‘You want me to monitor our Klingon guests,’ Renard echoed, gaze incredulously level as she stared across the ready room at Pentecost.

The fact Pentecost was sat behind her desk spoke how much the captain wanted to lean on rank and protocol to get her through this meeting. Nevertheless, she gave her usual sunny, winning smile that Renard knew meant she was about to be fed a pile of bullshit her commanding officer did not believe.

‘They’ll be living aboard Tempest for a few days. Working alongside us in the lab. Joining us on any investigations of whatever we find in the nebula. They’ll need escorting and supervising.’

‘Captain, I’m hardly the best choice for a friendly tour guide.’

Pentecost waved a hand. ‘Oh, come on, Renard. If I wanted someone who’d be nice about keeping them in line, I’d appoint…’ Her voice trailed off, and she frowned at nothing for a moment, thinking.

‘Take your time considering your options,’ Renard said, unable to keep a wry drawl from her voice. ‘I’m to treat them as a potential security risk, then?’

‘Kovor didn’t send them for their scientific contributions. They’re here to support his agenda. And I’m not assuming that’s just “stay up-to-date on our findings.”’ Pentecost jabbed a finger. ‘So, yes. Watch them. I don’t care if you act like you’re their new best friend or if you think they’re criminals walking. You’re Chief of Security and we’re working with suspicious guests. That’s your job.’

‘Captain, you know you don’t have to convince me to follow orders,’ Renard pointed out. ‘Your word is enough.’

‘Sure,’ said Pentecost, ‘that’s why you were sassy about it. Which is why I’m not sorry about it.’ Nevertheless, there was an air of self-consciousness as she picked up the old-fashioned ink pen from its little stand on her desk and twirled it between her fingers. ‘You didn’t like following orders at Breaker’s Quay.’

‘It’s part of my job to push for the most stringent security measures possible. It’s your job to weigh that up with the greater needs of the mission -’

‘I mean backing down when Kovor and his goons caught the deserter.’

Renard’s expression stayed studied. ‘I understand we don’t have jurisdiction there. The House of Mokvarn do.’

‘You were still getting involved even when you knew about jurisdiction,’ Pentecost pointed out carefully. ‘I had to call you off.’

‘I apologise if that made your negotiations more difficult -’

‘Not looking for an apology,’ Pentecost said, gaze appraising. ‘I didn’t much like watching Klingons beat and kill a man, either.’

‘We’re Starfleet. We shouldn’t stand by when something like that happens. But I understand the law, Captain, and I understand why you gave that order. It won’t happen again.’

‘You’re not being reprimanded, either,’ Pentecost sighed, but Renard’s expression didn’t budge an inch. She shook her head in the silence. ‘Fine. Carry on.’

Pentecost had thoughtfully summoned Renard to this meeting very close to the Klingons’ expected arrival, likely to force her hand. By the time Renard had reviewed the standard procedures for guests in this risk category and briefed her security team, she was due down in the transporter room.

She’d hesitated in the security office at the locker where her holster and phaser pistol were stored. Then buckled the belt on. These were Klingons. They would not be offended by a display of weapons.

The transporter lights faded at the chief’s command to deposit two figures, and her heart sank at the sight of the two broad-shouldered warriors she’d seen hammering the deserter at Breaker’s Quay. They were less dusty and out of their metal armour, with packs slung over their shoulders; she took in at once the thick leather of their uniforms, better protection than her officers wore, and the pronged daggers at their hips.

‘Lieutenant Renard,’ she said crisply, hands clasped behind her back. ‘Chief of Security, USS Tempest.’

The one who’d done more of the talking, more of the beating, stepped down first, and her throat tightened as he looked her up and down with an openly appraising glint. ‘Lieutenant Ash’rogh. Second officer of the Mat’lor. Are you here to get in our way again?’

She didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Will I need to stop you?’

A faint scoff. ‘You can try.’

Then the bigger Klingon bounded down, clasping his comrade’s shoulders, and gave a grin of crooked teeth. ‘And I am Sergeant Jodrak. I keep the engines together. Do not take this one too seriously. I try not to.’

Ash’rogh ground his teeth together. ‘Sergeant -’

‘Oh, now it is “sergeant.” Twenty years, and now he calls on rank.’ Jodrak rocked him, still beaming at Renard. ‘Forgive him. He is in a foul mood. You embarrassed him in front of our captain.’

Ash’rogh turned, pushing the bigger Klingon back, and raised an accusing finger. ‘Do not test me.’

For a moment, Renard wondered if she’d need to separate her guests, but Jodrak only laughed and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. At last, Ash’rogh’s shoulders dropped, and she saw a curl of an unwitting smile tug at his lips. Sighing, he turned back to her.

‘We are here to work with your crew, Lieutenant,’ Ash’rogh said at last. ‘We thank you for your hospitality and shelter.’

She simply nodded, uninterested in his changing mood beyond how easy it would make him to manage. ‘I’ll show you to your quarters.’

They fell into step behind her, Ash’rogh silent, Jodrak craning his neck to look at everything as they moved through the Tempest’s corridors.

‘You polish the bulkheads?’ Jodrak rumbled, running a hand along the wall. ‘Could eat off this deck.’

Renard didn’t turn. ‘I wouldn’t recommend it.’

He chuckled, a low rumble, but his eyes were light with interest. ‘Rooms this wide, lights this soft – no wonder you Federation have a reputation for weakness.’

She stopped at the junction and looked back this time, gaze level. ‘Yes, comfort is terrible for morale. You’ll suffer through it, I’m sure.’

While Jodrak beamed like a man who’d known he was being provocative, it was the snort of laughter from Ash’rogh that caught her unawares, ringing not of mocking, but sincere amusement. She turned away.

They reached the guest quarters and the door slid open to reveal the comfortable, well-lit suite. A small seating and dining area, a separate bathroom, a cushioned bed in a sleeping alcove further in.

Jodrak let out a low whistle. ‘I didn’t know we were meeting the captain first.’

Renard arched an eyebrow. ‘The captain’s quarters are larger. Though arguably less tidy. This is your room, Sergeant.’ She declined to mention that the VIP quarters were even more luxurious, but Valois had determined that visiting Klingon officers did not need to be received in such a state.

The two Klingons stepped inside, Ash’rogh more guarded, Jodrak’s eyes wide as he drank in the details. ‘This is as large as Kovor’s own chambers,’ the sergeant said. Then his eyes flickered back to her. ‘You treat your guests as comrades.’

‘Guests get treated as guests,’ Renard said levelly. ‘Comrades earn their place.’

‘You’ve worked on Starfleet ships before,’ Ash’rogh cut in, voice a little rougher. ‘Do not act so star-struck.’

‘I never slept on them. I did eat on them.’ Jodrak looked like something had occurred to him, and took bold strides towards the replicator. ‘And shall again…’

Renard turned to Ash’rogh, and found they were near-mirroring expressions verging on eye-rolls. ‘I’ll get you to your room, Lieutenant. Then once you’ve settled, you can be shown to the labs to discuss findings with Commander Sorren, our Chief Science Officer.’

‘His room?’ Jodrak stopped halfway through keying in a banquet from the replicator. ‘These rooms are not shared?’

‘They could be,’ Renard said levelly. ‘But guests are afforded privacy and space where possible. Enjoy your meal.’

Ash’rogh’s room was only next door, and he followed her wordlessly as she showed him to the identical quarters. Only once in, looking around, did he speak again.

‘Will we need a security escort?’

‘No. You aren’t merely guests, you’re allies,’ said Renard, smothering her misgivings about the latitude the Khitomer Accord gave members of the Klingon Defence Force aboard Starfleet ships. ‘Your access to restricted sections is limited, and you may be shown to where you need to be. But you can use the ship’s facilities freely.’

He nodded, eyes raking over the room’s amenities. ‘I expect they are many.’

‘The computer can show you.’ She hesitated. ‘And tomorrow night is our open mic night at the lounge.’ At the raising of his eyebrows, she sighed. ‘Performances. By the crew. The captain would invite you, I’m sure.’

She was sure he would scoff, which was why she’d mentioned it here, where he could do little diplomatic harm. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully. ‘A time for songs and stories. Good. I will settle in, and attend upon your Chief Science Officer.’

Renard thought of the dust of Breaker’s Quay, and the blood of the deserter dripping from his broken face after his beating at Ash’rogh’s hands. She wondered what songs or stories such a man might have, and then decided she wasn’t that curious.

‘Good,’ she echoed. ‘Settle in. Welcome to the Tempest.’ She left the door sliding shut behind her, the silence of the corridors more welcome than she had expected. Klingon guests, she reminded herself. Allies.

For now.