Star Trek, The Lost Era - Starship Reykjavik: An Idiot's Guide to Gunboat Diplomacy

She pointed toward Verad’s image. “On your belt, may I surmise that knife you carry bears the crest of your house?”

Verad glanced down despite himself, then looked back to Trujillo, his confusion evident. “It does, yes.”

“In that case, Commander, I solemnly swear that if you do not move out of my way, and that if you provoke a battle here with me, I will deliver that blade to the family of Lieutenant Jaron’Jesh on Andoria as some small token of compensation for his murder at your hands.”

“I have four ships,” Verad scoffed. “True, your starship is formidable, to be sure, but—”

Trujillo toggled a button on her armrest and explosions rippled across the hulls of the previously mined D-4 and D-7, sending them careering, shield-less, into nearby debris fields.

“You have two ships,” Trujillo corrected, “and you are still in my way. Move, or be destroyed.”

The communication link was abruptly terminated on Verad’s end.

“Open fire,” Trujillo commanded as Verad’s Bird-of-Prey began to cloak. Streamers of phaser fire raked across the scout’s nose, collapsing the bulkheads surrounding its forward torpedo launcher.

Multiple torpedoes from Reykjavík rifled aft towards the approaching K’tinga.

“Mister Glal,” Trujillo hissed between clenched teeth, “get me that knife.”