Looking forward to them both. 
STAR TREK: KHITOMER
- Thread starter 47
- Start date
Type no line before it's time, as I always say. Not that your girls ever understand that...
Yeah, I think it's better for all involved if I wait for the movie version of that story...
Thanks to your lethal lovlies my entire life is a reality show. I mean, just getting back and forth to the grocery store is like an immunity competition, and yesterday's minefield stage cost me three toes. And I only had seven left to begin with...
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
March 28, 2401
The effervescence had somewhat calmed down on Deep Space Nine, partly because the Emissary seemed so “out of it”. It was clear to Fox and Rashid that Sisko wouldn’t be able to reassume any kind of responsibility in Starfleet for quite a while.
He still didn’t remember many things. The only Dax he remembered when he arrived was Jadzia, and even then it seemed superficial. From Curzon he remembered nothing, and from Ezri he now seemed to remember what had been reminded to him. Now he remembered a few additional details about both, plus the others.
He remembered Jake vividly, but when Kasidy and their daughter Ruth had arrived to the station, a day earlier, he didn’t know at first who Kasidy was. Once he remembered though, he became very attentive, and the next morning, Kasidy was bearing a very wide smile …
Ruth, 24, was a Starfleet engineer, clearly demonstrating the same love for ship design her father had demonstrated decades earlier, in particular with the original Defiant-Class. Ruth would assist in the design of the Aehallh (provisional code name of the small attack ship which would be built on the Deletham technology, what the Task Force had understood about it anyway). But for now she was sitting with her father, her cheek on his chest, regaling him with the story of her life.
Jake was 46 now. He still remembered it.
“I was left with no choice but to try to get on with my life. I went to Earth, drifted around for a few years, and eventually ended up studying writing at the Pennington school. After I graduated, I settled here in Louisiana so I could be near my grandfather. He had a restaurant in the French Quarter, you know.”
“I've been there. It's still called "Sisko's." And on the wall there's a copy of the letter your publisher sent you when he accepted your first novel.”
“Grandpa was always showing off his "famous" grandson. He was every bit as proud of me as my father would've been.”
“You wrote "Anslem" in this house, didn't you?”
“At that desk over there. It came out to generally favorable reviews ... and little by little, I began to think less and less about the past. Eventually I met a woman, fell in love, and married ... for a while, this house was a happy one ...”
Almost as the current reality, except his father had left him for the Wormhole, and he had never returned to Earth after Joseph’s funeral.
He was happy his father was back, but somehow he had imagined the family reunion differently. Of course, he had spent such a long time with incorporeal, timeless aliens, that it had to have changed him a little. Still, he had imagined something else …
***
“Red alert! Captain Chekhov on Ops!”
Captain Alexandra Chekhov was a tall and slender woman in her late thirties.
She was the direct descendant of yet another legend, the great Pavel, and part of the fifth generation to count at least one of its members in Starfleet.
She could have been married a hundred times. Numerous cadets — including a few females — had tried to seduce her at Starfleet Academy, and several very enterprising young persons had tried since her promotion. Even Captain Dreyfus had tried to interest the then Ensign Chekhov. She had had to remind him of his duty in no uncertain yet respectful terms before requesting a transfer to another ship.
Alexandra had known Pavel. She was a small child when her ancestor had made her hop on his knees, and had told her countless stories about his career in Starfleet, including the "Kirk era", as he called it. Alex (as she was called by all who knew her enough to have been invited to do so) had developed an intense desire to become a Starfleet Captain, and boldly go where no one had gone before. So she would not let inconsequential things such as love stop her. She would have men, she would have women — mostly women in fact, less risky — but no one would have her.
She had gone on with her career, trying to be part of the most advanced, most unique projects. She always volunteered for the most foolish or distasteful missions. She would have been on the Deletham if she had not been healing from a deep plasma burn caused during a shakedown cruise of a now aborted project, the Mosquito-Class battleship.
The experience had in no way discouraged her. She fully adhered to the Klingon motto: "Today is a good day to die." But she hoped to live a hundred, and enjoy every day of it.
“Computer, end program!”
The six Jem’Hadar soldiers disappeared and Alex found herself alone, her clothes in shreds, quite a few small cuts all over, but standing up, exhausted but proud.
Damn! Damn! Damn! Will they EVER let me massacre them to the end?
“Chekhov here! What the heck …?”
“Sir, a Dominion Dreadnought is approaching the Khitomer System!”
“Black alert! Might as well test that damn contraction in combat than in another worthless simulation!”
The black alert was the signal for the station to commence its transformation. The arm-saucer assemblies started pivoting and majestically locked under the station, as all her teeth were now exposed. Since the Klingon fleet protecting it had left the day before, Outpost Khitomer was now the only weapon capable of defending the system against an Alliance attack.
Her long legs had carried Alex to Ops faster than a speeding Klingon running to a hopeless battle, and already she had gauged the situation and was ready to give orders.
“Are their weapons locked?”
“No Sir! But they’re hailing us.”
“Answer them.”
“Hello everyone! This is Ambassador Quark of the Ferengi Alliance!”
***
The Bajoran had required a monk robe with a large hood, which would allow her to hide her face. She had given no specific reasons for that, but Onara had understood and complied. Not as if she really had any kind of choice anyway …
She had then embarked on a Kendra-Class cargo ship on her way to Khitomer, giving her name to no one, in fact talking to no one, but only showing the pass given to her by Onara, which identified her as a member of the personal suite of the Kai. Nobody asked her anything. In fact, during the whole trip — three days — she had not left her quarters, eating no food, drinking no water, observing the most complete and rigorous fasting, absorbed as she was in an intense meditation and prayer.
She had arrived to Khitomer and had again shown her pass for the Samurai. The guards in charge had been quite surprised by that small barefoot monk in a robe covering the rest of her body, so they had asked her to show her face. She had refused, but offered her hand for scanning. She was a Bajoran all right, not a changeling. A Bajoran security officer went to her, asked her a few questions in Bajoran, and offered to escort her.
***
Chekhov had called upon Wilkins.
“A Dreadnought, Admiral. They haven’t opened fire — yet. Is there any assistance we can expect from the Klingons?”
“They’re coming back at maximum warp, but it will still take them three hours to reach you.”
“Well, in that case, I hope this station is at least half as good as I think it is …”
“Did ‘Ambassador’ Quark say anything more than just his name?”
“No Sir. He’s still waiting for your answer.”
“Not until I’ve contacted the Nagus. I won’t talk with a minion, certainly not that one anyway.”
“They come in peace.”
Wilkins raised his eyes, looked in front of him. There was that barefoot monk, face unseen under the hood.
“How did you get in?”
“They let me.”
“And who are you?”
The Bajoran lifted her hood.
“Lieutenant Sabrina Watson reporting for duty, Admiral.”
March 28, 2401
The effervescence had somewhat calmed down on Deep Space Nine, partly because the Emissary seemed so “out of it”. It was clear to Fox and Rashid that Sisko wouldn’t be able to reassume any kind of responsibility in Starfleet for quite a while.
He still didn’t remember many things. The only Dax he remembered when he arrived was Jadzia, and even then it seemed superficial. From Curzon he remembered nothing, and from Ezri he now seemed to remember what had been reminded to him. Now he remembered a few additional details about both, plus the others.
He remembered Jake vividly, but when Kasidy and their daughter Ruth had arrived to the station, a day earlier, he didn’t know at first who Kasidy was. Once he remembered though, he became very attentive, and the next morning, Kasidy was bearing a very wide smile …
Ruth, 24, was a Starfleet engineer, clearly demonstrating the same love for ship design her father had demonstrated decades earlier, in particular with the original Defiant-Class. Ruth would assist in the design of the Aehallh (provisional code name of the small attack ship which would be built on the Deletham technology, what the Task Force had understood about it anyway). But for now she was sitting with her father, her cheek on his chest, regaling him with the story of her life.
Jake was 46 now. He still remembered it.
“I was left with no choice but to try to get on with my life. I went to Earth, drifted around for a few years, and eventually ended up studying writing at the Pennington school. After I graduated, I settled here in Louisiana so I could be near my grandfather. He had a restaurant in the French Quarter, you know.”
“I've been there. It's still called "Sisko's." And on the wall there's a copy of the letter your publisher sent you when he accepted your first novel.”
“Grandpa was always showing off his "famous" grandson. He was every bit as proud of me as my father would've been.”
“You wrote "Anslem" in this house, didn't you?”
“At that desk over there. It came out to generally favorable reviews ... and little by little, I began to think less and less about the past. Eventually I met a woman, fell in love, and married ... for a while, this house was a happy one ...”
Almost as the current reality, except his father had left him for the Wormhole, and he had never returned to Earth after Joseph’s funeral.
He was happy his father was back, but somehow he had imagined the family reunion differently. Of course, he had spent such a long time with incorporeal, timeless aliens, that it had to have changed him a little. Still, he had imagined something else …
***
“Red alert! Captain Chekhov on Ops!”
Captain Alexandra Chekhov was a tall and slender woman in her late thirties.
She was the direct descendant of yet another legend, the great Pavel, and part of the fifth generation to count at least one of its members in Starfleet.
She could have been married a hundred times. Numerous cadets — including a few females — had tried to seduce her at Starfleet Academy, and several very enterprising young persons had tried since her promotion. Even Captain Dreyfus had tried to interest the then Ensign Chekhov. She had had to remind him of his duty in no uncertain yet respectful terms before requesting a transfer to another ship.
Alexandra had known Pavel. She was a small child when her ancestor had made her hop on his knees, and had told her countless stories about his career in Starfleet, including the "Kirk era", as he called it. Alex (as she was called by all who knew her enough to have been invited to do so) had developed an intense desire to become a Starfleet Captain, and boldly go where no one had gone before. So she would not let inconsequential things such as love stop her. She would have men, she would have women — mostly women in fact, less risky — but no one would have her.
She had gone on with her career, trying to be part of the most advanced, most unique projects. She always volunteered for the most foolish or distasteful missions. She would have been on the Deletham if she had not been healing from a deep plasma burn caused during a shakedown cruise of a now aborted project, the Mosquito-Class battleship.
The experience had in no way discouraged her. She fully adhered to the Klingon motto: "Today is a good day to die." But she hoped to live a hundred, and enjoy every day of it.
“Computer, end program!”
The six Jem’Hadar soldiers disappeared and Alex found herself alone, her clothes in shreds, quite a few small cuts all over, but standing up, exhausted but proud.
Damn! Damn! Damn! Will they EVER let me massacre them to the end?
“Chekhov here! What the heck …?”
“Sir, a Dominion Dreadnought is approaching the Khitomer System!”
“Black alert! Might as well test that damn contraction in combat than in another worthless simulation!”
The black alert was the signal for the station to commence its transformation. The arm-saucer assemblies started pivoting and majestically locked under the station, as all her teeth were now exposed. Since the Klingon fleet protecting it had left the day before, Outpost Khitomer was now the only weapon capable of defending the system against an Alliance attack.
Her long legs had carried Alex to Ops faster than a speeding Klingon running to a hopeless battle, and already she had gauged the situation and was ready to give orders.
“Are their weapons locked?”
“No Sir! But they’re hailing us.”
“Answer them.”
“Hello everyone! This is Ambassador Quark of the Ferengi Alliance!”
***
The Bajoran had required a monk robe with a large hood, which would allow her to hide her face. She had given no specific reasons for that, but Onara had understood and complied. Not as if she really had any kind of choice anyway …
She had then embarked on a Kendra-Class cargo ship on her way to Khitomer, giving her name to no one, in fact talking to no one, but only showing the pass given to her by Onara, which identified her as a member of the personal suite of the Kai. Nobody asked her anything. In fact, during the whole trip — three days — she had not left her quarters, eating no food, drinking no water, observing the most complete and rigorous fasting, absorbed as she was in an intense meditation and prayer.
She had arrived to Khitomer and had again shown her pass for the Samurai. The guards in charge had been quite surprised by that small barefoot monk in a robe covering the rest of her body, so they had asked her to show her face. She had refused, but offered her hand for scanning. She was a Bajoran all right, not a changeling. A Bajoran security officer went to her, asked her a few questions in Bajoran, and offered to escort her.
***
Chekhov had called upon Wilkins.
“A Dreadnought, Admiral. They haven’t opened fire — yet. Is there any assistance we can expect from the Klingons?”
“They’re coming back at maximum warp, but it will still take them three hours to reach you.”
“Well, in that case, I hope this station is at least half as good as I think it is …”
“Did ‘Ambassador’ Quark say anything more than just his name?”
“No Sir. He’s still waiting for your answer.”
“Not until I’ve contacted the Nagus. I won’t talk with a minion, certainly not that one anyway.”
“They come in peace.”
Wilkins raised his eyes, looked in front of him. There was that barefoot monk, face unseen under the hood.
“How did you get in?”
“They let me.”
“And who are you?”
The Bajoran lifted her hood.
“Lieutenant Sabrina Watson reporting for duty, Admiral.”
The plot thickens, lots of new characters and the tension is building, nice chapter. And it was so very nice of Quark to heal the station, I had no idea the outpost was even sick. 
I might recommend locking them in there and putting the program on an endless loop. Then maybe my collarbone might have time to heal some...
Maybe if they don't use Klingon painsticks this time to massage my scalp. Thanks to the neurological damage I think I've developed soft-core Tourette's syndrome. Darn! Fudge! Mothertrucker! Son of a snitch! Jeez, there I go again...
Hey, maybe your girls could help me out, see I've inherited this Russian Cambells hamster and the evil bastard hates my guts. It tries to bite the hell out of me every time I feed it. Maybe your girls could stop by and we could have lunch...
Hope they brought weapons because the rat won't go down easy, this I promise. In fact, perhaps this whole thing is a bad idea. I...I think she's watching me right now and...and...
I gotta go!
I gotta go!
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
March 28, 2401
For three hours now the Dreadnought and the Battle Station (another one of OK1’s numerous nicknames) had kept looking at each other. Quark wasn’t even calling anymore. Alex had asked him to wait, that they were trying to contact Admiral Wilkins but for some reason he was not available right now.
So Quark was waiting, Alex was fuming, and …
***
One hour earlier …
Wilkins had taken a good look at the petite Bajoran. She was a Bajoran all right, and yet she was …
“If this is a joke …”
“It is not, Admiral. When you think about it, I would have made a better job at making myself look like myself, had this been a joke or a plot.”
“But if … If you are who you say, how come you’re a Bajoran now?”
“The real question, Admiral, would rather be: Why was I born human? And I assure you that the answer to that question is very much connected to all the trials the Federation and its allies are experiencing right now.”
***
Starfleet Command’s special envoys had just reached Ops at OK1. So had Ambassador Quark, quite offended that he had to wait so long. But he had made good use of the Rule of Acquisition #223: “Beware the man who doesn't make time for oo-mox.”
Of course, Quark was one of the about five Ferengis who still believed in the Rules, and he left a lot of room to the values his brother was still working hard at implementing on Ferenginar, but he stuck hard to the Rules and, as long as the girls received some compensation, they didn’t mind too much.
Neither did B’Elanna and Tomalak.
“I was expecting Wilkins.”
“The Admiral is busy elsewhere”, Tomalak answered with a feigned disdain.
“I’d rather talk to him.”
“We speak for him, Ferengi”, B’Elanna cut him.
“My name is Quark. I speak for the entire Ferengi Alliance, which to this day is still undefeated, contrary to the Klingon Empire.”
“Where have you seen that the Klingon Empire has been defeated, Ferengi? We are in fact the only power in the Federation Alliance which hasn’t officially been defeated. Our allies may have been, but the war is far from over!”
“So you intend to keep fighting?”
“I’ll have to give you a tour of this station, Ferengi. Just know that hadn’t you identified yourself, your ship would be a blob of foul-smelling puree right now.”
“Good to know, but that would have been too bad. The ship is a gift from your friendly Ferengi neighbors.”
“A WHAT?”
***
Still about one hour earlier …
“Let me try to understand.”
Wilkins was again sitting at his desk. What he had just been told was so … overwhelming.
“Yes, Admiral.”
“The Chameleon has been hijacked by those … First Ones, who happen to live in the Bootes Supercluster. Then they abducted you and tortured you for months to make you share the suffering the Bajoran people had to endure at the hands of the Cardassians?”
“Not only the Cardassians, Admiral, but the adversities my people had to endure through the ages was represented by Cardassians, particularly Dukat in the first part.”
“Any idea why him?”
Sabrina knew of course, but that she was not ready to divulge to a non-Bajoran — yet. So she answered:
“He is an appropriate symbol, especially coupled with Captain Sisko. Do you not agree?”
“Yes. And why make you share this pain?”
“That is what it means to be Bajoran, Admiral.”
“But if you’re Bajoran, why were you born human?”
Sabrina smiled.
“Now you ask the question!”
***
Alexandra Chekhov was quite interested by the conversation she was having with the cute-as-a-button Catherine DeSoto. Of course, she didn’t understand everything, but one thing was clear: the small fighter they were building as a first step towards the big warship they had the mandate to design would KICK ASS!
“But when would it be ready?”
“The prototype, in a few weeks. Mass production will begin whenever the Admiral is satisfied of the tryouts.”
“Any chance I could be a test pilot?”
“You, Captain? Well — why not? Although it probably won’t be our decision.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to whoever has to take it. A few weeks, hmm? I’ll be there!”
***
The difficult to understand part of the conversation was over. Sabrina had asked for a glass of cold water and was now enjoying it in short sips. Wilkins was just looking at her.
“How did you know the Dreadnought came in peace?”
She put down her glass on the table, smiled again and answered:
“I knew it was piloted by Ferengis. Only the Ferengis would have stopped at that distance, at that exact angle, in front of the station. The Jem’Hadars would have … been quite more direct.”
“Advanced Tactical. Maybe I should follow that course someday.”
“Or make sure that you always have an Advanced Tactical graduate on your bridge, Admiral.”
“I could do that. By the way, what are your plans for the future, Lieutenant … or have you come to offer your resignation?”
“Do I still have a place in Starfleet, Sir?”
Wilkins opened his mouth, closed it. He was thinking about his conversation with Q.
“Just know this, Leo: this little girl is the last, the very last hope of mankind. Only to have a chance in the dual role awaiting her, she has to be made ready. And for that she must understand where she came from, and what was … I was going to give you a little too many clues. She must find out for herself what I just told you, or she will fail. And if she fails, humanity will not be the only species to be denied existence.”
He looked at her. She didn’t seem worried, just inquisitive. He decided to go for it.
***
Sabrina had just left Wilkins’ office, staggering just a bit under the shock. She looked in her hand again. Then she raised her eyes again and saw her.
Something had changed, something big. Two things in fact: the color of her uniform, now red, and that third, hollow pip on her collar. Also, she seemed to have gotten somewhat older. But it was still her, and as soon as she saw her friend, her face lightened up with a large smile.
“Hello Annie.”
“What have they done to you?” Annie answered, genuinely more stunned by the bony face of her friend than by the ridges on her nose.
“A long story, Annie. I’m not sure that I have the strength to tell it one more time. Not now anyway. But you, what a change! Congratulations!”
“You mean that?” Annie said, pointing at her pips. “Yeah, someone had to replace Varel as First Officer when she assumed command.”
And then, with the facetious smile Sabrina had missed so much, she added:
“Maybe I’ll make you call me ‘Sir’ now …”
Sabrina smiled.
“That may pose a problem …”
March 28, 2401
For three hours now the Dreadnought and the Battle Station (another one of OK1’s numerous nicknames) had kept looking at each other. Quark wasn’t even calling anymore. Alex had asked him to wait, that they were trying to contact Admiral Wilkins but for some reason he was not available right now.
So Quark was waiting, Alex was fuming, and …
***
One hour earlier …
Wilkins had taken a good look at the petite Bajoran. She was a Bajoran all right, and yet she was …
“If this is a joke …”
“It is not, Admiral. When you think about it, I would have made a better job at making myself look like myself, had this been a joke or a plot.”
“But if … If you are who you say, how come you’re a Bajoran now?”
“The real question, Admiral, would rather be: Why was I born human? And I assure you that the answer to that question is very much connected to all the trials the Federation and its allies are experiencing right now.”
***
Starfleet Command’s special envoys had just reached Ops at OK1. So had Ambassador Quark, quite offended that he had to wait so long. But he had made good use of the Rule of Acquisition #223: “Beware the man who doesn't make time for oo-mox.”
Of course, Quark was one of the about five Ferengis who still believed in the Rules, and he left a lot of room to the values his brother was still working hard at implementing on Ferenginar, but he stuck hard to the Rules and, as long as the girls received some compensation, they didn’t mind too much.
Neither did B’Elanna and Tomalak.
“I was expecting Wilkins.”
“The Admiral is busy elsewhere”, Tomalak answered with a feigned disdain.
“I’d rather talk to him.”
“We speak for him, Ferengi”, B’Elanna cut him.
“My name is Quark. I speak for the entire Ferengi Alliance, which to this day is still undefeated, contrary to the Klingon Empire.”
“Where have you seen that the Klingon Empire has been defeated, Ferengi? We are in fact the only power in the Federation Alliance which hasn’t officially been defeated. Our allies may have been, but the war is far from over!”
“So you intend to keep fighting?”
“I’ll have to give you a tour of this station, Ferengi. Just know that hadn’t you identified yourself, your ship would be a blob of foul-smelling puree right now.”
“Good to know, but that would have been too bad. The ship is a gift from your friendly Ferengi neighbors.”
“A WHAT?”
***
Still about one hour earlier …
“Let me try to understand.”
Wilkins was again sitting at his desk. What he had just been told was so … overwhelming.
“Yes, Admiral.”
“The Chameleon has been hijacked by those … First Ones, who happen to live in the Bootes Supercluster. Then they abducted you and tortured you for months to make you share the suffering the Bajoran people had to endure at the hands of the Cardassians?”
“Not only the Cardassians, Admiral, but the adversities my people had to endure through the ages was represented by Cardassians, particularly Dukat in the first part.”
“Any idea why him?”
Sabrina knew of course, but that she was not ready to divulge to a non-Bajoran — yet. So she answered:
“He is an appropriate symbol, especially coupled with Captain Sisko. Do you not agree?”
“Yes. And why make you share this pain?”
“That is what it means to be Bajoran, Admiral.”
“But if you’re Bajoran, why were you born human?”
Sabrina smiled.
“Now you ask the question!”
***
Alexandra Chekhov was quite interested by the conversation she was having with the cute-as-a-button Catherine DeSoto. Of course, she didn’t understand everything, but one thing was clear: the small fighter they were building as a first step towards the big warship they had the mandate to design would KICK ASS!
“But when would it be ready?”
“The prototype, in a few weeks. Mass production will begin whenever the Admiral is satisfied of the tryouts.”
“Any chance I could be a test pilot?”
“You, Captain? Well — why not? Although it probably won’t be our decision.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to whoever has to take it. A few weeks, hmm? I’ll be there!”
***
The difficult to understand part of the conversation was over. Sabrina had asked for a glass of cold water and was now enjoying it in short sips. Wilkins was just looking at her.
“How did you know the Dreadnought came in peace?”
She put down her glass on the table, smiled again and answered:
“I knew it was piloted by Ferengis. Only the Ferengis would have stopped at that distance, at that exact angle, in front of the station. The Jem’Hadars would have … been quite more direct.”
“Advanced Tactical. Maybe I should follow that course someday.”
“Or make sure that you always have an Advanced Tactical graduate on your bridge, Admiral.”
“I could do that. By the way, what are your plans for the future, Lieutenant … or have you come to offer your resignation?”
“Do I still have a place in Starfleet, Sir?”
Wilkins opened his mouth, closed it. He was thinking about his conversation with Q.
“Just know this, Leo: this little girl is the last, the very last hope of mankind. Only to have a chance in the dual role awaiting her, she has to be made ready. And for that she must understand where she came from, and what was … I was going to give you a little too many clues. She must find out for herself what I just told you, or she will fail. And if she fails, humanity will not be the only species to be denied existence.”
He looked at her. She didn’t seem worried, just inquisitive. He decided to go for it.
***
Sabrina had just left Wilkins’ office, staggering just a bit under the shock. She looked in her hand again. Then she raised her eyes again and saw her.
Something had changed, something big. Two things in fact: the color of her uniform, now red, and that third, hollow pip on her collar. Also, she seemed to have gotten somewhat older. But it was still her, and as soon as she saw her friend, her face lightened up with a large smile.
“Hello Annie.”
“What have they done to you?” Annie answered, genuinely more stunned by the bony face of her friend than by the ridges on her nose.
“A long story, Annie. I’m not sure that I have the strength to tell it one more time. Not now anyway. But you, what a change! Congratulations!”
“You mean that?” Annie said, pointing at her pips. “Yeah, someone had to replace Varel as First Officer when she assumed command.”
And then, with the facetious smile Sabrina had missed so much, she added:
“Maybe I’ll make you call me ‘Sir’ now …”
Sabrina smiled.
“That may pose a problem …”
A very good chapter! Lots of plot development without offering any real answers, just about perfect. Sabrina will make a great XO I think.
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