“It’s not. I promise.”
She looked over at him uncertainly. He pushed his plate away and wrung his hands together. “Look, I screwed up, I know that. And I know there’s no way I can ever fix that, nor should there be. But I also know how good a doctor you are, and after what you’ve been through, you deserve this, Nat.”
His words were clearly meant as a comfort. He had no way of knowing how hollow they sounded to her.
She looked back down at the unfinished plate of food in front of her, trying to keep the darker thoughts from bubbling up all over again. “I’m not sure I do,” she said eventually.
“Come on,” he pressed, “I know you can be modest about your work. Too modest, if you ask me.”
She stared into the remains of her souffle, trying to picture herself back onboard a starship, in her uniform, alongside her fellow officers.
“I mean, what else would you do?” he pressed, “You gonna go back to Earth? You’ll go stir crazy and you know it. Or, what, were you planning on bunking up with that Trill space cadet?”
Whatever semblance of a spell he was starting to cast over her was instantly broken. She looked back up at him, noticing the dismissive tone he had used and the familiar superior smile that was creeping through on the corners of his mouth. The one she really hated.
“Don’t even dare do that,” she snapped, “This isn’t about me ‘bunking up’ with anyone, Cameron, for god’s sake.”
He wiped the attitude from his face, clearly seeing his mistake. She stood up and straightened her uniform.
“I’m sorry, Nat. I just meant—”
“I know exactly what you meant. And I’ve dealt with a lot of stupid crap from that Trill space cadet this last day or so. But I thought you knew better than that. Apparently not.”
She felt the eyes of several other diners in the room on her, and elected not to make any more of a scene. Instead, she turned and made for the exit, swerving around the perplexed Benzite sommelier as she did so. Cameron considered calling out. But he didn’t want to make a scene either. He’d given her the offer, that was enough for now. He reluctantly returned to his dessert.
Natasha kept walking. She couldn’t think about the offer, she had too much other stuff to think about.
She thought about the admiral’s questions about Jirel. She thought about Commander Bari’s questions about the last moments of the Navajo. Most of all, she thought about the face of the ensign in the corridor. The one she had left behind.
She looked down at her uniform, and felt numb.
* * * * *
The heavy stone struck the edge of the blade, sending a shower of sparks out into the night.
Klath perched calmly on a rock, overlooking the main Kraterite township below, and ran the smooth grey stone in his hand down the edge of his bat’leth, carefully sharpening his favourite weapon.
Darkness had well and truly descended by this point, and in the absence of any more technological solution, he had hastily set up a campfire using branches from the surrounding trees to keep the worst of the cold away. He knew that he might be on his personal mission for some time, and this had seemed as good a place to set up camp as any.
On the other side of the crackling flames, she started to come around where she sat awkwardly propped up on a rock, her hands and feet tied up. She saw the Klingon at work on his bladed weapon, but elected not to cry out.
Although she felt groggy, she tried to piece together where she was and how she had got there from what little she could remember.
As far as she could recall, she had been making her way back to Kolar’s shuttle after spending the evening indulging herself around the Kraterite township, trying to make the most of being stuck here until her employer had completed his plan.
With Kolar still withholding payment of the full amount of latinum they had discussed, she couldn’t afford passage away from the planet. She wasn’t even sure if she’d ever see the full payment now, given her failure, but either way she was stuck having to wait for Kolar to be ready to leave to get anywhere, regardless of whether he was going to pay her in full or not.
Even though she was sure there was no affection intended, Kolar had at least warned her about straying too far and spending too much time in the open, at least until he told her that it was safe to do so. He seemed to know enough about their final target to know that she shouldn’t take any chances with him. But she ignored him.
And so she had spent the evening out and about in the township, trying to find some sort of entertainment on a planet with only a Federation starbase and an indigenous people that spoke a virtually incomprehensible insectoid language to choose from.
She had failed.
And then, she remembered. As she had been making her way back down a mostly empty street on the outskirts of the township, ready for another uncomfortable night of fitful sleep on the deck of Kolar’s shuttle, the attack had come. She hadn’t seen where it had come from. She hadn’t even realised that there was anyone following her. But she had felt something heavy hit the back of her head. As she watched Klath continue to sharpen his blade, she noted the blunt side of the bat’leth in his hands, and the specific mystery of what she had been struck by seemed to be resolved.
On the other side of the fire, Klath didn’t look up. But he sensed that she had stirred. “You were sloppy,” he grunted as he worked on the blade.
She still didn’t say anything, instead working on gently testing the material binding her hands together for any sign of weaknesses.
“For an assassin, your actions were too obvious,” he continued, striking the stone across the blade again, “The clothing, the immediate focus on the drinks, the…suggestive behaviour.”
“Worked well enough on the others,” she replied eventually.
That was enough for Klath to stop his work and look over at her, the flickering firelight accentuating the deep scowl on his face. “The crew of the Grontar,” he replied. It was a statement, not a question.
“Sounds like you’ve been expecting this.”
Klath looked down into the flames. The reflection of the fire flickered in his eyes as he recalled something from deep within his memory. He felt the rush of shame at the same time. The shame that he had kept buried inside him for many years. The shame from the Sons of Marlek.
“All of them?” he asked eventually, focusing back on his prisoner.
She nodded back, having given up on trying to find a weakness in the ropes.
Klath growled quietly and stood up, gripping the freshly sharpened bat’leth in his hand and stepping around the fire to where she sat. As he got nearer, she instinctively squirmed to try and get away, her eyes entirely focused on the weapon in his hands.
“I should kill you,” he said as he walked.
She didn’t reply.
He stood next to her and looked her over, still not sure of her species. As he remained frozen in place, she tensed up further, expecting the worst. He moved around behind her and brought the blade into position. She closed her eyes.
He swung the weapon down with practised precision, knowing exactly how to manoeuvre the swing to finish the job in a single blow.
She gasped as she felt the bonds on her arms split apart. He walked back around to her front and crouched down until they were eye to eye.
“Go,” he muttered.
She remained where she was, her shoulders still tense, sitting up against the rock, unsure whether or not this was some sort of trick.
“Go back to your Klingon master,” he continued, more forcefully, “And take a message to him.”
She watched on in confusion, as he stood up and slowly paced back over to the other side of the fire.
“Tell him that if he wishes to kill me, as he has killed the others from the Grontar, then he must do it himself. No more hiding behind assassins and poisons.”
He spat the words out. She flinched slightly, but nodded.
“Tell him that when he is ready, I will be waiting.”
He reached the rock where he had been sitting and perched back on it. She hurriedly grappled with the bonds around her feet, untying them and unsteadily standing.
Klath watched as she turned and made off into the night. He conceded to himself that there was a possibility that she might just try to escape from the planet by other means without delivering his message, but he was fairly certain she was still waiting on a payment. And so she would go back to the scarred Klingon. And he would come to Klath.
After a moment of further contemplation, and after subduing a further bout of shame, he returned to the task of sharpening the blade of his weapon.
Preparing himself for battle.
End of Part Two