“Chance Meeting a Dragon”
Kuari and John T. Chance

Kuari made her way across the upper walkway of the shuttle bay, stalking along on all fours, when an ear twitched toward the chasmic bay below housing several shuttlecraft. Peering over the edge, she could see a crewman poking around an open hatch to one of the small vessels.

“I can’t believe they’re making me take spoor samples,” the human, an ensign named John T. Chance grumbled, frowning to himself. “As if anyone in Star Fleet is actually allergic to Andorian mold!”

He scraped the side of the shuttle without paying attention to much else.

John T. Chance stood just under six feet tall and had a lean muscular build. He had an oval face with a smallish nose, a crooked smile and deep blue eyes framed by a headful of bushy sandy blond hair. Kuari remained dead still watching him before she pulled her head back from the edge and crept more quietly towards the stairs. Sneaking up on him from the normal route somehow seemed less likely to get her into trouble than jumping off the railing and landing next to him.

Suddenly, Chance looked up to see what reminded him instantly of a dragon from the ancient Earth storybooks he remembered reading as a child regarding him curiously. He swallowed hard, looking at it. There was no mistaking what he was seeing.

It was a dragon.

It was about the same size as himself, only it was wearing a Star Fleet uniform. More than startled, he tossed the instruments he’d been using into the air and flattened himself against the side of the shuttlecraft, breathing hard. “Mary, Joseph, and Saint George,“ he cried, startled.

He squinted, regarding the creature, a distant memory from the Academy flaring to life behind his eyes. “You’re a…um…um…y’know…one of…um,” he stammered, realizing how stupid he had to be sounding. “…never mind. I…what are you doing down here?”

Having made her way down the stairs by this point, Kuari rounded the base of the access stairway and approached him. “I’m doing my security rounds. What are you doing down here?”

Feeling awkward, Chance extended a hand. “I’m John Chance,” he said. “I’m taking spoor samples. You wouldn’t happen to be allergic to Andorian mold, would you?”

Kuari stopped in front of him and cocked her head to the side, abandoning any attempt at taking the offered hand in light of his potentially disturbing question. “I…have no idea.”

Chance stood motionless for a moment, unsure what to say. “Well, somebody is,” he said, as if he had to justify what he was doing. “That’s why they’ve got me testing all the birds down here. Sneezing, you see.”

The bird comment drew his eyes to the creature’s back. “Say,” he said without thinking about what he was about to say. “Are those really wings?”

Unable to read the creature’s reaction, Chance’s confidence in this particular line of conversation faded to near oblivion. “I mean no offense,” he said, awkwardly trying to recover. “I’ve never seen a species like you before. You’re rather magnificent, actually.”

Kuari twitched a wing outward somewhat subconsciously at his mention of it before recovering herself, nodding and smiling toothily. “Thank you. And yes, they are.”

“Wow. That’s…something all right,” he said, his voice trailing off as he noticed the lieutenant bars on her uniform. If it were odd for him to see an alien creature in a Star Fleet uniform in the first place, it was stranger still to see that he was obviously outranked by it. He was suddenly unsure whether to speak or salute. He chose to speak. “So, like, what is it you do Lieutenant…Lieutenant….Do you have a name?”

“Oh! Sorry. I’m Second Lieutenant Kuari.”

“Kuari,” he said aloud, although mostly to himself, floundering with the correct pronunciation.

She finally extended a big paw-like hand. “Sorry to scare you!” Kuari thought for a moment. “Okay, not really sorry, it never gets old.” She grinned again.

Chance nodded knowingly, frowning a little. “I get it, scare the stupid green human,” he said. Realizing that the lieutenant in front of him actually was green, he blushed a little. “Not that I’m actually green like you are. Green in the sense that I’m new, if you see what I mean by green, if you know what I mean.”

Kuari shook Chance’s hand. “When I was in the Academy, I was actually called green a few times, and I didn’t think much of it until someone called a Bolian green. Confused, I asked if he was color blind, and he said it was just a saying and explained it to me. I couldn’t remember how many times I’d been called green and hadn’t caught the true meaning!”

“I could explain it,” Chance offered. “When someone calls you green, they’re saying that you’re
new, not particularly seasoned and not particularly experienced. The saying comes from the fact that fruit on earth is usually the color green before it’s ripened enough to eat.”

Kuari nodded along, absorbing this. “That makes sense. Very earthy origin. I like it.” After a moment, she sat on the floor, her eyes still level with his. “So…can I help with anything? I’m just wandering, really. Nothing to do but poke around in dark corners.”

Chance blinked at her, wondering why anyone would want to help take mold samples. But before he answered, he looked around the semi-darkened bay for the instruments he’d inadvertently tossed into the air when the remarkable creature first appeared.

“I suppose you could help me find the tools I was using,” he said.

He thought about it for a second. “Or we could not do it at all,” he said. “I’m brand new on this ship.” He smiled and winked at Kuari, “Absolutely green, you might say. The mold samples can certainly wait. But I think I would fancy wandering about with someone who knows her way around the ship, especially if you have the time.”

Kuari cocked her head in thought. “I have to stay within my designated patrol area, but I suppose I could show you some of the interesting parts nearby.”

“That’s fine with me,” Chance said, straightening and rubbing his hands against his uniform pants. “Anything is better than collecting samples like this. I think they only assigned me the duty because they can’t figure out exactly what to do with me. So they’re finding busy work, y’know what I mean?”

She smiled back. “Hopefully you’ll find getting familiar with the area more useful.”

* * *

The large bay doors thrummed open, and Kuari preceded Chance into the room. “This is the Fighter Bay. Atlantis’ Mustang squadron is called the Sharks. I heard the Admiral himself used to fly one, but he doesn’t any longer.”

Chance looked up at the impressive vessels and frowned a little. He looked back at Kuari. “I’m a little overwhelmed by the military presence,” he said. “We could blow away entire star systems with all this stuff. It’s a bit much for a kid spending all his time studying geology on a place as barren and desolate as Mars. There’s not much there other than the mining colonies. But that’s where I grew up. Wasn’t much need for fighter squadrons, or even fighters for that matter. The one guy who claimed to own a phaser pretty much ruled everything. And you know what? I don’t even think it worked.”

He smiled at his newfound companion. “How about you?” he asked. “What was it like where you grew up? Cause all I’m imagining is princesses and fairy castles.”

Kuari rolled her large eyes, a habit she’d recently picked up from a fellow marine. She was used to being referred to as a dragon, and she had studied up on early Earth mythology and understood Chance’s reference. “I grew up on Ruka in the Delta Quadrant. It’s a beautiful place.” She stared off into the bay wistfully. “My family lived in the forest. I loved flying through the trees.” She turned to meet Chance’s eyes. “We recently visited a moon we named Gencodia. I got to fly around and patrol from the air. It had lots of trees and reminded me so much of home. I wish we hadn’t had to leave!”

Chance looked back, impressed to the point of being in awe. “So your wings aren’t ornamental?” he said. “You really can fly?”

“It’s difficult for me to imagine not knowing the sight and smell of a forest my whole life. To grow up in such a flat and desolate place…” Kuari stared for a moment and finally shook her head.

“Desolate, maybe, but hardly flat,” Chance said. “The colony was at the base of the biggest volcano in the quadrant. The cliffs at sunset were a stunning sight. But it was hardly a forest. First time I saw one it was hard to accept the fact that everything was actually living.”

Nodding her understanding, Kuari looked over the multitude of fighter ships resting across the silent bay. “Exploring new places is something we have in common. Atlantis was built for discovery. We’re on the edge of explored space. I wonder what we’ll find beyond what’s known.”

“Nicely put,” Chance said, turning to her with a nod. “The unknown is always a mystery till we categorize it and sort it all out. Until then, it’s the total wonder my first forest was.”

Smiling, he turned back to the fighters filling the bay. “Nice to have all this at hand as we boldly go, as the old school saying went, where no one has gone before. Good to have a sword in case the unknown doesn’t like us very much.”

Kuari nodded, a somewhat strange gesture for her. “Armor is good.” She lowered her head and thumped her plated back with the spur of her wing. “But sometimes you’ve got to have something to fight them off with.” She turned a large eye at Chance and grinned.

“Oh, I get it,” Chance said, smiling back. “You get a lot more respect with a phaser and a smile than you do just with a smile. Dad used to say that all the time, especially when some tough guy deadbeat with bad credit wandered into the store.”

He turned fully to the dragon. “Speaking of tough, that’s a marine’s uniform you’re wearing isn’t it?” he asked. “I’ve always heard that the marines are the literal definition of elite when it comes to fighting forces.”

Kuari raised her head high, effectively puffing out her chest a little. “Yes we are. Atlantis wouldn’t have anything less!”

“You sound like a recruitment poster,” he said, adding a little laugh.

The Rucara held her smile a moment before lapsing into a pensive stare. “Humans are very interesting creatures. My family traveled all this way, and something about them made us stay and devote years to learning more. My mother is at Starfleet Medical, and my father acts as the ambassador of Ruka.”

Kuari grinned again and blinked, seeming to break out of her deep thoughts and glanced around the cavernous room. “I was more adventurous, wanting to serve on one of their Federation’s ships. And look, here I am, out on the very border.” She sighed. “Rucara usually stick together. There aren’t many of us. Your people would consider us an endangered species. Going out into danger like I do isn’t common.” Kuari shook her head and closed her eyes. “My parents are worried sick!”

Chance shook his head. “Funny, isn’t it?” he said. “I would never have thought of you with parents that would much be worried for your safety. Proud, perhaps, because you really are as impressive a being as I’ve ever met. I guess it’s all a matter of perception, isn’t it? The toughest guy in the galaxy still has a mother that worries about him…or her…I guess.”

Kuari dropped her hindquarters to the deck plating without breaking eye contact. “Your mother worries about you, too?”

Chance’s face dropped a little and he shrugged. “She died in a skiing accident at the northern pole when I was very young,” he said. “So it was just me and Dad. He didn’t really worry that much when I decided to take off and see the universe. He used to worry a lot more when I’d steal a shuttle and fly off to the pole to look for her. He told me they never found her body, and I always used to imagine I’d find her encased in the ice like a fairy princess.”

Chance stopped and sighed. “Of course I never did find her,” he said. “Dad was just a little sad when I left though. I don’t think he liked being left behind. But he’s much more a creature of habit than me. I like to take each day one at a time. I like to think of each day as a mystery. And everything that happens to you happens by…”

He turned with a wide smile.

“Chance,” he said.

Kuari gave him a questioning look. Noting it, and almost as an afterthought, Chance reached into his pocket and brought out a small, gold-colored metal disk that fit in the palm of his hand. He held it up between a thumb and forefinger so that Kuari could see it. It was a curious object with the depiction of an apparently human woman carved in relief on one side, and a grouping of odd-looking animals on the other.

Kuari looked up at him curiously.

“This is called a coin,” Chance explained. “It’s ancient, actually. The date along the edge says it was minted in 1984. But Dad told me that once upon a time a very, very long time ago, these were commonly used as monetary currency. They were made of precious metals, gold, silver and such. And they were worth their weight in the value of the metal.”

He handed the coin to Kuari, which was swallowed in her large paw as she drew it to her eye to inspect it.

“This one came from an Earth Island nation called Australia,” he explained. “On one side is the depiction of a ruler, Queen Elizabeth II, or so the markings say. On the other side are four Kangaroos – indigenous animals – in a semi circle. None of that hardly matters now other than to use it the way Dad showed me. He said the side with the queen would be called heads, and the side with the Roos, tails. And you can use it to decide your fate. Sort of like the ultimate act of chance.”

He reached out and took the coin back from Kuari, who was now looking at him as if he were deranged. He rested it on a curved finger with his thumb beneath it. “I’ll show you how it works,” he said. “We have a decision to make, so we’ll let the coin decide it. Heads we stay here in the bay, tails we move on and explore someplace else. I’ll flip it in the air and whichever side it lands on decides our fate.”

He released his thumb and the coin tumbled upwards into the air. He caught it and slapped it against his wrist, keeping it covered.

“Call it,” he said, smiling.

Kuari just sat blinking for a moment, then seemed to understand what was being asked of her. She didn’t understand the whole concept, but she was open-minded as was typical of her species, and she figured she would learn more by his demonstration. The corners of her large mouth turned up as she said, “Tails.”

“Okay,” Chance said, nodding not only approval but also with surprise. He slowly lifted his hand, looked beneath it and then drew it away. The Kangaroo side of the coin was showing. “Tails it is.”

The Rucara cocked her head, thinking about his words and the outcome. “So I pick my fate before I know what it is. Sort of.”

“Yeah, kind of,” he said. “It’s an arbitrary act that doesn’t consider the pros or cons of any given choice. A simple coin flip reaches into the most obscure corners of the cosmos to reach a conclusion to be followed.”

He winked at the dragon. “In other words, it’s simple dumb luck. You know, chance.”

The corners of Kuari’s very large mouth stretched back across her face. She then narrowed an eye shrewdly and tilted her head. “Your name’s not really Chance, is it?”

He nodded. “It really is,” he said. “That’s why I’ve always carried the coin. It sort of seems to fit, y’know? Corney, I know. But my Dad always thought it was funny as all get out.”

Kuari nodded along, then grinned again. “In this case, your name decided your fate.” She winked back, copying him.

Her perfectly-mimicked wink made Chance laugh. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I think I’m beginning to really like you.”

Kuari held out her paw expectantly. Smiling, Chance took the coin between his thumb and forefinger and placed it carefully in the center of her palm. She balanced it awkwardly in her paw and flipped it, but it flew upward at a strange angle, and she had to rush forward and catch it with her tongue. Sheepishly, she presented it to Chance. Nearly doubling over with laughter, he gently peeled it off of the tip of the eel-like tongue.

“I like you, too.” Her grin grew, showing teeth, as she watched Chance laugh in amusement. “Now, Ensign, shall I escort you back to the Shuttlebay? I believe you have some samples that need collecting.”

His mouth fell open hearing her words. “Back to take more samples?” he said, slowly looking back at the coin. “And to think, I called that bit of fate myself.” He shook his head in disbelief and began to laugh again.

She finally started giggling along, a lilting, bird-like sound, which apparently Chance found funny, because he began to laugh more earnestly. Her giggles evolved into a much louder and

ridiculous laugh resembling the call of a hyena, her generous lungs feeding her well-developed vocal center into resonating through her large head.

They would return to the Shuttlebay, but for a few moments, the laughter of human and dragon echoed throughout the Assault Bay.

“Ushaan”
Thavandithar Zh’dani and Kathryn Harper

“Yeah, that was some serious shit out there.”

The confirmation was given even as, leaning against the alloy window frame in Ten Forward, Chaka watched the formerly fleeing pirate shuttle disappeared from view, making its tractor assisted disappearance into the main shuttlebay. It was one of those little benefits he was trying to see to having his ride blown to smithereens: he didn’t have any station to secure, and as the ship stood down from general quarters, he’d been among the elite few able to beat the rush. It was something of a tradition, albeit upheld mostly by newer, unknowing crewmen. After the ship saw some action, people wanted to either come down from the adrenaline high, or maybe even to try and get in on it, those stationed below decks in environmental control or deuterium storage or some such, wanting to get the story from someone who had a better view of the show. That pretty much meant the bar, and when the ship had just been tossed end over end, people suddenly got real concerned about the fate of the bar. They quickly learned, of course, that Jack Calahan had sat in on more than a few of these episodes, and his station was battened down as tightly as the galley on any old sailing vessel, but all the same, there were always enough new replacements or transfers to ensure that initial crowd, and so now seemed as good a time as any to get back to his nice window seat while it was still open.

“Not that you’d know it back over here, of course.” he continued, settling down with his ale. “Big ship like this, shields over shields, half the crew probably NEEDED an exploding nebula just to let them know something wasn’t going quite right. But out there, fire coming at you from all sides and every last last shot a real threat? You need to bring some serious game out with you to make it back out.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Or…maybe Commander Harper’s word, actually.” replied a beleagured lieutenant in engineering yellow. Having been kept on the clock longer than most due to the now concluded action, he’d gotten authorization for a half hour break, but word had spread by now that the pirate had sent out a distress call to his boss before he was caught. The damage inflicted by said pirate’s lucky strike earlier had been annoying and costly enough, but with the nebula detonation added to it…yet again, his department would be working overtime until either the ship was up to speed, or it was confirmed they didn’t need to worry about that distress call being answered belatedly. The end result of which was that Lieutenant Price was short on the usual patience that the crew in general learned to build up for a fighter jock’s bluster…still less for a wounded and over-compensating fighter jock.

“Word is you just about didn’t.”

“Yeah, I heard that too.” the currently grounded pilot replied hotly. “Haven’t heard much else about it on the grapevine though. Guess that’s a consequence of sitting back here out of their effective range and waiting for us to clear out the defenses for you. I think it’ll be of interest to you! Lot of math involved. Like the computerized targeting that drove their micro torp batteries, constantly running light speed projections to ensure that dodging one missile steers you right into the path of something else. Or the drone fighters, reacting just as fast, accelerating without regard for what would or would not turn any pilot into jelly…oh yeah, and outnumbering us 3 to 1! You need skill, you need guts, but just as much, you need luck out there. What happened to Sandbags and Shortstack, what, yes, almost happened to me, could just as easily have happened to any one of them!”

“Okay, but…it didn’t.”

“Tell ya what, Price. I’m sure all the flight data that got transmitted is still in the computers somewhere. How about we meet up this time tomorrow, holodeck 2, and we run you through Ushaan’tor’s last ride. We’ll see how you do. And hey, I’ll make it sweeter for you. Get through the first minute without puking from the G forces, and your next drink’s on me.”

“So you’re going to…what? Save me having to walk to the nearest replicator? Thanks.”

“I have leave coming up, then! I’ll make for Refuge. I will BUY you a bottle of your choice.”

“Zh’dani, look, just-”

“Romulan. Fucking. Ale!”

A curiously-accented voice from a few tables away cut off any answer that the hapless lieutenant could give. “Even out here, that is contraband, Chaka. Perhaps you should lower your voice.”

Harper. Of course the CAG was sitting within easy earshot when somebody took a stick to the sore spot of his injured pride. Why the hell wouldn’t she be? Settling with some effort back into the seat he found he’d been leaning most of the way out of to accept Price’s challenge, he did as she suggested…in the sense that what he said wouldn’t be audible from the bar. But that wasn’t to say he was ready to back down entirely, not even for his immediate superior.

“Just talking over here, Firefly. Last I checked, that kind of thing was still grudgingly tolerated, even by the most shuttle up their ass at full impulse security heavy.”

“Of course there is nothing wrong with talking, but I do not believe that people with reasonable sensibilities yell about their illegal activities.”

“Illegal? Where’s the illegal, Commander?” the Andorian asked with a vaguely feral grin, throwing his arms out to the side in an expansive gesture, as if to indicate the totality of this conversation. “There’s no crime unless you’ve DONE it. And even then, one could make the argument, not unless you’re dumb enough to get caught. In theory, of course!”

With that, he almost belligerently knocked back half his drink, continuing on as soon as the breath to do so had come back to his lungs.

“Besides, why don’t you go ahead and name me one fighter pilot you’ve met who was best described as either reasonable OR sensible? By all means, take your time. I’ll wait.”

“That was not my point, and you know it. Come and sit, Chaka. Have a drink with me.” If he had been closer, Chaka would have heard her whispered addition of, “Quietly.”

Hear it he did not, but even in a bad mood, the Andorian pilot did possess SOME capacity for recognizing subtext, and this sounded suspiciously like one of those friendly suggestions that could be speedily upgraded to an order in the event of a refusal. Pushing his chair back from his own table, he paused long enough to quietly assure Price that they weren’t finished, prompting a muttered “Oh, goody.” in reply. Finishing off his glass, he approached Harper by way of the bar, where he upgraded to a Saurian Brandy before sitting at his new table with a sigh.

“So…what? Is this where I find myself because you don’t have an office?”

Kate regarded him over a fresh salt-rimmed margarita that Jack had delivered right before she interrupted him. “Pilots are not really the office type, I am told, so this is the best I can do. Besides, even if I did have an office, the bar would not be as good.”

“I’ll give you that.” he agreed, drawing out the first sip of brandy, contemplating the flavor. It was more deliberation than he generally demonstrated with spirits, but if he wasn’t getting out of here without some heart to heart, or…whatever the hell Harper had in mind, then it was time to ration his drink.

“So, how is this supposed to work? I promise not to make a scene? Write it on the board 100 times?”

“Chaka, if this were about disciplining a junior officer, it would not be over drinks. Talk to me as a fellow pilot.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Chaka snapped off, failing to take the time to consider the likelihood that it was a bad idea. In fairness, however, wasn’t that how he approached most things? Trust his instincts, deal with the rest later. No reason for this to be any different, he supposed. “A pilot is, by definition, somebody who flies something.”

“You are being intentionally obtuse. We just flew through hell and you not only got shot down, but had to ride back home stuffed in the back of my cockpit.” After a drink of the margarita, she finished, “And now you are having trouble dealing with that, yes?”

“Well, gosh! Now that you mention it?” he managed through gritted teeth, right before he pried his jaw open by force of will long enough to down the rest of his brandy, all plans to pace himself forgotten. “Sure! Sure, it sucks Mugato cock! I feel like we’ve had a breakthrough, don’t you? Can I go now?”

“I am no counselor, obviously. But I am trying to help you, if you will let me. The last thing I want to see is you trying to seek redemption in some foolhardy act of bravado the next time we fly, and ending up dead instead.”

“Foolhardy bravado, huh? What, like combing a battle for a one on one rematch with Shore because he’d splashed your ass last time you were out? Something like that?”

Her eyes wandered to the windows at his mention of Andre Shore, the memory obviously an unwelcome visitor.

Turning his gaze backward, he proceeded to wave his empty tumbler about briefly, signaling to Jack that he needed a refill next time one of the tray bearers was free before he turned back to the conversation. His tone, at least, had softened a little by then, and her gaze had returned from whatever it had found outside.

“Look, Harper…Kate. I appreciate the sentiment. I do. But let’s not kid ourselves. We’re sitting here, surrounded by hundreds of tons of armor and hull reinforcement, and shielding enough atop that at a moment’s notice to enjoy front row seats for a meteor shower. And we, time and again, go rushing to trade it all in for something zippy and shiny. We do this because it’s our job, sure, but a job we chose. No fought for! Then, as soon as we get back, we launch right into the hooting and hollering, patting ourselves on the back, breaking out the champagne, having ourselves a big old party in honor of being just that fucking good. We’ve all seen the exasperated looks from the maintenance crews who have to fix up the planes so we can all do it again, or heard the muttered curses from the marines who have to hump their way to the objective while we literally SIT through a battle, but we do all that crap anyway, and why? Because that too is part of the job.”

He broke off for a moment then, but only to thank the bearer of his new drink, and to help himself before he finished.

“Foolhardy? Please. Bravado is what we DO.”

She exhaled a long breath. “Shore was different, but still a mistake. I suppose I would attribute what I did to inexperience, since I was fairly new to all of this at the time. Still, it was different; now, we were simply overwhelmed out there by automated defenses. There was no personal element to it, and no shame in falling to withering firepower. But Shore … he was one of us and betrayed us, betrayed his fellow wingmates and shook a bond of trust that we stake our lives on. Yes, he shot me down, but that was not why I hunted him with such determination.” Kate paused to stare down into her drink, and quietly finished, “I had to kill the son of a bitch that caused my pilots to doubt each other. I got lucky and lived to tell the tale, but you might not.”

“It was Ushaan.” Chaka countered, actually choosing to set the drink aside for the moment, so that Harper would understand that in this, there was no flippancy meant. “Whether on the squadron’s behalf or your own, it still amounts to the same thing. A point of honor. Honor that none of us could have satisfied for you. I always understood that. It’s you who doesn’t get it if you think all that goes out the window because I got shot down by software and not by some dipshit you can put a name to. In fact hell, you wanted to have a deep conversation, so let’s have it! Let me tell you why I belong out there and not in here once the shit hits the fan.”

“Before you do that,” Kate interjected, “let me just tell you that I understand the insult to your honor, and your pride. I get that, I really do. But what I see here so far is a man who might get himself killed trying to heal his wounded ego. Convince me that is not the case, because I speak from experience on this matter, as you have pointed out.”

Chaka’s face had contorted into a frown at being cut off just as he got going, and the content of that interruption did less than nothing to help matters.

“No, you don’t get it. You say you do, you even think you do, but you still use ‘honor’ and ‘pride’ like they’re interchangable, like one is just a more pretentious word for the other. They’re not. And that is why the most AND least successful ambassadors we send to the Klingon Empire are generally Andorians. We get Klingons. Everyone else seems to instinctively ASSUME they understand Klingons, and half the time, don’t realize until it’s too late that all they’re doing is condescending. So, let me lay it out for you. Wounded pride is telling me I fuck poorly. Insulted honor is telling me I fucked another man’s wife. And fine, yeah, wounded pride is getting shot down when you or Crazy Horse didn’t, and having to ride home stuffed in your damn trunk. And fine, that wounded pride might make me obnoxious for a while. But pride isn’t why I fly to begin with. That would be honor.”

“Look around you. Take it in, this massive juggernaut of a ship. Think of it, all the crew, all the little functions it takes to make this ship run, let alone to fight. And mostly, that’s what you do on this ship. You do your job, big or little, to make sure the juggernaut keeps rolling past whatever gets in its way, so far back from the action that chances are, you never see or hear more of an enemy than Blackthorne’s announcement about it over shipwide. Because it’s not about you. You’re just doing your little bit for the good of the whole. Productive. Useful. Not me! If I hear I have to go fight somebody, then I am damn well going to FIGHT them! The marines will not be the only ones who get to meet their foe face to face. And THAT is the soul of what we do. Single combat.”

Abruptly, he then shot up from his chair, drink brandished like a battleaxe.

“My name is Thavandithar Zh’dani! I am a child of the ice! My great grandfather served with Thy’lek Shran! Before that, my ancestors fought atop the Zabathu, with lance and sword! This is my Zabathu, and if you’re brave enough, I will show you my lance and my sword! So come ahead! Show me your skill, your heart, your ideals, your glee, your hate, whatever you have to bring! I’ll do the same. One of us lives, the other dies, and we’ll know who was right!”

And then, just as abruptly, he leaned in forward, his voice a low hiss meant only for Harper.

“But these cowards don’t fight like that, do they?”

“No, they do not, and I am glad that you realize that.” Kate paused a moment with the hint of a smile on her face that she had worn during his impassioned speech, as if reminded of something or something pleasant. “You may not think that I understand, Thavandithar, but I have deeper insight into the Andorian idea of honor than you may realize. Regardless of whether or not you believe me, I simply wish to ensure that you are the one left standing when all of this dust settles.”

Chaka did not sit back down. In fact, to the observers in Ten Forward, his posture would change only subtly, for Harper’s words could not dismiss the anger behind his words, or the tension it had generated. But some of that anger did at least leave his face in favor of a more neutral expression, as he considered that. And his tone was more even when he broke his short silence. At first, anyway.

“If you DO understand…” he began, not yielding the point outright, but evidently willing to give his CAG the benefit of the doubt. “then it means two things. One, I owe you an apology. And two, you understand the sheer scale of the disrespect at work. We may go out there armed with some of the finest tech the Federation can muster, but more importantly, we go out there PERSONALLY. We bring years of hard work and training, and we put our own damn flesh and blood on the line. And what do they send to meet us? Plastic! Silicon! They can’t even be bothered to fly the fucking things remotely! It’s just some generic programming. Another few years, and you’ll probably be able to download patches for it over the Net. It is almost literally the same as if instead of getting up to fight off a boarding party, McKnight just directed them to the holodeck so they could fight training simulations. And the worst part? The VERY worst part?

Now, he DID sit down, because his moment of relative calm was past, and it was this or explode again.

“It WORKED! I scored 11 kills out there, 3 of them AFTER my shields had been pummelled into nothing, and for all that, my main contribution to that battle was to offer good, solid evidence that it’s not enough. By shooting me down, they used me as proof that plastic, and silicon, and software is the way of the future. And for that, I will have blood. I will tear apart every soulless flying windup toy they send at me, every damn one, until they can either come out and face me themselves, or die screaming as their ships burn around them. I will have satisfaction!”

Another drink was savagely and entirely consumed before the glass was slammed back down onto the table with just barely enough restraint to avoid shattering it.

“Prideful? Yes. Reckless. Yes. Just like I’ve always been. You don’t want me out there? Think I’m a danger to myself and the squadron? That’s fine. Your call to make, and I’ll respect it. More than respect it. Blackthorne will have my transfer request on his desk by the end of the day. But failing that? Here’s your assurances. I will be angry. I will be magnificent. And I will never, ever play it safe.”

She finished the remainder of her margarita and answered, “Alright, Chaka, that is good enough for me. That is the fire you have always had and it is what I need from my pilots. All I ask is that you try not to do anything too crazy. You are more valuable to your fellow Sharks alive, you know.”

“Then I guess you better watch my back out there, huh?”

“I always do, and expect the same in return. That is the point of a fighter wing, yes? Who would fly into hell without knowing that someone has their back?”

To that, Chaka answered with his first anger free grin of the afternoon.

“I would. But I’ll admit, it’s nice not having to.”

Kate chuckled and raised a fresh margarita that an unnoticed waiter had delivered during their heated conversation. “I will drink to that.”

Leda Harper and Syvek

Lieutenant Leda Harper had not spent much time cooling her heels upon finishing her last handful of Academy credits – off-schedule, as entirely too much of her education had been.

They had, in fact, thrown her onto a shuttle and thence onto a frigate heading for the fringe systems with remarkable speed. She wasn’t sure why; certainly there were plenty of command-chain types eager to see her, or rather her mods, in action. At least the Atlantis was a pretty plum assignment, though from all she’d read about the mess they were in at Gencodia and beyond, things were going to be lively from the get-go.

The ship was vast, far larger than the smaller science vessels she’d grown up on, but familiar. The layout was more than similar enough to others she’d seen and her feet took her more or less automatically where she needed to go – Engineering (she was going to have to drop in on them within a day or two), crew deck, there. Holodeck. Leda shifted the duffel on her shoulder and strolled down the hallway, absently jabbing at the first available door pad. She wouldn’t be up for rec time for another week, but training time was still more or less free for all, and she wasn’t comfortable enough with the ship yet to just commandeer a stray cargo bay.

The large double doors opened with a mechanical whine, revealing that the holodeck was in use. A cracked desert plain lie across the threshold, the world’s sun mercilessly baking the parched ground from directly above. Hot wind blew through the door at a languid pace, as if to offer hope of the cooling breeze that would not come until nightfall.

“Damn.” Leda rocked back a half step, squinting into the light – surely there’d be an open one down the hall – but holodeck opponents were rarely as useful to work against as real ones.

It hadn’t been locked.

Walking in would be rude.

She shrugged, and stepped across the threshold, eyes narrowing against the brightness. Four paces and her off-duty jacket was already clinging to her shoulders, damping through.

The holodeck door obligingly slid closed and winked out behind her. A dim trail remained in the sand, a single set of footprints, and she strode out to follow it. She hadn’t met most of the ship’s complement yet; she’d barely had time to toss her things into her locker thus far. With luck she wouldn’t stumble across one of the bridge officers, at least. “Hello?” Her voice didn’t carry far against the heavy air.

Five minutes in and she’d stripped off the jacket, then the overshirt, stowing both in her duffel. The heat was oddly pleasant, bone-deep, dead dry. Three more minutes before her patience frayed. She shifted into a steady jog, accustoming herself to the slight crunch-and-give of the surface, then again into a full-out run, breath rasping in her throat. A fleck through the heat-shimmer gradually resolved itself into an upright, moving outline.

The outline became recognizable as a shirtless Vulcan male wearing white linen pants and sand socks, who was apparently exercising in a variety of fashions – lifting large rocks and throwing them, running around carrying those rocks while jumping between several obstacles, and even climbing a nearby rock formation and then jumping down from impressive heights with different methods of landing. He paused, probably hearing her, and watched as she drew nearer.

Leda slowed on approach, boots crunching faintly as she settled into an unhurried trot, sweat streaming now down shoulders and arms and the back of her neck. At least this was a face she half recognized, one of the longer-tour Marines. She saluted as she walked up, brow creased in apology. “Sir. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ll admit I was hoping for company. Do you mind my joining you for a while? I’m Lieutenant Harper.”

The Vulcan squinted at her for a moment, as if sizing up her ability to endure the conditions. “I am Lieutenant Syvek. Vulcan is not the most hospitable place to exercise.”

“I can see that, sir.” Leda relaxed a little, free hand settling at-ease behind her waist. “I’d appreciate the opportunity just the same – there hasn’t been time to meet most of the rest of the staff. If I’m intruding, please accept my apologies and I’ll go find another space.”

“Very well. You are, after all, a Starfleet Marine. As you can see, my chosen method of training is to use what is naturally available.” He gestured in a wide arc to his makeshift gym, and continued, “No more is necessary. Modern equipment, with its rigid, repetitive motions can not compete with asking your body to do what it evolved to do, in its natural environment.”

“Agreed, sir, I usually find cliffs.” Leda nodded her thanks, dropped the duffel, then dropped herself to the dirt to pry off her boots. “I appreciate the opportunity to work in a new environment – this isn’t what I would usually key up.” She stretched out a leg, then levered herself up, flexing metallic toes in the grit. “Would you be willing to offer instruction for a minute or two?”

“Of course.” Pausing a moment, Syvek took note of her legs. “As I am uncertain of how much sensation you have in your prosthetics, and the ground is quite hot, I do have an extra pair of sand socks, should you require them.”

“I think this’ll be fine.” She bounced a bit on the balls of her feet, glancing up to the nearly-sheer rock walls he’d picked for a jungle gym, a jagged-edged slash through the sunbleached landscape. “And I’ll try to stay out of your way, sir. Lead on.”

The Vulcan hefted a sizeable rock with both hands. “Consider for a moment the humble stone, misshapen and unbalanced. Even carrying it, one must constantly make tiny corrections with an array of muscles to compensate for its unwieldiness. But to throw and catch it while running, that takes another level of control.” Syvek regarded her with curiosity. “Catch.”

She’d had just enough warning, and chuffed with surprise at the weight and heat of the thing as it whacked her cradling palms. “Aye, sir.” Muscle and sinew flexed through her shoulders as she rocked back on her heels and lobbed it back without finesse, angling away at a cautious jog.

Syvek matched her pace, catching and returning the rock a few times. He abruptly stopped about ten meters from a nearby boulder and hurled the stone like a shotput, striking his target squarely. “Throwing such a projectile also engages muscles that are not generally used in standard exercises.”

Leda’s hands flashed up briefly, shielding her eyes as splinters of stone needled out from the impact. “Got that much, sir. Is this your idea of appropriate field conditions?” She trotted over to retrieve the slightly-smaller rock. Sweat poured freely over her by now, the black of her sleeveless shirt soaked through. “A place you know?”

“It is near my home. I underwent my Kahs-wan in this desert.”

She nodded, the rock clutched to her hip with one hand, trotting back over to her duffel. “Pardon me, sir, better drink something.” Leda fished out a water bottle, methodically drinking down half the contents. “Is this one of a few choices you cycle through? I keep tending to pull up locations from my own homeworld, but variety’s nice.”

“Indeed. I have a few other locations on Vulcan, as well as other worlds, just to vary the climate.” Syvek looked up at a nearby rock wall. “Admittedly, I am not fond of the icy mountains of Andor, but I still use them for training, since my distaste for the cold only serves to make the experience more valuable.”

Her laugh was startled, her grin a quick flash as she re-stashed the bottle and scooped up the whole thing to carry over into a sliver of shade. “I don’t think anyone’s fond of those. I’m not sure even the Andorians are.” Leda glanced up in parallel, rocked a bit on her heels, and then sprang up to cling to the wall – her mechanical toes stretched and spread to find purchase, and she huffed with effort, finding fingertip holds. “Perhaps you could send me a list, sir. The computer keeps giving me tropical paradises and I’m sick of climbing volcanoes.”

In an instant, Syvek was on the rock face beside her and expertly finding grips for his hands and feet, his familiarity with the climb an obvious advantage as he quickly ended up a few meters above her. “The holodeck programs are not restricted. Query the computer for Syvek Training Programs and you will find them all.”

“Understood. I look forward to mixing up my options a little.” The formality chipped off as she focused on the climb, brow creased, testing each handhold before committing her weight. She seemed expert enough, the clawed tips of her toes permitting occasional holds that a boot would not have. After a few minutes she seemed to have found a rhythm; by inches she gained ground, clinging to the stone with gecko determination.

“Impressive, Lieutenant,” came the call from above her. Syvek stood akimbo atop the formation, watching the remainder of her ascent, making no indications that he intended to assist her.

“Maybe by the fourth time I’ve climbed it, sir.” Leda had been managing to watch from the corner of an eye for that last precious few feet, and angled over to take advantage of proven holds. Three, four, five long hitching motions, pushing her way belly-flat up the scorching stone, and at last – sweat cutting trails through the dust on her skin – she hauled herself over the lip and rested, gasping, on a knee. “Thank you for the time and the exercise. It’s really been a pleasure.”

“Certainly.” Syvek regarded her for a moment and continued, “I am impressed to see a human subject herself to the hostility of training here with me, but you have endured it without complaint. Colonel McKnight would wish such hardiness on all of his Marines, I would think. If we train together again, you may call me Syvek. The environment is harsh enough; formality has no place in it.”

“I like a challenge.” She levered herself up, extending a hand. “Leda. Seriously, thanks again, though I think I’m going to blow my last half hour on the coldest pool of fresh water I can stand.”

Arching an eyebrow, he shook her hand and answered, “I shall not fault you for that.”