Just 'round Midnight

Posted on 30 Apr 2024 @ 9:37am by Lieutenant Aria Rice

898 words; about a 4 minute read

IKS Praxis, presently

She couldn’t sleep. Even with the soft hum of the ship, the noises of people outside going about their business…she heard the faint sound of someone singing, of fists on tables. The gentle breathing of the Klingon woman in the bed next to her. Aria took a moment to just hear, to listen. Her own heartbeat in her chest. Calm. Steady. Well, a bit faster than usual.

Had she been dreaming? The last days felt like it, a nightmare that had wrapped itself around her, smothering her with its tendrils. Drowning her in shadow. She could break free from it, push it aside and step forward, letting it fall from her like a sheet she had covered herself in. For now, there was a strange comfort in the persona she had embraced here.

She pushed herself out of the bed, reaching for the robe to put on. The lush fabric against her naked skin felt good, like the blanket she had when she was a child, the knitted one that smelled faintly of her father’s aftershave and ozone.

She walked to sit down in the chair, facing the bed, a leg pulled close as she watched the Klingon woman sleep. Another development, surprising but comforting as well. She admired the Klingon woman, her skills, her wits. And a rawness in her that was beautiful, powerful. Real. She was real when everything else felt like a nightmare. Proud, clever and strong. Clearly, Aria had a type when it came to women.

Her own situation though. The state of the Federation in this future, the war, the blood and misery. It had to be for something. There had to be some future for the universe, even if it may not wear a Starfleet uniform or fly a Federation flag. But there had to be some hope out there, for peace. Or else they were all doomed anyway. Perhaps it was arrogance, to think she could find the answers needed to try and unite those that were left. To get peace.

Or maybe it was just hope, keeping her alive. Trying to give meaning to herself, her own existence, her having given her life and soul to the ideals of the Federation and Starfleet. She considered it for a moment with a coldness that had gripped her very insides. She could be wrong. She could have made the wrong decision. Quite possibly. She had not done the smartest thing, she could acknowledge that without any issue. But wisdom was not her forte. She had never been the smartest in a group, the one with all the answers.

The world was a muddy puddle, most people got dirty in it eventually.

But there was still glimmers of hope, there had to be. Two mortal enemies now working together. Against the Federation, true, but if she could map their path to it, maybe there was hope for understanding.

She stood and let the robe drop, walking to put her uniform on. The Klingon in the bed stirred but did not wake up. Aria let herself smile at that, fondness coming to her. That warrior had a good sense of danger and knew she was not in any now. It was something. It was everything.

Aria had perfected putting on her Klingon uniform, the little modifications she had done allowing her the movement that she needed to be a better fighter. But it looked the same as it had when she had first tried it on. She armed herself as fitting to a Klingon warrior of her rank and brushed her hair, letting it flow free in a way she had never done in her Starfleet uniform. Adding the makeup on after took a couple of minutes, her hand steady and the movements familiar. Finished, she cleaned her hands and pulled on the fingerless gloves she wore. Her nails were dark red, a contrast to her pale fingers. She had always taken time with her appearance. Here it was another layer of armour against the world.

She walked out of her quarters to the dimly lit corridor, her eyes adjusting quickly as she walked. Those she passed stopped and saluted her. She had a reputation here, since winning the fight to the death. She may be human, but she had won and with that came some respect. In the short time she had been on the Praxis, she had gotten to know the ship. And the crew. She knew who had supported Brin’t’a and most likely been involved in assassinating the Klingon Captain on the Galileo. She knew who would follow her into danger, who would obey and who were waiting for a chance to challenge her. These were facts she lived with, walked around with, dealt with.

She made her way down the ship, deck by deck. The humid heat didn’t bother her, no more than the cool crispiness of a Federation ship had. A good thing about being from Luna, each dome had its own quirks. She rounded a corner, seeing the two warriors there, guarding the door. She walked over and gave them a firm nod, her eyes on them. They saluted and let her in, closing the door behind her.

“We need to talk,” Aria said, in Standard, to the prisoner restrained in the chair.

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