“Don’t you want to sleep with me?” one of the politicians had said for the tenth time, at Amara’s little sister. She glared her disapproval at him, hoping against hope he’d leave her alone.
“No.” she said firmly, trying to look to Amara for support, even though she knew that Amara was even more trapped than she was.
“I think you do.” one of his many sleazy male friends hinted like he had last time they had had this conversation, not five full minutes ago. She glanced at the crowd, looking for any friendly face to come get her away from the two politicians and their friends. But she knew her partner was going to be talking with the less-aggressive and mostly military portion of the Imperial delegation as opposed to being so bad with tactics to not see the group of sleazy politicians gradually sneaking closer and closer, like Amara’s stealth tactics. And, it wasn’t like Oliver would be able to do a ton to help physically, as he couldn’t walk very well, even with braces.
Then, the battle started, with the first attack. The first politician waited for her to take a sip of her drink before grabbing her other arm and trying to stick his hand down her dress. She dropped her drink, some of it spilling on his expensive suit. He cursed and she shrieked.
“No!” she yelled in panic.
Amara, who’d been formerly trying to stay calm on the other side of the room, flinched when she heard her sister scream like that.
“You wrecked my suit, you–” he tried to say, still holding on to her, as she used one of the few tricks Amara had taught her on leave from the Academy to hit him hard enough in the correct spot to get him to let go. It didn’t stop his nearby friend, who was much taller than her, from hitting her himself. But, it got everyone’s attention.
Rebecca looked knowingly at Amara, who said quietly but coldly, “Fuck the politicians, they started this.” Then, Amara dove into the battle personally, just like she was commanding fleets, as a force of nature. She kicked her heels off, plotting how to use them against those who hurt her sister.
She barely acknowledged Rebecca’s reply, “I’ll take low, you take high,” as the somewhat-drunk politicians had started attacking the rest of the Altairian delegation, and with them, the mostly-Imperial naval officers that had stepped in as impromptu bodyguards to the civilians.
A glass flew past Amara’s head. She barely noticed it, as she used her rarely-used naval hand-to-hand training to deflect the blow, and throw the guy trying to hit her with another glass to the floor. Looking back on footage, the Imperials and Altairans would notice some slight differences in their techniques. But nobody noticed it in the heat of the action.
Amara never thought she’d have to use her hand-to-hand training as a flag officer, safely far from ground combat, which was usually dominated by kinetic and nuke warheads itself. She was somewhat grateful to have a flowy dress, as while it was more material for attackers to grab onto, it did mess with her silhouette enough to save her from at least one blow.
“Was this the guy who hurt you?” Amara asked her sister, after the fighting had died down, and she’d made her way over to her.
He was being held in place by a couple of Imperial flag officers who’d never anticipated that this party would turn into a barfight. Her sister nodded and Amara knew what she was going to do.
“This is for my sister.” she said as she hit him hard in the face. The two flag officers, instead of doing anything about it, merely smiled and nodded or winked in approval.
“Thank you, Amara.” her sister whispered, before hugging her.
By the end, it was clear that naval hand-to-hand combat training had been a success, even if the politicians were going to get revenge eventually.