View source for Bachurah - Sakarra Tyrax ~ The early years

== Promised Land - Part I ==


2375
 
''"This affinity" [the Captain replied] "is sufficiently striking in the case of alkalis and acids, which, although they are mutually antithetical, and perhaps precisely because they are so, most decidedly seek and embrace one another, modify one another, and together form a new substance." ...'' 
''"Forgive me," said Charlotte, "as I forgive the scientist, but ... the choice seems to me to lie entirely in the hands of the chemist who brings these substances together. Once they have been brought together, though, God help them!" '' 



Unexpected. That was certainly the best word to describe the experience. Or maybe it should not have been. Maybe she of all people should not be this surprised. Yet she was walking these streets, her astonishment of course completely invisible to anyone but the man by her side, the man who took all this with his usual open mind and unquenchable curiosity, and she was both puzzled and - no point in denying it - somewhat overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations.
 
All of the Empire seemed to be coming and going, checking the wares of the countless merchants at their stalls and shops, haggling, laughing, shouting and waving greetings, it was inexplicable how they were even able to hear their own thoughts. Throngs of people clustered here and there at particularly popular spots and the scent of pastries, flowers and ale wafted above it all in a symphony that was both intriguing and beginning to give her a minor headache. 

And through it all they moved, the people, the scents and the noise, the man beside her carrying the little one who so excitedly waved her arms at all this commotion and she, the one who should have looked more familiar to them, yet still drew more bemused glances than the man and child with eyes as dark as night skies.
 
 
Once again she reminded herself to adjust her body language, to walk as casually as possible, after all what use was it to leave the uniform behind if one still moved as if trapped in hostile territory? 

Her mate caught the fleeting thought and chuckled while at the same time turned a bit to prevent the little one to snatch a - well, some sort of bread, apparently - from someone’s basket. 

'''Almost there, Imzadi. But you do look as if you could use a drink’''

Though their bond she sensed his amusement, mingled with mild concern.

And she did not object when his hand reached for hers, not only to reassure but for the logical reason that otherwise they might get separated in the crush. 

 
To the casual onlooker she was only a stately looking woman in somber, if somewhat old fashioned robes, moving serenely through the bustle of the market. But everyone who looked longer than the fraction of a second would notice something a bit off, unless of course they saw the alien man and the lively child first.
 
It was just as well that he had insisted on carrying the little one, she was so enthralled by her surroundings and interested in everything from a small bird perched on a roof to the lettuce-like blue leaves offered at a stall, there was no telling what might have happened if she somehow had gotten loose and decided to do some exploring of her own. Just a few days ago the child had yet again proven her extraordinary speed and resourcefulness when she had escaped their quarters - and incidentally her father who had fallen asleep from exhaustion - and arrived on the bridge, followed, inexplicably, by Lieutenant Eichenlaub’s cat. Thankfully, the Captain had taken the episode with good humor and simply asked that both child and cat should be returned to the safety of their respective quarters. 

 
“Svai! ‘akov!” obviously, they had reached the shop her mate had been looking for, and the child happily announced that fact.

“Yes, little one. Very pretty flowers. No, we need to ask first… oh dear.” 
She had managed to grab a blossom of most pleasing color and scent and presented it to her father by way of literally waving it under his nose.
 
“Lagga” the shop owner nodded, favoring the child with an eye-crinkling smile. “She sure knows what she likes. You are from the lloannen'galae ship?” 

“Hm? Oh, yes. I’m sorry. Good day to you.“

“The very same to you and yours,” the elderly man replied with a small bow and a glance in the tall, silent woman’s direction. “May I offer you a refreshment?” 

“Why yes, thank you.“ the younger man nodded and gracefully accepted the cup, just barely saving it from his little one’s inquisitiveness “I heard you have seeds for sale as well? Would it be possible…”


The ebony-haired woman left her beloved to dive into all the botanical marvels this planet had to offer, the brief smile in her mind barely visible at the corners of her mouth. The joy he felt over being here, able to immerse himself not only in what was both his profession and passion, but the entire culture, so alien and so fascinating, the deep pride and happiness he felt when the child in his arms shared in his delight by demanding to be shown more plants, more of everything, and was indulged by a most courteous and truly patient merchant - it all radiated off him like heat from the desert soil, warm and constant, even after dark has fallen. 

 
She slowly wandered the shop, yet again bemused by all the abundance of fruits and flowers, offered by a world so unlike her own. It was difficult to conceive what those who first came upon this place must have felt - a paradise with golden skies after an eternity of hardship.

Sha-ka-ri - they must have thought. Mirage, an illusion brought about by faulty sensors and minds desperate to find something, anything after the long, cold night of space.

She could imagine the joy when finally every sensor reading was confirmed, when it was clear there was no illusion. What she could not imagine was the sensation of actually seeing, touching, knowing, for the first time. 
Tracing the petals of a delicate, magenta-hued blossom with long, slender fingers, she experienced that sensation of something important, some discovery just beyond the reach of conscious thought. 

But then the sounds of footsteps made her turn and from the look on the men’s faces it was clear both had concluded the trade to mutual satisfaction.

 
“Your lady has the same exquisite taste as your daughter it seems” 

“So she does” there was laughter twinkling in the black eyes and before she knew it, her arms were filled with exotic flowers, the warm and sweet scent almost making her dizzy. There was no point in protesting, as neither her mate nor the merchant who smiled so readily and insisted on feeding the child pale purple berries he called ‘ihor’ would have listened. 

She took great care to not do the polite man any discourtesy by showing even the mildest sign of exasperation and inclined her head gracefully. 

 
''‘Only one more stop, Imzadi’''  

He tried to wipe some of the purple berry juice from the little one’s face, but only succeeded in spreading it a little further. Despite herself, she felt a surge of silent laughter wanting to erupt. ‘''Only one? I must admit to astonishment.’''

 
“We can always take the grand tour.” he chuckled and turned back towards the man with the silver streaked hair
 
“Thank you again, and -  Jolan tru?”

“Jolan’tru.” the merchant confirmed with a small bow.

== Promised Land - Part II ==

2375

''O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,''

''Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,''

''Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,''
 
''Survey our Empire, and behold our home!''

''These are our realms, no limit to their sway,—''

''Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.''


''(Lord Byron)''
 

If they had drawn attention to themselves before, they certainly did now. 

Sure there were a few off-worlders cautiously navigating their way through the crowded streets, watched carefully by civilians and uniformed personnel alike, but for the most part people were too busy to spare more than a glance or two. So, the people from that lloannen'galae ship had received permission to do some shopping and what they called ‘exploring’. They better behave themselves. There were more important things to worry about. Dinner for example. And why was no one watching this inquisitive child? She was going to get hurt if… well that was certainly a sight for sore eyes.
 
 
Amidst a chorus of chuckles and some irritated glances, the Betazoid chased after his little one, trying to prevent another incident like the one with the bread and the flowers, but Deities knew this child was not only fast but near unstoppable if she wanted to.

And now she was..  oh dear. The crate with pale lavender colored berries had caught her attention and with a joyful gurgle, the toddler leaned over the edge and… tipped over. 

A quite puzzled but thankfully not angry looking merchant retrieved the child whose face and wild black curls were now satiated with berry juice. 

“Ihor.” the little one declared proudly, prompting an actual grin from the woman with the salt-and-pepper hair.
“Aren’t you just…” the woman cradling the little girl in her arm paused when she saw a rather breathless male coming to a skidding halt in front of her, his face displaying equal amounts of humor and embarrassment.
 
What did this alien want? 

“My sincere apologies, Madame. I will of course reimburse…”

“This is YOUR child?”

The woman looked back at the little girl with the elegantly shaped ears and noted that indeed her unusually black eyes looked very much like … well, judging from the way she waved her little arms at him, …

The way those Feds were interbreeding, it could confuse even the most reasonable person.

 
“You should be more careful.” she said sternly, handing the child back to her father.
 
“Indeed he should.” A stately looking woman walked up to them, one eyebrow raised in a most eloquent manner. But there really was no doubt about that one’s heritage. Was the whole Fed Fleet going to converge at her shop today?

''‘Seven point four minutes. A new record I should think.’''

''‘Proving my point that you CAN leave the two of us out of your sight for five minutes. Just not seven.’''

''‘Point four.’''

''‘Quite right, Imzadi. Quite right.’''

 
Snorting in mild disdain, the elderly merchant pointed at the Vulcan woman “Not very logical to leave these two running around causing trouble, is it?”

“I am inclined to agree.” 

“Thought so.”


About 12.8 minutes later, the three of them were making their way down another street, leaving behind a woman who had not only been well compensated for the lost fruit but in fact had sold her entire supply of Ihor for the day. Might as well stock up on them since the little one had developed a taste for it. 
 
“So did you find the one we’re looking for?”

“There is a 98.7 percent probability that this merchant will have… no, ko-kan. I do not believe you should attempt to climb this roof. The bird would be long gone in any case.”

“Ku’shel.”

“Indeed.”
 

The Vulcan woman stood in the warm sunlight filtering through one of the windows, attempting with limited success to stop her nose from wrinkling. The scent of the exotic flowers she was carrying mixed with the intense aroma of the wines in this shop was proving quite … interesting.
 
As was, for that matter, the icy politeness of the shop’s owner who now was showing minor signs of frustration as well.

The little one, once again safely on her father’s arms, was completely entranced by the play of light on the purple blue liquids and thankfully seemed not inclined to take another shot at exploring.
 
''‘Imzadi?’''

“What about this one?”

The merchant’s really quite striking features showed a small frown now as the elegant Vulcan woman slowly shook her head. Following her nose, quite literally, she picked up one of the samples provided and held it out to her mate.

“This, I should think.”

“Holy Rings of Betazed.”

 
A wave of amusement coursed between the Vulcan and the Betazoid, unseen and unfelt by anyone but possibly the little one who gave a small giggle before waving her little hand at a beautiful pitcher made of stained glass.
Leaving her beloved to negotiating the price, the raven haired Vulcan was at first surprised to hear the low price asked by the merchant. Surely, this wine was worth a multitude… when she heard her mate’s counter-offer however, both brows shot up in utter astonishment. Was he attempting to buy the entire store and four more like it? Yet his smile conveyed that he was rather certain what he was doing … fascinating.

And indeed, the merchant seemed pleased. Surprised, as his brief glance in her direction confirmed, but pleased nonetheless. 

This would require further research. But for the moment, she would either need to find a place that was slightly more quiet than this bustling, exuberant city, or a bottle of the wine. Either should suffice.
 
 
 
[Some time later, USS Bellerophon, Transporter Room two]

 
“Evening, Commander. Mr Tyrax. Had a good time?”

“You could say so, Chief.” the Betazoid chuckled, shifting the child’s weight a bit. She was leaning against his shoulder now, breathing softly and clinging to the ‘Lagga’ she had been given by the first merchant. 

“Don’t mean to bother you, but there’s a shipment of seedlings and such sitting in the cargo bay and someone’s been throwing a fit. Import regulations, health concerns, whathaveyou. Science signed off on it but you know them bureaucrats, they want the botanist who ordered them things to take a look.”

“Of course they do.” The dark eyed man turned to his Imzadi who simply nodded and placed the sweet smelling flowers carefully onto the stairs before holding out her arms to the little one.
 
“Well, those people are nothing if not prompt, have to grant them that. Where to, Chief?”

“Cargo bay three, Mr Tyrax. And aye, prompt they are. Stuff arrived over two hours ago.”

“Not bad considering the gentleman had to order some of the stuff himself first.”

He gently placed the child into her mother’s waiting arms before picking up the flowers and smiling at the two people who meant more to him than even a Betazoid had words for. 

 
Chief Bonan watched with a father’s practiced eye how carefully the Vulcan Commander held the little one with the wild black curls and grinned just a bit when he saw that the girl could barely keep her eyes open. Yup, asleep. Amazing how kids could do that, really. “Good night then, Commander T’Sora.”

“Good night, Chief Bonan.”

 
She walked down the corridor to their quarters and felt the child stir in her sleep. For a moment, she experienced a surge of concern. Vulcans, even hybrids, rarely dreamed and if they did, it was usually a sign of distress. There was the temptation to enter that dream, it would be so easy, and make it go away, leaving nothing but peace and comfort. Chiding herself just a little for this possible overreaction, she carried the little one into their quarters and ordered low lights. Studying the face framed by unruly black hair, she felt her grip tighten around the girl’s small body. Sakarra did not complain, although the smile lingering on her happy features grew just a little wider and she relaxed against her mother’s chest.

Dreams of birds and flowers and a golden sky floated at the outer rims of the girl’s consciousness and if anyone had seen the expression on T’Sora’s face, they might not have recognized the calm and unshakeable Science Officer. Feeling her daughter’s rapidly beating heart under her hands, the Vulcan smiled enigmatically. 
“Vakh hal-tor ish-veh.”

== A Klingon Afternoon - Part I ==

2382 
 
[USS Bellerophon, Calandra Sector] 

 
Alpha shift had just come off duty and Lieutenant Commander John Manyen was looking forward to a cup of coffee in the mess hall, maybe even some charming company. He knew from experience that the handsome Trill engineer would most likely be there and she never seemed disinclined to share some funny stories while he had ample time to admire her spots. 

Just as John rounded a corner, he heard the sound of tiny, light feet approach from ahead. What he had not anticipated was how fast that little runner was upon him, quite literally. 

Before he had a chance to react, the little girl came flying out of the corridor to the right and cannoned into John. The sheer force of the impact made her bounce back and had John not quickly reached down and wrapped an arm around the tiny being with the wild, black curls, she might have ended up flat on the floor. 

“Easy there,” he couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the little one’s nonplussed expression “What’s the hurry?”
 
 

“Oh, Mr. Manyen. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to … M’aih said she’d meet me in the mess hall and if Lieutenant Pt’S’k says it’s alright we can go look at the big nebula.” The child was positively beaming and John extrapolated that the Hamalki Stellar Cartographer was probably going to enjoy having a captivated audience again - although from what he’d heard, Commander T’Sora’s daughter seemed equally fascinated by Pt’S’k herself as by the projections of stellar phenomena which the spider-like being conjured up for the little Vulcan’s education.
 
He put the girl back on her feet and extended a hand.
 
“In that case, would you allow me to escort you, Miss? I was headed there myself and I would be happy to have such enchanting company.” 

“Of course, Lieutenant Commander.” it was positively adorable, the way she tried to be so polite but at the same time proudly pulled herself up to her full height of barely a meter and put a trusting, tiny hand into his. 
And quite honestly, he was oddly proud, too, walking the corridor with the child by his side. Her dress, yellow and cheerful like spring flowers, was a perfect symbol for her temper, one that John still tried to figure out where it may have come from. The mother, while brilliant and for a Vulcan really quite friendly, certainly had little in common with this little whirlwind. That left the father, who at the few times John had met him had seemed like an amiable fellow, serene and thoughtful like many Betazoids, but again not really the overly energetic type.
 
“Mr. Manyen?”
 
“Yes sweetheart?” 

She chuckled a bit, was it because of the term or his Texan accent which she always seemed to find extremely fascinating, he wasn’t quite sure.
 
“Why is your face so hairy?” 

“I decided to let my beard grow. You don’t like it?”
 
“It’s yellow, like the hair on your head.” 

“Yes, that’s usually how it works.” well, at least the inquisitive nature was something she shared in abundance with the ship’s Science Officer.
 
“Ah.” she seemed to mull it over for a little and then peeked up at him “I like it. It’s different, nice.” 

“Well, I’m glad to hear it, Miss. A compliment from a pretty young lady is always appreciated.”
 
“It is?” 
 

They were passing one of Bellerophon’s observation windows and little Sakarra craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the passing stars. There were so many of them, some of them streaming past the window and shimmering in every color imaginable, others were farther away and seemed to stand still despite the fact the starship was traveling at warp. She never grew tired of the sight and almost automatically steered closer to the window.
 
“What is it, sweetheart?” John looked down at the little girl and was met by a gaze out of black, soulful pools that might have been unsettling simply because they were so dark. To the human, the child had a strangely knowing look about her, as if those eyes could see what others could not - and in a way, John mused, once she grew up that might very well be the case. But the universal gesture of outstretched arms and a hopeful face made him smile. Some things were obviously the same across all humanoid races, and the way of children to say “Pick me up” was one of them. 

“Right, then” he gathered her up and was briefly surprised how tiny the girl was, as light and frail as a little bird in his arm. Intellectually he knew that Vulcans, even hybrids, tended to be tougher than they looked but still he found himself trying to handle the little pointy eared one very carefully. She however, didn’t seem to have a care in the universe, grabbing on to his uniform and leaning towards the window as if she could reach out and touch those glittering dots. 

John was just about to point out some stars she might know, when their view rapidly changed as Bellerophon dropped out of warp and coasted to starboard in one swift movement. The child appeared surprised but curious, John however was mildly worried what might have prompted them to stop for a look in this by all accounts godforsaken region of space. And then he saw it. A ship, old and battered, obviously venting atmosphere at a rate that bode ill for anyone still aboard. Almost the same second, his commbadge chirped.
 
“All senior officers, report to the bridge.” 
 

“Sorry, sweetheart. Duty calls.” 

Little Sakarra nodded, she knew what that meant and also that her lesson probably would have to wait. She was a little disappointed but if they could help the poor ship out there, that was a good thing. After all wasn’t that what M’aih said the Starfleet was about, helping people when they needed it? Well, except exploring of course, which to her was the grandest thing one could do anyways. 

John waved to a crewman so he would take the girl back to her quarters and she nodded in compliance. Of course she could have found her own way but the grownups preferred to play it safe. Especially when there was some sort of emergency it was best a little one wasn’t wandering the corridors alone. 
Imminently logical, however mildly annoying. 

Little Sakarra peered up at the human with a tilted head “May I assume you do not know where to deliver me?” 

“Not quite, luv, not quite. I don’t really keep up with officer’s quarters, y’see?” 

“Understandable. Deck three, please.” she put her small hand into his and walked off, a mildly bemused but nonetheless enchanted Scotsman trailing behind her.
 
“Lead on then, luv.” 
 

[2.3 hours later] 


Commander T’Sora stepped through the doors to find her little daughter completely absorbed by a large volume, one of her own Shakespeare books apparently. At the sound of the doors swishing open however the little one jumped off the bed she had stretched out on, subsequently knocking the book to the floor with a loud thud.
 
“M’aih. Have you helped the ship?” 

 
The dark haired Vulcan woman looked mildly fatigued - not that anyone but her daughter would have been able to notice - but her face was as placid as ever. She cast a brief glance at the book on the floor and decided to disregard this minor incident. “So we have, ko-kan. However, there were several children aboard the transport and the Counselor would like to request your assistance.”
 
“My assistance?” little Sakarra was surprised, but proud as well. Being asked to contribute was not something that happened every day.
 
“Yes. In fact, she requested the assistance of every child of suitable age, which would include you. According to her assessment, exposure to their own age group would limit the possible trauma of the experience. If you are interested and believe you may be able to contribute, you are requested to report to the sickbay at 13:00 ship’s time.” 

“I will be there.” the little girl nodded solemnly.
 
T’Sora acknowledged her daughter’s eagerness to be of help with a tilt of the head and a facial expression which would have surprised Bellerophon’s bridge crew in many ways. For the stoic Vulcan they knew now definitely had the shadow of a smile playing across her serene features. 

 
== A Klingon Afternoon - Part II ==

2382 
  
[USS Bellerophon, Main sickbay]

 
The little girl walked through the doors and was momentarily startled by the level of noise and the abundance of rather intensive scents.
 
She recovered within seconds, only to have a large something cannon into her with considerable force. The being was crowned by a mass of magnificent hair and sported some impressive ridges protruding over (her? Yes, definitely a female) forehead. And she was shouting words that either were unknown to the universal translator or not possible to be rendered. 

The little half-Vulcan was at once fascinated by this creature, however the fact that she was attempting to shove her out the way, presumably in order to leave sickbay at great speed and subsequently hit her flat across the face, prompted a flare of the little one’s temper. 

 
Reacting with explosive anger, little Sakarra pushed the large being away, and was immediately shocked to see the other child - and as her unknown assailant was flung backwards against a biobed she realized it was indeed a child - was maybe not quite as strong or heavy as her stature had suggested. She jumped forward to assist the young one but was stopped by a furious glare. 

“How did you do that!” the girl demanded 

“Do what?” Sakarra tilted her head at the other child, for the moment curiosity overriding her brief flare of anger. 

“THAT. Pushing me like that. You’re just a weak, soft, little.. Well, something. What are you anyways?” 

“You can’t tell? Daddy says a blind, three legged tracehound can see that I’m a Betazoid.” 

“Oh, really? Funny ears, Beh-tha-zoid!”
 
“Thank you.”
 
That stopped the young Klingon in her tracks for a moment, but then she growled. Was this … something trying to make fun of her?
 
“That was NOT a compliment!” she snarled

“Oh. Why not?”
 
“Are you stupid or something?” 

Sakarra studied the strange being, a bemused expression on her face. To say that her behavior was confusing was putting it mildly.
 
“No, I don’t think so.” 

 
And now the girl was laughing. Laughing tears, actually. Very puzzling.

“Laneth, daughter of Kerla.” The Klingon announced finally, getting up from her sitting position and thrusting a hand towards the much smaller half-Betazoid.

“Sakarra cha`T‘Sora.“ Not wanting to be rude, the little pointy eared one reached for the offered hand and found her arm grasped rather firmly while suddenly the magnificent face was looking squarely into hers from a distance most species would have found just a little rude.

Scent of fresh earth after a rainstorm, old sweat, leather and just a faint tinge of ripe Uttaberries.  Even as Sakarra’s nose wrinkled in surprise, she found herself smiling at this funny creature.

“So, do you people have any food here that has not been burned?”

“I honestly do not know. But I’d be willing to help you find out.”

 
There was more than one puzzled glance following the tiny half-Vulcan, followed by an impressively large Klingon child as they strode towards the mess hall, but that was nothing compared to the bursts of laughter that greeted them at their destination.

True to form, Chef McDonnell had dished out his native Terran cuisine and added a generous helping of whatever he thought might go well with animal innards and other things that one could only call ‘food’ if one felt rather generous about the definition of such.

The Klingons however seemed to enjoy it tremendously, making for a very happy chef indeed. Just as the paneled doors slid open, a piece of something vaguely resembling a pig’s foot came flying towards the girls and Sakarra reflexively picked it out of the air before giving the … thing… a perplexed look.
 

“Is this what you were referring to?” she held the foot under Laneth’s nose, much to the amusement of every Klingon present, while a mildly flustered security officer came racing towards the little ones “Girls, I think you’d be better off at the daycare center. Miss Gardener has organized a cupcake party, and..”

Under the Lieutenant Commander’s horrified eyes, a burly Klingon thrust a Bat’leth into the tiny half-Vulcan’s hands and then let out a roaring laugh before picking up both child and bladed weapon.

“Uh, sir…”

“She can hold a sword, she can eat with the warriors.” The man with the wild mane rumbled cheerfully.
 
“Sir, the sword is taller than the child!”

“Why would you want to feed them cakes made from cups? Laneth, got your bump sorted out? Try the hach-gees. It’s really good!”


Little Sakarra found herself cradled in the arms of a gigantic being with a mass of chestnut hair and the rumbling laughter of a Sehlat, a huge curved sword in one hand and a pig’s hoof in the other, while Laneth ambled along beside them, sniffing the air appreciatively.

She simply couldn’t help herself. The giggle that had started in her throat the moment this huge Klingon had picked her up turned into all out, melodious laughter that was joined by amused roars and the banging of metal tumblers against tables.

“Mr Klingon?”

“G’reth. Son of R‘kokh” he rumbled amicably before setting the child down amidst a jumble of food items, knives and things Sakarra could simply not identify.

“Mr G’reth. Your sword looks pretty. And I don‘t like hooves, thank you.”

She held out the thing in question to the gigantic man who accepted it with a broad smile and then tossed it over his shoulder. The fact that it landed in another Klingon’s beverage didn’t seem to upset anyone, least of all the baffled woman herself who simply proceeded to throw her tumbler at someone else’s head.

“Brave little heart.” the armored warrior growled affectionately, ruffling the tiny girl’s hair with a large, swarthy hand. Laneth had secured some of the strange but very flavorful human food and hoisted herself up onto the table next to her newfound friend. Smooth forehead or not, anyone who was laughing like that after G’reth HoD had snatched her from her soft, weak keepers was someone worth feasting with. 

Sitting amidst broad-shouldered, wild-haired creatures who were eating, guffawing and banging heads, the little pointy eared one seemed more intrigued than intimidated, too amused to be frightful. And she sure held the large Bat’leth as if it weighed no more than a toy, leaning her cheek against the polished blade while her strangely black eyes sparkled with humor.

 
“Here you are, lassie” Chef placed a plate with spicy things he called Chalap’noos or something to that extent in the girl’s hand and she smiled at this special treat. Before little Sakarra could thank him however, another empty bowl was waved in the man’s direction and he happily raced off. It wasn’t every day he got to feed such a ravenous and most of all, grateful, bunch of people. Shame they’d be leaving tomorrow, really. And it wasn’t as if other people never broke chairs or dented tables.
 
 
Watched by a mildly worried and mightily exasperated security officer, the little half-Vulcan leaned out of the way of another ballistic metal tumbler and was rewarded by the Klingon girl happily smacking her shoulder with what had to be bone-crushing force. 

He fervently hoped that if anyone would find himself at the receiving end of one of Commander T’Sora’s Looks because of this, it would not be him.

 
[Early the next morning, Transporter room two]

 
“Quapla’! SaHkarraH, daughter of T’Sora!”

The little half-Vulcan braced herself for a cordial farewell from her Klingon friend, but rather than just grab her arm like she had before, Laneth pulled the smaller girl into an embrace that raised several brows and prompted growls of amused approval from the transporter platform.

“Live long, Laneth cha’Kerla, and prosper.”

The Klingon released her tiny pal and placed a hand on her frail-looking shoulder before joining the others.
 
“I apologize again for the mischief, Commander.” G’reth rumbled with a sideways glance to his sister-daughter who seemed not at all embarrassed by the fact that she and her pointy eared friend had essentially redecorated the ship’s daycare center to resemble a bird-of-prey after a battle. A battle that had not gone particularly well.
 
“Miss Gardener assures me that repairs will be completed within 48 hours.” The stately Vulcan woman stepped next to her daughter and raised her hand in salute “And she has taken ample note that Klingon children require physical exercise in order to avoid boredom. Fair winds and following seas, G’reth HoD.” 

 
The tall Captain grunted in acknowledgement.

“Batlh Daqawlu’taH! Jol ylchu’!”

 
“Energize” T’Sora translated for the confused transporter chief and their Klingon guests dematerialized in swirls of blue.

Sakarra peeked up at her mother, displaying all the signs of a child that knows she caused a bit more trouble than usual but can’t bring herself to regret it. “M’aih?”

“Yes, ko-kan.”

“What did the Captain mean by ‘One more goodwill liaison like me and he can scrap the entire fleet‘?”
 

[[Category:Character Stories]]