Act I - Part One
2233
It’s easy to be a saint in paradise, but Qo’noS was no paradise. The streets are crammed with stalls trading pirated but outdated tech, slimy slabs of seasoned gormagander flesh, and mixtures of recreational substances all for even a single unit of Imperial Credit. Amateur slave traders and merchants selling bottles of what they claim to be literal snake oil linger around every corner of the district, veiled mystics and barely dressed Orions silently eye their targets outside gambling dens and cabarets.
“Would you like to know your future, my dear?”
Philippa paid no mind to whoever was under that veil, if it were up to fate, she wouldn’t ever be crowned. But her partner and soon-to-be security consultant walked right up to the fortune teller.
“Live a little, Georgiou.” Leland turned back. “Bureaucracy is where fun goes to die.”
“Bureaucracy is where I can have you executed for treason just for saying that.”
There are better things to do with one’s time than whatever it is that they’re doing here in this Klingon-infested hellhole; the previous now-late empress, for all her enthusiastic war cries, may have boosted morale, but they have done nothing to secure Talos IV or any of the planets she promised. Planning her first conquest as ruler would be a much better use of their time than listening to whatever imaginary future Leland seems so enamored with listening to right now. Philippa just rolled her eyes, took another look at Leland – who is now engrossed in whatever shape the alien is tracing onto his palm – and kept walking.
The skies were clear tonight, there were no signs of the thunderstorms that plague Qo’noS. It was a quiet night, after all, the coronation ceremony is next month, and every member of the Imperial Starfleet is required to be in attendance. But even without the young ensigns and commanders, eager to celebrate their first shore leaves with synthesized alcohol and sex, this planet stinks of synthehol, blood, and Orion pheromones. This planet is nothing to marvel at, but Terrans has conquered planets for far less. It won’t be long until Qo’noS becomes a planet of ashes, Philippa thought, before she saw something flashing in the corner of her eye.
A hologram, nearly as tall as the establishment it belongs to, of Orion dancers is projected above the entrance – an Orion cabaret. Without a rowdy crowd and, if the lavish ornate entrance is an indicator of anything, this establishment could be one of the few that sells genuine alcohol, the kind that can turn any Orion into a work of beauty once you’ve drank enough, this could be a somewhat productive way to pass the time. At least compared to shopping for outdated phasers or binging on grilled space whale skewers.
It would, however, be rather invigorating , Philippa thought.
“You know I’m right, Georgiou.”
Philippa turned to see Leland walking up to her, turning to look at the hologram that caught her eye. “ Empress. ” Philippa corrected. “You’ll have to get used to calling me that soon.”
“Fine by me.” Leland turned to her. “But will you get used to it?”
“It doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”
Leland shrugged. “Can’t say I’d mind being empress.”
“You’ll make a better empress than a security consultant,” Philippa raised her eyebrow. “Maybe I should make you my empress, so I can be emperor.”
“As appealing as that sounds, I better head off and leave you to...” Leland shook his head and gestures to the hologram, now showing a topless Orion male dancing to showcase his athletic build. “This. ”
This is far superior to listening to customized fantasies while having random shapes traced onto your palm with some alien’s reptilian claw. In fact, Philippa would argue that anything would be more productive and enjoyable than that. But to each their own.
Just before Leland walked off to his next endeavor, he turned to Philippa.
“What’s stopping you from being emperor?”
Nothing. The Andorian ale tastes of absolutely nothing, but Philippa downed the shot anyway and savored the burn going down her throat. With the carved wooden dividers that section areas into makeshift rooms, the glass beaded curtains that hide the private rooms at the back, the intricate tapestries that hang from the ceilings, the furs lining the furniture and covering the floors, all illuminated with nothing but a series of strategically placed blue spotlights – it's hard to imagine an establishment like this existing on this planet.
Philippa watched a pair of Orion girls, wrapped in strips of colorful silks that are doing no favors for their dark green skin, dancing and aggressively fondling each other on the large circular stage in the middle of the cabaret. They don’t call them animal women for nothing, Philippa thought. They’re savages, just like the Klingons they service off-stage, but much better looking. Just when Philippa was about to get up to get another drink from the bar, she overhears an Orion man scolding a slave, she turned to see a hesitant Orion girl being dragged towards the bar by the man.
“If you’re not getting on that stage then you better make yourself useful here!”
“But-” A sharp slap cut off her objection and turned it into a faint whimper.
“Give that innocent act a rest!”
“I-” Another slap.
“For fuck’s sake, just lower your eyelids and play sweet then!”
Good luck with that. There’s no money to be made on a quiet night and, from the looks of how the girl can’t even stand up straight, she’s too pathetic to even earn herself a drink from a drunken Betazoid. But her handler looked over to Philippa and tugged the girl towards her with him.
“She’s a pretty one, isn’t she?” The man pushed the girl towards Philippa’s direction. “She’s my new princess.”
Humming, Philippa reached out for the girl’s face, wrapping her fingers around her chin and making her look at her.
If wearing nothing but dainty silver chains dripping with jewels isn’t enough to look the part of the archetypal damsel in distress, her slim, withering stature and ever-widening eyes should do the trick. But her beauty is undeniable – unlike the others with their matted, colored hair that clashes with their skin that is several shades too dark, her soft black curls are striking against her pale green skin. Philippa caught a glimpse of the small tattoo on the girl’s lower back – a butterfly – an unusual choice of branding for an Orion slave.
Slipping two fingers under the chain around the girl’s neck, she let out a yelp when Philippa yanked her forward. She chuckled at the girl stumbling to stay on her feet.
She looked over to the man.
“Where do we go for a little me time?”
“Over there.” He nodded towards one of the rooms at the back. Philippa pulled the girl close to her, twirling her hair and brushing it away from her face. Smiling, she pulled back and gestured for the girl to lead the way.
Out of curiosity, she turned to the man again. “And her name?”
“K’elebek.”
Butterfly.
How fitting.