“You don’t have a choice, uncle.”  Kali, all of 21 years, stood before J’Klast.  She’d been dispatched with a K’t’inga-class starship and orders.  It had taken her a frustrating amount of time getting him to answer her, and an infuriating amount of time arranging this meeting.  Her eyes stared blasters at him, her poker face burned away in her fury.

The older Klingon grumbled, “Choice is an illusion, especially with orders from the House of Koloth.  I do have a choice.”

She scoffed, amazed and amused.  “You’d be the fool to think of turning away from this, uncle.  You cannot be thinking of forcing my hand to motivate you.  Or punish you.”  Her voice had grown in the two years since she’d come aboard his ship.  Her confidence, courage, and commitment had solidified in ways that surprised him.  Her mother and father had been zealots in their own right, and it had killed each of them in the end.

J’Klast’s grumbling turned to a deepening growl as he spat back at her, “Do not think yourself above me in parying with insults or allegations.  You are a young warrior…and youth only counts for a small part of the battlefield – in space or the dirt.”  He returned her stare, and after a long silence, she broke eye contact.

“You are the better warrior, uncle.”

He knew there was a ‘for now’ hanging in the silence as she deferred to him.  She was family, but she had desired battle and victory since her youngest days.  “I accept the charge from my House.  I expect you are the one to escort me to the bridge of my new command?”  The look on her face was one he had become accustomed to over the years as he’d taken her in – the one where, if she were human, she would have rolled her eyes severely.  Instead, her crossed arms and furrowed brows bristled with annoyance, which was how she sent the requisite message.  “Lead the way, then.”