“Andik Hotet, Villa Six, Lamex Spa,” Sidda uttered once more from the comfort of her command chair to the officious looking Romulan man on the viewscreen. “How hard can it be to put me through to him?”

The man’s face on the viewscreen sneered, like he was going to say something that would truly harm interstellar relations, when the channel switched over to some other Romulan without any warning whatsoever. This one, older looker then the one before, wore one of those smiles that was immediately disingenuous. Service industry putting on a good face came to mind. “Captain Sidda, pardon my inferior’s ineptitude. Your arrival to pay a short visit to see Andik Hotet was expected, however he is currently unavailable.”

“And?” she asked back, covering her face in exasperation, fingers rubbing at her eyebrows. “I want to speak with him and the sooner I do, the sooner I leave your little star system and be on my way.”

The planet Ta’shen was located near the border of the Romulan Star Empire, the Romulan Republic and the Romulan Free State. If it had been a complete and utter disaster at attempted reconciliation between the rump states, overrun with criminals, pirates and vagabonds and a generally inhospitable place to live, it would have made a fairly impressive contestant with Nimbus III for Worst Planet in the Galaxy. Instead however the world had become something of an open port within the Romulan Star Empire – if you could afford it was.

So for the vast majority of its inhabitants, it probably was in the running with Nimbus III.

Before the collapse of the Star Empire the world had been a vacation retreat for the rich and powerful with darker tastes seeking fulfilment and discretion. After the collapse it was exactly the same, but now served as a place where the rich and powerful of all the Romulan rump states could congregate to engage in unofficial diplomacy or under the counter deal making while enjoying a relaxing spa weekend with all the amenities those with few to no morals enjoyed.

In short just the place that Sidda would have loved to have raided in days yore, string up the ‘rulers’, take all the good loot and left the freed slaves to figure out things on their own. Of course she’d never really been that type of pirate at all and in those imagined days  the world had been too far inside Romulan territory for her and the Imperial Navy was far too much a threat to her little ship. Still was if she was honest, but at least she’d give a good showing for it.

Though some news recently had started to show cracks in the once unblemished Star Navy that perhaps hinted at lucrative markets coming her way soon enough.

Na’roq had continued her investigation into who was putting bounties out on Revin and had learned something of interest, or someone who purported to have some interesting intelligence at least. Intelligence that contradicted what they already had though. A merchant lord of the Star Empire, dealing with the other Romulan states, with information to sell. And while Sidda wouldn’t have been able to meet him anywhere else within the xenophobic Star Empire, which he was unwilling to leave, Ta’shen was the one exception of where they could meet. And he claimed he needed a holiday anyway.

So here she was, with the Vondem Rose, negotiating with planetary officials to just put her call through as they closed on the planet so she could get the information and be on her way. The Star Empire for the last few years had smelled off to her and she didn’t want to be within its borders any longer then she had to be.

“Honoured guest Andik Hotet has given orders that he is not to be disturbed, according to the proprietors of the Lamec Spa. He has paid, however, for the privilege of you visiting him at the Lamec Spa in person to engage in your…business.” The man said that last word in such a way he didn’t know why she was here, but he’d already made a decision on his own as to why a wealthy Romulan merchant would want to talk in person with an orion woman.

“Fine. Give us vectors for orbit and transporter coordinates. We’ll get this over with nice and quick,” she said in resignation, a hand gesture to Jenu Trid, on rotation from the Martian Thorn, to proceed in-system quickly.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Your vessel has been scanned and we can’t allow an armed non-Romulan vessel into orbit. The safety of our honoured guests is paramount. We’ll have to insist your ship takes orbit of our outermost moon and you will need to proceed via shuttle from there.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, and give the man the ‘Really?’ look she had mastered as a child. “Fuck it. Fine, send us the coordinates. I want to leave just as much as you want me too.”

“Flight information shall be transmitted within the next two minutes. Enjoy your brief visit to Ta’shen,” the man said with practised ease before the channel went dead.

“After this, no more runs into the Star Empire, okay?” she asked the crew on the bridge and Sidda was pleased with the number of affirmative head nods and vocalisations agreeing with her.

The tap on her shoulder was gentle but insistent, which coming from Orin most would never expect. Sidda however knew her cousin very well and knew his ‘I want to talk’ tap. Turning to face the whole chair at him, something she relished since stealing it from the Endeavour, she offered a smile. “Yes?”

‘I do not like this,’ he signed to her, his expression backing up his statement. ‘We will not be in orbit to provide any support. I will go and get the information, as is proper for your station.’

She nodded in understanding, then stood, looking up at her tactical officer and gentle giant when required. “He’s paid for me to visit, which means no one else is really going to get into the city from the space port. Not without good cause”

‘I will find a way,’ he signed.

“No doubt you would, cousin, but I’m not going to risk it. I’ll go down and take Revin and R’tin with me. We’ll bring…Trid,” Sidda said, having scanned the bridge. “Need a shuttle pilot anyway.”

“Me ma’am?” the Bajoran woman spoke up. “What about Chalmers, or Grent? Beckett?”

“You Trid. Revin and R’tin should be able to get through easily enough, they’re Romulan after all and I’ll say they’re my advisors or some such. We can swing the story that you’re R’tin’s…paramour.” She saw Trid’s momentary blush, then smiled at Orin, signing to him ‘Her and R’tin?’ but said “We’ll take two guards for the shuttle as well. Hendricks and Grelka, she’s qualified to fly.”

Orin let out a sigh, the one she knew meant she’d won the argument but that he was most certainly not happy about it. ‘Yes Grelka is. And yes there is some sort of tension between R’tin and Trid.’

“That’s settled then!” she exclaimed for all to hear. “Trid, get us to that damned moon. And someone scan that planet. No fair they know what we’re packing, I want to know what they’ve got too. Just in case I get…adventurous and decide I need to raid a Romulan resort world.”

“Aye ma’am,” Tavol said, a Vulcan she’d borrowed off of Gaeda and the Thorn to help her understand her long time prisoner in the brig. Vulcan perspective on the Vulcan mind and all that other mental gymnastics. Preliminaries are already detecting numerous weapon platforms in orbit, separate targeting platforms as well.”

She gave a slight shrug and headed for the door. “Send initial scans through to my quarters. I’ll check them straight away, but keep scanning. I want to know everything before I get off this ship. Oh, and do whatever you need to do to check for cloaked starships. I don’t want any surprises, or mines for that matter.”

“Of course,” Tavol responded, already adjusting his scans. “That will take some time however.”

“Do what you got to do, Tavol.” And with that she finally closed on the door, the sensors opening the portal to her presence.

Stepping out, she smiled at Revin waiting for her and collected the woman’s hand as they proceeded down the corridor into the ship proper. “So, what’s for lunch?”

The Klingon combat shuttles that the Vondem Rose had come with weren’t exactly the best shuttle design in the galaxy but Trid had to give them their due, they were reliable and solid little beasts. The craft weren’t very aerodynamic, opting for a ‘fight the atmosphere’ mentality via the twin mechanisms of excessive engine power and incredibly powerful thruster systems. All more likely installed to account for combat damage during an assault and needing redundancies to ensure a good drop.

After all, where was the honour in dying on the way to the fight? Much more honourable to hit the ground dazed, confused, concussed and then die.

Today’s shuttle, charitably called ‘Shuttle 1’, the naming pool hadn’t settled on one and their deck chief, a klingon, claimed she didn’t see the point in naming a shuttle, was flying in a remarkably good fashion. Better than she expected in fact having not flown one yet and having only heard others talk about the experience. She expected it to be rough, bumpy, threatening to kill its passengers as much as whoever it landed on top of. But instead it handled surprisingly well. Controls were slow to respond, but when they did, they came with a lot of kick to them.

“Sorry,” she said after another correction had clearly been far too much for the poor inertial compensators to fully handle. “This thing kicks when it wants to.”

“Whoever designed these things must have had a targ he thought was absolutely funny to base a shuttle on,” Captain Sidda muttered from her seat in the back.

There was no dual seat setup like on Federation shuttles, at least not on the ones the Rose had. The rest of the space was for warriors to prepare for combat, or to evac wounded who might live to see another battle. Strictly utilitarian.

“Klingon shuttle, remain on your assigned flight path,” came a voice from the comm panel and Trid sighed before jamming a finger on the console briefly. 

“Shuttle…Ro,” she said, assigning the name on a whim, “acknowledges.” Her hands went back to the controls, rebalancing the craft’s flight path and making corrections to the limiters on the thrusters. Adjustments would need to be made to the response times, the power of thrusters tuned down. But she’d make a suitable little shuttle with a bit of love and care.

There was no followup to her acknowledgement but at least there wasn’t a volley of weapons fire either.

“I’ll have us on the ground in five more minutes, Cap,” she said as she settled the craft onto a nice and proper flight path. No more jarring and jostling from atmospheric interfacing, just smooth flying to the space port and settling the craft down.

“Hey Trid,” R’tin spoke, sounding like he was at the far back of the shuttle. “We’re going to have to give this thing a tune up when we get back to the Rose. The starboard engine is making some weird noises back here.”

“Define weird,” came Sidda’s demand.

“We’re probably not getting as efficient a run on the engines as I’d like and more likely to burn out the starboard in a few dozen hours of usage,” he said. “But we’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about. We can fly on one engine. Right Trid?”

“Uh yah, sure,” she said, glad no one could see her face as continued flying.

The city they were heading to, T’ma’ru, was the only real settlement on the entire planet, outside of some limited mineral extraction operations far, far away from this place. It was a place of distinct differences, with privilege and power on display in the seaside resorts and accommodations, the wide avenues from the spaceport to the resorts and the governor’s palace perched upon a large rocky prominence, forming a looming edifice of Romulan power over the have-not’s of Ta’shen.

The other part of the city, the vast majority by far, was clearly where the workers lived and carried out the supporting roles and jobs to cater to the entertainment of their ‘betters’. The streets were more crowded, the buildings far less glamorous or clean. It was a part of T’ma’ru that no senator of their families would ever have to see once they arrived planetside, unless of course they wanted to go and indulge themselves.

“Serfs and slaves,” Sidda remarked as she loomed over Trid’s shoulder slightly, looking out the window at the city below. “Either way, poor bastards, the lot of them. The Star Empire never shies away from showing its true colours.”

“Prophets,” she muttered. “Seriously, slaves? I thought it was just propaganda to scare little children.”

“And in the Star Empire, the lack of slaves in the Federation is how they know they’re better then everyone else. After all, it’s only natural that a Romulan should be elevated above all others.”

“A tired opinion I’m glad is on the way out,” Revin chipped in from elsewhere in the shuttle. “The only time a romulan should be elevated..”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Sidda said very, very quickly. “Set us down and no need to be fancy. They think we’re all barbarians anyway, fancy flying isn’t going to impress them.”

“Right you are.” And with that she proceeded not to try and impress anyone, just comply with directions from traffic control and settle the shuttle down inside the encircled landing pad that had been assigned to them.

The space port, at least the one they had landed had, was clearly geared more for visitors, not for bulk cargo, like the large landing fields they’d flown over on the edge of the city. Each bay was isolated from the others with reasonably high walls to afford privacy and security. The building itself looked immaculate, clearly what was supposed to be the first impression of T’ma’ru to honoured guests arriving by shuttle and not just beaming down from orbit.

Down and post-flights complete, she’d spent a few minutes briefing Grelka on what pre-flights should be, and which steps were truly required. The ship was built with combat pilots in mind after all and proper steps weren’t always in the cards. Then she was passing Hendricks at the aft ramp where he checked she had her phaser on her hip. “Charged Trid?”

“Always.”

“Can I check?”

She gave him a look that said ‘Am I stupid?’ before relenting and letting him confirm her weapon was ready. It wasn’t a modern phaser, probably older then she was truth be told, but it still did the job and unlike the disruptor in Sidda’s holster, or the sword on her hip she insisted on bringing with her, had a stun setting. That’s when she spotted Revin’s weapon and turned to Hendricks, nodding her head in Revin’s direction while questioning him with her eyes.

“Orin checked her out on phasers a week ago. She’s not a great shot, but she’ll give you cover if it comes to it,” he replied. “Just…don’t stand in front of her. Or let her close her eyes. Or do, maybe?”

“Right…” she said, drawing out the word. “You and Grelka run into any trouble, just close the ramp and raise the shields. This thing is designed to take a beating.”

“From small arms,” he corrected as she walked away.

Sidda, Revin and R’tin were all standing around, waiting, halfway between the shuttle and two Romulan guards waiting at the exit from the pad. They wore something that looked like a take on the Star Navy uniform, but was just off enough. Something she’d never seen before, but their behaviour said Navy enough to her.

“All good?” Sidda asked.

“We’re good. Grelka’s got the shuttle comms listening in case we need them. Hendricks is prepared to slam the door shut if a guard so much as looks at him funny I think.”

Their exit through the terminal of the spaceport took them only a couple hundred metres of walking and nearly a half hour of questions, scans, more questions, disdainful looks and finally being allowed on their way when documents and calls came through letting them pass, with their weapons even, though special disdain had apparently been levied on Sidda’s weapons. For Trid’s part she didn’t like this one bit and could see that same concern on Sidda’s face. Revin and R’tin were both impossible to judge, having adopted rather neutral expressions and maintaining them perfectly.

The ground car that awaited them had no driver, merely a computer that asked for a destination before starting its journey along the left hand side of the smaller avenue she’d spotted on the way in. While smaller and not nearly as grandiose as the other, which would have hosted the odd visiting dignitary heading directly for the governor’s palace, it was still an ostentatious display of status. 

“I’ve never seen such an unnecessary bald face display of wealth,” she found herself saying as she watched the city go by. The buildings along the avenue clearly were facades, to give the impression even the lowest here on Ta’shen were well off.

“Neither have I,” Revin said, watching it all impassively. “But it doesn’t surprise me.”

“Big egos need big roads,” R’tin chipped in. “The Republic’s a bit better. The Free State too. But it’s a Romulan cultural thing that’s changing slowly. The old traditions just weren’t serving the state as well anymore.”

“Didn’t help the Orion empires of old either. Or the Cardassians. Had to fail the Romulans eventually.” Sidda’s tone was icy. “Honestly surprised a place like this still exists within the Star Empire, but then again some powerful sponsors probably helped keep it going.”

“Now that doesn’t surprise me at all,” R’tin said. “Cronyism is alive and…”

R’tin stopped speaking when Sidda and Revin opposite R’tin and herself both winced at something behind them. All she saw was the bright light that flashed over the buildings on the street, noticeable even in the late morning, casting shadows where shadows shouldn’t be.

She turned just in time to see the rising mushroom cloud over the spaceport. And in time for the second flash of light, bigger this time, much bigger, that must have engulfed the entire spaceport. The shockwave swept over the city and towards them, funnelled down the avenue by the buildings on either side. It wasn’t the wave of devastation it would have been closer to the spaceport, but enough to violently rock the ground car and send her and R’tin falling towards Sidda and Revin.

Before she could even regain her seat Sidda was already on her communicator. “Grelka, Hendricks, answer me dammit!”

Static was the only response.

“Grelka, Hendricks!”

Then the sirens started to blare all over the city.

The sirens had started blaring just in time for the backblast to sweep across the city towards the spaceport and the rising fireball where it had been. The ground car had been tossed in the first shockwave, turned in the second, flipped by the backblast. Her hearing was a ringing buzz with muffled undertones. She was helping someone out of the car? Being dragged away herself? An alley between two of the facades offered some protection.

There was Revin, checking her over. A cut along her forehead, green blood down the side of her face, matting with her hair. She said something, but didn’t make it out. It was repeated to no avail.

“What?” she shouted back over that insistent droning noise.

A finger to her lips stopped her shouting again and a snapped one handed signal ‘Quiet’ was signed at her. She nodded in understanding, then raised a hand of her own, about to sign before she saw the red blood all over her hand.

Was it hers? She checked her arm, then her torso. Blood on her shirt, but the shirt wasn’t ripped. She pushed at her abdomen, checking for injuries. Nothing that screamed of an open wound but her ribs felt like someone had kicked her a half dozen times, then a dozen more for good measure. Nothing felt broken, but she suspected she’d have a hell of a bruise pattern forming.

Then she saw R’tin and Trid on the other side of the alley. She couldn’t tell much of R’tin for his back was to her, tending to Trid who was bleeding from a wound similar to Revin’s but more profuse in its outpouring. Then she saw the blood on Trid’s shirt, seeping through her shirt. The same red that was on her hand. “Check her,” she pointed at Trid, speaking quietly. “I’m fine.”

She still didn’t hear Revin, but she read what she said easily enough. ‘Liar.’ But she scrambled across the alley to R’tin’s side, mostly obscuring Trid from sight and doubling the number of hands raiding a first aid kit she had never seen before. Was it from the car?

The ringing was getting quieter, but slowly. Fingers came up, snapped a few times. Then held next to her ear and repeated. Muffled again. Repeat on the other side. Better, but not much. So it wasn’t some noise, but her own hearing. Oh this was going to get a growling at by Bones eventually. Regenerative surgery on ears was always a nightmare.

One eye was checked, then the other. Legs both moved, arms too. Chest hurt like no one’s business. Left shoulder was sore, like she’d landed on it all wrong. Or been thrown on it a few times. Disruptor, where was it? Hands patted, confirming it was in her holster. Then her brain clicked. She was sitting on the ground in an alleyway. That sword should have been a colossal pain but it wasn’t. It wasn’t there. Where was it?

She looked, not wanting to speak up and distract R’tin and Revin. It was nowhere near by. The alleyway was terribly clean, the only obstructions being side entries into the buildings on either side, or utility boxes, which was what they were presently between on either side. One end turned, flowing into the path that led behind the buildings, the other was blocked by the remains of the car, resting on its side and top, prevented from rolling completely, this time at least, by the buildings on either side that it’s ends were jammed against.

Scrambling to her feet was an interesting experience, her ribs protesting each movement and she could hear herself hissing in pain because she was vocalising it herself. And probably expecting it. Everything was moving either way too slow or way too fast, but not consistent. Shock, she thought, was an interesting thing.

Her left leg shot with pain, searing and hot, sharp like a knife when she put her weight on it. She’d have fallen if not for the utility cabinet she’d been using to help her stand in the first place. There was an awful gash down her leg, her pants ruined, but it wasn’t gushing, it wasn’t flowing either. It looked like an awful lot of very small scratches, or a rash? Had she slid along some abrasive surface? Thrown from the car perhaps? Her left arm was much the same she realised then, not having seen the outside of her arm. Leg, arm, shoulder – it all was lining up at least. What had happened again?

The car had been tossed, but why? A flash, then a second. A shockwave. Two large explosions? The spaceport! Grelka and Hendricks, they hadn’t responded to her calls. Why hadn’t they? The shuttle could take it right? It was built by idiots who in a day and age of long range weapons still wanted to hit their enemies with swords. Stupid clunky sword-staff hybrid monstrousities. 

She took a step towards the upended car. It was fine, then that searing pain came back to her. That was going to get old quick. Quick was one more step. She hissed at the pain, heard some muffled shout behind her that she waved off and took another step. Teeth ground at this one. Ten excruciating steps got her to the car, its glass bubble broken, shards all over the ground. Blood was smeared all over the ground, a mix of red and green, more of the former she noted.

There amongst the wreckage she found her sword, the scabbard lightly scuffed from being thrown around. She’d taken it off when she got in? It made sense. She’d only brought it with her as a fashion piece anyway. To show off. All those Star Navy twits and their daggers. Well hers was bigger yah?

Bracing against the frame she leaned down, reaching for it while her body screamed at her to take it easy, to stop. Fingers wriggled, caught the belt once, twice, a third with a finger hooked behind it this time. It was a relieved sigh when she righted herself, her prize in hand, going through the motions of securing it to her hip. A blinking light in the rumble caught her attention and it took her brain a few seconds to recognise it.

Again some things were fast, others slow. She was trying to think what it was, picked it up even through a fog of pain before realising it was her communicator. She loved the older device, it’s though truthfully it was more of a retro-remake then actually old. Anachronistic she’d been told by Bones once. The device was still open, its lights blinking at her.

The buzzing was less now, pain apparently good at helping to clear it, but not something she wanted to keep doing. She listened, unable to hear anything, so held it closer to her ear. Static, the hissing of the cosmos came from the little machine, then it squealed before some music started playing from it, loud and full of itself. Pompous in the extreme.

The lip was snapped shut and she pocketed the device in a smooth action purely on muscle memory. Then she turned to look towards the space port. She expected to see the rising form of a shuttle, swooping in their direction like a fat armoured flying turtle, its gruff exterior uncaring for anyone who didn’t want it in the air including the laws of common sense and physics. Instead she was greeted by the sight of a rising mushroom cloud from the spaceport.

The top was already flattening out, clouds pushed away in ascending rings as the bulbous shape moved upwards in a rolling self-feeding ring of plasma. It dragged dust and detritus up with it, the heating and sudden cooling of air condensing to give the cloud its column.

There was no way the shuttle survived an explosion powerful enough to create a mushroom cloud that large, its shadow casting over the city. No way.

She breathed in sharply, the pain registering but unimportant in the shadow of the fury that was building in her. She had lost two of her own. They might have been new, might have only been with them for a few months, but they were part of her crew. Her family.

Blood for blood.

The hand that suddenly settled on her shoulder was met with her whipping around, disruptor drawn in a smooth action and pointed straight into Revin’s own torso. Pressed into her gut in fact. She knew who this was. Knew what she’d done. What she’d just about done. Her eyes dropped to the weapon in her hand, just staring at it.

Revin’s own hands gently wrapped around her own and lowered the weapon before removing it from her shaking hand then holstered it before cupping her own face. “Revenge,” Revin said, her voice, her words, honey sweet and dripping with ice, cutting through the noise, “is a dish not rushed in its making.” She then just held her there, facing her to look her lover in the eyes.

She breathed in and out, slow and deep, pain with each inhalation, but focused on Revin. Seconds passed before Revin simply nodded and let her go. R’tin and Trid were behind Revin, the latter with her arm around R’tin’s shoulders and limp, a bandage applied to her head wound, a tourniquet on her leg. At least she’d gotten proper attention. Attention she knew she needed, but anger would carry her a while longer.

“Where to boss?” R’tin asked. For all it was worth the man looked unscathed, aside from looking like someone had rolled him around in dirt and messed up his hair.

She nodded, brain trying to process what needed to be done. She hadn’t thought about it before the communicator chirped in her hand as she flicked it open. “Sidda to Rose, come in.” That same blasted music was blaring out of the device and her eyes went to both Revin and R’tin for some sort of explanation.

“The Imperial anthem,” both of them said in unison. “Someone must be a fan,” R’tin added.

So comms were being jammed with nationalistic fervour. Someone had blown up their shuttle and all the others on the planet not in the Governor’s Palace. And she could swear she could hear the whine of disruptors in the distance. Or much closer depending on her hearing.

One last deep breath, masking the pain from her crew. “Lamec Spa. We were nearly there, a couple of kilometres at most. We find Hotet, we beat the information out of him, then we beat the hell out of whoever we have to to get off this rock.”

“Ah, I see we’re going right past Plan B to Plan C after all,” Trid tossed in, then coughed at the end, the coughing begetting more before she stopped herself.

“I never liked Plan A anyway,” Sidda said, then looked at the gap between the car, the building and the ground. It was going to be a bitch to crawl through, especially for her and Trid, but she didn’t want to risk back alleys she didn’t know and could easily get lost in. “Let’s go.”

“Well shit.”

R’tin couldn’t help but smile at his boss’ unhappiness, but the simple unhappy statement was a perfect summary of what lay before them. All four of them had arrived at the pool around the same time after splitting up, gathering together to make sure what they were each seeing was what they all were seeing.

Floating, face down, in the largest freshwater pool of the Lamec Spa, the water tinged green, was the single largest romulan he’d ever seen. The flamboyant clothes, the jewellery on his hands, the mop of grey hair – there was no mistaking this as anyone other than Andik Hotet from the description and images they’d studied..

Shot in the back no doubt in the same massacre that must have swept the Lamec Spa not even an hour ago.

He could see Sidda rubbing the bridge of her nose, the other resting on the pommel of the sword at her hip, clearly exasperated by the situation at hand. Had to admit to himself that the rakish pirate look was working for her, the added extra of looking like someone had tried to blow her up was certainly not hurting the entire image. A few pictures wouldn’t hurt her reputation, to truly show people she was pretty resilient to the concept of death, but he didn’t feel like dying in the asking.

Just a few minutes ago he had found himself stepping out to the seaside facing terraces of the Lamec Spa and was greeted immediately with more of the same he’d found inside. Dead bodies were all over the place, the entire place tossed and turned in a bloody frenzy. The place had clearly been a battle zone and it seemed that the aristocratic asses and their guards were no match for the vastly larger numbers of staffers who had been running the place.

That wasn’t to say they hadn’t given as well as they got, but the majority of bodies he’d found so far hadn’t been wearing the spa’s uniform. The lack of anyone still here was interesting but less disturbing than the lack of weapons. Whoever had fled had taken the weapons of fallen guards with them. Used them even already after no doubt taking them from the first few kills. The slaughter would have then picked up the pace.

His own personal wager was the bomb or bombs, at the spaceport had been the go signal for an uprising no doubt in the making for years, decades, or entire lifetimes for the underclass here on Ta’shen. A chance to strike out and kill the ‘betters’ who oppressed the people of this world for their own enjoyment. And from the looks of it, here at the spa at least, that had even gone so far as romulan on romulan violence.

Remans rising up he could understand. Nothing against them, he could understand their anger at those in charge. His own lower castes as well marginally treated better, but not by much, in his experience. But he hadn’t expected it to be so bloody, so unrestrained in its violence. Guess that’s what happens when pent up anger finally explodes.

It had gone from shock to disgust to a point where he just had to accept it was happening, mentally note it down and keep going. Drink the problem away later with Bones and whatever that vile concoction she made was called that she swore was medicinal.

But here, right here, floating face down, was the one and only reason they had come to this world just in time for whatever was going on to kick off.

“Say that again boss,” Trid finally spoke after a half-minute of silence.

“So, if Hotet’s dead,” he started to speak, “what next?”

Five minutes later and they’d relocated to the spa’s onsite medical facility, which was really just an overly flash but well equipped first aid station. Enough to settle minor ills of visitors, or help them with certain medical conditions that might limit their enjoyment while residing here, going by the not entirely necessary medicines on shelves for all to see. They still had no plan but were able to make good some of their injuries at least. Nothing for bruised bones or Trid’s possibly fractured arm, but a dermal regenerator at least would heal up flesh wounds and prevent either more blood loss or possible infection.

And from Trid’s faint smile, he thought he was doing quite well for an engineer. She hadn’t lashed out at him at least. “There we go, not quite as new, but at least you’re a lot more tidied up than before.” He deactivated the regenerator and pocketed the device, its use likely to come in handy sooner rather than later. “I’d recommend the sauna and a relaxing massage, as soon as facilities reopen.”

That killed Trid’s smile and turned into a frown in quick order. “Not funny,” she said just loud enough for him to hear. “Seriously not funny.”

“Why?”

“People have died here R’tin. Fuck, lots of people have. More will. This isn’t funny.”

He got it, he understood what she was saying, but dark humour he knew was a defence mechanism of his. He shrugged his shoulders. “Neither is being stuck on a world that’s gone mad, but if I don’t laugh, I’ll probably scream.”

“Scream later,” Sidda said as she hopped off the table she’d been sitting on nearby, tending to a couple of communicators they had found. All of them had produced the same repeating broadcast about the might and glory of the eternal Romulan Star Empire on every communications channel there was. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Plan boss?” he asked.

“Communications jamming is likely coming from the palace,” she said as she walked over to a window with a view of the place. “We get inside, disable the comm jammer, anything else that’s in our way and get Orelia to swing by and beam us out. Then we get the fuck out of the system and find out what the fuck is going on.”

The palace was an edifice of Romulan statehood – large, imposing, built up high to look down on everyone else. It was built on a large rocky outcropping that would make an assault at ground level difficult, fortified in its own right and big enough to likely house its own generators, shield systems and enough housing for a sizable number of aristocrats and garrison forces. 

“Sounds like a suicide run Cap,” Trid added. “Jammer can’t be that extensive, we could try and get out of the city and call the ship.”

“Eh,” he found himself responding with a shrug of shoulders. “Good jammer is likely good for a few thousand kilometres, if they’re using say…naval surplus? Or an old Tal’Shiar jammer to prevent any comms. And besides, we saw those orbital platforms on the way in. Plasma disruptors, torpedo launchers, and pretty decent shielding I’d say too. No way the Rose is getting close enough to beam us out without taking an absolute pounding, and that’s before they drop the shields.”

Sidda’s sigh, then a kick to the wall was the answer he needed. She wanted a solution, not more problems.

“But…” he continued, “maybe some scouting might tell us something. And I’m confident the rest of the crew will figure something out. After all, T’Ael is still up there, and Orelia isn’t going to leave us behind…right?”

The affirmative head nods from Revin and Trid helped, but there was no response from Sidda’s back for nearly a minute. Then she turned around with that smile on her face he’d seen a few times, like just before a shuttle raid on a pirate base, or before blowing a D’Ghor base out of the sky.

“Patrol incoming,” she said and soon enough all of them were at the window looking where she pointed them at. Coming up the road towards the spa, on foot and moving at a decent pace, were four romulan soldiers, all dressed in that just off uniform they’d seen at the spaceport. He reckoned it had to be a new garrison duty jacket or some such, to distinguish ground forces from the navy. Same cut, same style, slightly different colours and ornamentation.

He didn’t see Sidda’s face, but he could hear the predatory smile as she spoke next. “Let’s introduce ourselves and get some answers, yah?”

“Does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on down there?” Orelia demanded as she marched onto the bridge of the Vondem Rose with the speed, energy and determination of a loose torpedo.

“It looks like a thermonuclear detonation took place at the spaceport, which compromised the shuttle’s antimatter containment,” Tavol said with emotionless dispatch that instantly drew her ire. Vulcans however seemed to have a pathological inability to register any fear in the face of someone as pissed off as she was.

“Get me the captain. Now!” she demanded.

“Comms are being jammed,” Deidrick Osterman said. “Imperial propaganda on most frequencies, then a warning for us to stay away from the planet on the channel they’ve used to speak with us before.” He turned to face her. “No response to hails or requests for more information.”

She stewed there for a moment, thinking, then took two deep breaths and let the anger settle. Who knew that K’tah would be a good influence in her life, teaching her Klingon meditation to focus her anger, to make a weapon of it and use it when needed.

“Shields up, bring weapons to combat readiness.” Her words were quiet but echoed on the bridge, then washed out by the sounds of klaxons.

“Defense Condition One,” the computer announced and thankfully no longer in the Klingon voice that barked it for all to hear, but something more familiar to the many crew who were former Starfleet, or at least had lived in the Federation most of their lives. “All hands to combat stations.”

“Break orbit and begin closing on the planet. Target the nearest defence platform and make it damned obvious.”

“That is not a logical course of action,” Tavol said. “Perhaps there are other…” he continued before being cut off by Deidrick.

“Incoming hail from the governor’s office,” Deidrick announced, a pleasant surprise to his voice, as if he too hadn’t expected the tactic to work, or at least this quickly. A moment later the viewscreen was filled with the face of some Romulan officer who was wearing a sneer on their face that Orelia assumed was the standard navy issue.

“This is your final warning orion; stay away from Ta’shen or be fired upon.” The woman’s voice even sounded like how her face looked.

“I want to speak with my captain. Now.”

It was a clear clash of wills, but only one could win.

“She’s dead, just like everyone else at the spaceport. Your faulty shuttle exploded, killing a senator, their family and countless other Romulan lives.” The woman smiled like she was the master of a puppet, about ready to pull harshly on the strings for her own pleasure. “Surrender now and when the navy arrives, I’ll make sure your crew aren’t executed immediately. Labourers are always needed after all.”

They both continued their staring contest across the vacuum via the medium of their respective screens before Orelia ordered the screen off with a hand signal. “She’s lying. They have no idea where the captain is and I’d bet not a single important person in their mind was killed in the explosion.”

“However, there does appear to be signs of combat across the city,” Tavol spoke, bringing up scans of Ta’shen on the viewscreen. The resolution wasn’t great from this distance, but pillars of smoke and burning fires across the city of T’ma’ru could be seen, as well as a shimmer around the perimeter of the governor’s residence betraying the presence of a shield.

“Hmm…range to the defence platforms?” she asked.

“Thirty seconds,” Deidrick answered just as Orin stepped onto the bridge, taking over at Tactical.

“Fire when ready,” she ordered and stepped up behind the centre seat, hands resting on the headrest as she leaned forward to watch out of the now cleared viewscreen.

As they neared, alerts started to sound from the helm and tactical both as weapons were locked onto the ship, both sides exchanging fire at the same time when optimal ranges were met. Disruptors alike ripped across space, a handful of torpedoes as well surging forth. For nearly twenty seconds it continued unabated, status updates shouted across the bridge as fire was poured into a defence platform that seemed stubbornly unaffected. The Vondem Rose for her part rocked and bucked with each hit, but so far was weathering the storm of assault from a single platform well enough.

“Shields at twenty percent,” Deidrick announced after a particularly hard impact as torpedoes from the platform found their target. “Two more platforms have locked on to us.”

“Engineering to the bridge,” came T’Ael’s voice over the comms, “We’ve got power fluctuations down here and it’s not looking pretty. I’m going to have to cut main power if this keeps up.”

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself. “Break off, take us back to the moon.”

Only fifteen minutes later she was surrounded by the remaining senior staff aboard ship, save for T’Ael who was busy in engineering doing, in her own exact words, ‘bloody miracles’. At least she’d confirmed the problem wasn’t combat damage but more likely a design flaw they’d never run into before since that had been the first time they’d brought all of their weapons to bear.

“We need a plan.”

The obvious statement echoed around the conference room and off those assembled. Orin, quiet as always, but a grimace on his face that hinted at a truly unhappy disposition; Deidrick, the ship’s head of security, separate from Orin’s tactical now; Tavol, their resident vulcan that Sidda had brought back from the Martian Thorn – all of them without a single idea.

“Bad plan is better than no plan,” she said after a few seconds. “Anything?”

“Load the other shuttle up with as many people as we can, drop planet side, go dark before we hit the defence platforms, float past them, hit the city hard, find the captain, then burn out of there like we stole something.” Deidrick’s plan had simplicity at least going for it.

Orin’s fingers however were very slow and very deliberate in his denial, but no follow up was offered.

“Might I suggest,” Tavol spoke up, standing as he did so and approaching the windows looking out, “a few hours of observation? There may be a flaw in the defence platforms that we could exploit, but I would need to observe the system in detail.”

“How much detail?” she asked.

“The longer the better.” He turned, pacing back. “I would also need numerous probes, ideally fitted with emissions packages to spoof signatures for the Vondem Rose. I wish to provoke the platforms and the defenders planetside to see what their responses look like.”

She mulled it over, glancing at both Orin and Deidrick. The human looked uninterested, but her fellow orion offered a single nod, then held his hand up with all four fingers raised. “Looks like you got four probes Tavol. Make them count.”

“I shall endeavour to do my best.”

“Good, in the meantime, I’m going to see if I can scrounge up some assistance for you Tavol.”

Five minutes later and Orelia was in the brig, which they had made more comfortable than the original klingon holding cells, and a fair bit more compartmentalised. It wouldn’t have done for their previous ‘guests’ to have started to kill each other in job lots after all. But those days were gone now, all of the slavers and murderers shipped off to the Republic of Empire, even the Federation, for sizable bounties. All of them except for one.

T’Rev, the Last Pirate King, had become Sidda’s personal guest. Something about only wanting to hand him over to the right person, along with that Betazoid jewel they’d taken from him. No doubt some stunt was in mind. But what it meant was that right now there were in fact two Vulcans aboard the ship and one of them was after all a pirate and raider of worlds in another day and age.

“I was wondering,” T’Rev said, kneeling in meditation in the middle of his cell, forced to abandon nice robes for a bright green jumpsuit, again another of Sidda’s ideas, “when you would come to see me Captain Sadovu.”

“Not her,” Orelia announced, which earned an open eye, a tilting of the head, and then he proceeded to get to his feet.

“Interesting. A new interrogator? Mistress Orelia, yes?” he asked, stepping towards the forcefield.

“I want to know how you’d go about raiding a world defended by a collection of defence platforms.”

“I would require more information to make an initial plan. May I suggest studying your target first?”

She glared at him, which didn’t seem to do anything. “When I have more data, will you help?”

“Do I have a choice?” he asked back.

“No.”

He nodded in understanding, then returned to his spot, kneeling once more. “Then as it is only logical to make all efforts to continue living, I shall assist.”

“There,” Sidda said with a shot of her disrupter, “is,” another shot, “just a never,” a third shot when a target dutifully presented itself, “ending tide of these idiots.”

Save that with those shots of her disruptor and a fusillade of fire from the rest of her people, the advancing Remans had either been dropped, either unconscious or moaning in pain from disruptor wounds, or had opted to end their advance like sensible people.

The advance on the governor’s palace had taken a turn away from a heist and towards urban warfare when a roving band of Remans had found them on the streets. Both groups had just opted to stare at each other for a good minute before something was said and the Remans had started shouting and running at them. Weapons fire had only scattered the group and soon enough another couple of bands had appeared from side streets and alleys, forming a veritable horde that was far more mobile than they were.

That mobility had forced them to enter a building, its purpose unimportant for now, which afforded a controlled field of fire at least. There was, at least on first impression, only one way in or out. That would change once they were fully encircled, but for now bought time. Windows were smashed out in quick succession and from there they’d proceeded to use their weapon’s advantage in range to thin the horde. Clubs and spears and repurposed garden tools didn’t quite measure up to modern firearms.

“Who the fuck are these people anyway?” R’tin asked. “And who the fuck answers ‘Hello’ with ‘Death to the Romulans’ anyway?”

“Slaves who’ve had enough,” Trid answered. “I’ll tell you about Bajor another day, but trust me, a group of people will happily run on racial hate for a very long time.”

“Sad but true,” Revin answered, her tone of voice a lot calmer than anyone else’s and surprisingly still sing-song-like. “This certainly looks like a slave revolt, but where is everyone else?”

“Dead or forming their own groups. Or they’ve already fled the city,” Sidda said as she checked her disruptor’s charge levels. “I really need a new cell for this thing.”

“Wouldn’t be a shit cell if you stopped firing it at full power. Which, by the way, thank you for not doing today.” R’tin offered a cheeky smile back along the line to counter the glare sent his way. “Okay, this truly sucks. The whole city has gone mad, our ride is gone and where the hell is Orelia dammit?”

“Defence platforms,” Trid answered. “Bet they’ve gone live. Would need a small task force to punch through.”

“More have arrived,” Revin said. She’d dropped below the window frame, back to the wall, eyes closed and a hand on the floor. Taking in all the sounds around her and her warning convincing all to be quiet so she could focus. “Too much noise, they’re too far away.”

Everything had gone quiet, the lull before another fight as the Remans were preparing in some way or another. Then a loud thump drew Sidda’s attention as she leaned around a door frame to see what the source was. Out in the open stood a single Reman, a truly impressive specimen for the species in height and build, wielding a weapon that looked like a hastily assembled maul by someone who’d heard what a maul was. Or taken it from a gladiator pit where weapons needed to look menacing for the spectacle of it.

“Romulans!” the man shouted and in the quiet his voice echoed across the building fronts of the small street. “Have honour and fight me!” The challenge had been made.

“We send out a champion, you let everyone else go peacefully!” Sidda shouted back.

Immediately she was grabbed and pulled back out of view, though the darkened building would have done much to hide her features anyway. “What are you doing?” Revin hissed at her.

“Seeing how sensible these people are willing to be.”

“You are not fighting a Reman commando,” Revin dictated to her. “Look at him.” While she’d never seen a commando, sight had been a gift only in her youth and more recently, she’d at least conceptually put a description and what she saw just now together.

“When have I ever fought fair?” Sidda answered with a wink before leaning back to shout again. “Well? What do you say?”

The Reman just stood there, the maul’s head resting on the ground, staring at the building front. “No disruptors. Fight with honour” he finally bellowed.

“That wasn’t an answer.”

Another ten seconds passed. “Your fellow slavers may flee like cowards if they wish, your champion can die with honour.”

That was mostly what Sidda had been expecting as she settled back to sitting on the floor. “Right you three, through this building, out the back. Make a break for it, and head back for the spa. I’ll buy time, then catch up when I can. From there we’ll figure out a new plan.”

“No,” Revin said.

“You mad?” R’tin asked.

“Aye ma’am,” Trid answered. Which immediately earned her a look of betrayal from R’tin and Revin.

“No arguments, I’ll be fine,” Sidda said. “Trid, you’re in charge.”

“No,” Revin repeated. “I am not leaving.”

“Yes you are,” Sidda stated. “You’re far too important to lose and I swore I’d do everything to keep you safe.”

“You can’t if you’re dead.”

“I won’t die.” She offered a cocky smile. “I’ve survived at least a handful of challenges before I met you, love.”

“Three boss and you got smashed each time.” R’tin was making a show of checking his weapon. “Everyone had to bail you out. We aren’t running. We shoot this guy in the face, take out everyone that comes at us and shoot our way out”

“See, that’s a plan I like,” Sidda said with a slight chuckle. “But there were a lot of them and likely a lot more. Got to conserve our fire best we can for now.” She holstered her own weapon, then went to stand but was pulled back down. “Revin, trust me, I got this.”

It was unearthly quiet for a moment before Revin leaned in and kissed her on the lips, holding her there before breaking the kiss. “I won’t forgive you if you die.”

“Haven’t died yet,” she answered, then stood and stepped into the doorway.

Only after she heard Trid leading the others deeper into the building, seeking a rear exit, did she step out into the afternoon light with a grin on her face that spoke of either confidence or cockiness. Or both. One hand was on her sword’s pommel, resting comfortably, the other free to go straight for her disruptor if need be. But no sudden firing or charging Reman came at her, so she stepped forward again.

“An orion? They send out an orion! And a woman at that!” the Reman bellowed and laughter could be heard from various places all around that would serve as decent enough barricades. The building fronts on the opposite side of the street echoed with laughter, the Remans clearly occupied those in response to her group’s earlier defences. “You don’t have to do your slavers bidding any more orion. We are all free of them now! Let us kill them and we’ll let you flee to your kind.”

“I’m gonna have to decline that offer. See, those romulans are actually my romulans and no one gets to hurt them today.”

Confusion was rarely an audible thing, but when you heard it you knew it. The muttering of voices, questions being asked as everyone makes sure they actually heard what they heard. Even the brute looked back behind him.

“I thought this was a fight of champions,” she declared loudly before conclusions could be drawn and thoughts reasoned out. She deftly drew her sword, admiring the near mirror sheen of the blade. “You know, I always thought it important to know about the story of certain weapons. It’s name, it’s history, any notable people it’s killed so you know who you might be joining. So Chuckles,” she said, christening the Reman with a name that just went right over his head, “what’s your story?”

He paused for a moment, thinking, then hefted his weapon, lifting the weighted  head up and resting the haft of the weapon on his shoulder. “I have fought and killed twenty gladiators with this weapon! I have bested Remans, Romulans, Orions, Nausicaans and even klingons!” Shouts could be heard, faces even seen now as the Remans grew confident enough to watch without suddenly being shot at. “And your puny little sword orion?”

“Endeavour,” she loudly declared, inspecting the blade and deciding right there and then on its name. A smirk on her face as it had come to her and she said it too. “Made from the broken hull of a Federation warship!” Federation seemed to have gotten some attention at least. Likely these now freed Remans had either very little interstellar knowledge, or none at all. Rumours and hearsay likely from Romulans. “Never tasted blood. Eager to see how it does.”

“HAHAHAHAHA!” The brute’s laughter echoed as he stomped forward a few steps, bringing them from shouting at each across a wide street to within a few decent strides of each other. “I look forward to killing your romulans.” And with that he charged the rest of the distance, the maul swinging in for Sidda’s head.

She ducked straight away, swinging wildly with the sword in his general direction as she scrambled backwards badly. She didn’t feel any resistance but a bellow of pain told her she must have scored a hit. She kept moving, turning to face her opponent only to find him swinging again, but with a gash on his chest seeping green blood.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, swinging to parry the maul, hoping to at least deflect it some and scoot under it again. She wasn’t expecting the blade and maul to meet, her blade to be pushed back by the haft it found, but not by much as the haft drove itself upon the blade, cleaving the maul’s head off and sending it flying under its own momentum behind her.

The sudden loss of weight at the far end of the maul sent the brute stumbling backwards as physics dictated, utter confusion on his face as his weapon was cut, and on Sidda’s own as she looked at her blade, failing to catch herself before she too stumbled to the ground.

Both fighters scrambled however and soon enough were on their feet, staring at each other. Sidda with her impossible sword and the brute not with a very sharp impromptu spear. They circled, studying each other. She knew this wasn’t going to favour her in the long run, her leg and left arm hurting again, telling her to take it easy. But she needed to buy more time to let the others get away.

And to give her time to think how to get away herself.

That time however never came as the brute charged and she was forced to parry the haft, shaving off the top quarter, then another sliver on the continuation of the again, then once more. The brute was determined to close the distance, get inside her guard where he could get his hands on her. So she swung at his arms, hoping he’d get the message and stay away.

Just as he pushed once more.

Blade met flesh and bone and cared as much for them as it had for the haft of a gladiator’s weapon.

She sidestepped him as he carried on past her, crying in agony at the stumps of his arms, collapsing to his knees in quick succession.

“Fucking hell!” she shouted, offering the weapon a quick glance, then her eyes went to the building fronts all around and saw the equally stunned Remans there looking back at her, at their champion, at her again and the weapon in her hand. A weapon that could seemingly cut through anything. What the hell had T’Ael done to this sword?

And that’s when she took the chance to run back the way she came without caring to look back one bit.

Shouts, even some stray shots followed her, but only until she entered the building and rushed through it. They had their own to take care of after all. Their champion badly wounded, their first waves still lying on the street outside – plenty to keep them distracted.

She had to slow, reduced from an adrenaline fueled run to a very fast hobble within only a couple of blocks, though in the warren that was this part of town, only a few face souls still seemingly around and busy hiding, it was difficult to tell. Two? Three? She was still going in the right direction, yes?

Turning a corner however brought her to a stand still. There in a small courtyard between a few buildings, where they’d passed earlier in the day, were her people, all on their knees, hands behind their heads and surrounded by Orions.

“Oh for fucks sake!” she exclaimed.

There had been enough weapons pointed at her and her people that Sidda’s surrender hadn’t taken long at all. Her expletive had drawn attention, and then weapons came her way and very quickly she had her hands in the clear for all to see. Then she was disarmed and forced to join her people in the middle of the courtyard on their knees while the Orion gang mulled about. While the whole exchange hadn’t been gentle, it hadn’t been impolite either.

It hadn’t taken long for their true numbers to be revealed when a handful more appeared from the surrounding buildings, all of them armed with standard-issue Romulan weaponry. Fifteen Orions in total, all answering to a man of about average build and height. This lot, unlike the Remans, seemed more orderly, in control, and organised. 

“You okay?” Trid asked when Sidda had joined them and her escort had backed off a bit.

“For now. Once the adrenaline wears off I’ll be all sorts of not fine,” Sidda answered back. “What happened?”

“Ambushed clearly,” R’tin answered before Trid could. “And three against a courtyard full of proper weapons wasn’t a winning idea.”

She glared at him before looking at Sidda. “About the gist of it really. They’ve been polite enough.”

When Sidda looked over her shoulder, Trid turned herself to see what was so interesting, spotting the runner who entered the courtyard at a sprint. “She said,” the woman got out as she stopped, bending over as she caught her breath. “She said to bring them in, she wants,” more deep breaths, the woman desperate for air, “to talk to them.”

And with that they ended up being marched through the city, their escorts watching them and the streets in equal measure until they passed a makeshift checkpoint staffed by a motley mixture of people and species. A handful of Orions, a few Romulans, a Reman and one other that Trid didn’t recognise at all. She chalked it up to some species of the Empire that the Federation had clearly never encountered. Curiosity about their origins could wait.

Their escorts relaxed however once past the checkpoint, their guard lessened but not enough she felt any of them could make a break for it, not without weapons that was for sure. People here seemed to be going about their lives, what they had at any rate, with no real interruption, though she spotted most intersections had at least a couple of armed individuals, be they with real weapons or hastily manufactured melee weapons.

“Boss,” she said moving up beside Sidda, the escorts not stopping her.

“Yeah, I noticed. Safeish part of town. Bet we’re going to meet with someone who knows something.”

“Got a plan?”

“Yeah,” Sidda said calmly. “Listen to what they have to say, lay on the charm and try to talk our way out of it.”

“We’re fucked,” R’tin joked from behind them.

It took a few hours of walking to get to their destination, allowances made for water stops, a break or two for their slightly injured. But eventually, they ended up on another one of the beautified streets, clearly meant for visitors, and shown through to a building with no signage, but a rather impressive facade. Inside the decor took a turn for the dark and sumptuous and the building’s likely purpose just a day before was obvious enough to Trid. Lounges however had been turned into war rooms, the bar was an impromptu armoury and the stairs leading up were guarded by two people at the top and bottom.

She couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea of the brothel turned revolutionary headquarters, but fiction had to borrow something from reality right?

As they stopped in the foyer, an older woman, though that wasn’t entirely fair, stepped into view upstairs and looked them over. While everyone else here was wearing rebellion chic, she’d opted to maintain Orion madam vogue with a piece she herself wouldn’t have even blinked at if they’d been visiting Kyban or some other Federation core world had been going out on the town. The woman looked perhaps on the other side of middle-aged, but she couldn’t tell with Orions, especially those that put some effort into maintaining their appearance.

“That one,” the woman pointed at Sidda, the only Orion in their group, then at her, “and that one. Keep the others comfortable and get the poor dears a drink.” Her voice was verging on husk as she lazily spoke, then turned and disappeared from view once more.

“Hey,” R’tin tapped her elbow with his own, “keep the boss safe yah?”

“Duh,” she answered. “Keep Revin safe.”

“I’d rather die keeping her safe than die for not keeping her safe,” he joked, a touch nervously.

She caught the end of Revin and Sidda speaking, though keeping their exchange rather plain from what she saw, before being escorted upstairs. Soon enough they were in a lavishly appointed office, only two guards at their back, the Orion madam seated rather comfortably in a tall chair behind a desk. All in all, this was better than being chased by a pack of Remans, but at least they were honest. This felt like a den of snakes waiting to strike.

“Who are you?’ the woman asked.

“Sidda, Trid,” Sidda said, stepping forward without invitation and sitting herself down like she owned the chair she had just taken. Sidda wasn’t in someone else’s office, they were in her office, they just didn’t know it. She couldn’t help but close her eyes and whisper a prayer to the Prophets, asking for their guiding hand. “And you?”

The woman eyed Sidda up, then looked to her and offered the other chair with an idle hand gesture. The invitation wasn’t one she was going to ignore, not after someone tried to blow them up, being tossed in a car, chased by Remans, captured and finally marched through a city. It was the little gifts of the Prophets, right?

“Serti,” the woman finally offered. “I don’t know you, which means you’re visitors to my world. Poor timing on your behalf.”

“It’s kind of my thing,” Sidda said calmly.

“What my friend means to say,” she spoke up, “is that we were here to do some business with a merchant lord when the spaceport decided to…expand operations.”

That earned a slight chuckle from Sidda. “Expand operations…” she whispered.

“Who?” the woman asked without missing a beat.

“Andik Hotet.”

“Perverted slime,” Serti spat out. “One of my boys personally shot him in the back. You’ll have some difficulty getting information out of him if you find him.”

“We found him alright, but we didn’t find any data storage in his room at the Lamec Spa. I’m willing to pay for it,” Sidda said. “Weapons, torpedos, a ride off this rock.”

“What type of weapons?” Serti asked all attention on Sidda now.

“An entire ship’s armoury of Klingon ground assault weapons. Disruptor pistols, rifles, grenades.”

Trid turned to look Sidda over. They knew nothing about what was taking place on Ta’shen and here she was willingly discussing selling weapons to one group. Her training was conflicting with her cover and her heritage right now. Part of her said you don’t just arm an insurgency without information, but Sidda wasn’t Starfleet and these people from what she’d seen had been slaves up until a few hours ago. And as a Bajoran she was culturally predisposed to fight oppressive regimes.

“Huh, well, I can’t help you with that I’m afraid. My people say he boasted about his friendship with the Governor and storing his most sensitive data in the palace vault while he was here. And the palace is protected by its own personal shield.”

“You have a communications system? Something powerful enough to get past what I assume is the governor’s jamming?” Trid asked.

“It’s of limited use,” Serti said with a shrug. “None of the personal communicators we’ve seized have the power to respond and it’s not powerful enough to broadcast interstellar distances with the jammer in place, else I would have already called for assistance.”

“Can we use it?” She looked to Sidda. “Our ship should still be in the system, there’s a chance we could contact them”

Serti sat forward in her chair, eyes squinting somewhat. “Who are you really? And don’t give me names, I want more. Tal’Shiar? Republic Intelligence? Imperial Security? Did Rasek send you?”

That she only listed off Romulan intelligence apparatus’ was telling. The lack of serious interstellar travel was another as well. She was beginning to think that knowledge of the universe outside of the Romulan cultural sphere was perhaps somewhat lacking here, likely attempts by the Romulans to keep control.

“No, Rasek didn’t send us,” Sidda said. “We came here actually trying to find a way to make contact with Rasek actually.” She watched Sidda reach into her jacket and fiddle with the stitching around the left side zip for a moment, working open a very well-hidden little pocket. 

Green fingers carefully withdrew, slowly and in full view so as not to give Serti cause to summon her guards. The first glint of silver was followed by matt steel as the commbadge was brought out and tossed gently on Serti’s desk, just landing on the edge.

“Captain Sidda Sadovu, this is Commander Jenu Trid. We’re with Starfleet Intelligence. How about you tell me what’s going on here?”

“Starfleet?” Serti half exclaimed, half asked. “Here? How?”

Trid closed her eyes again. There was no prayer to the Prophets this time, but a muttered curse. Then she drew in a slow breath and opened her eyes. “Unofficially,” she said. “But we’re here to help, it‘s what we do. But we need to talk with our ship.”

Serti looked past both of them at the guards by the door. “Delip, go tell Vin to bring the comms system back online and send Fig in here right away.” The guard nodded and then left. “It’s going to take a bit to bring the system back online.”

“Then perhaps,” Sidda said, “you can bring us up to speed with Rasek’s plan as you know it and what’s going on here on Ta’shen?”

“Prisoner T’Rev.”

Tavol stood at arm’s length from the security field and watched the man Sidda had retained aboard the ship, having called his name out twice now to get his attention. He studied the sleeping man for a moment, this being his first personal encounter with him. He was an older Vulcan, in his later years, tall but within a standard deviation of average height. T’Rev had cultivated a beard, which was not in style when he had left Vulcan or currently, opting for a blend of Human and Efrosian styles,

Presently he was lying on the bench that served as a seat and bed within the Klingon brig, the light lowered but not out so passing guards could still see in perfectly well. It was his sleeping nature, his distance from the security field and Tavol’s own confidence in restraining or delaying the man if need be long enough for help that led to him asking for the field to be lowered momentarily.

“You may use my proper title or name, but I am not your prisoner,” T’Rev said as soon as the security field was dropped, but he made no effort to move. The clink of a padd being set on the floor just inside the field, the snap and crackle as it sprung back to life garnered a further response. “I take it that is your initial scans and impressions of Ta’shen’s planetary defences.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

“Yes,” was all he supplied as he stepped back, clasping his hands behind his own back. “First Mate Orelia,” he gave her the rank, seeing as his own understanding of ranks aboard the ship was still less than ideal, “said you had agreed to review it and supply any insights you might have into how we might circumvent the system.”

T’Rev’s movements were languid as he sat up, swung his legs over and then stood. A series of stretches from the elderly Vulcan told him all he needed to know – T’Rev might have been intimidating physically once, maybe even still so for a number of the crew, but he moved like an old man now. After a minute the padd was collected and activated, an eyebrow-raising and the man’s gaze lifted to him. “You have disabled all communications on this device.”

“I have had them removed,” he clarified. “The padd will also be subjected to remote wiping when you are finished with it, if not outright destruction. There will be no data transfer back to the ship’s computer.” He was merely stating the facts, laying out the conditions of T’Rev’s working with the data. There was a need to expedite their work and someone attempting to reprogram a data padd to enact commands on the ship’s computers in an attempt to escape was unproductive at best.

“Sensible precautions, I am impressed.” T’Rev’s attention went back to the padd and he idly flicked through the data present as he consumed it. Minutes passed, a human guard walked past with a rifle in hand, then went past again as time ticked on, two Vulcans standing in silence. There was after all no need to talk. “A remarkable network of weapons and sensor platforms. I would suggest that without other ships you should declare your losses and move on.”

“Unfortunately that is not an acceptable course of action.” Did T’Rev just smile at him? Perhaps the man was even older than he was led to believe. A medical scan from Doctor Ward might be worthwhile to ensure that he was of sound mind after all.

“Captain Sadovu is planetside and the crew’s loyalty is chaining them in place.” T’Rev’s attention went back to the padd, flicking back through the data. “Probes to spoof the ship’s emissions, targeted and destroyed as expected. Interesting, you sent two out at once.”

“I wanted to monitor communications between ground and space to see how well the control systems could handle multiple threats. You will notice that there is a difference in the responses.”  He knew just what T’Rev was looking at, he’d prepared the information himself after all. “I would hypothesise that there is a limited control system in place augmented by Romulan controllers. The platforms in cluster alpha were slower to react until cluster beta had finished firing.”

“Control systems with built-in response delays before they act on their own versus platforms with controllers processing those queries or simply issuing orders as they see fit.” T’Rev’s attention never lifted from the padd. “And you tested a cluster on the far side of the planet, which had a delay as well. Controllers should have been able to fire immediately, instead, it looks like the entire system reacted on automatics.”

“Indeed.“ He stepped forward slightly. “My immediate recommendation is that any further attempts at breaching the network be done on the far side of the planet, but we would then be limited by orbital windows as to when we could act over the city.”

“And the maths would be dependent on how many platform clusters you eliminate.” T’Rev stopped and looked over the data. “The platforms never react without a confirmation signal. That is illogical.”

“A Romulan cultural more against automated weapons platforms perhaps?” he offered. “I admit, I had not noticed it.”

“You were most likely looking only at the clusters firing. The fourth probe triggered a signal from two separate clusters and neither even raised shields until a response from their control centre.” T’Rev held the padd up and he stepped forward to read the indicated sections of sensor telemetry. He had indeed missed it, focused on the problem at hand.

“How would you exploit this then?” he asked, continuing to read the small text through the security field. “You after all have the expertise in this matter.”

There was a huff from T’Rev, something he’d seen in other species when presented with a plainly obvious statement. There had been so many situations Tavol had noticed that response that he had yet in his entire forty-six years failed to definitively place what it could be. “This is why Captain Sadovu has kept me. To plunder my knowledge and skills and establish herself as a new pirate leader.”

“My experience and observations of the Captain say that is unlikely. She’s more interested in harassing and limiting pirating operations than controlling them at present.”

“A ruse I assure you.” T’Rev shook his head and lowered his arm. “As for how to exploit this piece of information, you would need a ship with a cloaking device, to which I understand this Klingon vessel possesses, a skilled  pilot and engineer and a willingness to get your hands a little bloody.”

He stood there, staring at T’Rev for a moment, then tilted his head sideways in observation a moment more. “Very well, what is your suggested plan of action?”

Not twenty minutes later he called the senior crew together, which had apparently not gone well with Orelia. He put it down to him being the one to call the meeting, not her, and some archaic expectations of the structure of command. Possibly his being relatively new to the crew as well, though Sidda had seen fit to proclaim him as her science officer after all. Was it not logical that the individual tasked with working out a plan call a meeting when they had information to present?

“Right, what’s this about?” Orelia demanded once everyone he’d asked to assemble had arrived in the conference room.

“I have, in consultation with Prisoner T’Rev, come up with a plan for breaching the defences of Ta’shen and eliminating the threat of a reprisal.” He stood there and watched the changing expressions – Orelia’s anger fading under interest, Orin’s static look, T’Ael’s tiredness alleviated by curiosity.

“As long as no one puts any more holes in my ship, I’m intrigued,” T’Ael said.

“That is the intent. However, there will be a fair bit of work from Engineering to pull this off.” He pulled up a diagram of the planet and its defence platforms on the screen. It wasn’t to any sort of scale, but it conveyed meaning well enough. “We will need no less than fifteen probes, all fitted with emissions packages to spoof the network and draw fire while the Vondem Rose eliminates this cluster here.” The cluster on the far side of the planet blinked. “With the probes distracting the controllers, we can fire on this entire cluster and eliminate it before they raise shields. And one last probe can then flee the scene to make the controllers think we have retreated to try again.”

“Fifteen? That’s going to take a bit to pull off,” T’Ael muttered. “And my people want some rest after finding and fixing that power problem.”

“That is the easy part,” he added and watched T’Ael exaggeratedly slump.

“Really?” she challenged.

“Yes. We need to rig the ship for atmospheric flight, with the cloak online.”

She looked at him with utter disbelief. That was an expression he knew well from watching many more emotional people pull it when a Vulcan stated the obvious requirements to solving a problem. “You’re kidding.”

“No.” He tapped a control, the diagram showing the Vondem Rose slipping through the gap in the network and into the planet’s atmosphere. “We slip beneath the platforms under cloak and make our way to the city of T’ma’ru. Once there we can target the control centre, we drop the cloak and fire on it at point-blank range.”

“And that will bring down the network?” Orelia asked. “You sure about that?”

“Prisoner T’Rev spotted the control loop issue and I have verified it upon reviewing the data once more.” He was after all sure of it. Trust but verify had been a mantra one of his mentors had been fond of and it was remarkably compatible with the principles of Vulcan though. “I have identified the target as well inside the Governor’s Palace based on transmissions. Scans indicate a shield system in place, but that it is scaled to resisting ground attackers, not warships.”

“So, we fly a Klingon battle barge,” T’Ael said, a hand in front of her like it was a ship in flight losing altitude towards the table, “through an atmosphere, hover over a city and rain death and destruction on it until our problems go away?” She looked to Orelia and Orin. “Tell me you don’t have a problem with this.”

“I don’t,” Orelia said firmly. “We flatten the control centre, the palace and anything that looks at us funny until we rescue the Captain and our people.”

There was a solid bang on the table from Orin and his fingers moved with a pace that Tavol found unhelpful. His exposure to Orion Sign was growing each day, but a lifetime of experience likely helped when someone was signing in a hurry. The only words he caught were ‘No’ and ‘limited’.

“I’m with Orin,” T’Ael said. “Limited strike only, then we stand off. Seriously, we’ll have the high ground and all the big guns at that point. We don’t need to do anything but make demands and make demonstrations if need be.”

Orelia ground her teeth, he could hear it and just make it out as she stared off with Orin and T’Ael, then looked to him for backup, getting nothing in response. He was disinclined to engage in wanton destruction after all. Finally, she conceded. “Fine. Targeted strike. The palace will do.”

“Just the fucking control centre,” T’Ael spat out. “We need someone to fucking negotiate with.”

“I’m the commander here,” Orelia said. “We do as I say.”

“And I’m the engineer you need to make this all work.” T’Ael got to her feet. “Control centre only.”

“There are sixty other engineers on this ship!” Orelia said. “Some of them are even better trained than you too!”

“And? I’m the fucking best, you know it, Sidda knows it, they all know it. You want to make this ship fly like a bird, you need me!”

“Fucking hells!” Orelia shouted, then slumped in the chair she was seated in. “Fine! Control centre only. Go get to work.”

“I’m taking a nap,” T’Ael said, stopping a protest with a glare and a finger. “I’m exhausted, my best people are as well. We’re having a nap, we’re getting a hot shower and meal, then we’ll get started on converting torpedoes into probes and reading some Klingon manuals on how to make this thing fly.” She stood and marched for the door. “Some fucking idiot before us must have done it.”

As the door closed, Tavol shrugged and looked at Orin and Orelia. “I have already forwarded the relevant manuals to Ms T’Ael and Mr Bourne. His flight skills are the best of those remaining aboard and he has experience with large craft and atmospheric flight.”

Orelia’s response was to dismiss him with a wave, Orin’s was the stand and indicated the door with a head nod, joining him as he left. As soon as they were outside, the door closed, Orin signed at him, slowly and carefully. ‘Orelia owes Sidda a debt. Many debts. Letting her die would mean her debt goes to Sidda’s father, which she will not allow. This is why she is acting so rashly.’

“I see. Then perhaps we could work together to ensure our current commander achieves her goals but with an element of restraint?”

‘Yes. Now, I have questions about how you determined which building to fire. Show me.’ And with that Orin led him back to the bridge.

“Starfleet Intelligence?” hissed Trid at her as they were finally left to their own devices in a private room.

A guard naturally remained outside, to kindly ask them to remain where they were of course, while another had gone to fetch R’tin and Revin from wherever they’d been hosted while she and Trid had spoken with Serti about local events.

“Better then Pirate Queen,” she shot back as she found a nice pile of cushions, turned her back on it, held her arms out and let herself fall back onto them, breath forcing its way past her lips as she came to a slowed stop. The room’s decadent decor fell in line with elements of Romulan and Orion styling, with no chairs to be present here and all the tables nice and low-lying. Frankly, it all felt too much like home, back on Vondem and her father’s estate.

“But Starfleet Intelligence?” Trid said, keeping her voice low and hard to hear. If there were any microphones in here, she’d already given the game up anyway.

But that was no reason for Sidda to throw it away, maybe play into and sell the story yes? “Commander,” she tried to keep a professional tone in her voice, mimicking that stuck-up uniform mannequin she’d met months ago who wore her face, “sometimes we tell the truth, sometimes we lie. Today just struck me as a truth sort of day. And besides, I left my Klingon communicator back on the ship, so I couldn’t very well say Klingon Intelligence.”

Trid glared at her, but seemed to have gotten the hint as she stopped herself from speaking, to gather her thoughts and work out what to say before speaking. She was saved on that front with the arrival of R’tin and Revin, who both looked exactly as they had left them. Happy smiles all around until eyes spotted the communicator she’d ended up pinning to her jacket. No point in hiding it in here right? And it added to the idea they were Starfleet.

“Ah, you told them eh, boss? Er, sorry, Captain,” R’tin stumbled out as a smirk started to grow on his face.

“Rock and a hard place Lieutenant. It seemed like the right play,” she answered.

As Revin neared, a content smile on her lover’s face, she reached for and got Revin’s hand, then pulled her down onto the cushions. She didn’t even try to hide her affection as she kissed Revin briefly, then pulled her close with an arm wrapped around her waist. 

“Looks like we missed our contact to Resak,” she continued, a confused look from R’tin and Revin alike, but she kept going. “Resak started earlier than we thought, or were informed of at any rate and Ta’shen here has been a powderkeg waiting to explode for years. Madam Serti, our gracious host and saviour, informs me that she knew some of the Remans had gotten their hands on fissile material a few months ago.”

“Fissile? What were they going to do with that, built a reactor?” R’tin asked, then smacked his own forehead in realisation. “Fission bomb. They took out the starport.”

“But we saw two explosions,” Trid stated.

“Our shuttle wouldn’t have survived a fission bomb up close without any form of warning. The antimatter container was likely cracked. Field fails and second boom,” he said, with a helpful hand animation and sound effect at the end.

“Either way, they blew up our ride out of here and that told the Governor that revolution was afoot. Serti thinks they heard about the Velorum Sector uprising.” That got a noticeable response from both R’tin and Revin. “Resak has declared himself governor last Serti heard, but off-world communicators for those not in the palace was always a risky and dangerous affair and as soon as the spaceport went off, the governor raised a comms jammer preventing even basic comms signals from working.”

“I could help with that,” R’tin supplied. “Couldn’t hurt at least.”

“Doubt it,” Trid jumped in. “Governor apparently has a military-grade comms jammer. Serti’s system could transmit, but no communicator would have the power to respond. But,” she stopped R’tin before he could interrupt with a raised finger and a glare that said ‘wait your turn’, “it should be able to contact the Rose and they do have enough power to respond.”

“Then let’s do it,” he said.

“They’re bringing the system online now and should be able to call Orelia in a few minutes,” she said. “Until then, we sit back and relax.”

“Hey uh, question,” R’tin started, pacing as he was won’t to do when thinking. “Just what is going on here in T’ma’ru anyway? We got Orions forming a safe area, Reman murder-gangs, all the snooty sorts running to the palace. Who else is going to come out of the woodwork?”

“It hasn’t even been a full day,” Sidda quipped. “How should I know?”

“You spoke with this Orion woman,” Revin reminded her quietly. “You and Trid spent nearly an hour with her.”

“Trid, would you like to do the honours?”

“Certainly, Captain,” Trid answered. “Serti was aware of three other factions just prior to the revolution breaking out. They had all been jostling, sniping at each other, but nothing serious. Reman miners and the more martial entertainment sorts, so fighters, gladiators and the such, all behind a Gorvmel or something like that.” She dismissed her own uncertainty with a wave of her hand. “All Ta’shen born and raised, kinda violent sorts who she thinks were the ones to get the fission bomb. Have made it clear to Serti and her lot to stay out of their way while they conduct a purge of all Romulans here on Ta’shen.”

“Lovely,” Revin purred. “I take it we won’t be talking much more with them?”

“From the description of Gorvmel she gave me, he’s going to need help picking his nose,” she said with a smirk, which grew when R’tin suffered a cough and laughing fit at the same time.

“What,” he finally got out, “did you do to him, cut off his arms?”

“Yup,” she said with a smile and raised eyebrows. “Your sister makes scary swords.”

“Hey, I was the one to sharpen both of them to monomolecular edges,” he protested.

“You what?” Trid spurted out. “Prophets you’re a nutjob.” She shook her head and wave him off before he interrupted once more. “Then there was or is a Romulan slave or lower class group. She hasn’t heard from them, but mainly as they were based on the far side of the Reman part of town from here and she’s not risking a runner to deliver a message and maybe not return.”

“You said three other factions,” Revin spoke up again.

“Yeah, all them the miscellaneous group. But they’re not worth talking about really. It’s more like a loose collection of gangs and thugs and they’re all likely to fall into one of the larger groups over the next few days when the food starts getting a little scarce.”

“But each faction isn’t just a homogenous group, is it?” R’tin asked. “We saw Romulans, Remans, heck even a Klingon on the way here.”

“Serti doesn’t discriminate, but she built her power base on Orion backs,” Sidda answered for Trid. “She trusts those she’s had in her sway for years. She said anyone is willing to join her little group, as long as they obey the rules. Your standard revolutionary rules etc etc.”

“Oh, goodie,” R’tin chipped in.

Before they good go any further there was a faint knock at the door and a young Orion woman stepped in. She couldn’t have been much younger than Revin actually, but she was shorter and slighter of build, likely held back in growth by circumstances outside her control, but in recent years allowed to eat properly and take care of herself, likely for the benefit of lascivious clients. “Captain Sadovu,” she said and Sidda couldn’t help but shudder slightly, Revin giving her a squeeze in response, “Mistress Serti has made contact with your ship but voice only.”

Within only a few minutes they were all assembled around the archaic communications equipment located in the basement of the brothel turned war centre. It wasn’t one system, but a mish-mash of multiple systems, different tech bases, decades of development between components and all maintained by a wirey, old Reman man who barely seemed to notice anyone else was in the room, save when they got in his way.

“Good to hear your voice,” Orelia’s own voice came over the comm channel, a little scratchy and distorted.

“And your Commander,” she said, emphasising the rank. “I’ve got Commander Trid and Lieutenants R’Tin and Revin with me. We…we lost Grelka and Hendricks.”

The delay in a response wasn’t time-related, at least not when it came to the signal, but again from her people trying to parse why she was using ranks, then rolling with it. She was glad they didn’t have visual right now. In her mind’s eye she could see glances around the bridge, shrugged shoulders, everyone looking confused, then Orelia mouthing ‘fuck it’ and going with it.

“What are your orders ma’am?” Orelia finally asked. She could get used to the formalities of ranks at least.

“Get me off this rock.”

“Wish I could, but they’ve got a transporter inhibitor, sensor scrambler and a hefty planetary defence network we’ve already run afoul of once.” Orelia paused for a moment. “But we’ve got a plan to negate that. Kevak just started making your favourite dessert, so should be ready by the time we’ve got you back aboard ship.”

She had to give Orelia points for not stating times but then telling her exactly how long they had. Two days apparently. She knew Orelia was just telling her that, but now she really wished Kevak was actually making frellic ice cream.

“How will we know your plan worked?” she asked.

“Trust me on this one Captain, you won’t be able to miss it.”

They cut comms soon after that, to help save power, save the equipment and save themselves from accidentally giving away more than they should. Serti offered them accommodation overnight and with nowhere else to go she accepted. The price of a couple of rooms for a few nights was rather reasonable at a couple of crates of disruptor rifles and calling Starfleet in for aid relief. She couldn’t realistically deliver on the latter, but she would at least call them.

As night fell she let herself actually relax, despite the plethora of injuries. She couldn’t process the grief of loosing people just yet, that would wait, but she could relax. Let mind and body decompress for a few hours before diving back into things, seeking a way out for her people.

She shared the room with only Revin, who crawled under the sheet with her, no duvet was needed in the tropical climes. Without even thinking she wrapped one arm around Revin and pulled her close, eyes closing as she started to unwind, the warmth and softness of her lover pressed against her enough to start sending her down the slope to unconsciousness.

“Guess I can add impersonating a Starfleet officer to my list of crimes,” she whispered in Revin’s ear.

“You were going to do it sooner or later,” came the response. “Where did you get the commbadge anyway?”

“From that other, lesser-me,” she answered. “She said something like maybe I’d see it as a totem of what could have been and still could be.”

“I see,” Revin replied. “Looks good on you.”

“You think?”

“Yes,” Revin purred. “Did she also give you a uniform by any chance?”

“Why?” she asked, so close to drifting off.

“Because I think you’d look stunning in a uniform.” With that Revin moved to kiss her on the cheek before settling back down.

Now there was a thought – her as a uniform mannequin.

Perish the thought.

But then again, she had to admit, her other-self did make the uniform look good at least.

The air itself felt tense, but the comfort of the duvet held it at bay. A warbling sound in the distance demanded attention, but the pillow served as a decent cushion against its incessant demands. Morning’s cool breath spoke of responsibilities, but the warm embrace of the bed promised another ten minutes, again and again until one was well and truly ready to face the morning.

She reached out blindly, searching, searching some more, nothing finding the comforting presence she expected. Searching the other side of the bed confirmed there was nowhere to hide there. Sleepy comfort soon gave way to sleepy wondering, as with a yawn wide enough to swallow the world, Sidda finally opened an eye to look around the room.

Bright light, morning sun streaming through windows straight onto the opposite wall, seared her eyes and she slammed them shut, a formerly searching hand coming up to shield her eyes from the light in furtherance to her eyelids.

“Revin?” she croaked out; throat dry from lack of water. “Revin?” she repeated.

The response forthcoming came in the form of a mass being dropped on the bed near her feet. Not a person sitting on the bed, but a collection of items being thrown down. The oppressive weight over her feet, that neverending warbling, some muffled utterance her way, a shake of the bed – all combined to finally shake the wool of sleep from her mind.

“Get up, somethings happening,” Revin demanded. Actually demanded. When that registered in her mind, the was a breath of fresh air, snapping her awake. Revin only made demands when it was important, or she wanted…

The sound of an explosion in the distance derailed her thoughts and she sat up, clutching the sheet to her body at least. Cool air bit at her back, but the sun dancing across her shoulders hinted it would warm up soon enough. Without further words between them, she was scrambling for her clothes, launching herself from the bed in an awkward dance to don underwear and attire.

Clearly, Revin hadn’t been as deeply asleep as she had, had obviously tried to rose her multiple times to no luck. If that siren had been closer, or louder, she’d have snapped awake, but it was just far enough to let her subconscious make it someone else’s problem. Bless Revin and her hearing though, and bless her for the kiss on the cheek she herself finished getting ready.

Stepping out they ran straight into Trid and R’tin, both waiting in the hallway outside, pressed against the wall to let people pass. Raised voices could be heard downstairs, the door to Serti’s office was open but seemingly vacant. Silently they all agreed to follow the flow downstairs to the makeshift war room.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Serti said upon Sidda saddling up beside her around the large physical map of the city. No massive display panels or holograms here, just a map, coloured tokens spread around it, a red circle with its centre based on the palace and flags with string between them to denote the ‘borders’ of territory known or suspected.

Serti had opted for a nice blue for her zone of control, an angry yellow for the Reman zones and a green for where she thought the Romulan zones were, but again, a lack of information there meant it was all a guess. Her hand shot out to point at a cluster of tokens, blue and yellow, along the eastern edges of her territory, verging on the parts of the city that would have been the resorts and accommodation for more affluent visitors. “Reman scouts have been pushing and engaging my people all morning. The siren your hearing now indicates a full-on attack, but no idea on exact numbers.”

“Could be a diversion,” R’tin spoke up. “Push somewhere, get you to send a bunch of your folks to deal with it, secondary push elsewhere.”

“Likely even,” Trid added as she looked at the map. “I see two good spots to make attacks once they think you’ve committed enough to stop this.” She walked around and pointed at two spots, about two blocks from each other, but where Serti’s token map indicated weaker numbers. “Here and here.”

“Your people are quick to offer their advice Captain,” Serti said somewhat annoyed, then waved off any protest. “But they’re right. I’m expecting to hear of attacks elsewhere soon enough. The Reman leader, a man named Yurik, sent a courier last night demanding I turn over every Romulan under my protection. Some gibberish about purging their kind from Ta’shen in line with the dictates of the revolution.” She waved a hand at a piece of paper on the table, the message written in a mix of Reman and Romulan script.

Sidda stared at it for a moment, attempting to force an answer out of it by sheer willpower alone, before shrugging and opting to let Revin or R’tin take a crack at it. “How can we help?” she finally asked.

“Get me those weapons you promised and some decent communications gear?” Serti asked hopefully. “I don’t want to have to put Yurik down, but he’s got some delusional ideas about Resak’s revolution. My people think we managed to secure more weapons than the Remans did, but more of them were fighters or workers in physical labour tasks. If this comes down to hand to hand, it’s going to get bloody.”

She mulled the situation over, thinking for a moment. “Get us back our weapons and we’ll head to those weak spots. We’ll hang back and jump where we’re needed.”

“And lose my only connection to a ship in orbit?” Serti challenged.

“I know Orelia. I know T’Ael,” she looked to R’tin and saw him nod at the mention of his sister. “My ship isn’t in orbit anymore. I don’t know precisely what they’re doing, but trust me, help is on the way. And no matter what happens, Orelia isn’t going renege on my deal.”

———-

“I would appreciate it,” one Tracy Bourne said through near-clenched teeth, “if you would back off.”

“Excuse me?” Orelia challenged, but she did take a half-step back from the man, no longer looming over his shoulder.

“This isn’t as easy as it looks,” he said. “And I don’t need a backseat driver.”

Tavol’s plan for slipping beneath the orbital platforms had worked better than even he had expected. They’d not even needed to blow a hole in the network, the probes spoofing the Rose’s emissions drawing all the attention and allowing them to simply glide right past them all under cloak. All but three of the probes had been eliminated and those were now on pre-programmed flight paths to keep approaching and moving away all to keep the controllers on their toes.

But now they were flying a cloaked K’t’tinga-class battlecruiser through an atmosphere, under cloak, in order to sneak up on a city. And from how Bourne kept snapping at people or making demands of T’Ael, she figured it wasn’t easy, but his updating her on progress had dropped off in the last few hours and she was starting to get nervous.

“Time to T’ma’ru?” she asked, purposefully trying to keep her tone neutral and not distract Bourne any more than needed from his task.

“More than an hour, less than a day,” he snapped back. “I’m trying to navigate around storms so as not to trip the weather control network.”

She sighed, then stalked over to the Engineering console where T’Ael was seated, doing her part of this two-part dance, though her’s seemed easier than Bourne’s. “How’s it looking?”

“We’re doing,” T’Ael checked a display gauge, “three times the speed of sound. We might be invisible on most sensors, but trust me, people will hear us go overhead.”

“Anything we can do about that?” she asked.

“Not a thing,” T’Ael replied. “Physics is physics. Bourne’s been keeping to Tavol’s flightpath best he can to avoid private resorts, mines, farms – basically, anyone who can give us away. But that and weather keeps adding time.”

“And what about when we get there? How do we hold station?” She’d listened to the plan for flying through the air, knowing it was a delicate balance of speed and angle of attack, whatever that meant, but she’d missed the discussion on how to make a ship this big hover in place. There wasn’t enough anti-grav generators aboard the ship for that.

“Klingons already thought of that,” T’Ael replied, bringing up a display. “All those repulsor beam emitters on the lower hull apparently had a purpose.” With a tap, a demonstration animation came to life. Emitters came to life, pushing down on the ground and balancing the ship on the beams. Since the ground could only give so much, the ship would hover on the beams like a tripod. “Tavol already picked spots we can aim the beams at – bombed-out buildings, a refuse site, the remains of the spaceport.”

“Huh…well then, guess we wait till we arrive?” Orelia asked.

“Basically.” T’Ael pulled up a map. “Two hours, maybe three.”

“Good.” And with that she made her way over to Orin, giving the large man a nod before signing her question to him. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Torpedoes and disruptors have been dialled back for bombardment. Deidrick is ready to beam down with multiple assault teams,’ he responded. ‘I will keep this limited you understand.’

‘You and T’Ael,’ though the name was difficult in Orion Sign to get out, forcing her to spell it, ‘made it perfectly clear.’

‘Good. Then, we just have to wait until Bourne delivers us to our target.’

“Ah Major, how good of you to come by once more,” Lo’nic Creval said, adding as much warmth to his words as he could without sounding overly sincere. “Would you care for some refreshments? My steward just made a fresh pot of tea.” He’d long ago deduced that Major Suram didn’t like his favourite blend, so offering a cup was perfunctory pleasantries without actually offering something that would be accepted.

“No, thank you,” she answered as she strode across his office, her uniform as crisp as it was the day she arrived on Ta’shen eight months ago as the new garrison commander. “I’ve come to ask if you had heard anything further from Rator actually. My communications have all gone…unanswered.” The little pause before her last word brought a moment of concern to him, but nothing he let show.

“No I haven’t heard either Major, and it’s starting to grow concerning actually.” All of which was of course a flagrant lie. He’d been reading the communique from Rator the whole time, the increasingly demanding messages demanding updates, demanding to speak or hear from Major Suram. He was still only breathing, so many were in fact across Ta’shen, because he’d had all communications routed through his own offices, through staff he knew were loyal to him personally.

When the orders from Rator III for Suram to arrest and execute him had come through, they mysteriously disappeared. When the follow-up orders arrived, they too failed to arrive at their intended target. Suram’s messages back to Rator asking for orders, updates, and requesting reinforcements to put down a slave rebellion had all never been sent. As far as the Rator was concerned, Ta’shen had become an information black hole.

And as far as he was concerned, Rator had become increasingly more and more a font of inane ramblings, nonsensical orders and dangerous ideology. The Admiralty of Galae Command were claiming to save the Romulan people by destroying the very thing that had kept the Empire going for centuries – the firm hand of the senatorial families and their allies. Or at least those not deemed sufficiently aggressive enough, or supportive of the military, to remain and take up the reins of power when all was said and done.

“It has been three days since this rebellion here started and we haven’t even received confirmation our report has been receipted by Galae Command.” Suram stopped opposite his desk, never having once sat in an offered chair, so he no longer did so. She had arrived on Ta’shen, a reward for years of dutiful service, a chance at a nice easy command in her last few years before retirement, but seemingly had failed to receive that particular message. She’d taken a sleepy garrison whose only purpose was to crush the odd slave uprising and turned them into something merely acceptable on a core world. Given another year or so and she’d likely get another medal for her work if anyone was around to give it to her.

“I am aware,” he said. Slowly he stood and paced to his left, to the open balcony door, Suram joining him. Here he had a magnificent view of T’ma’ru, the entire city spread out before him like his personal kingdom, and why shouldn’t it be? Yes, the slaves were in rebellion, and yes, he and those currently residing in his household seemingly had nowhere else to go, but the governor’s palace was unassailable to such inferior creatures as those below him.

Sat atop a rock pillar with only a narrow access road up one side, the palace was then covered by a shield to prevent ground assault, surrounded by high walls made of duranium alloy and all powered by a nearly inexhaustible power supply. He and those under his protection could live here for years under siege until someone rescued them. And someone would surely. He’d spoken with the only senator on Ta’shen, they both agreed someone would eventually confront Galae Command and restore the Senate. It was inevitable after all, for it had happened time and again throughout history.

“What do you see Major?” he asked.

“I see a city in rebellion that I don’t have the manpower or equipment to make right,” she answered quickly. “I also see what looks like another fight between factions,” she added, pointing a finger at one part of the city with a few new pillars of black smoke rising from buildings. The odd flash of green could be seen, the savages using plundered disruptors on each other.

“Exactly Major. The palace is safe, the slaves are busy fighting each other. Eventually, either Galae Command will get around to sending us reinforcements to put this down and restore order, or the slaves will have killed each other in job lots allowing your people to sweep the city and impose order.”

He could hear her grinding her teeth at that. Her records showed Suram to be a woman of action, not of passivity. She’d rather push ranks and fight this problem now than sensibly wait it out. But she was also working without the complete picture that help was not coming at all. That would likely satisfy her, and convince her to wait, but it would also prove most likely to be hazardous for his own short- and long-term survival.

“Did you see that?” she suddenly asked, stepping up to the rail, hands bracing on it and she started at a portion of the city, closer to the palace. As he stepped forward, she pointed specifically where she was intending, another building smouldering away, flashes of green in the morning light as more pilfered weapons traded shots across a now deserted street.

Then he saw the orange beam. Two of them in fact, both slightly different colours from each other, but distinct from the green beams of Romulan disruptors. Then a series of green pulses shot out as well, one, two, three. Another orange beam.

“Phaser fire?” he asked. “And who fires green pulses like that?”

“Klingon disruptors,” Suram answered as a fist hit the rail. “Starfleet and the KDF, here on Ta’shen! No wonder the slaves are in revolt.”

He scrunched his eyebrows as best he could, trying to look deeply concerned, but he doubted it. “Likely those pirates actually who were here to meet with Hotet.”

“Pirates?” Suram asked. How didn’t she know? Hadn’t he briefed her?

“Andik Hotet was hosting a visit from an Orion merchant and her entourage. I call them pirates because aren’t all Orions?” Suram shrugged in response. “Anyway, they had just arrived before the spaceport exploded. Likely a result of their own poor maintenance.”

“And the slaves all took that as a signal to start their little rebellion,” Suram muttered, then sighed. “I don’t like this. I should eliminate them so their ship won’t be a problem.”

“Oh, they won’t be,” he reassured her. “They’ve attempted to confront the planetary defence grid twice now but have failed to so much as damage a single platform.” When she looked at him somewhat shocked, he offered a wry smile. “Oh, come now Major, I have powerful friends, interested in their safety when they visit Ta’shen as when they are at home. Of course, we have a state-of-the-art orbital defence system. I dare say you’d need the entire Third Fleet to punch through it in fact.”

“How confident of that are you?”

“Fairly,” he answered. “They’ve been forced to retreat no less than six times I’ve been informed.”

Before she could ask another question, her communicator chirped and she excused herself to answer it inside his office, leaving him to enjoy the morning breeze. The fighting in the city wasn’t gladiatorial combat that was for sure, but it was entertaining in some capacity. If only they had better surveillance systems to monitor it all, to make deals and wagers with his guests as to the outcomes of battles or which strategies each side would take.

When Suram rejoined him on the balcony he smiled. “Perhaps Major,” he started, but the whine of a disruptor charing behind him stopped him from speaking any further. He turned slowly, carefully, to see Suram with her weapon drawn and two uhlans now about two steps behind her.

“You lied to me,” she stated. No question, just a declaration of fact. “You’ve been lying to everyone.” Her tone was icy and cold and frankly that concerned him more than if she had actually given voice to any anger.

“What is this about?” he challenged. Play the fool, as if unaware of what she was likely referring to. It would give him more time.

“You’ve been keeping orders from me, from my people. You’ve not been sending my messages either,” she stated. “Governor Creval, but the orders of the Provisional Senate of Rator, you are hereby under arrest.” One of the uhlans shouldered his rifle and stepped forward with a set of manacles in hand.

“You can’t be serious!” he charged.

“I’m deadly serious,” she replied. “Your writ of execution was already signed,” she said and the other uhlan held up a data padd. “But your withholding military information also falls under treason, so…”

The rest of her words went unheard as a sudden roaring sound swept over the palace. It was as all-encompassing as it was sudden. The air was calm, filled only with angry words, then suddenly itself was angry. A pressure wave accompanied it, sweeping over the balcony with not enough force to topple anyone, but certainly to stumble them. And then it was gone.

His brain initially said it was a roar, but reflection put it more as a crack of thunder, or an explosion of sound and pressure. Something big as well. But it hadn’t started on the ground like he’d have expected out of another explosion like the two that had destroyed the spaceport. No, this one had started above them, in the air over the city.

All thoughts of arrest were put aside as everyone looked up and around, trying to find the source of that immense sound when the sky itself started to ripple and shimmer, going from blue with a few patchy clouds to a paisley purple smear. It rapidly continued to take shape as a warship emerged from nothingness over the city of T’ma’ru, the same one his people had dutifully informed him about, shown him images of in fact.

The Vondem Rose.

The ship’s prow was pointed straight at his palace and before he could shout a single protest disruptor banks smashed at the palace’s shields, cracking them in mere seconds. Then a single bright red glow formed on the front of the ship before launching itself across the intervening distance, smashing into a single building on the palace grounds – the orbital control centre.

Then a second torpedo dove into the ruins, breaching the bunker underneath at this close range. Those explosions rocked the entire palace, the plinth it was standing on, and likely the city itself. There was no denying the use of antimatter explosives, even at such a low yield.

There would be no response from orbit, no destruction rained down on this ship for its insolence. No reply to its brazen and cowardly attack on his palace. Without anyone to issue orders the platforms would sit there, awaiting a response, continuing to ask dead men what they should do to such an obvious threat.

Mindless guardians without direction weren’t guardians at all.

He stood there in shock, watching the smoking ruins, sparing a glance occasionally to the warship hovering over his city, his kingdom, its weapons now firing on the city in controlled bursts, on empty streets and parks, likely sending combatants scurrying for cover. He’d gone from king under siege, but confident in eventual victory to defeated in less than a minute. He never even knew this attack was coming, never knew it was even a possibility.

How very Romulan of these pirates, to find a way to remove him from power he could never guard against. His mind whirred with admiration at a job well done, even if it had all the subtlety of a Klingon targ at the end, to sheer unbridled anger that it was happening to him and not someone else.

He never heard the disruptor charging behind him, or Suram’s final words before she pressed the firing stud.

Hearing the firefight from a block away, R’tin was huffing to catch his breath after Sidda had ordered them into a sprint to close and reinforce the defenders. He’d mentally prepared himself for another band of Orions, all armed and ready for a fight but instead he got a couple of Orions at most, a handful of Romulans, a Reman even three others he couldn’t place at all, but their almost golden skin tone, lack of hair and brilliant sapphire eyes certainly made them stand out.

“Goddesses above, reinforcements!” one of the Romulans had shouted upon spotting them, a hand signal waving them to keep their heads down though as they rushed for a barricade. “Don’t care who you are unless one of you is clever with machines,” the woman asked, wielding a disruptor rifle like an utter badass, in his own expert opinion.

Of course, with a statement like hers everyone else turned on him and he nodded. Did the boss say he was a lieutenant or a commander? Err on the former right? “Lieutenant R’tin, how can I help?” Maybe next time she’d confer with everyone about every contingency before throwing wacky plans out and expecting them to go with them.

“Third-floor window, we hashed together a crew weapon, but it stopped working after about a solid minute of firing. Get that sucker working and it’ll convince these jerks to back off for now,” she said, then pointed at a set of stairs that led up the outside of the building next to them. At least he wouldn’t be trying to run upstairs in the open being shot at.

“R’tin, Trid, go get that weapon working. Revin and I will help down here for now,” Sidda ordered and she scrambled closer to the front lines with the Romulan woman, Revin hanging back just a moment before a shout about ‘helping the wounded’. They’d all had their impromptu first-aid training so it couldn’t hurt right?

It only took a little over a minute to rapidly ascend the stairs and find the room the weapon was looking out of. It looked like someone’s converted apartment, but that was using the word ‘apartment’ loosely, for a burned-out wreck was what it more closely resembled. “Oh look, my first apartment,” he sarcastically said, gaining the attention of the two men who were keeping low and working on the weapon. “Got sent to look at that boys, you mind?”

“Fuck it, go for it,” the older said, picking up his weapon and heading for the window. “It’s fucked anyway.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, just keep those attackers away yah?” He gave Trid a smile. “Show these folks how it’s really done?”

“Just shut up and get to work,” she shot back and joined both men at the windows lobbing shots across the street.

Before him was an interesting and clearly hacked-together contraption that could conceivably be called brilliant. A tripod base, a mast, a pintle mount and on that two Romulan disruptor rifles, tied with their tops together and triggers on the outside. Their power cells had been removed, cabling leading down and tied together to a much, much larger power cell. Not only that but covers had been removed and the cooling loops tied together, as well as additional ones from weapons no doubt salvaged just for this purpose. It wasn’t pretty, but he reckoned this thing on full blast would spit out fire at such a rate the power cell would drain before the cooling loops ever threatened a shutdown.

“Down!” came a shot and without thinking he dropped, blasts whizzing past him and slamming into the ceiling above, raining debris and dust on his head. “Keep down unless you’re going to fire at them,” came Trid’s hissed order.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, opting to drag the entire assembly down to work on it. Power cells were still at eighty per cent charge, no problem there. Cabling was all firmly connected, no issues there either. Cooling loops all still had that pearlescent blue showing they were full of their amazing gel-like coolant. So why wasn’t this thing firing?

What he wouldn’t do for a tricorder right now to do a diagnostic. Heck even an older diagnostic tool to talk with the onboard computers. Then it hit him, the computers! They tripped the safeties, not the safeties themselves! Fire for so long and of course you must be this hot, so shut down. And of course, with one loop the system would take so long to cool, likely longer than anyone had any patience to wait for. But why hadn’t anyone just tried firing this again?

“Hey, when was this last fired?” he asked one of the locals.

“When it stopped working.”

“And when was that?” he followed up. Honestly, how hard was it to give an accurate answer?

“About five minutes ago?” the man answered questioningly, the other agreeing in short order.

“Did neither of you try just pulling the triggers?”

“It stopped working, so why would that work?” one asked. “Gotta find out what’s wrong with it first.”

He sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. He could stand it up and pull the triggers now, but it’d just stop again after a minute of firing. What he needed was a way of avoiding that. Scrambling for the kitchen he found a few utensils, now makeshift tools and headed back. More panels on the weapons were popped off, though forced was a better term for it. Who needs a straight knife anyway right?

A reset switch, small and a pain in the ass was buried inside each weapon. Touch and the onboard computers would reset completely. All warnings would clear, and all computations reset. Here was his solution. The fork in his left hand was soon attacked, tines bent at odd angles so only one remained straight, ready to reach for the reset button without the others contacting other parts inside the weapons and stopping it.

“Trid, give me a hand, will you?” he asked and the Bajoran was at his side in quick order helping him stand the weapon back up. As soon as it was, she was away again, back to the window and calling targets for the other two. More disruptor blasts pelted the building front accompanying a few bangs and pops from no doubt homemade explosives being tossed.

How long had he spent on that weapon? A minute? Five? Ten? It didn’t matter. What mattered was it was ready. The problem now was the street was filled with smoke, billowy and white, blocking sight for all no doubt, but from the shouts and hollering on the other side, it sounded like a mass of Remans readying for a charge. No time to waste then.

One last check, the power cell was still plugged in, the coolant loops hadn’t started leaking. All looked good. “Hey assholes!” he shouted back, more for himself, maybe the others in the room with him, or those on the floors below or the ground who might have heard him. “Go home!” he shouted as he depressed the studs. Sure, it wasn’t the best insult, but he saved those for engineering parts that truly angered him.

The twin disruptors started firing away like made, their fire rate seemingly modified in such a way he never noticed either. Green bolts leapt into the smoke, illuminating it with a sickly glow as he swept the weapon back and forth, filling the volume haphazardly.

And then the entire smoke cloud glowed green, brighter and more intense than his paltry little weapon could. At the same time the smoke cloud was expanding, coming towards him on a solid wave of force that lifted him and threw him away from the window and across the apartment.

His ears were ringing again, the second time in as many days. Everything hurt, especially his back and shoulders. As he blinked, he could make out the flashes of green disruptor fire raining down from above on the street below.

But wasn’t he on the top floor? There was no one above them who could be doing that, and with such huge weapons either. But as quick as it started it stopped and Trid was on him in quick succession. Two fingers raised, he said how many, then followed her finger. He wasn’t concussed, but he couldn’t hear her at all. “What?” he asked and she sighed, then flashed what little Orion Sign she knew at him.

‘Ship arrive here now,’ she’d signed as he shook his head at her before she helped him stand up.

The other Romulans were standing up, leaning out the window and looking up, in regard to the possibility of being shot at from the other side of the street anymore. And as he neared those windows he could see why – the other side of the street had been reduced to rubble. The street was littered with craters, then more that went towards the buildings before piles of rubble that had been there. Then he too was leaning out the window and looking up.

The large dark shape hovering over the city of T’ma’ru was a sight that shouldn’t be seen by anyone really. It belonged to a different era when Klingon or Romulan forces might bombard a city, bringing tyranny and oppression to the populace. But today, as far as he was concerned, a K’t’inga-class battlecruiser was one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.

“How the fuck is she hanging up there?” he asked, knowing he’d have to get an answer much later. Like when his ears weren’t ringing so badly.

———-

“Call from the Captain,” Tavol announced rather calmly and with a hand gesture from Orelia, put it through on the bridge’s speakers.

“Stop firing on the palace!” came Sidda’s shouted demands immediately. “The information I want is in there!”

“Sorry cousin,” Orelia said, “but it was the only way to disable the defence grid and keep the ship and you safe.”

The line was quiet for a moment, a sigh coming across the channel. “Just…don’t fire on it again, will you?” Sidda asked.

“Of course. We haven’t been able to disable the transporter inhibitor, but we can send down the other shuttle to pick you up right now if you want,” Orelia said.

“There are two crates of disruptor rifles in bay 3. Load them on the shuttle and get Deidrick to pick a squad of his best troublemakers and then head for the compound I called from yesterday. I’ll meet him there. I’m not leaving his planet till I get what I came for.” And with that Sidda cut the comm channel. 

That just left Orelia to shrug and turn to Deidrick. “Best do as she says. Maybe pick people who can pretend to be…Starfleet adjacent?”

“I’m sure I can find a few,” Deidrick said with a smirk as he stood to leave.

“Have fun storming the castle!” she shouted after him.

“It won’t be any fun,” he shouted back. “Because you’re going to be knocking on the front door.”

“That seems unlikely if you’re still on the ship,” Tavol stated.

“He means we’re going to blow a hole in the walls when the captain is ready. In the meantime, shall we continue breaking up some fights around town?”

“We surrender, with conditions of course,” the woman who greeted them on the access way up the acropolis the palace was built on said as they approached.

Sidda had marched up here with twenty of her own men and women at her back, promising to secure the surrender of the palace for Serti’s folks with her own forces so she could secure her own borders within the city. Not that much needed to be done really as long as the Vondem Rose hung over the city. She wasn’t a fan of using her precious ship as a gunboat to force the Reman faction, or factions now, to play nice, but it had the appeal of working.

“Oh yeah?” she challenged the woman as she stopped about twenty paces from her, a hand coming to settle on that sword pommel. She really liked the damn thing now, having seen it in a mirror more than a few times today. The little Starfleet delta on that crossguard she could do without, but T’Ael had promised the other had a rose emblem on it to link its fellow sword.

“We request your protection from the revolutionaries until such time as we can be taken from this world and We request the ability to contact the Star Empire and request transportation off this planet.” The woman stood there, no one at her back, no weapon in her empty holster as she made the demands. Her uniform however gave her away as Imperial Star Navy, so likely the garrison commander Sidda reckoned.

“You’re not seriously thinking about it are you?” Trid asked quietly at her side.

She offered a smile to her navigator and stepped forward one more step to distance herself from her people marginally. “Slavers, those who profited from slavery, those who enjoyed the benefits of slavery and those who maintained the status quo of slavery do not get to dictate terms for their surrender. They can accept the terms given to them, or refuse them and continue to fight.”

The Romulan woman stared at her for a whole minute before she spoke. “What are your terms, Mistress of the Vondem Rose?” So, this one at least knew who she was. Likely from observing the initial communications when she arrived, or simply the traffic reports? Didn’t matter, she didn’t really care. But respect was nice.

“I want something from the data vaults within the palace. I also want the contents of the governor’s personal vault. Delivery me that and all of your personal weapons and I’ll leave the palace unmolested as well as contact the Republic to come and pick you up off this world which I understand is marginally inhospitable to you and all those you protect.”

The Romulan woman remarkably kept her stoic mask at the demand. “Without weapons how will we defend ourselves?”

“You’ll still have your walls and I understand the shield generator still works. Your power supply I understand is geothermal, so near-limitless really. You can hold the palace until the Republic comes to take you somewhere not here.” Sidda smiled, somewhat mischievously. “It’s this or I come and get what I want and leave your defences ruined and whoever gets up this road first after me takes the palace regardless.”

“Call the Star Empire for transport,” the woman countered.

“The Republic,” Sidda said back. “From what I understand the Star Empire doesn’t have the ability to spare for such an unimportant world at this time. The entire Velorum Sector is in revolt, Starfleet pouring in ships like it’s the Cardassian Reconstruction and I understand the Republic is pushing outwards. So, you can either have the Republic, or I don’t call anyone and you can stay inside that palace for all I care.”

The woman mulled the thought for a moment, then removed the small ceremonial dagger from her belt and laid it down on the ground at her feet. “I, Major Suram of the Imperial Star Navy, garrison commander of Ta’shen, hereby formally surrender to Captain Sidda Sadovu of the Vondem Rose.”

———-

It had taken less than an hour to get back from the palace to the compound of Serti with the working ground vehicles they had ‘liberated’ from the palace. None of them would be considered protected, but they certainly did speed up moving around the city for those who had them, assuming one wasn’t utilising the services of the Rose’s transporters. They’d brought back even more weapons, currently being distributed out to the self-organising T’ma’ru Militia.

“Three days,” Serti said as she stepped outside her former brothel. “Three days and this world goes from slavery, through mayhem to precarious peace all because of you.” 

“Honestly, I’m surprised myself,” Sidda said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Seems if you bring a big enough stick to the fight,” she said indicating her ship with a thumb, “even the most militant revolutionaries are willing to sit down and listen.”

“And I’m glad that with the communications jammer down the Remans were more willing to listen to Resak’s actual call for revolution. I understand there is some infighting going on, but they’ve stopped attacking us and the Romulan factions at least for now.” Serti stood there, watching the mess of people collecting weapons, not in some mad rush, but organised. There were no formal ranks or structure within her people yet, but at least some understanding they were all fighting together, not against one another.

“We’ll stick around a few more days until the Republic gets here at least. Orelia tells me they’ve started to cross the border tentatively and since Ta’shen is right where it is, they’ll be here soon. Sending a couple of ships, transports too for those who want to leave. I understand some of the Remans want to go join Resak, the folks in the palace want off-world, anywhere it sounds like.”

“I do find it odd, Captain,” Serti said as she looked up at the Vondem Rose, “that a Starfleet Intelligence captain would be flying around in a purple Klingon battlecruiser, or have a crew that would engage in gunboat diplomacy.” She smiled as Sidda turned on her. “Oh, I’m a bit more informed and educated on the universe beyond this world, unlike so many others Captain that I do know what a Klingon ship looks like at least.”

“Deniability,” she offered with a wry smile.

“Or you lied to me.”

“Does it matter if I was Starfleet Intelligence or not?” Sidda shrugged. “You’re safe, your people are safe, the Republic is coming to help keep the peace. You’re in a beautiful position to negotiate with them, seeing as most people here respect and trust you. I think, Governor Serti, the Republic would be foolish not to accept you as planetary governor for now, hmm?”

Serti stood, nodding her head in understanding, then straightened in her posture as she started to smile. “Governor, eh? When you put it all like that, I guess you’re right, I don’t care if you are Starfleet, or a pack of pirates just doing a good thing. I’m sure the Republic will take a bit more convincing to let me stay as governor though..”

“If anyone can do it, I’m sure you can.”

———-

Revin walked around the main cargo bay aboard the Vondem Rose with Na’roq, the ship’s quartermaster, as they inspected the loot they’d taken from the vaults of the governor’s palace. A few priceless artefacts, some art, pallets of currency from a half dozen nations – all of it stuff that the rich and powerful tended to horde for no other reason than they could.

“This will all go a long way to helping replace all the weapons the captain has been giving away to the locals,” Na’roq said as she tapped away at her pad. “I don’t understand how she ever kept you out of insolvency in the past,” she continued. “Orions just don’t have the lobes for business.”

“Calculate the cost of everything,” Revin said quietly, a hand running along the edge of a brick of gold-pressed latnium, “then contact the most reputable bank within the Republic and open an account in Serti’s name, transferring half the amount to it.”

“What?” Na’roq asked. “Does the captain know about this?”

“She will, but you let me worry about that,” Revin said with a smile. “The people of Ta’shen need it more than we do after all.”

“Madness,” Na’roq said with a shake of her head. “Utter madness. But I’ll get it done. The Ta’shen Reconstruction and Betterment Society Fund. Oh, I can walk the funds through the accounts I’ve opened for TLSO and call it a charitable donation.”

She smiled at Na’roq’s scheming, not understanding much of it. After all, weren’t most of their funds in the Federation? The Federation’s economy was a puzzle to her, to most she understood, but if anyone could make it work to the benefit of all, it would be Na’roq.

———-

Sneaking up behind Sidda was an easy task, especially when she was busy reviewing something, her mind and attention elsewhere. She stepped behind her chair, draped her arms over Sidda’s shoulders and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Interesting reading?” she asked in a faint whisper.

“Hmm…yah,” Sidda said, then turned and kissed her back briefly. “Hotet had more than just the name of the people who keep renewing the bounty on you. All sorts of interesting tidbits here we could work with for years.”

“And who,” Revin asked started as she made to sit in Sidda’s lap, drawing her lover’s attention, “keeps putting bounties out in my family’s name?”

“Temrec Kinnen. Republic Senator apparently.” Sidda reached out and turned off the monitor. “We got the info, we freed a world of slaves, we kept the peace till the Republic showed up. Not bad for a few day’s work.”

“We made a sizeable donation to the new planetary government,” she said with a smirk, watching Sidda’s expression change at that.

“How sizable?”

“Half what we took from the palace?”

“Half?!” Sidda exclaimed. “Half? Revin we,” she was silenced with a finger to her lips.

“They need it more than we do. Besides, we’ll make do, we always do.”

“But,” Sidda started to protest, again quickly silenced.

“But nothing. It’s done.”

Sidda just nodded, then smiled. “Good thing your gorgeous, otherwise I might throw you overboard for a stunt like that.”

“You were going to give some of it away anyway,” she said, then kissed Sidda on the forehead. “I just beat you to it.”

“Smart too,” Sidda continued. “So, where to next?”

“Holiday?” Revin asked.

“Holiday,” Sidda said replied. “I need a beach and a strong drink.”