Lost Era 06_ Catalyst of Sorrows - Margaret Wander Bonanno [44]
“First of all, there was the bigotry we all felt toward the Klingons after Praxis exploded. Kirk seemed willing at first to simply let the Klingons reap what they’d sown, and while not all of us felt that strongly, the idea of forming an alliance with them was, at best, unsettling. And while I didn’t share the concerns of some at the Starfleet briefing that we’d have to ‘mothball the fleet,’ as one of the brass put it-I know enough about history to know that as soon as you make peace with one adversary, there’s always someone bigger and scarier ready to take his place-I was, shall we say, less than open to the idea of having the Klingons feel they owed us a favor for coming to their aid. That’s not a healthy state of affairs for a species obsessed with honor. Not that I need to tell you that.
“But that aside, you know what really embarrassed me? The fact that I didn’t know enough Klingon to get past the guard post on the way to Rura Penthe. I speak several Earth languages, and know how to cuss in several offworld ones. I’ve even, for reasons I won’t go into here, had reason to make myself understood in basic Romulan from time to time. But beyond knowing how to call someone a petaQ-which is not something I’d do on an open frequency-I’d been relying on the universal translator on the rare occasions when it was necessary to deal with a Klingon ship, but this time, that wouldn’t do….”
When it was all over, and Enterprise moved out of Listening Post Morska’s sensor range and slid into warp, Uhura let the dictionary fall to the deck with a thud. “Well, that was mortifying!”
Regaining her composure, she gathered the stack of reference books her crew had scrounged from everywhere on the ship, including Kirk’s quarters, to try to convince the very sleepy Klingon at Morska that they really were just a passing freighter. The books had saved them from attack; she ought to have a little more respect for them. Always with one ear on passing comm chatter, she braced for the next crisis.
Oddly, the battle with Chang’s ship was such a case of déjŕ vu that it hadn’t rattled her. It had been a while-assigned planetside, chairing seminars at the academy-but once the shooting started, she’d even remembered the best places on her console to grab onto when the incoming fire battered the shields and the ship began to yaw. It was a standing joke between her and Scotty.
“Every time there’s a refit, the lass sneaks aboard a day early just to see what changes have been made to her station,” he’d say with a wink in her direction. “And I’ll catch her rehearsin’ which handholds worked best under what conditions. Space battles didn’t faze her in the least, long as she’s got somewhere to grab on to!”
It never once occurred to her that the ship, or she, might not survive. In the event they didn’t, well, she hoped it would at least be quick.
However, beaming into the thick of things on Khitomer wasn’t something she did every day. Yet there she was, right behind Chekov as they formed a flying wedge through a moil of panicked diplomats to get at Admiral Cartwright and the Romulan ambassador Nanclus while Kirk threw himself between the Federation president and harm’s way and Scotty took out the assassin on the upper level. Her adrenalin pumping, there was no time to think. It seemed to be over before it had begun, and if she needed to fall apart, she’d do it later. Even as Azetbur and Kirk were congratulating each other and everyone was lining up for the applause and the photo op, all Uhura could think was: At least give me a minute to comb my hair!
Only after security had asked everyone to clear the conference room so they could remove Colonel West’s body and clean up the blood, and everyone began to drift