09-18-2026, 10:20 PM
Seconds felt like hours when you were the fighting force, waiting on the orders from high up. They were trapped: unable to flee without being seen, and not a snowball’s chance in hell of even getting off one shot before being blown to kingdom come. Art’s reinforced heart was beating hard, feeling as if it was pressing right up against her fortified ribs.
Red Alert was only natural; none of the Security officers really bolted for positions when the klaxon or lights went off. A lot of them could only stand and watch, horrified, at the screen that displayed the starbase, their ship, their little escort vessel, and the one-dozen-turning-two-dozen enemy ships moving in. Plus, with them already being at battle stations as previously ordered, there was nothing for them to do except have twitchy fingers and exchange looks.
A message popped up for her on her station -from the Bridge- and Art didn’t even acknowledge the movements necessary to open it, or how fast it took her to do so.
Peter.
Her breath caught in her throat, and the message…
Art was not one for romance. She was never a little girl that dreamed of a wedding, or pretended to be a princess, or even wear accoutrements such as rings or necklaces. She played in the mud with her brothers, got into fights at school, and could barely approach a standard romance novel without making a face. As she grew, she learned to appreciate the prose that was romance, and allowed herself to soften, though only with certain people. But through-and-through, her Klingon genetics were still the dominant ones, and she was a Klingon woman.
This message, though…
She all but cradled the screen, feeling the seconds stretch but for a different reason now. Her message back was even shorter, the words a phrase she rarely said, and was even rarer for her to write.
[I love you.]
There was no way they could escape this situation. Their souls would meet in the afterlife – whatever that may be.
Red Alert was only natural; none of the Security officers really bolted for positions when the klaxon or lights went off. A lot of them could only stand and watch, horrified, at the screen that displayed the starbase, their ship, their little escort vessel, and the one-dozen-turning-two-dozen enemy ships moving in. Plus, with them already being at battle stations as previously ordered, there was nothing for them to do except have twitchy fingers and exchange looks.
A message popped up for her on her station -from the Bridge- and Art didn’t even acknowledge the movements necessary to open it, or how fast it took her to do so.
Peter.
Her breath caught in her throat, and the message…
Art was not one for romance. She was never a little girl that dreamed of a wedding, or pretended to be a princess, or even wear accoutrements such as rings or necklaces. She played in the mud with her brothers, got into fights at school, and could barely approach a standard romance novel without making a face. As she grew, she learned to appreciate the prose that was romance, and allowed herself to soften, though only with certain people. But through-and-through, her Klingon genetics were still the dominant ones, and she was a Klingon woman.
This message, though…
She all but cradled the screen, feeling the seconds stretch but for a different reason now. Her message back was even shorter, the words a phrase she rarely said, and was even rarer for her to write.
[I love you.]
There was no way they could escape this situation. Their souls would meet in the afterlife – whatever that may be.