“Aren’t you going to use a phaser, Starfleet?”

    Miv turned, slinging the lirpa that she’d brought from across her shoulders. She eyed the Klingons. They had seemed very uneasy with her ever since they’d met. I suppose it makes sense. Klingons and Cardassians have not historically been the best of friends.
    She raised her head, but before she could reply, another Klingon interrupted.
    “Won’t that Vulcan toy be too heavy for you?”
    At that, Miv hefted it into a sweeping blue arc in front of her and shouted back, “are you going to stand around talking, or are we going to fight?”
    The Klingons grinned, and she thought she saw a nod. Together, they marched forward, almost running. Miv’s footsteps blended into the sound of Klingon boots. A feral sort of excitement flamed up inside of her, stoked by the footfalls and fanned by the air rushing past her face. The energized Vulcan blade sang as she leapt at the enemy, and everything became a blur of blue streaks and Klingon battle cries. For an instant, she was not the captain of a vessel, not a diplomat or an ambassador. She was a general. She was a soldier. Everything else fell away and the chaos became a simple matter of survival. Her versus the enemy.
    Then it was over. The giant fell, crashing nearly on top of the warriors, scattering them. They dodged the pieces and regrouped, yelling, breathing hard and noisy. The air was charged and Miv felt the rush in every cell of her body. Klingon fists pumped her back and Klingon voices cackled in her ears.
    “Perhaps,” said one, leaning in close enough to shout into her face, “we will make a warrior of you, yet!”
    Miv laughed in reply, but not scorn, “point me to the next one, and we can find out!”