Day 30 [1100 hrs.] New job, Same Headaches.
New job, same headaches
Stardate 57631.64
April 9th, 2381
1100 Hrs
Day 30
Lt. JG Dantius Thi Anh-Le|Aldean spacedocks > USS Theurgy ATTN: @fiendfall
"Ugh, đụ má," Anh-Le sighed, rubbing her shoulder as she stepped off of the transporter pad on the alien shipyard. Bunk space on the illicit transport she'd hitched a ride on had not been very comfortable, and her back still felt full of knots.
She got a lot of odd looks as she carried her duffel bag through the station; even in a comfortable sweatshirt and loose pants, her green skin immediately marked her as an outsider to the local Aldeans. Cussing in Vietnamese probably didn't help...
Ah. There was the Klingon security office. Anh-Le approached, the officer on duty looking up from the block of wood he'd been carving with his daqtagh. "I was told to speak to General Chu'Vok," Anh-Le began.
"And you're what, cutie, the new entertainment?" the Klingon asked with a leer.
Different species, same stereotypes. "I don't date those who can't handle their gagh, Qa'Hom. And if you'd let me finish, you'd have heard that I'm here for a serious assignment. Morath threw the sword of Kahless's father into Lake Lusor."
Comprehension dawned in the Klingon's eyes at the deliberate mangling of Klingon myth. "Oh. Another one of you Starfleet people. I didn't know your kind served the Federation, uryan'ngan."
"Well, some terra'nganpu' are still surprised that not all tlhInganpu' are Qo'noSnganpu'. Consequences of an interstellar civilization, people migrate."
"...fair point," the Klingon grunted. "I'll take you to the General, follow me."
About time...
The trip to the transporter was thankfully uneventful, and Anh-Le was soon ushered into the office of General Chu'vok, her escort standing guard outside.
The Klingon General Chu'vok cut an impressive figure, tall and strong, with rugged forehead ridges, a deep voice, and keen eyes. "Another one? One wonders precisely how secret this mission is considering how many of you have filtered in these past few days."
"Well, maintaining operational security is part of my job, sir," Anh-Le noted, standing at attention. "A--my superiors told me that you could arrange transport to the Theurgy--I'd rather not take more of your time than necessary."
"Here, uryan'ngan," the Klingon growled, tapping something onto a Starfleet PADD and passing it over. "Show that to goraQ sogh, who brought you here, he'll take you to the Theurgy. And good luck, girl. We're going to need it."
So dismissed, Anh-Le saluted crisply and turned to leave. Gorak met her outside the General's office, and led her off to the transporter again. "So," the Klingon said as they stepped off of the pad on board the orbital drydock, "How does an uryan'ngan end up working for Starfleet?"
"It's a long story," Anh-Le chuckled, shrugging her sore shoulder in a circle to try to ease the stiffness. "My family came over before I was born, escaping one of the gang feuds in the Orion Syndicate's space. I was raised in HCMC."
"H-C..."
"Ho Chi Minh City. But everybody calls it HCMC or Saigon. It's named after this Human rebel leader from over 400 years ago. Nice place to live, even though I was the only kid with green skin."
Gorak grinned. "Had to fight for respect, did you?"
Anh-Le grimaced. "Nah, they actually made more fun of me for being born on the transporter pad at a museum. I did get an incredibly awkward talk about pheromones and informed consent from my mother that nobody else had to get, though."
"...transporter pad?" Gorak barked with laughter. "There's a story there, I can tell."
"A bottle of Aldebaran whiskey says it's the weirdest you've ever heard."
"Done! If you win, I'll give you a bottle of my family's own bloodwine."
"Alright," Anh-Le chuckled. "So, Mom was on this 'fetal osmotic learning' kick. It's a pop-psychology bullshit thing where you're supposed to go take tours of cultural sites and such while pregnant so the baby comes out pre-educated."
"...does that work?"
Anh-Le shook her head, a strand of hair escaping her severe bun. "Nah, but it's great for Doctor Mok's holovision ratings. Anyway, Mom was taking some painkillers to deal with a chronic headache, so she thought the contractions from labor were a stomachache until her water broke in the refreshment line. By the time they got her to the transporter pad, they weren't sure she could be safely transported, so I was delivered by a Horta medic and their Xindi intern on the pad."
Gorak's jaw dropped at that. "Ha! You're right, that is a good one! Horta--they are silicon-based, yes?"
"Yep," Anh-Le sighed. "And Xindi-insectoids lay eggs. It was something else, to hear Mom tell it."
"Here," Gorak said, still chuckling, as he took the PADD from Anh-Le's hand. "Contact me later, I'll have the bloodwine sent over. My family's orchard, finest on Forcas III!"
"Thanks," Anh-Le replied with a grin. "I appreciate it."
"Here you are," Gorak said, pointing to an airlock ahead. Outside, a vast, sleek shape hung under the gantries of the drydock; Anh-Le whistled at the sight.
"What a beauty."
Gorak grunted noncommittally. "If you like your ships soft and fat. Give me a Negh'var-class any day." He saluted Klingon-style, which Anh-Le returned. "Good luck."
"Thank you, goraQ sogh."
Anh-Le hefted her bag and opened the hatch, walking down the extended airlock arm. She couldn't help but feel a heady anticipation; this was by far the biggest job she'd ever been trusted with, and after all Admiral Anderson had done for her career, she was anxious to do well. She waited for the other end of the airlock to open, checking her watch as she did so. Still got a few hours until my next dose. Good.
After a few minutes, the airlock opened, and Anh-Le stepped forwards into her new job. Here goes...