Topic: Aftermath

[Scottish Andy]

Hi all,

Well,  I think I've given you enough of a break to get over 'If Wishes Were Horses', so here I go with my best (and last) completed story to date. The Fan Fic board has been kinda quiet of late (I don't read any of the other forums. Real life is crap.  ), so I'm hoping that I'm not posting into a void here. Maybe I'll post subsequent chapters once I'm sure people have read the current one (hint hint for reviews, comments, critiques and stuff). You guys and gals did a brillant job with 'Wishes', and raised the bar on my expectations. Hopefully, you'll find this story equally worthy of commenting on. Even if all you want to say is "she's whiny", "he's an arse", or "I like this character", then by all means please do so.

Like Jaeih says, give to receive. 

Anyway, on with the show.

Aftermath

By Scottish Andy

Introduction

This tale continues the theme of my first story 'The Two Day War', and as you may glean from the title it’s all about the consequences arising from that story. It was originally going to be a short, five-chapter affair, but as you will see it seemed to develop a life of it’s own.

I am quite proud of this as it represents another step forward in my quest to write believable characters that seem 'rea'’ in a way that the TNGers never did to me. Kirk & Co. always had blow-ups, fights, assertions of authority, and other causes of strife between the main characters, but they remained friends. It seemed to me that Picard & Co. rarely even lifted their voices at one another. It’s up to you to decide how well I’ve done, and if it fits into your own notion of what "believable" is.

So, read on and hopefully enjoy!

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter One

Date: 5th November 2267
Time: 1102 hours.
Stardate: [19]3272.3
Location: Federation frigate USS Kusanagi, Gariman Sector, Federation/Klingon Border.

"Report, Mr. Enax. Have you detected any survivors?" the captain asks.

The triped science officer swivels his bony head around to answer her, his slightly stooped shoulders giving us the answer we don’t want even before the Edoan speaks.

"Captain, I am sorry. There are no life-signs aboard her. The ship’s temperature is at absolute zero, and there are no functioning power sources or pockets of trapped heat." Enax sighs. "She’s completely dead, sir."

"Damn," I mutter, my heart feeling heavy in my chest. I ask, "Any signs of evacuation? Empty lifeboat lockers, propulsion trails, transponder beacons?"

"Scanning now, Lieutenant," he replies.

We are all looking at the viewscreen and the tragedy depicted there. We gaze upon the lifeless hulk of the USS Torjal, a thirty-year-old Baton Rouge-class cruiser apparently named for an Antosian city. She’d been part of a squadron-sized engagement against the Klingons, and one of the more successful ones at that. The heavy cruiser Hood had lead the Torjal, the destroyer Hashisiyun, and the heavy frigate Emden to victory against a Klingon D7 battlecruiser, D6 heavy cruiser, and two F5 frigates.

Our communications officer, Lieutenant JG Lathena, interrupts my musings with a short update. "I’m not receiving any distress calls or automatic rescue transponder beacons, sir. Bear in mind though, that the beacons have very limited range and are intended for near-space use only," she states. "If they are any more than two light-days away, they’d need to have a proper subspace communicator for any kind of interstellar broadcasts."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," the captain responds, sounding faintly amused. I have to echo the sentiment. Lathena’s promotion to department head is so recent that she still feels she has to earn it, and is proving her competence overtly with extra data in each of her answers, trying to cover all the bases.

She doesn’t need to. The captain and I both know she’s competent just from the performance of her daily duties, but it seems like we’ve both decided to let the young Andorian find her own balance. If she still hasn’t found it in a couple more weeks I might bring it up to her in an informal way. First officer’s privilege, and all.

"Mr. Enax, can you scan for any organic remains and pinpoint them?" the captain asks. This is the first hulk we’ve come across during our mission, so I’m guessing she’s looking for bodies.

"No, Captain, I’m afraid not," the science officer answers, still running his scan. "The repairs to our ship didn’t include the latest updates and programming algorithms needed for that level of precision at this distance."

"Will moving closer help?" I ask.

"Yes, Lieutenant. We will have to be within 500 kilometres, though."

McCafferty nods. "Thank you, Mr, Enax. Mr. Maknal, bring us in to one hundred kilometres’ distance."

"Aye sir."

Moments later and Enax is scanning again. "I’m sorry, Captain, but I’m not picking anything up, except for the extreme fragility of the ship’s superstructure. There are massive hull ruptures in over 80% of the ship’s surfaces, and she is slowly spinning in all three axes as a result of several large explosive decompressions. I wouldn’t recommend even beaming across, as it may cause the vessel to either collapse in on itself or split wide open."

I swear I can hear her teeth grinding at that, but when she speaks again her tone is even and calm. "The structural integrity field must have went haywire and over-stressed the hull before finally going off line."

"Captain, it doesn’t seem likely that Starfleet will be able to salvage the Torjal if she’s that fragile," I opine. "Shouldn’t we destroy her remains so that no one tries, especially pirates who might try it to gain Starfleet technology from her?"

McCafferty’s eyes flash at the mention of us destroying another Starfleet ship--even a lifeless hulk--but she takes a moment to think about it. An angry sigh escapes her as she answers.

"I suppose you’re right, Lieutenant," she states, her tone almost hostile, as if she blames me for it being true. Before she decides on that matter, she asks, "Mr. Enax, any further data?"

Enax nods. "Yes sir. Detailed scans of the Torjal show that several, but not all, escape pods have been launched. It has been too long since the event to pick up any propulsion traces, but the system this battle was fought over is only twenty light-days distant. Any survivors would have headed for there."

"At full impulse it’ll still take them 80 days to get there," I say, stating the obvious yet again. It’s one of my most annoying habits, or so I’ve been told.

Frequently.

Recently, though, I’ve been doing it to prod the captain into a course of action I’m recommending. It’s really just to let her know what I’m thinking, and she’s obviously come to the same conclusion this time.

"Very well, that’s where we’re headed next. But first we have an unpleasant duty to perform. Ensign Salok, arm phasers and set them to disintegrate. Fire when ready."

"Acknowledged, Captain," the muscular Vulcan responds in his mellow baritone, working his board. "Phasers armed and set. Firing now."

The shrill whine of the main phaser rises in volume, while on screen we watch an electric blue beam reach out to the wrecked ship before us. The Torjal starts to glow with the power being directed at her, until she becomes blindingly bright and the light filters kick in to protect the eyes of the bridge crew. Suddenly, she winks out, leaving behind nothing but a cloud of disassociated atoms and a slight afterimage on the retina.

"Ensign Salok," she orders again, voice somber, "plot a course to the Alora system along the route most likely taken by any escape pods from the Torjal. Mr. Enax, if you are done here?"

"Yes, Captain. Apart from the Torjal, it’s only debris. Klingon frigates don’t leave much behind when their antimatter gets loose."

This almost elicits a knee-jerk chuckle from me, but the solemnity of the scene before us doesn’t allow for it. I just manage to suppress it in time.

I get a look from the captain nonetheless. She knows me too well, damnit.

"Very well. Mr. Maknal, implement course change at warp one."

"Aye-aye, Captain," our Centauran helmsman responds, and again we launch ourselves into the Void.

Doing a quick sum in my head, I figure we’ve got nearly four days before we catch up to the pods--assuming that the Klingons didn’t just blast them after they launched.

I turn to McCafferty. "Shouldn’t we proceed at warp two, Captain? They do have a fair lead on us."

She returns my cool tone. "No, Mr. Brown, warp one will allow us to detect any pods that failed to get as far, or that became powerless en route."

A fair point. Blasting past eight times faster might cause us to miss a powerless life pod, but on the flip side, that powerless life pod is far less likely to contain living survivors. The slower speed might also put the living ones at risk, but if they’ve survived over two weeks so far, they could probably manage another few days...

I hate being a Libra, I silently groan. Even though I don’t put any stock in all that astrology nonsense, some aspects of the superstition still cling to my psyche. I’ve almost always been able to see the pros and cons of both sides, but it makes being decisive just that much harder.

"Very good, sir," I respond neutrally, turning back to the viewscreen. After a few moments of silent contemplation, I ask, "Permission to leave the bridge? If you are staying, Captain, there is some paperwork I’d like to get through."

McCafferty looks at me for a span of seconds, as if searching for ulterior motives, before nodding once. "Very well, Mr. Brown. We’ll be sure to let you know if anything of interest happens that you may want to be on the bridge for."

Grinding my teeth, I don’t bother replying and head straight for the turbolift. She can’t let even one go by without a comment or insinuation, can she? I turn around in the turbolift and glare daggers at the back of Lieutenant Commander Karen McCafferty’s head, before the doors slide shut on the bridge.

*****

[Commander La'ra]

I am quite proud of this as it represents another step forward in my quest to write believable characters that seem 'rea'’ in a way that the TNGers never did to me. Kirk & Co. always had blow-ups, fights, assertions of authority, and other causes of strife between the main characters, but they remained friends. It seemed to me that Picard & Co. rarely even lifted their voices at one another. It’s up to you to decide how well I’ve done, and if it fits into your own notion of what "believable" is.

'Bout time you posted this one.

Though here is where I go on record (again) as saying that presenting your two leads as 'normal' is more of a stretch than the TNG supercrew.   La'ra would've put both of 'em out an airlock after the last story.

Which in no way means I don't enjoy these stories.  It's like Jerry Springer on a starship and well written to boot!

[kadh2000]

After the last one involving these characters I am reluctant to read (and so far have not read) this one.  Frankly they aren't sympathetic and didn't pique my interest enough to continue to follow their lives.

[CaptJosh]

Is it my imagination, or is there possibly a more subtle tension underlying the overt problems between the characters...?

[Scottish Andy]

Okay, with the reappearance of some readers, I've finally decided to let loose the next part of my story. As always, comments and constructive criticisms are welcome. Let me know what you think of it.

Chapter One, Pt II

First Officer’s Log, Stardate 3272.55

Our mission to locate and rescue any survivors from the myriad battles fought along the Federation/Klingon border proceeds apace. So far, none have been found from either side even though we’ve been investigating battle sites for over a week now. Since we’ve half-a-dozen more battle sites still to check on, as well as the star systems some were fought over, I’m expecting this mission to last easily a month.

Despite it being two weeks since the end of the war, and that there were only two days of actual fighting, the change in pace is somewhat shocking. Perhaps it is the somber mood brought on by encountering the wreck of the Torjal. Whatever the reason, it brings home to me the futility of war, no matter that other peoples seem to glorify and revel in such violence.


First Officer’s Personal Log, Stardate 3273.55

The battle of wills continues between McCafferty and me. Although right now, in the absence of anything to fight over, the ‘battle of wills’ is reduced to childish name-calling and slimy insinuations. The captain and I are unlikely to reconcile any time soon, because our issues are deep-rooted and our respective positions now firmly entrenched. The crew seems to have accepted this new state of affairs, however, as people no longer squirm during our little tête-à-têtes. Hell, they barely bat an eyelash any more, unless we are in danger of outright yelling at each other or actually coming to blows.

I am sure McCafferty wants me off her ship, but I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. However unpleasant it may be for everyone else, I’m sticking to my phasers on this one. I would have expected her to at least try to talk me into transferring off, but she hasn’t, which puzzles me. Since this is just a personality conflict and not a disciplinary matter, she can’t order me to go. I suppose she’s just going to keep upping the ante until I fold and ask for one. It would be just like her to try and bull her way through the Regs again to get what she wants, but like I said: I’m not going to give her the satisfaction.

*****

I sigh and finally put down the last of the electronic clipboards, having managed to complete all of today’s paperwork. That it was no longer on real paper didn’t matter, as in three hundred years no one had come up with a better word for all the crap we have to wade through to document our daily activities. Even so, I’ve finally got through it all.

No one has called from the bridge in all that time, so as I predicted they must have had a quiet shift. Either that, or McCafferty was determined to keep me off her bridge.

I steal a quick glance at the time and I’m shocked to find that it’s nearly 1900 hours. As if suddenly reminded that I’m no longer concentrating on work and ignoring it, my stomach announces it’s displeasure with a loud rumble.

I look at the remains of my lunch, still sitting on my work desk. No wonder I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten in six hours! My belly must have thought my throat was cut.

"Well, I’ll fix that," I mutter to myself, and set off for the mess hall on Deck 4.

After my late dinner--eaten on my own, again--I head down to the small Rec. Room that the Kusanagi boasts. There isn’t much there, just stored board games, several library readers, a relaxation area next to the view ports facing aft, and a single games cube, but it’s adequate for my needs.

I’m hoping Shex is there. I’ve struck up a good friendship with our chief of security and was delighted to find that he’s a chess player too. I’m a decent player but not too inspired, so Shex is helping me improve my game, as well as teaching me Tri-D chess.

As expected, the tall Andorian is there. However, my preoccupation with my paperwork has cost me. Shex is sitting by the view ports with Lathena, having a more-than-friendly chat with the communications officer.

Ah well. Missed out there, then. Scanning the room I spy our CMO, Lieutenant Tatiana Nebukov, and quickly look on. There’s more trouble that I don’t want or need right now. She’s engaged in conversation with Zo`fran Trey`gar, our Centauran chief engineer, and hasn’t seen me yet.

Damn. None of my officer friends are here, and the other friendly faces are ordinary crew I’d probably annoy just by being a senior officer. My eyes hurt from staring at reports all afternoon, so I’m not keen on sitting at a reader, either. After standing in the doorway for almost a minute I’m feeling a tad conspicuous, so I decide to go find someone I can talk to.

Sod it. I’ll go see if Urrih is still about. I’m not quite quick enough leaving though, and I get speared with a less-than-friendly look from Nebukov. It speeds me out the door.

Of equal rank but less seniority, and being a medical officer to boot, Tatiana has no problem in letting me know of her problem with me, but I’m still sitting in the dark as to what it might be. She offers no disrespect or insubordination, just genuine dislike during off-duty encounters, so I can’t call her on it. I’m still trying to find my balance with the captain and that’s taking all my efforts, so it does give Tatiana some power over me. I’ll have sort her out in the future, though.

I make it back to the senior officers’ quarters on Deck 3 and search out our Chief of Ship Operations. Urrih Maknal and I served together--with McCafferty--aboard the destroyer Jugurtha and he is one of several officers on board I can call my friend. However, because of recent events I’ve not had much time to talk with the Jugurtha contingent aboard the Kusanagi.

I must get around to doing that. Invite them to my quarters or to the Rec. Room for a game and a drink after hours.

I hit the buzzer on Urrih’s door, and after a few seconds he answers it. He looks at first pleased, then suddenly uncomfortable. Before I can ask about the sudden change and what it means, I can see the cause of it and everything falls into place.

McCafferty is sitting in the chair by Urrih’s bed.

Despite what’s occupying my thoughts right then, I muster a pleasant expression and tone for my friend. "Ah, I see you’ve already got company. I’ll leave you be then."

Urrih looks like he wants to say something else, but then sighs and nods, acquiescing to the sense of my approach. "Okay then."

"Good night then, Urrih. See you tomorrow."

" ‘Night, Andrew."

I turn on my heel and head to the gym on Deck 5. I suddenly feel the need to work off some excess energy.

*****

Several minutes into boxing the crap out of the large punch bag and McCafferty’s latest strategy is filling my head still. Except that I know it isn’t her ‘latest’, it’s one she’s been working on for at least two weeks.

I’m really needing Shex to improve my boxing form as well--or maybe Ensign Demeter, since she’s Human too--but that isn’t what’s on my mind right now as I jab and swing away at the floor-to-ceiling punch bag in front of me. What’s on my mind, yet again, is my own short-sightedness.

McCafferty always was better at tactics than me when we were at the Academy. She just has a knack for it.

While I’ve been reading up on Starfleet Regulations, getting ready to cut her off at the knees in future if she tries something ‘fast and loose’ with her orders, I’ve just realised that McCafferty has been solidifying her power base in a far more immediate manner. She’s been hanging out of a night with our friends from the Jugurtha, no doubt trying to influence them to her side or ingratiate herself to them.

Being the captain, she just needs to give orders and we carry them out. Starfleet is on her side until or unless I can convince Command otherwise, so she‘s building popular support for herself with the more influential members of the crew.

Oh, I’ve been making a few new friends too, but going about it in the normal way of doing it for companionship, not with an eye to making allies. This being the case, I’ve also managed to lose possible friends, and even made an enemy in our CMO. In doing so, I’ve let slip my relationships with my old friends, thinking that they’ll still be there to go back to.

A quick mental rundown of my friends reveals all of them to be her friends as well. Also, that a fair number of them are on the Beta shift bridge crew, where she can be with them outside of my influence. Come to think of it, she was probably thrilled when I left the bridge this morning as she got to play ‘good captain’ to the Alpha shift as well.

Gods’-damnit! I’ve really got to start paying attention to her ulterior motives and how she’s looked at by the rest of the crew, instead of focusing solely on curbing her autonomous tendencies. She probably even made that jibe at me as I left the bridge to keep me off-balance, to stop me from connecting the dots. If I end up being very unpopular because of my new plan, it probably will get to the point where I’ll want to transfer off.

I can’t let that happen. From now on, I’m going to be seen around the ship, outside of the captain’s influence, as someone they want to get to know. To let them see that I’m a decent, hardworking guy who also has time for his friends and his crew.

I deliver a final roundhouse to the punch bag, then lean against it as I wipe the sweat from my eyes.

Now, how the hell am I going to find the time to manage all that?

*****

After a quick shower, I head back to the Rec. Room. The first priority on this new course of action is to confront Tatiana and find out what her problem with me is, and if I can fix it or make it go away.

The Rec. Room is more crowded than when I left it, but typically the object of my attention is nowhere to be seen. A few quick inquiries tells me she’s retired for the night, so I head to her quarters on Deck 3.

I buzz her a couple of times but there is no answer. She’s either ‘otherwise occupied’, or she’s switched off her buzzer for the night.

I’ve had enough of running about all over the ship for tonight, so I decide to retire myself. I walk around the corridor until I reach my own quarters and blissfully slide the door shut on the world outside.

I still want to talk to Tatiana and it’ll bug me until I do, so I activate my desk terminal and bring up two duty rosters--mine and hers. With us both being on the Alpha shift and department heads, it is easy for me to arrange an appointment with her to discuss ‘crew efficiency’. My new desire to remain on the bridge not withstanding, I set the meeting up as a ‘working lunch’ at 1300 hours.

Checking out my own list of duties to perform, I see that I actually have a legitimate reason to meet with the CMO anyway. This crew, having been thrown together less than a month ago, still has to have their annual medical exams done. With 160 crew it will only take about a week to do, but it’s a necessary evil to catch diseases, problems, as an additional security measure, and as a baseline scan for the medical staff to work from for the next year.

I have to co-ordinate with the CMO to ensure that these medicals don’t interfere with the performance of their duties, which basically boils down to scheduling. I roll my eyes. Oh, joy. Well, at least I have a way to play it out now, instead of just baldly asking straight out. We’ll get though the duty part of it, and Tatiana being Tatiana, she’ll make a comment or give me a look that I can use as a starting point. Okay.

Thus satisfied with my plan of action, I settle back into my living quarters to have a relaxing night in. I grab a book off its shelf, wanting to push all thoughts of work and the realities thereof out of my mind, and lose myself in a fantasy world of my choosing.

My current choice is a 22nd-century Andorian science fiction story about the crew of a giant space station, used by many different races as a last hope of defence against an encroaching darkness from the depths of space.

Ah, if only life was that simple, is my last real-world thought before surrendering myself to the book’s absorbing prose.

[Commander La'ra]

Is it my imagination, or is there possibly a more subtle tension underlying the overt problems between the characters...?

I've wondered about that too.

[Scottish Andy]

And here we are again. Freshly back from my Excursion to the the Cradle of American Civilisation, I find myself back in a writing mood. So, I'll post here and jot down a few scenes inspired by... well, everything else, and maybe even come up with a third Andrew/Karen story.
As always, comments are more than welcome.

Chapter Two

Date: 6th November 2267

Next day and it’s almost time for my meeting with Tatiana. So far it’s been an uneventful shift with no pods detected, transponder beacons picked up, or propulsion trails encountered.

McCafferty was on the bridge for only two hours this morning. We had our daily meeting about the condition of the ship and the well being of the crew, liberally spiced up--as usual--with unfriendly looks, cool tones, and snarky comments.

Perversely, these little, ah, ‘debates’ are sharpening my wits. I was never any good at interpersonal conflict, so my skills at incisive, quick-witted retorts were abysmal. Now, though, after nearly three weeks of constant sniping and occasional blow-ups, I’m almost able to give as good as I get.

It’s not like I’m looking forward to fighting with my captain, I’m just no longer dreading seeing her any more. Righteous anger and indignation can only carry you so far, after all.

Anyway, with McCafferty off seeing to her own paperwork--helped on her way off the bridge by snide comments of my own, turnabout being fair play after all--everything is peaceful and quiet. With an electronic clipboard on hand, I’ve been dealing with my own bureaucratic issues as they arise. I’ve never let myself do this before, thinking that my full and undivided attention should be devoted to what’s happening on the bridge. Now I’m finding myself grateful for a quiet shift rather than being restless during it. Caught up as I am with my other duties, if anything should happen the bridge crew will bring it to my attention so I don’t need to feel guilty for dealing with the other aspects of my job.

I check the time again and decide to head down to the mess hall for my working lunch. Addressing Urrih at the helm, I order, "Mr. Maknal, you have the conn. Get your relief up here to man your station, and I’ll try to be back within two hours."

"Aye-aye, sir," he acknowledges, and moves over to Lathena to put a call through to the Ship Operations Department several decks below us.

I sigh. I really wish Starfleet would install intercoms at each of our stations, for crying out loud. I know this is an old ship, but come on. Having been used to them on the Jugurtha, it was quite a shock to have to put every single call through the comm. officer. After that initial shock wore off, it became a huge annoyance. It seems Starfleet’s priority for ship upgrades are geared towards ships capable of exploratory duties, despite the fact that it's ships in the middle of battles that need that capability most of all.

I wait just long enough for his replacement to arrive before stating, "The bridge is yours, Mr. Maknal," and setting off for lunch.

*****

Seventy minutes later and I’ve finished off my thick tuna sandwich and coffee-with-cream, and the CMO and I have almost thrashed out the schedule for the annual physicals. Surprisingly--and annoyingly--Tatiana has been nothing but professional throughout and I’m now thinking of more gentle ways of broaching my real reason for this meeting than something like, "So, Tatiana, pleasant day we’re having. Why do you hate me?"

I’m spared any further effort on that score when she all but glares at me, possibly because of my suddenly wandering attention. I pounce on the opportunity.

"Lieutenant Nebukov, do you have a problem with me?"

She looks rather startled, eyes widening noticeably as if she’s surprised I’ve called her on it. The glare disappears, but I can tell what’s behind it hasn’t, despite her answer to the contrary.

"No, Sir. No problem at all, Sir."

Her tone speaks volumes though, and this being the whole point of the meeting for me, I’m not about to let it go.

"It’s painfully obvious to me that’s not the case, Lieutenant," I reply in my best CO’s voice. I’m still working on that, because I think it comes over as ‘bossy’ rather than ‘commanding’, but being a senior officer for a grand total of three weeks I think I’m allowed a little ‘running in’ time.

Our CMO doesn’t look impressed, confirming my opinion at least in part, so I make it official. "Out with it, Doctor. I know you have a problem with me and I want to know what it is. That’s an order, by the way."

Still, she stalls again, her tone belligerent. "Am I on report, Sir?"

I sigh. "No, Doctor. For the record, you have not been disrespectful or insubordinate to me. It’s just that every time I’m around you off-duty you practically bore holes in my head, and I’d like to know what it is that I may have done to offend you so I can fix it."

Tatiana leans back in her chair and narrows her eyes at me. Apparently completely ignoring the olive branch I’ve just extended, she goes on the offensive. "I want it made clear that I don’t want to share this, and I think that you’re abusing your authority and badgering me with--"

"Cut that out right now, Doctor!" I interrupt her. That self-important little speech has pissed me right off and she’s not getting away with it. "You seem to be on something of a power trip yourself. This is a matter of crew efficiency, Doctor. It is affecting my working relationship with you--"

Shooting forwards in her chair again she bolts out, "How can it be, when you yourself just said that it’s only during off-duty hours--!"

"Doctor!" I yell, slamming my hand down onto the table, garnering looks from several crewmembers at different tables throughout the room. It has the desired effect and she lapses into silence. "If I may be allowed to continue without interruption," I say caustically, "your attitude problem is affecting my on-duty performance because I know of your off-duty actions."

"With respect, Sir," the blonde doctor says in a tone dripping with anything but, "your inability to separate or deal with off-duty activities during your on-duty time is your problem, not mine, nor is it official ship’s business!"

Damnit! Outmanoeuvred me there, curse her. I certainly approached that from the wrong direction, ‘cause she’s actually right.

"Fine then. Okay, so you’re right there. I can’t order you to tell me, but I want to know, damnit!"

The Russian leans back in her chair once again and gives me a superior smirk. "If you haven’t already figured this out by now, Sir, let me enlighten you: You don’t always get what you want in life. If I wanted you to know, believe me, you’d know, but you’re not getting anything out of me. Sir."

I want to slap her so much my hand actually rises from the table, but before she can realise what it means I pull it back and steeple my fingers over my chin.

The impulse surprises me. You can want to kill someone your whole life, but do nothing about it and realise it’s just a way of releasing the pressure you’re under. As soon as you take a step towards carrying out that impulse, however, that’s when you begin skating on thin ice.

I’m not used to being angry, but over the last month I’ve been angry for the better part of every day. I’ve been dealing with it by taking frequent trips to the gym, but apparently I’m not dealing with it as well as I had thought.

I need to start releasing my stress with other people. I need positive interpersonal contact, to let me know that I’m not alone on this tub.

"Very well then, Doctor," I grate out between clenched teeth. "However, I’m not going to put up with your little displays any longer. Mend your attitude, or you and I will have further... words."

My face must be thunderous, or maybe my command tone has finally kicked in the way I want it to, but whatever the reason the doctor looks taken aback.

"I only wanted to work this out between us, to see if there was some kind of compromise we could come to that we could both live with. I asked you officer to officer, and superior to subordinate, but you have made this entirely personal." I glare at her through narrowed eyes lit by anger. "This issue between us will be dealt with outside the chain of command, on our own time."

It seems to me a look of alarm flashes through her eyes, but it may only be wishful thinking on my part. Her face sets again and in a low voice she asks, "Are you threatening me, Lieutenant?"

I merely continue to glare at her in the same way. "No, Doctor. I’m stating a fact. Now, let’s finish scheduling these physicals. I’m sure we both have other work to do."

I look down at my electronic clipboard and bring up the next crewmember, but Tatiana demands hotly, "But what about--"

"Now, Doctor," I state in a tone that brooks no argument, not looking up.

"Yes, Sir."

*****

Several hours later and I’m back on the bridge, still smarting from my meeting with our CMO. I may have ended it decisively and possibly to my benefit, but I still royally screwed the pooch on that one. I picked the wrong words to try and force a confession out of Tatiana and she neatly turned them around on me. Not only that, but I let her see my cards in whatever game we’re playing. As I said, the ending may have recouped it for me, but it remains to be seen who came out on top of that one.

My thoughts--never fully occupied by the electronic clipboard in front of me--are drawn completely away when the helmsman calls out a report.

"Lieutenant Brown! Sensors are detecting a small metallic object directly ahead, range... five million kilometres. No life-signs, and its dead in space, sir."

"Very good, Mr. Maknal. Drop to sublight and bring us to relative rest at 500 kilometres from the object. Mr. Enax, deep scan of the object, please. Lieutenant Lathena, call the captain to the bridge."

The acknowledgements echo back, and moments later McCafferty steps on to the bridge. Lathena had only just finished paging her, so she must have already been on her way.

"Why have we dropped from warp, Mr. Brown?" she asks curtly.

Coolly, I reply. "Sensors detected a small metallic object on our course, sir. The range was so low upon detecting it that we’d have to stop to investigate, which we are now doing."

"Very well. I have the conn, Mr. Brown."

"Aye, sir." I vacate the centre seat and head to the science station. McCafferty follows, instead of assuming the command chair.

"Mr. Enax?" I verbally prod.

"Final scan details coming in now, Lieutenant."

We wait a few moments for Enax to present his report, which he soon does. "Sirs, I’ve confirmed that there are no life-signs, but I‘ve also confirmed that there are no organic remains within the pod either. Readings show a power system failure that caused life support to go offline, although its hull is secure with no breaches. The pod’s temperature is at absolute zero and so hasn’t had power for at least a day, but it isn’t completely motionless. Its course is directly towards the Alora system, though its motion carries it away from there."

McCafferty makes to speak, but I beat her to it. "Analysis, Mr. Enax. What happened here?" I ask. The captain shoots me an irritated glare, which I ignore.

"Sir, I would suppose from the data gathered that this pod was accompanied by others who then rescued its occupants when its power system failed. The pod was rapidly decelerated so the survivors could EVA to another pod, which then continued on to the system ahead. This would account for the pod being otherwise undamaged and that there are no bodies."

"Thank you Mr. Enax. Good report," McCafferty states encouragingly.

"Well, this bears out our initial assumption and provides us with proof of survivors. Since these people were apparently rescued by their fellow evacuees, should we now proceed at warp two to catch up with the pods still under power?" I ask McCafferty. "Assuming now that any disabled pods will be taken care of by their own?"

The captain actually gives this some serious thought. "I don’t like the idea of possibly passing by powerless pods, but it does seems obvious now that if the pod is powerless it won’t be containing living survivors, and our first duty is to the living."

"Aye sir." Turning to face Maknal at the helm, I start, "Mr. Mak--"

"Mr. Maknal, resume our previous course and engage at warp two," McCafferty orders over me.

Urrih flinches slightly as McCafferty starts speaking, but he acknowledges smoothly. "Aye-aye sir. Warp two... now."

I feel stunned. Literally, phaser-stunned. What the rip-roaring jolly f*ck was that? I turn back to face her and she’s merely standing there, looking idly past me to the viewscreen. As if I’m not here, standing right in front of her. There is no way she’s getting away with this one.

"Captain," I all but spit out. "I need to speak to you at once. In private."

She slowly turns to me and makes eye contact. Now she’s looking coldly amused. "I’m sorry, Mr. Brown, but I was in the middle of something important before I was called to the bridge. You will have to wait until I can free up some time."

She’s about to turn and walk away, but I step in close and hiss angrily at her. "You’ll speak to me now, either privately or if I have to make even more of a scene on this bridge than you already have!"

Now her eyes narrow in anger, but she doesn’t back off. "Make you scene then. I dare you," she whispers back.

I almost do it. Almost.

My rage is yelling at me to strangle her right there and be done with it, but the voice of sanity in my head is telling me, never mind about the strangling, it’s not a great move in general to challenge a captain on the bridge of their own ship! That’s mutiny, pal.

I hadn’t even considered that when I issued my ultimatum, and I’m sure that’s the reason McCafferty let me make it. It’s just the reason she needs to put me in the brig or confine me to quarters, and gives her the power to order me off her ship.

She set me up. The realisation strikes me then, and it rapidly chills my anger. Right here, right now, on the spur of the moment with the opportunity I gave her. No campaign of demoralisation, just superior tactics.

Despite all that’s gone by and how it’s affected me, I cannot help but admire her for it. If she ever does get the chance to lead in battle, she’ll do magnificently.

On the verge of outright victory, McCafferty sees this chance slide away from her and gets angry again. Then she only looks puzzled, as she searches my face and finds something I’m not aware of.

Maybe she’s picked up on my out-of-place admiration. It’s the only thing I can think of.

This whole volatile situation has seemed to stretch forever, but only five seconds have passed between us. Retreating to our particular trenches to regroup, time resumes its normal flow.

"You have the bridge, Mr. Brown," the captain says in a curious tone.

"Aye, sir," I reply in an equally unusual tone.

Then she is gone, taken by the turbolift, and the tension seems to lessen just a little. Of course, the bridge crew probably still thinks I’m furious over what McCafferty has just done to me. I’m not. It puzzles the hell out of me, but I’m not. It also pleases me to find out that anger isn’t the most powerful emotion I’m capable of. Somewhat bewildered, I settle down into the command chair and bring my mind back to the task at hand.

"Urrih, what’s our ETA at the refined intercept point?" I ask in a completely calm voice, devoid of any heat or embarrassment.

A quick calculation later and he answers. "Journey time is eight hours, fifteen minutes, present speed sir. ETA is 2340 hours tonight."

"Thank you, Urrih."

"Aye sir."

I need time to think about what just happened here. I’m grateful that it’s only another thirty-odd minutes to the end of the shift.

*****

[Scottish Andy]

Well, I guess I have to post a bit more of this before people start forming opinions, so here you go.

Chapter Two, Pt II

I had wanted time to think about my reaction on the bridge, but I’ve since decided that it can wait until later. Right now I feel the need for company, someone to talk to, so I forcibly push those thoughts aside and concentrate on catching up with Urrih. As we left the bridge in the hands of the Beta shift, I’d asked Urrih if he wanted to grab an early meal with me. He readily agreed, so here we are.

I thought it might be a little awkward between us with what’s happened recently, both publicly and privately, but it isn’t. Urrih and I have dropped right back into our old, familiar habits from when we were teamed up on the bridge of the Jugurtha. He was the helmsman and I was the navigator during the Beta shift for three years before we both got reassigned. The Jugurtha’s Chief of Ship Operations transferred to another vessel, so the department personnel were shuffled around to cover her departure. McCafferty was made department head, Urrih was promoted and made Alpha shift helmsman, and I was promoted and made Second Officer, in charge of the Beta shift.

After that reshuffle I saw much less of Urrih, but we still met up regularly. He also made friends with McCafferty, and all three of us became good friends.

Urrih’s been updating me on his family and how they’ve been doing. Nothing much happening on either of our home fronts, but apparently Urrih has some news.

"So, my sister Al`anna tells me she’s going to medical school on Centaurus with Joanna McCoy!" he tells me, and waits expectantly.

It’s as if I should recognise who this person is, but I’m drawing a blank.

"Oh, come on Andrew!" Urrih sighs melodramatically. "Leonard McCoy’s daughter? CMO of the Enterprise?" he prods.

"Ooh!" I finally catch on. Although, I’m not feeling particularly dumb for not recognising such a vague reference to one of Starfleet’s leading medical names, and I tell him so.

Urrih rolls his eyes at me and sounds exasperated. "Really, Andrew. You should come out of your own little universe once in a while to smell the roses."

I grimace and acknowledge the hit. "You’re right, Urrih. Well, that is what this is all about, after all," I gesture at us, sitting in the mess deck.

The Centauran nods and asks, "So what of your family? Has any of your sisters been married off yet?"

The wink and the tone of voice that accompanies the second question makes me glad he doesn’t know my sisters—and not for their benefit, either.

"As a matter of fact, yes. My youngest sister Vicki got married a few months ago. The news only reached me last week after being routed through fifteen different relay stations." I sigh. "Typical. I’m so used to instant Starfleet communications that I forget how hard it is for civilians to track us down."

Urrih nods his agreement. "Yes, I only got my news three weeks ago, despite it happening over three months ago. So, your parents?"

"Yes, Mum is apparently quite happily ignoring the rest of the world and just continuing as usual back home. She’s quite concerned with her dad, though. He’s going in to hospital for an operation soon. It’s routine, but he’s quite old. You know how mothers and daughters worry.

"Dad’s had some good news though. He’s been promoted to his company’s main shipyard in Earth orbit. Instead of working at the ground-based Edinburgh spaceport, he’s now the Fleet Engineer for Star Lines’ Astrodyne Orbital Docks division," I announce proudly.

"That’s great! I take it he likes the stars, then? Or just the bigger ships?"

"I think it’s the bigger ships. Dad’s a great craftsman and he’s popular because he treats the men fairly. He’s not into the union side of things, he’ll just fight for his departments to get the tools they need to do their jobs properly."

"Ah. You’re proud of him then?"

"Oh yes. I’m glad he’s done so well. He’s a big part of why I joined Starfleet in the first place, you know."

Urrih grins. "Yes, I do know. You’ve told me so several times."

I return the grin, then sober up. "Urrih, I’ve really enjoyed talking shop, but I do need to speak with you privately. Still in a friendly capacity, though. Can we go back to my quarters so we can talk further?"

Urrih tenses, then looks somewhat resigned. "Yes, of course."

He looks as if he’ll go on, but decides against it. Probably hoping what he is thinking is wrong, but we both know there can only be one thing on my mind.


Safely ensconced in my quarters--me at my desk, Urrih in the chair opposite--and with both of us holding the drink we know we’ll need, I broach the topic neither of us wants to talk about but that I have to.

"Urrih, are we going to stay friends?" I ask bluntly.

He fires back an almost immediate, "Of course." I make to speak, but Urrih knows what I’m going to say. He carries on, qualifying his answer. "Andrew, I know you’re worried about the toll this will take on me. You are thinking that I will become one more thing you and Karen will fight over, who gets to ‘have’ me as their friend.

"Let me tell you now what I told Karen a couple of weeks back."

That makes me feel bad all on its own, that I’ve not had a sit-down, off-duty, ‘we’re-friends-how-are-you-recently’ chat with him in all that time, but he continues.

"I am not some ‘thing’ you can fight over. I’m a person who can make his own decisions on who to like and who not to, not some fragile glass structure that might shatter if too much pressure or obligation is placed on me.

"I’m still the Urrih Maknal who was friends with both you and Karen before you two had your little spat, and I’ll continue to be that Urrih Maknal. The Urrih Maknal that I am."

I feel a flash of anger at him calling McCafferty’s betrayal of me a ‘little spat’, but that isn’t the topic under discussion here.

"I know that the general image of us Centaurans is that we’re more pacifistic than even the Vulcans, and that we try to avoid confrontation as much as it is within out powers to do so. This is entirely true, but a bit one-sided. If someone comes to us as a ‘shoulder to cry on’, as you humans say, or to help them reconcile their differences, we’re there for them. That’s why there are so many Centaurans in the Federation’s Diplomatic Corps."

"I know all this, Urrih, and you’re mainly right," I interject. "I’m just worried--"

"Worried that my pacifistic nature will end up crushing me between her rock and your hard place?" my friend asks me.

I have to admit, he’s pegged it exactly. I’m going to start giving him even more credit than I already do for perceptiveness.

"Yes, that’s basically it," I reply, nodding. "I was worried because of your reaction to the incident on the bridge this afternoon."

"You needn’t worry on that, or any other, score, Andrew," he tells me. "You are both still my friends, and will stay that way even when both of you are sniping or attacking one another. I’m not here to be a go between, relay messages, or reveal confidences to the other side. I firmly believe that this will blow over eventually, and at that point both of you will need healing. I will be there for the both of you rant and rail to, as a facilitator for better relations, as a peacemaker, and finally as a reconciler.

"The two of you can carry on your feud for as long as you feel the need or until you are no longer able to. But I will have both of you in here together as some point, and you are going to be civil to each other with no sly comments, insinuations, or such like."

"Urrih--" I start, sure that it’ll never work or happen the way he thinks it will, but he is unrelenting.

"Andrew, believe me. You--and she--have no choice in this matter. Put it this way: these are the terms and conditions to our continuing friendship, to which Karen has already agreed. Is your feud with Karen more important than your friendship with me?"

It is a very sneaky and clever ploy by my friend, and put that way there really is no choice. Now I have the disadvantage that, if I do come to rant and rail at his doorstep, I have to consider the possibility that she’d be there already, doing exactly the same thing from the other side of the incident.

I have no idea how he hopes to pull off this cease-fire between McCafferty and me, but he’s certainly determined to give it his best shot.

So, of course, my answer is, "I accept."

Urrih leans back in his chair and says, "I’m glad to hear it."

Given an inkling by his earlier comment, I know I shouldn’t ask my next question. I just can’t resist, though. "So, what do you think of McCafferty’s--"

I don’t even get the chance to finish, as Urrih’s quick-fire response shuts me up but good.

"I think you’re both acting like idiots. No, worse: spoiled brats."

I colour deeply at that, because I happen to agree. However, I want him to realise that I’m just responding to her, tit for tat. I may be sinking to her level, but I cannot just let her attacks go unanswered.

"I can see what you’re thinking, Andrew, but I think that you’re equally at fault. And yes, she asked me too and got the same answer."

If it had been a more light-hearted situation, Urrih would have grinned, knowing how disconcerting it is to be so transparent in thought. As it was, though...

I sigh, and give in to the inevitable. I didn’t get what I came for, but I didn’t lose out either. Ever the diplomat, Urrih knows that no peace treaty is any good unless both sides feel as if they have lost something.

I have no doubt McCafferty ended up feeling the same way after her version of this conversation.

"Thank you Urrih. I may not agree with what you’re trying to do, but I appreciate that you care enough to try it." I sigh again and add, "For what it’s worth, I hope you’re right."

"So do I Andrew. So do I."

"So, how do you see this eventual little chat with all three of us going?" I ask, dreading the very thought of such a meeting.

"Well, I--"

"Bridge to First Officer."

I roll my eyes. "Perfect timing, as usual. Hold that thought please, Urrih."

He nods and settles back into his chair again as I complete the connection to the bridge. "This is the First Officer," I state firmly.

"Sir, incoming transmission from Starfleet Command at Starbase 22, marked as ‘personal’ but not encoded or ‘eyes only’."

Urrih makes to get up and leave, but I wave him to stay. "Pipe it down here, Ensign," I tell the Beta shift comm. officer, Ensign Achmed Al-Mahaid.

"Aye, sir. Transferring now. Bridge, out."

The intercom goes silent and my terminal screen lights up with the visage of an unfamiliar officer in Support Services Red. His cuff braids indicate he’s a full commander, and his lush black hair frames a clean-shaven face and the dusky complexion of a native of the Indian subcontinent on Earth.

"Lieutenant Brown?" the man asks in a clear English accent.

"Yes, Commander," I reply shortly.

"Lieutenant, I am Commander Rajesh Sulafi, Starfleet Personnel Officer for Starbase 22’s area of influence. I’m contacting you in regards to the request for a transfer you made as submitted by your commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Karen McCafferty. I’m pleased to announce that your request has been approved and I’ve found a position for you aboard the destroyer Geronimo as second officer." The man beamed at me, his brilliant white teeth a sharp contrast to his dusky skin. "Shall I relay your acceptance to Captain Azruf?"

Struck completely dumb during the man’s speech, I manage to push out a hoarse, "No sir, I’m afraid not."

The commander’s smile vanishes, and he now looks somewhat irritated. "Can you tell me why not, Lieutenant? I can assure you, this is the most suitable position currently available for you. You won’t find a better billet anywhere else in this sector."

I toss a shell-shocked look over the screen to Urrih, who’s sitting open-mouthed in the corner, before stating, "Sir, I cannot accept because I have made no such transfer request."

[Governor Ronjar]

Sadly, only have bout an hour of net time tonight, so I haven't read very much on this. Mostly catching up and refreshing on what I'd already visited.... So all I have is one paltry nitpick:And I quote

"I sigh. I really wish Starfleet would install intercoms at each of our stations, for crying out loud. I know this is an old ship, but come on. Having been used to them on the Jugurtha, it was quite a shock to have to put every single call through the comm. officer. "

Even NX-01 had comms at each station. Like I said, this was a PALTRY nitpick...But it shows I AM reading it... I liked the old-show-ey ship disitegration when they phasered the cruiser, though...Very 'Day of the Dove' there...

--thu Guv'!

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

You know I like this story, Andy, so here I'll show you some moral support. 

Your characterisation is getting better all the time, even if you're characterising people Kadh doesn't want to read about. *glares at Kadh for being obtuse*

I also liked the TOS phasering of the shipwreck, like the Guv said. Keep explaining away those Sixties special effects limitations! *grin*

I also know why you did that "everything through the comm officer" thing, and that you'd this bit written before you'd seen 'Akyaziprise', but you may have to change it. I'm not sure about today's modern warships, but I doubt they have comm officers the same way Trek does. Everyone there probably talks over intercoms. Hell, even the Titanic had point-to-point com tubes, bridge to engine room and stuff like that.

Anyway, I'm still reading it. Keep posting!

[Grim Reaper]

I have the feeling I already read this. Why?

Forgot to add the rating i felt was due

[kadh2000]

Sorry, but a well done and unlikeable character isn't fun to read about.  A poorly done but likeable one isn't either.  As of yet the main character and his captain just haven't demonstrated anything that makes me want to root for them.

[Commander La'ra]

Sorry, but a well done and unlikeable character isn't fun to read about.  A poorly done but likeable one isn't either.  As of yet the main character and his captain just haven't demonstrated anything that makes me want to root for them.

I don't like 'em either, but I do like the story.  Could be the 'Jerry Springer' factor.

[CaptJosh]

Frankly, I think they're acting like a couple teenagers that have been friends forever and don't want to admit that for both of them, it's trying to turn into something more than friendship. It's amusing.

[Scottish Andy]

Thanks for the comments, guys and gals. Here's the continuation.

Chapter Three

"I’m sorry? Could you repeat that please, Lieutenant?"

Commander Sulafi sounds like he cannot believe his ears, and I have to say that he’s not alone in his attitude. I’m glad I’m sitting down as it saves me from falling off my feet. Urrih is choking on a large gulp of vodka he’d just downed.

Collecting my wits, I oblige the commander. "Sir, I repeat: I have made no request to my commanding officer for a transfer off this ship."

"Lieutenant..." Sulafi hesitates. "This may become a serious issue. I’m going to have to get an acceptable explanation for this matter from you. If I’m not happy with what you tell me, it’s going to go above my office and maybe even into an official inquiry."

I’m still trying to come to terms with the scope of McCafferty’s arrogant presumption in thinking that I’ll jump at the chance to get away from her, so I quietly say, "I understand, sir."

Urrih has stood up and is conveying his intent to leave. I signal my assent, and the door closes and locks after my friend’s departure while Commander Sulafi is occupied with his terminal. My mind is whirling, but I keep coming back to how badly McCafferty has misjudged me. She may be better at tactics that I am, but she’s certainly misread my strategic aims. To have invited this level of attention over the matter she must truly believe that I desperately want to go.

My thoughts are settling now, clarifying and coalescing. I’m also suffused with a roaring, intense anger and a desire to roast McCafferty over it.

I could completely shaft my dear captain in my answers to Sulafi’s questions, I realise. I could get exactly what I want, and with my own personal logs to back me up I could be as underhanded as McCafferty has obviously been. I could have her disciplined, maybe even cashiered out of the Service.

Urrih’s words come back to haunt me, though. "Is your feud with Karen more important than your friendship with me?"

My conscience aligns his point with current events. Is my feud with McCafferty more important than my duty to the truth?

My vindictive side roars its anger, trying to silence my conscience, but the quiet, rational voice creates it’s own null zone around it, allowing me to hear it quite clearly.

No. I will not stoop to lying and truth twisting to get my way. Mr. Vindictive howls his outrage, but to no avail. He is consoled with the thought that the evidence arrayed against her could be sufficient on its own to badly hurt her career, if not end it outright.

My seconds of reflection are over, however, as Sulafi returns his attention to me.

"I’m ready to hear your explanation now, Lieutenant Brown. Be aware that this conversation is now being recorded and taken into the official record. You are now bound by the terms and conditions applied to a witness in a Federation legal trial. If you are found to have lied or altered the truth in your testimony and it leads to further action, you will be placed under arrest. Do you understand?"

I nod seriously. "I understand, Commander. I am ready to give my testimony."

"Very well. I need to know the situation aboard the Kusanagi before I can ask any worthwhile questions. Please proceed."

"Aye sir," I respond, and sit at attention in my chair. I then proceed to tell my story.

*****

Over an hour later and Commander Sulafi is finally satisfied. Through my narrative of events--which happened to miss out the actual telling of the catalyst event and only told of its results and effects--the commander had looked at turns thoughtful, puzzled, and bewildered. However, the longer I spoke, the more his expression edged into distaste and outright disgust.

Once told, he had actually said, "Do you mean to tell me that this is the current command situation aboard one of Starfleet’s front-line starships?" in a tone of outright disbelief.

I had calmly confirmed this and the questioning began. Now that was over and he was about to sign off. He left me with a parting warning.

"Thank you for your testimony and you candour, Lieutenant, but this does not reflect well on either of you. This situation is intolerable, unacceptable, and will not be allowed to continue. However, it goes above my head and I’ll have to inform my superiors. They will be in contact with both of you quite soon, and it will be their decision as to what will happen to both of you."

I manage to repress a shudder, but it nonetheless feels like someone just walked over my grave. It also feels like the babysitter has caught us misbehaving, and will tell our parents when they return.

"Yes, sir," I say, then ask, "If that is all, sir?"

"It is for now, Lieutenant. You’ll be hearing from us. Starbase 22, out."

The screen goes blank.

I relax from my ‘at attention’ pose and slump back into my chair.

Oh, fantastic. I’ve probably just got both of us fired.

*****

I’m heading to my meeting with the captain. I’d grabbed a quick shower and donned a clean uniform, then arranged to talk to McCafferty "regarding a matter of the utmost priority". She probably knew I’d received a call from Starfleet and was no doubt expecting me, as she was ready with free time at 2000 hours. Since it’s almost another four hours before we expect to catch up with the escape pods, she’s no doubt ready to offer me a helpful kick out the airlock towards my new ship.

Boy, is she ever in for an unpleasant surprise.

Well, this is not something that she can rationally pin on me, as she brought it upon herself. Regardless, I am not looking forward to it.

I arrive at her quarters on the opposite side of Deck 3 in less than a minute, mentally fortifying myself for the impending storm, and press her door chime.

The door slides open and her voice calls out, "Come in, Mr. Brown. I’m at my desk."

Typical. Doesn’t even come to greet me. In any other situation, it would speak of an easy familiarity and friendship. All I get from it is her contempt of me. However, my little run-in with Commander Sulafi has reminded me that however I feel about the captain, my duty and responsibility are to the chain of command, and my respect for both must carry over to the office, if not the person, of my CO.

"Aye, sir," I reply shortly and step inside, allowing the door to close and lock behind me. I can already feel my anger building again now that I’m about to come face-to-face with the person who basically just grabbed me from behind unawares and tried to throw me off their ship. My scare from Starfleet is fading, and although a bigger one is looming, this is right here and now.

McCafferty looks like she’s finishing up some work on her terminal, but it’s probably just to make me wait some more. I sit down in the chair opposite and avoid looking at her, until she speaks again.

"Okay, Lieutenant, what’s this urgent matter that you need to discuss?" she asks, seeming to be in a good mood—which is wrong for a start, because she’s never happy that I’m in her presence.

As if you don’t think you know, back-stabber! All my conflict with her has been out in the open, for all that its childish, petty stuff. I decide to play it straight--chronologically speaking--and then drop my load on her.

"Captain, not long ago I received a real-time transmission from the Starfleet Personnel Officer for this sector, informing me that he’d found a position for me aboard another ship. He had done so on receiving my request for a transfer, as endorsed by you." I look into her eyes and find a sense of anticipation there, and note in her whole body an almost nervous excitement, possibly brought about by my calm demeanour and steady tone. I ask, "Can I assume that you did indeed make this request on my behalf, and it’s not some mistake or prank by someone else?"

McCafferty was having some trouble holding still, but her voice was steady and firm. Indeed, her tone was faintly apologetic as she answered. "Yes, Lieutenant, I did."

I made to ask why, as I might as well hear her version of events or find out what she wants me to hear, but she continues after a brief pause.

"I made that request because I was fairly certain you would not do so yourself, based on what I know of your character. Despite the... problems... between us, you would have stuck it out in an attempt to do your duty. While that is an admirable quality, I find it self-defeating--if, indeed, not self-flagellating--in this case." Having gotten up to pace for her little speech, she now turns to look at me directly as she continues. "I thought it better for all concerned--"

And for you in particular, I silently add.

"--if I made this request for you. Even our professional relationship is not at its best, and its beginning to affect crew morale and possibly their performance. You are certainly not happy here, and to be perfectly candid, I’m not happy either. I cannot see this situation improving any time soon, but this is my ship, and I’m not giving her up."

At that last sentence she let some steel enter her voice to show that she meant it. Although logical, and incidentally exactly the right thing to have done in such a situation, she had missed out one hugely important element and the only thing that mattered to me.

What I want.

By not consulting me and keeping me out of the loop, she’d brought this on herself. Despite my own building anger I manage to calmly ask, "You didn’t think it wise to actually ask me about any of this? That perhaps, if you had discussed this with me, I might have come to agree despite my ’dedication to duty’ and made this request myself?"

McCafferty looks wary of this question, but is again convinced by my lack of reaction or heat in my words that I have already accepted the transfer. She magnanimously allows my point.

"Admittedly, Mr. Brown, that’s what I would have done in any other situation. However, ours seems to be different. As I said, even our professional relationship is strained. I honestly didn’t think such a meeting would have been productive."

You mean it wouldn’t have produced the result you think you have now, I silently comment. By now my anger has had enough of me suppressing it to get admissions from our hated foe. In the moments before I let it loose, I realise in a pained way that I’m just proving her right about the meeting we never had.

"Gods’-damn you to hell, McCafferty! You had no right!" I explode at her. She looks completely taken aback and shocked at my rapid transformation, but rallies quickly. Still not completely understanding the situation, she offers a firm but restrained rebuke.

"That is enough, Mr. Brown! I will not tolerate insubordination! I’ll ignore that one--and only that one--because of present circumstances. Any more of that and you’re past being on report and going straight to confined to quarters!"

"Yes Sir!" I snarl, desperately holding on to the far edge of subordinate behaviour. "Permission to speak freely, Captain?" I grate out.

Sensing now that all is not well, she snaps out, "Denied. You’re going to have to control yourself, Lieutenant."

"Very well, Captain," I all but sneer. "For your information, Sir, I am unhappy here but that is mainly your doing. I have my own friends, the respect of the officers and crew, and I’m good at my job. For the record, I do not want to transfer off and I have refused the position that Starfleet was good enough to find for me at your behest."

McCafferty’s face, at first just angry, is now positively livid. It is a most impressive shade of purple, and I get a good measure of satisfaction from causing it. "You--" she starts, venom in her voice and eyes, but I cut her off.

"With respect, Sir, I’m not done," I say. Ratcheting up the contempt and disgust in my tone, I plunge on. "What you did was not only against regulations, it was underhanded, devious, undignified, and contemptuous of not only me as a person but also of my own oaths to Starfleet and my duty to the chain of command. Once again, you have tried to impose your will on your subordinates to get what you personally want out of a situation, and either tried to bully or cut out those who don’t go along with you--"

McCafferty broke in there, eyes alight with the fury of battle. "Those are slanderous remarks, Brown, and I will see you take them back! Has it also escaped your notice that ‘those who don’t go along with me’ consist solely of you, an officer who has shown a distinct lack of respect, ability, and dedication to duty recently? That the rest of the crew seem to have no problem following my orders, and that your accusations against me are based solely on your own paranoid opinions of me and are not corroborated by even a single witness?"

"It’s only slander if its not true, Captain," I shoot back. "It is your opinions of my performance that are slander, and though you’re putting on a good show for the crew, I know what’s behind it all. I now have two documented incidents where you have tried to play fast and loose with your orders and the regulations, where you’ve tried to bully subordinates in to submitting to your will. The fact that it is me you’ve been doing this to makes them no less valid or true."

McCafferty’s eyes had widened at a certain point during my last statement, and her next words confirmed my guess as to what tack she’d take next. It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who could be predictable.

" ‘Documented incidents’, Brown? You’re taking notes, building up circumstantial evidence and putting your own slant on it?" she accuses, insinuation heavy in her tone. "How long have you been doing that? Long enough to think you can challenge me? That’s mutiny, Mr. Brown!"

Once again I thank my conscience for stifling the desires of my anger. Had there even been the slightest thread of truth to that comment, I’d have faltered in my cause--an event McCafferty would have noticed immediately and capitalised on to my detriment. My own thoughts on mutiny from earlier today helped me stabilise and ground myself against that charge so that I didn’t so much stop to rally as pause for breath.

"This isn’t anything close to mutiny and you know it, Captain. You do have all the power here, but I’m here to ensure that it isn’t absolute power. You can’t just steamroller over people who disagree with you, because in most cases--and this one in particular--the end does not justify the means. You are trying to get rid of me, whether I want to go or not. You were so sure that you could force me into it one way or the other, or that I would be glad to be gone and wouldn’t care what you did to make it happen, that I wouldn’t contest it.

"And again, I’ve thwarted your will. That’s really what this is all about, isn’t it, Captain?" I demand hotly. "You cannot stomach the fact that I won’t let you have what you want, the way you want it!"

That reached her. I saw something acknowledge the hit among that roiling mask of anger, and again her response was just to get me away.

"That’s it, I’ve had it with your insinuations and accusations! You’re confined to quarters pending a disciplinary hearing to be convened when we get back to Starbase 22. If for any reason you have to leave your quarters, you’ll be escorted by a security guard--"

"Just hold on there, Captain Sir, I’ve not yet discussed the reason for my urgent meeting," I break in angrily, "and since it directly affects you as well you’ll probably want to hear it."

Something in my tone makes McCafferty pause in reaching for the intercom. Part of me is actually hoping that she’ll go through with what she just threatened, so that when Starfleet Command does comes calling she’ll have no idea. Being completely unprepared for it, she will try to fudge her way out, explaining why I’m in the brig or whatever without knowing what I’ve already told Personnel.

She wavers for a second before deciding to hear me out. Probably thinking she can always confine me later, no doubt. She makes a show of it nonetheless.

"Oh for--If you still haven’t spit it out yet, then what was all this for?" she angrily demands of me.

"I had some things I both needed to know and get off my chest," I say, still angry but under tight control again. I volunteer nothing further.

Matching my tone, McCafferty demands, "Well, out with it! What is the reason for you being here?"

Without any further preamble, I lay it out for her. "Commander Sulafi of Starfleet Personnel demanded an immediate answer for my refusal of the transfer, which I gave. He then questioned me extensively on my answer, and after an hour of talking to him, he declared the whole situation described by my answer as, and I quote, ‘intolerable, unacceptable, and would not be allowed to continue’. He also said that such a situation was above his level of office and would be passed on to his superiors, who would make the final decision with regards to us. The commander told me to expect further contact from them, directed to both you and me in the very near future. He didn’t give an exact time, but I’m thinking that it’ll be early tomorrow morning."

During my little recitation I had been searching out McCafferty’s reactions and true feelings to my dose of bad news, but they remained inaccessible behind a stone mask face and a ruthlessly still body. So I know nothing about what she thinks of this, whether it is panic that she’s brought such high-level attention to our little feud, more anger and hatred of me for forcing this issue into the light, or tactical options being considered for the achievement of her strategic goals. Before she can speak, I add my final thought.

"You’ve brought this upon yourself, Captain. I know you’ll still blame me, but even dismissing our recent problems, did you really expect me to cover your back while you were stabbing mine?"

"I expected you to--" she snaps out, before catching herself just in time. McCafferty looks annoyed with herself for letting that much slip, but I’m disappointed that she managed to hold back from saying something incriminating.

"Very well, Mr. Brown, you’ve won your reprieve since Starfleet Command will be wanting to talk to you. However," she warns, the threat implicit in her tone, "any further act of disrespect or insubordination will be instantly dealt with and resulting in your confinement to quarters and being relieved of duty until we reach the starbase. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Captain," I reply calmly. "So I can expect no further disrespect from you either, or similar charges will be just as instantly filed against you, sir?"

She almost gnashes her teeth at this, but cannot very well deny me. "That is correct, Mr. Brown. I’m glad we understand each other," she grates out. "Dismissed."

"Aye, sir."

I exit her quarters, leaving her deep in thought.

*****

[Commander La'ra]

"And again, I’ve thwarted your will. That’s really what this is all about, isn’t it, Captain?" I demand hotly. "You cannot stomach the fact that I won’t let you have what you want, the way you want it!"

Ya' know, this is a really fun line if you're reading this story from CaptJosh's perspective.

 

[CaptJosh]

I'm starting to think I was mistaken about a perceived underlying tension of a...more personal nature between the two. Frankly this now seems more like two alpha wolf personality types clashing. It would have been interesting if my perspective had been true, though, and instead of continuing to yell they had suddenly started kissing, or one of them broke down crying and then they were in eachother's arms. OTOH, it also probably would have been rather cliché.

[Commander La'ra]

I'm starting to think I was mistaken about a perceived underlying tension of a...more personal nature between the two. Frankly this now seems more like two alpha wolf personality types clashing. It would have been interesting if my perspective had been true, though, and instead of continuing to yell they had suddenly started kissing, or one of them broke down crying and then they were in eachother's arms. OTOH, it also probably would have been rather cliché.

You've totally skewed this story for me now, Josh.  I think the quoted theory is the correct one, but now I read things into the story that weren't there for me before, and most involve the Captain requesting base debauchery and the puritanical XO refusing.

[CaptJosh]

Erm...I guess we all know where your mind is, then. I wasn't thinking quite that...graphically. Just something along the lines of an unspoken attraction that was driving a wedge between them because neither one would admit it. However, I now seriously doubt this to be the case.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to more. It will be interesting to see how this situation is resolved.

BTW, look for an update to my story, When the Going Gets Tough, sometime today or tomorrow.

[Commander La'ra]

Erm...I guess we all know where your mind is, then. I wasn't thinking quite that...graphically. Just something along the lines of an unspoken attraction that was driving a wedge between them because neither one would admit it. However, I now seriously doubt this to be the case.

Joking, Josh, joking.

Say it with me now: Seeeense of hummmmor.

[Scottish Andy]

So, are certain people happy again now that our petty squabbling duo are about to get their just deserts? *grin*

Actually Josh, you are right. There was exactly that undercurrent of tension, but because they blew up at each other it's been mainly submerged but deep. However, Andrew still being a bloke, he can still fancy her and hate her guts at the same time. *heh*

And: Bad Larry! Very Bad Larry! I have some kind of cheesy 70s' porn music in my head now when I re-read certain lines...

More next week.

[Grim Reaper]

And: Bad Larry! Very Bad Larry! I have some kind of cheesy 70s' porn music in my head now when I re-read certain lines...

Either you looked at porn in the 70ties which makes you ancient or you looked at 70ties porn when better was available. So no bad Larry, bad Scotty!

The mission continues.

I read this and that ^ at your starbase already. That's why it was so familiar.

[kadh2000]

I always felt there was a mutual attraction that only helped to make the blowup worse.  Glad to see I didn't misread it.  It doesn't excuse either one of them and boyoboy the crew is not going to have any fun with the captain starfleet sends to fix this mess.

[Scottish Andy]

Hi all. Sorry for the huge delay in posting the continuation, but I've had other things on my mind, and kinda limited computer time recently as well.
Anyhoo, here's the next bit. Read on (if there are any of you still out there) and let me know what you think. All comments and critiques are welcome, as always.

P.S. - What do you think of my other Sigs? They won't stay up for long, but since I was messing about with my pics anyway, I thought I'd let you see them.

Chapter Three, Pt II

I head directly for my quarters, feeling almost jubilant. I finally stuck it to her, exactly the way I wanted to! I exult.

Okay, I know that it is childish and petty--a phrase I just cannot seem to get away from recently, entirely due to its accuracy--but it’s the latest in a long line of childish and petty incidents and I finally came out on top, giving better than I took. I feel lighter, because the weight of the worlds that I was carrying has just been reduced.

I finally got to speak my mind completely and make my feelings known directly to her, and not only got her to back off from a threat she made but also got her to sign a cease-fire agreement! Now back in my quarters I throw myself onto my bed, feeling giddy and light-headed. I actually won that one! I held all the cards, and I finally beat her at her own game.

The happy glow does not last long, though, as other concerns rear their ugly heads. I may have won my first battle, but is it a Phyrric Victory? Have I lost the war now that Starfleet is involved? I wonder. I truly believe I’m justified in most if my actions--leaving out all this petty crap we’ve been slinging at each other--but will Command see it that way? Sulafi made it clear that both of us are at fault, but how far does that go? Equally to blame? 70/30? What?

McCafferty is no doubt considering her options and marshalling her resources for the coming inquisition. I should probably do the same.

Sod it.

The thought comes to me and makes me smile again.

Let the chips fall where they may. I’ve tried to be a good Starfleet officer, but if Command decides that my conduct is not what’s expected I can’t exactly deny it or prove otherwise. I’m not going to fight it or try to weasel out of it. If I’ve just ended my Starfleet career, so be it. I just hope I’ve only shot myself in the foot, and not in the head.

A wry grin contorts my features, and I decide I need some company.

I wonder where Urrih is?

*****

I didn’t find him in his quarters, but decided to continue searching. I found him in the Rec. Room, surrounded by laughing crewmates both officer and enlisted. I hadn’t realised just how well liked my Centauran friend actually is, but seeing him there at the centre of all that fun just looked right.

I walked straight in this time and got a seat as close to him as I could manage. Several of the enlisted crew offered me their places, but I smiled and waved them back down as I took my own seat.

That was several hours ago, and in that time Urrih has regaled us with anecdotes, observations, and finally ended with a ghost story. Some of the non-human crew don’t seem to get the point, but the humans and similar cultures lap it up.

The Alpha shift are heading off to bed now and the rest of the crowd is drifting off into smaller groups, so Urrih approaches me, his friendly face adopting a look of concern.

"Andrew, how did it go with Personnel? Are you all right? Can you talk about it?"

It’s nice to know he’s interested, that he cares enough to ask, but I’m not going to let today’s previous events sour the first truly relaxed evening I’ve had in almost a month.

"It’s okay, Urrih, it’s nothing. It’ll all shake out in the recyclers tomorrow, so we’ll see then."

He looks doubtful, but then shrugs and brightens again. "So, this is your first visit to my little cabaret show. What do you think?"

Surprised by the Earth reference, I ask, " ‘Cabaret show’? I know Centauran culture is very similar to Earth’s, but you even have the same terms?"

Urrih smiles. "No, that was Chief Price’s contribution. She told me about the phrase over a week ago. So, what do you think?"

"I think I’m an idiot for hiding in my room for so long," I grin. "When do you start your show? I don’t hide in my room all the time, and I usually hang out here until about 2030 or 2100 hours."

"Andrew, my friend, you must’ve had absolutely no fun as a teenager. Don’t you know that the  ‘scene’ only starts ‘happening’ after dark? I know, I know," he quickly adds, waving his hands in front of him to fend off my attack of literalism. " ‘It’s space, it’s always dark’. I mean usually after 2130 hours, to give everyone enough time to themselves after their shift. People have to have their personal space, and plenty of it, if they’re to remain sane after being crowded together the rest of the time."

"Okay, okay!" I laugh at his verbal rush. "You’ll be applying for ship’s pshrink next, displaying all that understanding. Or maybe ship’s recreation officer," I joke.

"Yeah, well..."

"Yeah, well I think I’m going to be staying ‘out’ later from now on. I really enjoyed tonight. You’re quite the entertainer, Urrih. I can’t say that I was overly fond of ghost stories before, but now I’m almost eager to hear your next one."

Urrih grins. "Oh, you’ll love it! It’s set in a creepy old castle full of rattling chains..."

He is interrupted by a muted announcement over the ship-wide master intercom circuit.

"Bridge to Captain."

She must have answered, probably still in her quarters, as the master circuit goes silent.

"The only reason they’d call her at this time is if we’ve picked up more lifeboats," I muse.

Urrih nods and asks, "How will we bring survivors aboard? Will we just beam them out of the lifeboats or are we going to tractor them into the shuttlebay?"

"I was wondering about that too," I answer. "I mean, we’re a small ship with very little in the way of extra space, and there is at most 50 lifeboats from the Torjal since half of them weren’t launched. I’d say we beam them out of there, but we can’t just leave Starfleet equipment out here for pirates and scavengers to plunder and profit from."

Urrih remains silent while I give it some more thought. "I’d say we halt the pods and fix their position in space, then send for a transport ship to come and collect them. This mission is as much survey as it is rescue, after all. We’re taking note of all the hulks we encounter so that Starfleet can reclaim them, so why not the pods as well?"

My friend nods. "I suppose it depends on how many pods we find, yes? I mean, we can fit six lifeboats into the space of one standard shuttlecraft berth, but if we find more than a couple of hundred during the course of this mission, we won’t have the room to house the people we rescue if we’re collecting the pods as well."

"Yes, my thinking exactly. Well, I’ve already submitted my housing arrangements to the captain for when we do find survivors, and since it’s not my shift and not an emergency situation, I don’t want to step on the Beta shift’s chance to shine. I’ll call the bridge and find out what’s going on, and go and greet the new arrivals--wherever they’re arriving at."

"You’re nosy, Andrew, you know that?" Urrih tells me with a grin. "You can’t stand to be left out of something happening."

"Hey!" I object. "I could decide to go straight to the bridge and ‘supervise’ the Beta shift, pursuant to their evaluation reports, you know, but I’m not!"

"Yeah, because everyone knows that’s not true, and the evaluations themselves aren’t due for another six months after their physicals!"

I offer a half-hearted grin. "Yeah, you got me there. Anyway, I’m not likely to sleep any time soon, so I might as well do something useful."

"Okay then. Good night Andrew, I’m going to bed."

"’Night, Urrih. See you tomorrow, bright and early!" I tease.

"Shouldn’t I be saying that to you, night walker?" he retorts as he leaves the room.

Smiling, I walk over to the intercom by the door and hit the button. "Bridge, First Officer."

"Bridge here, Ensign Al-Mahaid, sir."

"Ensign, ask the second officer to give me a report. What’s happening?"

"Aye, sir," he replies. "Transferring you to him now, sir."

"Thank you, Ensign."

"Lieutenant Ta`gok here, sir. Shouldn’t you be in bed, sir? It is still my watch, after all."

The Izarian’s voice has a bit of an edge to it, but since I am technically stepping on his toes despite what I said to Urrih, I’m not going to take issue with him.

"Just checking in, Lieutenant. Report, please."

His point made, Ta`gok fills me in. "Sir, sensors detected a large cluster of escape pods ahead, so we’ve dropped out of warp next to them. Initial scans show 33 pods containing 63 survivors. We are in communication with them and are preparing to bring them aboard."

"Captain’s orders?" I ask.

"The captain ordered that we beam the survivors aboard, and that they halt their pods so we can come back for them later. Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, thank you. Good night."

"Bridge out."

I head forwards to the transporter rooms to await their arrival. 63 survivors, that’s fantastic! I didn’t expect us to find so many. The sobering thought that it’s only 63 survivors out of a crew of 200 occurs, though. They’ll most certainly remember it, so I had better as well.

I find the captain in Transporter Room One, where she too is awaiting the survivors. We agree that she should meet with their senior officer, who is arriving with the first group here, and that I’d greet whatever crew came in through our other transporter. The cold between us during that discussion would have made the Siberian winter pack it’s bags and head for the Caribbean.

Once there, I didn’t have to wait long. With all the pods travelling in small groups for mutual support, we could actually beam three pods’ worth of people aboard at once instead of a piecemeal, two-at-a-time rate.

The first group to materialise in Transporter Room Two were a healthy-enough looking bunch, but singed and soot-stained uniforms framing clean faces wearing looks of relief and bewilderment was still a jarring experience. Admittedly, though, nothing compared to what these people had been through. Their exclamations and conversations still when I step forwards to introduce myself.

"Ladies and gentlebeings, welcome aboard. This is the frigate Kusanagi, and I am her first officer, Lieutenant Brown. I’m sure you’re all eager to have your needs seen to, so if you’ll follow Private Zorkal, he’ll take you to Sickbay for a check-up after which you’ll be shown to your quarters."

A female Andorian steps forwards from the group of enlisted crew and addresses me. "Ensign M`Get, sir. On behalf of my crew here, I thank you for rescuing us. It’s been a while since we set out in those pods and we were beginning to think..." She hesitates there, flicking her white hair out of her bottle-green eyes. "We’re just grateful that you found us, sir."

I’m a bit taken aback by her assumption that they’d been abandoned, so I reassure her sincerely. "Of course we are looking, Ensign. There are other ships all along the border searching for survivors even now, just as we are. Starfleet takes care of its own."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir," she sighs, relaxing a bit before asking, "We won, then, sir?"

Although it shouldn’t have, the question takes me by surprise. Of course they wouldn’t know what’s happened. It’ll be the same for any other survivors we rescue as well. I give her a warm smile and say, "It’s complicated, Ensign, and you’ll be given the full explanation later, but yes. The war is over, and the Klingons are back behind their lines were they should be. Now, please go with Mr. Zorkal here. We have to bring aboard your companions."

"Aye sir," she replies, looking slightly puzzled, but leads her group after the security guard nonetheless.

The five remaining guards exchange a look, which I ignore as I order the transporter operator, "Bring in the next group, Chief."

"Aye sir," is his short reply. The machinery hums again and another group of six stands before us. I reiterate my welcome speech and this time a human lieutenant steps forward to clasp my hand.

"Lieutenant Dave Morales, sir," he introduces himself. "Damned glad to see you, Lieutenant. Damned glad."

His expression hardens then, and he demands, "Why the hell did it take you two weeks to find us? My people..."

I cut him off gently. "Lieutenant, I cannot answer that right now, I don’t know. The Kusanagi has been searching along this border for a week already and that’s why we took so long to get here. Please, take your crew and see to them--and yourself--and I’ll find out what I can. Right now though, we need to bring the rest of the survivors aboard."

Morales nods wearily. "Yes, of course. Sorry, sir."

I give him an understanding nod, and gesture at another security guard. "Private Johnson, take the lieutenant and his people to Sickbay."

"Aye sir," the young woman answers. "Lieutenant Morales, sir, if you’ll follow me?"

The second group of Torjal crew leaves and we continue with our rescue operation. We repeat this procedure another three times before the lifeboats are emptied, with slight variations on my speech for the different groups.

All throughout, I kept pondering Morales’ question. Why did it take Starfleet more than two weeks to pick these people up?

I know why we are late and told the lieutenant as much, but I don’t understand why the ships of the Torjal’s own squadron hadn’t come back for them. Even as I had the thought I realised that it had already been nagging away at the back of my mind for the length of the mission, pushed back and held there by my more immediate and personal matters.

I don’t know any more than the immediate battle details, but I resolve to look into it. Morales deserves his answer.

[Scottish Andy]

"...and the beat goes on, da-dum-dat da-dum-dada."

Chapter Four

First Officer’s Log, Stardate 3282.0

Our mission to rescue battle survivors has finally borne fruit. At 2330 hours last night we found and took on board 63 members of the crew of the USS Torjal, the wreck of which we encountered that morning. Senior among them is the ship’s Andorian first officer Lieutenant Commander Shesra, Captain Julienne Laroux having been killed in action. He is survived by another eight of his junior officers and 54 crewmembers.

After slowing the now empty lifeboats to relative rest and silencing their rescue beacons we proceeded to the next battle site, in orbit of Alora II, the only habitable planet in the system. We continue on course for the Alora system at warp 3.25. Having fine-tuned our sensors to pick up the lifeboats’ signatures we can now move faster, but are still taking our time in case other ships of the squadron launched pods. Our ETA at the planet is 1100 hours this morning.

As to Lieutenant Morales’ inquiry, I found out why this crew had been left here for so long. After the Organian intervention, all Starfleet and Klingon navy ships were allowed to return to base, then their engines were neutralised again pending the actual signing of a formal treaty. That took a full week, during which we all had involuntary shore leave. Once the treaty had been signed Starfleet immediately set all the small ships out on rescue/recovery missions along the border, but the larger fleet units were urgently needed elsewhere and were headed to those assignments at max warp speed.

I understand Morales’ frustration. He was probably expecting to be picked up a couple of hours later by his squadron mates, but ends up waiting a couple of weeks for rescue. If the Organians hadn’t interfered, the Hood would have returned, but as it was...

I remember our own circumstances after the cease-fire. All systems that could be used offensively were untouchable. Life support, shields, propulsion, and sensors were about the only things allowed to operate until we got back to base, and we stayed docked there for a week until a formal treaty with the Klingons had been signed and put in place.

I also remember being completely outraged that we couldn’t rescue more survivors from the Androcus. We couldn’t tractor the ship, beam on or off of her, or even launch shuttlecraft or travel pods to dock with her. The Organians knew that we could use these systems offensively and so didn’t allow their use at all, lest we take this slight opportunity to resume hostilities.

Although ordered straight back to starbase, the Kublai and Kusanagi stayed in the area and EVA’d across with every spare spacesuit both our ships had, and began a ferry operation until we had all the survivors rescued. It took hours, but we managed to save another 183 crew on top of the 70 we’d already beamed off.

That we only saved 253 out of a crew of 428 left a bad taste in all our mouths, but we were also grateful it wasn’t less.

So it seems that while the Organians are very powerful, they aren’t all powerful and despite their pacifistic ideals, their lack of omnipotence cost us many lives. It’s another reason the Organians aren’t that popular in the Federation, even though they stopped a war we didn’t want.


First Officer’s Personal Log, Stardate 3282.0

Since my victorious confrontation with McCafferty, I feel... different. I am still angry with her, but it’s as if my anger has been put on hold awaiting the decision from on high. Now that my fate is in the hands of others I feel... lighter somehow.

It probably means that I’m not ready for command just yet. Or maybe it means that I’m no longer feeling alone out here, subject to the whims of an antagonistic CO. Whatever the outcome, it surely cannot be worse than the last few weeks have been. I know all about the admonition never to say that, but it’s either going to be that I’m right and McCafferty is told to behave, I’m wrong and removed from my position, or we’re both at fault and have to go our separate ways.

I’m obviously rooting for the first option.


Date: 7th November 2267
Time: 0945 hours.

I finish making my log entry then leave my quarters for the bridge. I had just taken care of a few administrative tasks relating to the housing of our new guests and had stopped in at my quarters to make the log entry that I didn’t have time for this morning before my shift. I didn’t make it to the turbolift before they started looking for me.

"Bridge to First Officer Brown."

Striding to the nearest intercom, I push the button and state, "First Officer here."

"Sir, incoming transmission from Starfleet Command at Starbase 22. It’s marked personal, private, and urgent."

I sigh, knowing exactly what it is. "Let me get back to my quarters and I’ll take it there, Lathena."

"Aye sir."

I head back down the corridor into my quarters and settle into my desk chair after locking the door. Flipping on the intercom, I say, "Lathena, this may take some time so please call the captain to the bridge to relieve Mr. Maknal. Then," I say with obvious reluctance, "patch Starbase 22 through to my quarters."

"Aye sir. Captain McCafferty is already on the bridge, sir. Transferring now. Bridge out."

It seems like Lathena is swinging in the opposite direction now, with brief, bitten-off sentences instead of data-heavy briefings. Still trying to find her balance I suppose. Or maybe someone else mentioned it to her.

My musings are cut short as my terminal screen lights up with the Federation Seal and sender details, before being replaced by a Deltan male in a red staff uniform and commodore’s braids.

"I’m sorry for the delay, sir," I say. "You caught me on the way to the bridge."

The man nods brusquely before introducing himself. "Lieutenant Brown, I am Commodore Tandara, the new commander of Starbase 22 and this sector. It has been brought to my attention that a serious situation exists on your ship with regards to its command structure. I have already reviewed your testimony to Commander Sulafi and talked to your commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander McCafferty. I now want to hear from you directly and I want you to tell me everything." The man leaned closer as he said, "I know you weren’t completely forthcoming with the commander, Mr. Brown."

I’m a bit unprepared for him telling me that he’d spoken to McCafferty, but it was probably to make sure that I didn’t try to change my story, or to see if I would slant it to favour my side of things.

I’m also not thrilled about having to reveal the root cause of it all, and cursed that he was perceptive enough to know that I’d held something back. I cursed again as the thought struck that maybe McCafferty had revealed her side of the catalyst, and that’s how he knew I’d held back.

"Understood, sir," I answer. "Where do you want me to begin?"

*****

Ninety minutes later the commodore is done with me. Despite the famous Deltan empathy, Tandara doesn’t look like he is sharing my pain. From this, I can only conclude that both McCafferty and I are in deep trouble.

"Lieutenant, despite all you have told me I still do not understand why this situation has not already been resolved. Starfleet officers do not need to like each other to be able to work together. Any rational being can separate their on-duty and off-duty feelings if they want to, and Starfleet’s code of conduct demands such professional behaviour from all it’s members." The commodore looks genuinely puzzled as he continues. "I want Commander McCafferty present also. Please get her for me."

"Yes sir." I hit my intercom and call the bridge. "Captain McCafferty, this is Lieutenant Brown."

"Yes, Mr. Brown?"

"Sir, Commodore Tandara requests your presence in my quarters."

A pause. "Very well, Mr. Brown, I shall be there momentarily. Captain out."

She arrives inside a minute to find me waiting in a very uncomfortable silence with the commodore gazing levelly at me, apparently not feeling the need to speak during our wait.

I felt like I was being dissected both physically and mentally. I’m probably not far off.

I swing my screen around so Tandara can see the captain without her sitting in my lap. Despite the current situation, the image that though evokes almost stays my hand. She may be a cast-rodinium bitch right now, but she’s still a damn good-looking woman.

"Hello again, sir," McCafferty greets him, oblivious to my less-than-professional thoughts.

"Ah, Commander. Now, I will get straight to the point. As I have already said to both of you, your inability to leave your personal feelings in your quarters does affect ship’s routine regardless of what you may think. It undermines your positions by both losing the respect of the crew you serve with and by setting a bad example for them.

"This ends now," he states with a finality that sends a shiver up and down my spine. Now that is a command voice, I silently note. I’m fully expecting us both to be relieved of duty with the next words out of his mouth. "You both have until the end of this mission to prove to me that you can leave your personal feelings for each other in your quarters and act like Starfleet officers, or both of you will be dishonourably discharged from Starfleet for conduct unbecoming. Do I make myself clear?" he demands firmly.

"Yes sir!" I all but yelp.

"Of course, sir," McCafferty says more calmly. I envy her poker face, as surely she must be as nervous as I am.

"Believe it or not, you have earned this last chance as your records up to this point have shown both of you to be officers of great promise. This should be obvious to you because of your current positions as captain and first officer of a Class One starship, despite your junior ranks. Starfleet believes you have potential, and I am loath to waste resources. So stop behaving like children and start acting like officers!" Tandara suddenly yells.

Both of us flinch at the stinging rebuke, all the more so because of his previously even tone.

"You used to be friends but now that is broken. Either fix it and be the better for it, or dissolve it and be as strangers. Whatever the outcome, be warned. You are on probation, and we are watching you."

"Aye sir," I respond stiffly.

"Understood, Commodore."

Tandara nods in acknowledgement and signs off. The screen darkens and I’m too busy sagging in my chair to notice if McCafferty is doing likewise. The parents have told us to play nice or they’ll take away our toys, my mind supplies, continuing the prevalent analogy.

I finally turn to face my captain, feeling relieved that I still have a career and a means to keep it. I catch the same look on her face but it’s almost instantly transformed into anger even as I look up at her. She turns her head to glare down at me, the disgust evident in her eyes and in her voice when she speaks.

"Looks like you got what you wanted," she snarls at me, then turns on her heel and storms out of my quarters.

My own anger, put on hold for the duration of the ‘parental intervention’, returns full force now. I sit there stewing and puzzle it out until I come to a conclusion that must be right.

She was relieved that she still had a career, but then realised that nothing had changed for her. I’m still on her ship and she still wants me gone, so her will has been thwarted again, I realise. Not only that, but it’s actually worse for her now as she can’t abuse me anymore, except when we’re off-duty, maybe.

That thought causes my lip to curl in disgust, the idea that she might actually do it. Gods’-damn that woman! She’s absolutely dead-set on getting her own way! It’s obvious to me now that my presence is not only necessary but it’s imperative that I put a stop to her egocentric methods.

With that thought in mind, I remember that it’s still my shift. I’d better get back to the bridge. Suiting actions to thoughts, I depart my quarters.

*****

[Commander La'ra]

Ah yes, the middle part of the story, where our dysfunctional pair are forced to get along with that whole Starfleet thing.

Nice, but you know I like it so....keep posting...come on man, you're slower than cold molasses.

[Scottish Andy]

Thanks, Larry. Nice to know someone's still reading this. More next week.

C'mon, the rest of you sluggards! Chip in with your own 2 cents!

[CaptJosh]

Very interesting. Regardless of that dressing down from the commodore, they're both still acting like spoiled brats. I wonder when they're finally going to grow up some.

[kadh2000]

Having lost my patience, I went and read the whole story on starbase23.net.  When you catch up here, I'll comment for the story. 

OTOH, your triple sig makes it a lot longer to get to the bottom of the thread.

[Scottish Andy]

Wow, didn't realise you were still reading this, Kadh2000. Glad I finally got you interested enough to go reaed the rest of it. Heh. *wink*
Anyway, I just came on to up the pace because of Larry's comment. I'll be doing two posts per week from now on, until the story is done. Here we go.

Chapter Four, Pt II

"Captain, Alora system dead ahead. ETA at Oort cloud boundary is five minutes."

"Very good Mr. Maknal. Ensign Salok, plot an orbital approach course through the system for the second planet. Mr. Maknal, implement at full impulse when we drop from warp at the system boundary."

"Aye sir."

"Acknowledged, Captain." A pause. "Course plotted and laid in, sir."

"ETA to Alora II, Mr. Maknal?"

"Planetary orbit in... sixteen minutes, sir."

"Very good. Mr. Enax, commence high-power scans for debris, escape craft, and life-signs when we leave warp."

"Aye sir."

"Data on system, Mr. Enax," I order.

"Sir, the Alora system has six planets, four are terrestrial, two are gas giants. The gas giants have over thirty moons between them but all are too small to sustain a biosphere. Of the four rocky planets, Alora I is Class B, a cinder too close to the star; Alora IV is Class C, frozen solid and too far outside the habitable zone to sustain life; and Alora III is Class K, a cold planet outgassing it’s already thin atmosphere. It can sustain no life without pressure domes.

"Alora II is a Class M planet, temperate with minimal axial tilt making the seasons quite uniform. It is uninhabited, with only higher level primates and a large assortment of predators, flora, and fauna. A prime planet for colonisation but for the danger from the nearby Klingon border. There are a good deal of similar planets to be had much farther from the border so the system has been left untouched."

"Thank you, Science Officer," I acknowledge.

"System boundary, Captain," Salok reports.

"Drop to sublight, engage impulse drive."

"Aye, Captain."

During the ten-minute approach to the planet Enax stays silent, indicating to us that the sensors have detected nothing of note.

"Polar orbit, Mr. Maknal. Science, begin scanning the planet for life-signs, escape craft, and debris."

"Polar orbit, Aye."

"Beginning scans now, Captain. It will take roughly four hours to conclusively search the entire planet for life-form readings."

"Understood."

"Lieutenant Lathena, any response to our hails or any rescue beacons detected?" I ask.

"I’m sorry sir, but no. No response to hails on any frequency and no broadcasts on any channel, including distress frequencies."

"Very well, keep monitoring."

"Aye sir."

After that we settle down to an alert watchfulness, ready to respond instantly to the discovery of survivors. We don’t have to wait long, as fifteen minutes after assuming orbit our comm. officer calls out.

"Captain! Picking up low-powered comm. traffic, highly localised. It wasn’t there when we first arrived. Co-ordinates are..." We waited while she worked her direction finding controls, zeroing in on the signal’s location. "Co-ordinates are 37°41"57’ North, 57°12"23’ West."

"Mr. Enax?" the captain asks.

After a few seconds to locate the co-ordinates on the planet, Enax reports, "Sir, that location is on the primary continent in the Northern Hemisphere. Sensors show it’s within three kilometres of the eastern coastline, in a wide valley. Our current orbital track will have us pass over it in eighty minutes."

"Mr. Brown, prepare a landing party, emphasis on medical personnel. Lathena, try hailing them directly on the frequency you detected them using. Try and find out why they haven’t responded to us. Mr. Maknal, adjust orbit to geosynchronous above that valley. Mr. Enax, sensor readings. Can you tell how many of our people are down there?"

As the acknowledgements echo back and I run through our medical staff to select a landing party, Lathena gives an update that stops everything cold.

"Captain, the comm. traffic is encoded and not on any Starfleet standard or emergency frequencies. I can’t decipher the encoding without a lot more time and effort, Captain, because it’s Klingon."

The K-word drops like a photon grenade into the activity of the bridge, silencing everything instantly. For several seconds the only noises are the pings and chirps of the bridge systems, until McCafferty exhales explosively.

"Klingons?" she asks.

"The communications protocols they are using are of Klingon origin, yes Captain," Lathena confirms. She adds, "I cannot say who is using it, though."

All eyes swing to Enax for the next question, which McCafferty duly asks. "Well, Mr. Enax, what of it? What do your sensors show?"

"Sir, the limb of the planet is blocking scans. I’m waiting on orbital realignment, just a few more seconds..."

We all wait on tenterhooks for his report. It seems to be taking forever and as the minutes tick by and the tension increases exponentially, I’m about to demand something from him when he straightens and turns to face the bridge at large.

"Confirmed, Captain," he starts. "Reading 167 Klingon life-forms in the valley along with various pieces of equipment including a space-worthy shuttlecraft, temporary shelters, and the carcasses of 106 escape pods."

I don’t know about anybody else, but my heart sinks at that. By the looks on the faces of the bridge crew, they don’t look too ecstatic either.

"Thank you, Mr. Enax," McCafferty says softly. "Continue scanning."

"Aye, Captain."

What the hell are we going to do with nearly two hundred Klingon prisoners? I wonder. That was more Klingons than the Kusanagi had crew!

I step down to the command deck to speak to the captain, but Enax calls out again.

"Sensor contact! Picking up Starfleet-origin materials!"

"Details, Science Officer! Full power deep scan of that area," she orders.

"Aye sir. Data coming in now."

Again, we wait. This time, the news is far worse.

"Captain, the Starfleet camp has been destroyed. I’m reading the remains of forty Starfleet lifeboats, all blasted apart. Numerous temporary shelters, all showing signs of damage or having been burned out, and defensive positions that have been blasted apart." The Edoan pauses there and I think he’s finished as his shoulders slump, but again the worst is still to come. He turns to face us again. "No life-signs, sir, and... Captain, I’m reading unburied bodies all over the camp. Several large animals are stationary throughout the area, in close proximity to the bodies."

Teresa Price, the bridge engineering liaison, raises her hand to her mouth, cutting off a gasp. I feel nauseated. All of the bridge crew looks horrified.

"Captain, with your permission I’ll take a landing party down and-- " I cut myself off, unsure of what to say next that wouldn’t sound just as uncaring and horrific. I finally settle for a neutral phrase. "--And assess the situation."

McCafferty’s reply is not entirely what I expect.

"Granted, Mr. Brown, but I’m coming too."

I’m surprised she’s letting me come along.

"Captain, you-- "

"No arguments, Lieutenant. We’ll each take a landing party, full security detail. If we need medics we’ll beam them down afterwards."

"Aye-aye sir," I reply quietly.

"Lieutenant Lathena, order Security to send a squad to each transporter room. Have Sickbay fully prepped and on standby, and have them send a full trauma team to Transporter Room One ready to beam down at a moment’s notice, and two antigrav stretcher teams to Transporter Room Two."

"Yes, Captain," the Andorian responds.

"Mr. Brown, you’re with me, Mr. Maknal, go to Yellow Alert and keep a close eye on the Klingons. Let us know instantly if they make a move towards us or launch their shuttlecraft."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

"Very good. You have the conn, Mr. Maknal."

At that, we step into the turbolift. As it descends to Deck 5 and traverses the saucer to our destination, nothing is said between us. What can be said? We both know exactly what we will find down there, and that the medical teams will stand idle, unneeded. What to do with the Klingons just doesn’t enter into our thoughts--except for what we want to do to them. Our feud keeps trying to gain attention in my mind, but is subdued with almost no thought at all.

Despite the ‘security blanket’ offered and enforced by the Organians, security is a real risk. We don’t know the particulars of how they’ll prevent harm coming to opponents, and although we have seen what they can do, we are by no means convinced they were able to follow through. However, the ship would alert us in plenty of time if the Klingons tried anything.

What we do know is that we are going down there as a burial detail and as crime scene investigators, to gather our fallen comrades and evidence to prove how it happened. What had happened was obvious. That it had happened at all told us when it had happened. And because of present circumstances, the Klingons would get away with it. The war over, the treaty signed, the Klingons allowed to go home to their empire. It had been a war, though. In war, battles are fought, people are killed, one side wins, one side looses. It was that simple.

The Klingons would get off scot-free. Our dead would go unavenged.

Klingon bastards.

Not one live Starfleeter. The scans had shown that. The Klingons had come, joined battle, and won. And wiped out every living Federation citizen.

No prisoners. Not even captured or held for information.

All dead.

The thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone, and were made all the more potent by my own memories of up-close-and-personal battle with Klingons.

The turbolift deposits us in Transporter Room One. With unspoken consent, I leave for my own team in Transporter Room Two. I am so angry I can barely think straight, but I screw on my game head and begin to think of our mission.

"People," I say to the occupants of the room at large. "We are going down to scout for any survivors of a Starfleet camp that has been attacked by a superior force of Klingons. The ship’s sensors show no signs of life beyond large predators, but sensors can be fooled. When we get down there, spread out and catalogue every body you find and set tricorders to search for very faint life-signs. Set phasers for heavy stun now."

As they do so, I address the stretcher-bearers. "If we find anyone alive, we’re either beaming down a trauma team or beaming them up to be taken care of on board. Stand ready for our signal."

The four Ships Services’ crewmen nod solemnly.

"Okay people, get ready. We’re beaming down after the captain and her team." I step up onto the transporter disk, followed by Ensign Demeter and her four security guards, and we wait.

Seconds later, Transporter Chief Talbain nods. "The captain’s party has arrived safely. Energising."

The worried faces on the ship fade, to be replaced by a beautiful sandy beach, blue-green sea, azure skies, and a lush green forest in the middle distance.

The clean, sterilised smell of the ship is replaced by the stench of death.

A young guard gags. It’s Private Johnson, and her dark skin seems to have greyed slightly. I feel the same way but hope that I’m not showing it.

"Phasers out, tricorders on," I order. "Spread out and record each person you find. We have the south side of the beach while the captain takes the north. Go."

My team spreads out and I turn north to see the captain’s team do likewise. I complete a visual scan of the immediate area, taking in the shattered lifeboats, the wrecked shelters, and at least twenty corpses in Starfleet uniform lying in the white sand.

My teeth grind together and my heart fills with grief and anger. From what I can see there are no Klingon bodies, but we are at the centre of the camp. Maybe at the edge facing the forest...

My team has already moved out of sight, so I set about my own task of finding the senior officers’ locations. We’re looking to find log entries or records of any sort that will tell us who these people were and what exactly happened here. For example, why in all this vast, uninhabited planet our people and the Klingons ended up only three kilometres apart. I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure if it was right--or even workable.

I search through the wrecked shelters, scanning them for life-signs and any kind of recording equipment. I even pick through the charred contents for a plain old writing pad and stylus.

Nothing. I have my suspicions about that too, which are confirmed as I search through the cube-shaped lifeboats. Every piece of portable equipment--and even some non-portable stuff that has obviously been hacked out--is gone. All these pods have been salvaged--or looted. Since none of this equipment has yet been found in the camp, the latter seems more likely. And since each lifeboat is a comfortable, self-sustained living environment that has power for two months, our Starfleet people wouldn’t have hacked them apart for salvage or parts after only two weeks.

I continue my search.

*****

Half an hour later we have all gathered together at the beam-down point. Onsite inspection has confirmed what the sensors had told us, that everyone is dead. McCafferty’s findings corroborate our own that all equipment had been taken or destroyed, so we are no closer to confirming what happened here.

"Should we begin to assign burial details?" I ask the captain.

"No," she answers shortly, voice thick with rage. "I’m not burying these people on an uninhabited planet light-years from anything they knew. I’m taking them home."

I nod approvingly, not trusting myself to speak.

Pulling out her communicator, she hails the ship. "McCafferty to Kusanagi."

"Kusanagi here," Maknal’s voice issues from the speaker, sounding tinny.

"Lieutenant, cancel Medical Alert, but have them stand by. There’s nobody alive down here."

"Understood, Captain," the helmsman responds quietly.

"Have pathology prepare 76 body bags and have all Medical and Security personnel beam down with them. Set up Cargo Bay One as a morgue. Clear the floor space, secure all the cargo against the walls, and prepare it for exposure to vacuum."

"Aye-aye, sir."

"McCafferty out." Flipping her communicator shut, she turns to me. "Mr. Brown, I want you to supervise this operation. Have each medic team up with a security guard and start... retrieving... these people. We’ll have to beam them up with the cargo transporter and I’m not happy about that, so I want these people treated with respect," she emphasises.

"Yes, Captain, I agree completely."

She looks at me for a second before nodding. "Good. Make it clear to our crew that the bodies of our comrades are to be handled delicately and with feeling. If I hear any report of someone just flinging these bags around at either end, I’ll have their hide--and yours."

"Of course, sir. I’ll see to it," I say, not holding her harsh words against her. I don’t think it’ll be necessary to impress this upon our crew, but I’m not about to take that chance. I know that if I see anything of the sort I’ll be hard-pressed not to beat the offenders to a pulp myself. "I’ll get our antigravs down here for the stretchers."

"Agreed."

I’m turning to attend my duties when my eye catches something I hadn’t noticed before, or had dismissed. "Captain, look!" I exclaim, pointing at a streak of dried blood on the side of a cubical life pod. It seems to jump out at me now as it is far too straight, almost like an arrow. It points straight down, but there had been no body at this location.

We both start towards it, tricorders running. They reveal nothing, same as last time, but I think I know what this message means. I drop to my knees under the arrow and began digging with my hands.

It takes a full five minutes of careful digging and sifting in an enlarging circle, but I find it.

A single computer wafer.

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Five

Staring at the sand-encrusted item held aloft in my somewhat raw hands, I state decisively, "That’ll be it! The final logs must be on this wafer." I pull out the universal interface from my tricorder utility kit and plug the wafer into it.

"It could be, Lieutenant," the captain agrees, "but it could also be whatever else was deemed of paramount importance by whoever buried it."

Splitting hairs, Captain, but I suppose you’re right, I don’t say out loud. I say instead, "We need to find out what’s on this, but the tricorder can’t read it."

"What? Why not?" she demands.

"It seems to be Command encrypted, Captain, which would require a tie-in to the ship’s databanks." Running a further scan, I add, "It also seems to be either physically damaged or the data slightly corrupted. The ship’s computer should be able to reconstruct it."

"Very well. I’ll return to the ship and get the ball rolling on discovering what data this chip holds." McCafferty states. "You have your orders, Mr. Brown. Carry on."

"Aye sir," I reply. I am curious as hell to find out what is on the wafer, but it could take from mere minutes to several hours to find out what that is.

The captain signals the ship and is beamed aboard in a sparkle of golden light that beautifully compliments the sand of the beach, taking her to her new task.

I for once don’t mind being left out of it. To my mind, I have a far more important duty to perform, and anyway, I’ll soon know what it contains. Right now, I have a job to do.

I ensure that our Medical and Security people handle our fallen comrades with the reverence and respect they deserve with a properly stirring speech.

"You will handle these body bags as if they contained antimatter without its magnetic bottle! You will be gentle, respectful, and somber, or the captain will skin you alive and nail said skin to her cabin wall! Then I’ll have words with you."

Admittedly, that’s like preparing them for a tropical storm by first weathering a tactical nuclear strike, but we all have our illusions. Also, it might not be the right approach to take as it was quite likely most of them shared my feelings on this matter, but I wanted my feelings made crystal clear. I prowl the site, making myself visible but not yelling at or crowding them, merely observing them unobtrusively while occupied with my own thoughts.

I gaze up at the sky, taking tricorder readings and reviewing what I know of this latter half of the Battle of Alora II. It isn’t called that, but that’s how I’m thinking of it.

After the first part of the battle just outside the system, in which the USS Torjal and two Klingon frigates were destroyed, the other two Klingon ships managed to disengage and break for Alora, hotly pursued by the other three Starfleet ships. About to be brought back to battle by the superior speed of the USS Hood, the Klingon commander decided to fight against a planet, hoping to pin the Starfleet ships where their lack of manoeuvrability could be decisively used against them.

So, the heavy cruiser Hood, the heavy frigate Emden, and the destroyer Hashishiyun rejoined battle with the D7 Decimator and the D6 Despoiler.

Superior Klingon manoeuvrability allowed them to rake all three Starfleet vessels and eventually destroy the Hashishiyun, but superior Federation tactics and firepower blasted apart the Despoiler before the D7 made another break for Federation space. Such a powerful unit could not be allowed to disappear and roam free in the Federation rear to play havoc with civilian shipping, so again the Hood and her consort had given chase.

The destroyed vessels of this round had managed to evacuate a fair portion of their crews before being completely atomised by antimatter release. Since both ships were very close together and very close to the planet, it is my contention that the subspace shock waves from two warp reactor explosions pushed the escape pods into the planet’s atmosphere. As a result they were unable to alter their trajectories by much and ended up landing fairly close together.

That’s just supposition and we’ll need the records of the Hashishiyun’s crew to reveal the truth, but even that isn’t too important.

We want to know why there are no survivors, even in captivity. When the situation became hopeless, these people would have tried to surrender and affect escape later. "Where there is life, there is hope," the old saying goes. It is quite obvious that the Klingons had come and crushed all hope here. There are bat’leth wounds here as well as disruptor holes, so they’d closed to knife-fighting range as they so love to do.

I don’t envy the medics and guards bagging those bodies.

It takes nearly two hours but finally all the bodies are bagged, collected, and laid out in four rows at the beam-down point. I assign Privates Zorkal and Johnson as honour guards to stand watch over them while the rest of us beam up to the ship. I dismiss the medical staff and have the two security details follow me to the cargo transporter, situated on Deck 5 forwards, on the centreline between our two small cargo bays.

An inspection of Cargo Bay One reveals that Urrih has outdone himself. Not only is the bay now cleared as the captain instructed, he has also assigned an engineering team to construct a restraint forcefield to hold our honoured dead in place, lest violent manoeuvres later have them all piled on top of one another against a bulkhead.

I’m going to put a commendation in that man’s file, unless I also find out the captain specifically ordered this, the thought occurs as I look on at the technicians methodically completing their work. I return to the transporter through the adjoining doors and have Transporter Chief James Taylor begin beaming up the bodies, along with the antigravs. Thus begins the fairly short task of taking the crew of the Hashishiyun aboard. Half an hour later it is all done and the honour guard beams aboard to take up their new duty stations in front of the doors to the cargo bay.

Both sets of doors are then computer-locked, and I call the bridge. "First Officer to Captain."

"Captain here. Progress report, Mr. Brown," she orders.

"Sir, the crew of the Hashishiyun are aboard and secured in their new... quarters." I hesitate, slightly thrown off by my own choice of words. "An honour guard has been posted and will be maintained until we reach Starbase 22, both sets of doors are codelocked and Security sealed, and the bay is ready to be opened to space."

"Very well, Mr. Brown. Good work," the captain says brusquely.

I almost fall over in shock at those words, and can’t disguise the surprise in my face from Chief Taylor. "Uh, aye sir," I reply unsteadily. "Thank you, sir," I add in a more controlled tone.

McCafferty chooses to ignore it. I don’t believe for a minute that she didn’t notice it. "Senior Chief Mev, depressurise Cargo Bay One," I hear through the intercom.

"Aye-aye, sir," the gruff voice of the Tellarite bridge engineer filters through. "Done, Captain."

"Very good. Mr. Brown," she says, addressing me now. "If you are done there, go to Briefing Room One. Senior officer’s meeting in five minutes."

"Aye sir, on my way. First Officer, out." I dismiss Chief Taylor then head for the briefing room.

*****

I arrive to find the Alpha shift department heads already seated. I had rushed to my quarters to freshen up as I desperately needed it, but the captain looks irritated by my late arrival.

"Glad you could join us, Mr. Brown," she comments pointedly.

"I had to make a quick detour to my quarters, sir," I state coolly.

Another of her infamous looks and the meeting is brought to order.

"Ladies and gentlemen the purpose of this meeting is to decide what to do with the Klingons on the planet below us," she begins. The seriousness of the topic and the intensity of emotions this issue brings fourth ensures that everyone is listening intently. "However, before we do, I believe Lieutenant Lathena has a report for us."

"Yes sir," the Andorian responds. "The communications department has managed to completely reconstruct the data on the Hashishiyun’s wafer chip."

This news is met with anticipation from all present, most of whom lean in closer.

"Due to the wafer being physically damaged we were unable to read the chip at all, but with Ensign Al-Mahaid’s help we were able to perform a molecular scan of the data impression on the wafer and reconstruct this data on an undamaged wafer. The log recordings are now ready to be viewed."

"Well done, Lieutenant," the captain praises, which I echo. She then instructs, "Play the recordings now, if you please."

"Aye sir."

The three-sided screen flickers to life with the image of a human-looking lieutenant commander in red, who identifies himself in an English accent as Gerald Trent. We listen through half-an-hour of log entries that detail the end of the space battle, their subsequent emergency landing on the planet, setting up the camp, and organising themselves to await rescue, which Trent believed would come within a week.

Then came the sighting of the Klingon shuttlecraft we detected, and their preparation for the inevitable attack. Trent’s plan for defence was implemented and defensive fortifications hurriedly built. It didn’t seem very effective to me even as the now-dead officer detailed it for posterity, but the man was an engineer and the security staff that survived were too inexperienced to offer better suggestions.

Even a better plan wouldn’t have mattered much as it seemed the Klingons used their shuttlecraft to great effect. At first spotting for the Klingon ground assault, when battle was finally joined it used its phaser to rake the Starfleet camp, inflicting heavy casualties before massed phaser-fire from their Type-II pistol phasers finally managed to drive it off. It was last seen trailing smoke or fuel, heading back to the Klingon camp in the west.

We now had our confirmation on how everything happened, except for the most pressing matter of all--why no one was left alive. We hoped that would be explained in the last two log entries, and I was almost praying that it wasn’t what I was expecting.

"Commanding Officer’s Log, supplemental," the haggard face on the screen states, wincing reflexively at the sound of disruptor bolts impacting nearby. "It has been ten minutes since the Klingons started their attack, and although we’ve finally driven off that damned shuttle, tricorder readings indicated that there were 186 Klingons waiting in the woods for us. We’ve whittled them down some, but it’s not nearly enough. Almost all of my crew have been wounded by disruptor fire, many quite badly, and now the Klingons are overrunning our forward defensive positions."

Trent winces in pain as he shifts his position, then continues.

"I’m down to forty active personnel and though we have plenty of firepower, there are just too many of them. They outnumbered us two-to-one even before the shuttle attack. In the interests of saving as many of my crew as possible, I’ve signalled our surrender in the clear on their frequency, and tied in the universal translator. So far, no response and the fighting continues. If this doesn’t work, I’ll signal a cease-fire and go out there myself with a white flag.

"All my crew have comported themselves admirably through all stages of the battles we’ve fought today, and deserve the highest honours the Federation can bestow. Lieutenant Commander Gerald Trent, Chief Engineering Officer, Federation destroyer Hashishiyun."

The next log entry is the last, and I can tell that most present are now dreading what it contains. Lathena plays it anyway.

"Security Officer’s Log, Ensign Ilya Pushkin recording," came the enraged voice from the human now on screen. "They killed him! Those filthy, murdering Klingon bastards blew his head off as he carried the white flag out to them!"

I lower my head into my hands, trying to ward off the image the ensign put in my head with those words, but he isn’t quite finished.

Tears streaming down grime-streaked cheeks, the Russian continues. "I heard them laughing as the rest of his body just fell to the ground, still holding on to the flag of our surrender. They’re not taking us alive, whether we want them to or not!" he told us, voice hysterical. "Even if we are taken prisoner, they’ll just torture us for fun and kill us when they’re done. We’re down to about 25 crew left, but we’re going to take as many of them with us as we can! Starfleet, when you find this record, track them down and kill them all!

"They’ve left us no alternative. We’re going to fight them to the last man. Ensign Pushkin, Security Officer, Federation destroyer Hashishiyun."

The screen goes dark and I lean back in my chair, feeling shell-shocked. Wondering how my crewmates are feeling, I take a look around to gauge their reactions. Two points of deep blue burn in Lieutenant Shex’s cheekbones, clearly visible on his powder blue skin and indicating that the Andorian security chief is intensely furious. Lathena’s antennae droop, showing her deep sadness at the fate of our people. Tatiana Nebukov just cradles her head in her hands in disbelief. Urrih’s eyes look haunted as he stares off at something only he can see. Engineer Trey`gar’s teeth are audibly grinding together and his eyes are screwed tightly shut, as if he’s trying to block out what he’s just heard.

My poll of the crew complete, I turn my attention to the captain. Her clear complexion and pale skin show only too well her intense anger. Red points to match Shex’s blue ones burn brightly in her face and her eyes are aflame with her fury.

I had thought that she’d wait for us to absorb the details of our comrades’ fate on the planet below, but McCafferty has other ideas. She must want our gut-level, instinctual reactions to her question, because in a calm voice that belies her obvious feelings on the matter, she asks anyway.

"What should we do with the Klingons?"

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Five, Pt II

No one answers immediately, probably not trusting his or her reactions to the ship’s official record. Since my immediate reaction is along the lines of an orbital bombardment of the Klingon camp and I’m meant to be the ‘liberal’ one, this probably a good thing. Possibly unhappy with the silence, McCafferty asks again.

"The agenda for this meeting is now at hand. I brought us here to discuss what options we have in regards to the disposition of these Klingons," the captain states. "I have given this matter some thought over the past few hours and here’s what I see we can do.

"Option one: We take these Klingons on board in a secured area and immediately head back to base to have Starfleet take custody of them for trial."

I notice that practically every head around the table nods in approval of this plan, some with grim satisfaction, others with reluctance. Personally, I’m not too keen on it but since we are Starfleet we’re supposed to revere all life, not just that life which suits us. These Klingons are survivors, after all, and we’re out here to rescue survivors.

"Option two: We signal Starbase 22 to send a transport ship to pick them up, and leave to continue with our mission to rescue Federation survivors."

This option has more extreme reactions, with most readily approving and only our CMO looking unhappy about it. My enthusiastic reaction to this is more gut-level than I would like, eagerly wanting to forget the Klingons and their actions and move on to rescue people who deserve to be rescued.

"Option three: We leave them here to continue with our mission, and return to pick them up after our sweep of our other mission waypoints, if we still have the space onboard to safely confine them."

This idea is universally shot down, judging from the reactions of those present. Only Shex seriously considers it before even he reluctantly puts it aside, and I’ve already made my choice.

"I want to hear your opinions, people, and if you have other acceptable options I want to hear them too." With that, she opens up the table to debate.

Shex immediately says, "Captain, I would be very uncomfortable with nearly 200 Klingons on board. Even if the Organians can prevent physical violence, if they escape the amount of trouble they could cause for ship’s personnel and to ship’s equipment would be considerable."

"I agree, Captain," Urrih states. "Right now, the Klingons outnumber the crew of the Kusanagi. I know that we can physically take them aboard and still not reach our maximum evacuation capacity, but it wasn’t envisioned that we’d have to keep nearly half of them under guard. I seriously doubt our crew will be willing to share their beds with the enemy."

"Captain," our CMO offers, "aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves here? The war is over. The  Klingons can’t hurt us, the Organians will see to that. Why must they be prisoners?"

The captain, Shex, and Maknal all stare at her in amazement--it takes a few seconds, but I realise that I’m doing it too--which quickly turns to anger.

"Are you insane!?" Maknal demands, shooting to his feet and leaning over the table at her. "Were you even listening to Ensign Pushkin or Mr. Shex? Even disregarding what Shex said about ship’s security, these animals refused to accept a cease-fire, shot a man under truce, and wiped out all the survivors from the Hashishiyun! They are our prisoners even if the war is over, because they should be arrested as criminals! Not only that, but war criminals and murderers!"

Urrih is red-faced and breathing heavily, furious at the doctor for such a foolish or naïve question. Tatiana, for her part, is staring up at him slack-jawed and having paled visibly, obviously unprepared for the firestorm her words had ignited.

"That’s enough, Mr. Maknal," the captain says quietly. "Your points are well taken, though. Please sit down. I trust that’s answered your question, Doctor?"

Nebukov, still staring at Urrih who is now re-seating himself, jerks round to face McCafferty on hearing herself addressed. "Uh, y-yes Captain," she stammers.

A thought occurs to me and I voice it. "Not only that, ladies and gentlemen, but it may be that the Klingons think we’re still at war."

Some eyebrows around the table go up at that, but the captain merely nods. I notice that the surprised ones haven’t met the survivors from the Torjal yet.

"If the Klingons have been out of contact with their superiors all this time--and since they’re still here that’s a fair assumption to make--then they will be in the dark," I continue. "Also, the Organian Treaty prevents violence between Federation and Klingon nationals only. I’ve read the text of it and it says nothing about stopping the violence between the citizens of one power."

"That means in all likelihood that these Klingons can’t know about Organian intervention!" Maknal exclaims. "They won’t know that they can’t hurt us, so they’ll try anyway."

"That’s my read of it, Lieutenant," I confirm. "That ties in directly with what really worries me. Can we actually rely on the Organians to protect us from harm?"

Shex looks at me askance. "We all experienced the effects of Organian interference, sir. We know that they can carry out their wishes."

"I have my doubts as well, people," the captain puts in. "Go on, Mr. Brown. I want to hear your theory."

I match her brusque, businesslike tone and put forth my concerns. "Well, it’s like this: we’ve seen them prevent us from using systems and tools offensively with our own eyes, and we know they can do so for a hundred light-years in each direction along the border. However, when they did this they were directly aware of impending hostilities because of an incident on their homeworld.

"What happens if they are not aware? Can the Organians track a group of individual Klingons more than twenty light-years from Organia and stop them firing a first disruptor blast? Can they stop a Klingon from throwing a punch? Can they stop a thrown punch from landing?" I ask stridently.

Intrigued by the mechanics of the situation our hitherto silent chief engineer speaks up.

"Are you saying that the Organians have to be monitoring the actions of every single Federation and Klingon citizen along two hundred light-years of border every second of every day for them to be able to make good on their pledge?" Trey`gar asks incredulously.

"That’s not quite what I meant, but yes," I confirm. "What I’m saying is that if they’re not then we might still take casualties if we attempt a face-to-face meeting with the Klingons."

The faces around the table now express surprise and doubt at my words. The captain, however, merely nods again. "A good point, Mr. Brown, and your thoughts tally with mine."

Trey`gar decides to offer his opinions. "I am definitely in favour of option two, Captain. From an engineering standpoint it wouldn’t be too much trouble confining the Klingons. We would have to use either the cargo bays or the shuttle deck, but I wouldn’t want them on the shuttle deck myself. Too many panels to seal and escape routes to monitor, to say nothing of what happens if we need to launch a shuttle on this rescue mission of ours.

"However, from a personal standpoint, I don’t want that many hostile aliens aboard the ship for any reason, more now than ever in light of the first officer’s concerns. To do so would be foolhardy, as there is no end of trouble they could cause just in the disruption to ship’s routine that would undoubtedly result from even mundane things like using the toilet."

I find myself nodding in agreement. The Chief is exactly right and brings up a salient point. I hadn’t even considered the whole ‘bathroom breaks’ aspect of taking them on board, focusing mainly on the trouble they could cause if they got loose.

"Thank you, Engineer," the captain says. "Doctor, what are your thoughts?"

Nebukov, now paying rapt attention to the proceedings, has an immediate answer.

"Captain, regardless of the current situation, our mission out here is to locate survivors and take them home. We’ve found some from both sides, but the war is no longer an issue. While Lieutenant Brown’s concerns do contain some facts, I feel them to be groundless. Lieutenants Shex and Maknal’s concerns are noted, but we have over sixty Starfleet survivors that can be assigned to guard duty, and I know for a fact that most of them would welcome the chance to do something useful aboard ship. With Lieutenant Trey`gar’s acknowledgement that confining them would be no trouble, I think that we should bring them aboard."

This is not a popular opinion at all, but discipline holds and no one badgers her for it.

McCafferty, almost managing a neutral tone, thanks her and moves on to Urrih. The helmsman makes his feelings plain.

"Fellow officers, while the doctor raises a good point about the Starfleet survivors we have aboard, I really don’t think that putting them in charge of the Klingons who murdered their squadron mates is a very good idea," Maknal states forcefully as he looks around the table. "If we bring the Klingons aboard they will disrupt ship operations. This is an indisputable fact, whether it be extreme tension or anger among the crew or security concerns of denying them access to critical ship’s systems--or both--I agree with our chief engineer and opt to send for a transport ship."

"Thank you Mr. Maknal," the captain says.

My thoughts are less charitable. He’s stolen my thunder. I hate it when that happens.

"Lieutenant Lathena?" McCafferty asks next.

"I concur with my fellow officers, Captain. I think that we should send for the transport as well. Lieutenants Trey`gar and Maknal have already voiced my concerns," she says confidently.

"I see. Nothing to add on your own, though?" McCafferty prods.

"Ah..." Our comm. officer hesitates before deciding to go through with it. "Only that we should talk to the Klingons and inform them of our plans, and of their new status as our prisoners. If the transport crew arrives and the Klingons still think we’re at war, they’ll try to attack them--and we’ll have let them. I don’t want that situation to happen to a behind-the-lines crew, sir."

"I concur, Captain," I chime in. "If my concerns are not groundless then that crew might take casualties. With respect, sir, that’s not their job. It’s ours."

I can see that she isn’t happy with that, but only because I know her so well. Probably Urrih can see it too. She still makes an attempt to avoid it, though.

"We could ask Starfleet to send an escort with the transport. We probably should anyway, as there are still pirates to worry about," she offers.

The other officers look at each other at that, obviously picking up on McCafferty’s reluctance to deal with the Klingons. I sigh inwardly. It’s my place to remind the captain of hers.

"Captain, that’s irrelevant. As the first on the scene, we have to investigate properly so that those who follow us don’t land up to their eyeballs in deep... trouble."

A searing look flashes out from her eyes at that, but she manages a calm tone. "Just so, Mr. Brown. Just so." While she’s looking at me, she asks, "I can assume that you agree with the majority so far then, First Officer? That is, unless your wish for contact with the Klingons is not just scientific curiosity about testing your theory?"

"I do agree with my colleagues, yes Captain," I say amiably, which just makes her face darken a shade further. I got what I wanted, Captain. If you want to rile me up you’re going to have to do better than that!

Presumably saving the best for last, she addresses our security chief. "Lieutenant Shex, your opinions on what option we should take?"

"Captain, I stand by my earlier comments," he states in his whisper-soft voice. "Contrary to Chief Engineer Trey`gar’s assertion, we do not have the space on board to accommodate more than the ship’s complement of prisoners, and I don’t have the staff to deal with them all. It’s that simple. I therefore chose option two."

McCafferty nods her thanks at him, then addresses the room at large. "Thank you all for your input, ladies and gentlemen. I think it’s fairly safe to say that everybody knew I favoured option two from the start, so that is what we will do." Levelling a look at me, she adds, "As per our first officer’s insistence, we shall attempt to contact the Klingons and let them in on their new future.

"People, ready the ship to leave orbit. Urrih, have Ensign Salok plot a course out of the system and then to our next mission waypoint. Doctor Nebukov, prepare Medical to receive possible casualties if we have to beam down to met the Klingons. Lieutenant Shex, outfit a landing party of five, full security detail with body armour and tricorders, but no weapons. Lathena, do what you can to try and raise the Klingons. If you have no success after twenty minutes, I’m beaming down. Engineer, I want full power available to the warp and impulse engines. Mr. Brown, you will have the conn while I am on the planet’s surface.

"That’s all people. Snap to it."

The acknowledgements echo back and everybody files out of the room. I hold back and ask, "A moment of your time, Captain?"

A nod and we wait for the last of our officers leave the room. "What is it, Mr. Brown?"

"Sir, I must object to your presence on the landing party. As ship’s captain you are not expendable personnel and shouldn’t subject yourself to unnecessary risks."

Folding her arms and wearing a cold smirk, she replies, "Really? I’d have thought you’d be delighted at the chance of getting rid of me. Or do you have a death wish too?"

Said as friends that would have been funny. As we are now, though, I know she’s serious. My eyebrows shoot up into my hairline and my jaw falls open a little, as I’m unable to conceal my surprise.

"What’s wrong, Lieutenant? Cat got your tongue? Or do you have a guilty conscience?"

I regain my voice with a vengeance. "That is enough, Captain Sir!" I grate out. "I’m just doing my job and you know it. You’re not supposed to go around endangering yourself--"

Having her victory over me, the captain dismisses my concerns with a wave of her hand. "Spare me the precise regulation, please, Mr. Brown," she sneers contemptuously. "How can I be on top of everything if I don’t witness it unfolding? How can I lead this crew and ask them to do things if they know that I’m not willing to do them myself?"

"Captain--" I start again with an edge to my voice, but she cuts me off again.

"First Officer, your objections are... noted and logged. My decision stands. Now, are you coming to the bridge?"

Fuming at the shellacking I just took--fortunately in private this time--I struggle to maintain a civil tone. "Yes Captain. After you," I growl.

Her eyes coldly amused, she turns from me and leads the way to the bridge.

*****

Thirty-five minutes later and I’m on the bridge alone, in the command chair. Lathena had been unsuccessful in raising the Klingons, so down to the surface the captain had gone. She had already radioed in her party’s safe arrival, and I was following her progress though Enax’s science scanners.

Enax had discovered his readings of the Klingon camp were no longer clear minutes after Lathena had tried to hail them, so it seemed like they were now aware of our presence and had erected a sensor jammer or dampening field. It extended to a diameter of three kilometres, well outside the outer perimeter of their camp, so I was nervous about losing contact with the captain’s party.

"They’re entering the dampening field now, Lieutenant," Enax reports. "I have no readings on them anymore."

"Understood. Lathena, try to raise the captain," I order.

"Yes sir." The Andorian works her board for a few minutes and comes away empty-handed. "No success, Lieutenant. There is no answer, and I cannot be sure they’re even receiving me."

"Very well." All I can do now is wait, then.

*****

Fortunately it is a short one. Thirty minutes later and the captain’s party emerges from the field and signals us.

"Are you all right, Captain? Any injuries?" I ask, concerned for Shex and his team if not the captain herself.

"We’re all okay down here, Lieutenant. Your fears are completely groundless as the doctor suspected, but it was touch and go for a few seconds there."

"Understood. Is everything taken care of then?"

"Yes. The Klingons were told that they are under arrest for war crimes and that another ship will be arriving in a few days to pick them up. Mission accomplished," she finishes laconically. "Now, beam us up and get us moving, Lieutenant."

"Aye-aye, Captain. Transferring your co-ordinates to the transporter room. Stand by for beam-up."

"Acknowledged. Captain, out."

"Lathena, give the captain’s co-ordinates to Transporter Room One and have the Chief signal the bridge when they’re aboard."

"Aye sir," she replies and works her console. A few minutes later she informs me, "Transporter room reports the captain’s party is aboard and unharmed, and Captain McCafferty will be on the bridge momentarily."

"Thank you, Lathena. Mr. Maknal, break orbit, full impulse ahead. When we reach the system edge, engage warp at maximum cruising velocity."

"Breaking orbit now, full impulse, aye sir. We’re on our way."

This time, I don’t ask for the departure angle on the viewer. The sooner we forget this place the better.

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Hey Andy, and my apologies for the lack of moral support recently. Been off in my own world again. You know how it is.

Heh, even though La'ra and the other Klinks may have already read this, I'm surprised none commented on your characterisation of the Klinks here.

There are all sorts as we know, and I'm sure that while we have altruistic Klingons like La'ra, devious Klingons like Ron'jar, stolid/stoic Klingons like Kadh, there are also nasty Klingons like JOLLYROGERs Dath'mar. The evil (by Fed standards) Klingons here are yet another facet of them.

Any Klink proponents care to forward a theory/rationale for their behaviour here?

[Commander La'ra]

Any Klink proponents care to forward a theory/rationale for their behaviour here?

There's thousands of possible motivations for their behavior...everything from it's 'dishonorable' to allow them to surrender to sheer bloodlust.  To know which one it is, we'd likely have to know the 'flavor' of the Klingon crew.  Who commanded them?  What was he like?  Did he imprint his own way of doing things on his men, as La'ra often does, or was he a weak officer who couldn't control a crew eager for blood and revenge?

Klingons are many things.  Predictable....is not one of them, despite what some authors might say.

[KOTH-KieranXC, Ret.]

You know, now that Jaeih mentioned it, I had been wondering about the motivation of the Klingons myself. Again, though, I have to agree with La'ra. There's just as much variation in the individual Klingon psyche as there is in the human psyche. There have been plenty of instances in history where atrocities are committed out of an angry desire for revenge. With the Klingons being a much more martially oriented culture than ours, it's perfectly believable that either an angry Klingon captain or an angry crew with a weak captain might do what Andy describes.

Just my two cents American. Take 'em or leave 'em as you will.

[Commander La'ra]

There's just as much variation in the individual Klingon psyche as there is in the human psyche.

And Humans are often just as violent (or more so) as the Klingons were portrayed in this story.  Star Trek tends to downplay that, though.

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Six

First Officer’s Personal Log, Stardate 3288.35

Although she’s obviously still not happy about it, McCafferty does seem to be heeding Commodore Tandara’s words. For the most part she maintains a professional demeanour towards me, in public at least. Unless something I’m doing is specifically going against her, like our meeting on what to do with the Klingons from Alora. Since, in her words, "I got what I wanted" from the commodore, I’m trying not to rub it in her face and let her come around on her own, but unless the personal digs stop soon I’m going to have to say something to her about them.

I’ve noticed that our own crew seems to be slightly depressed as a result of the mission to Alora II, probably because I feel the same, but I’ve been worried for a specific reason for some time now.

As part of my own weekly routine starting from when the war ended, I had Lathena get the updated casualty reports from Starfleet so that I might search for people I know. At first I used to peruse these lists every day, but scrolling though all those names so frequently was seriously affecting my morale. Reading them less regularly is no less harrowing but it does allow me some time to get over my mood, and only has me dreading and having to recover from ten minutes of each week instead of each day.

Twelve of my classmates and friends from the Academy and former postings are already known to have been killed in the war, but nine more had been listed as "missing in action". I’ve been counting on ships like ours to find them, but in the weeks since our mission began only one of my friends has been rescued.

Four more have been confirmed as dead.

Typically--and with a worry that gets more and more acute with the passing days--the people I’m most concerned for remain missing. I have no idea why the universe works this way, but people you barely consider acquaintances live long and healthy lives while the people that matter most to you end up dropping like flies. It’s contributing to my own dark cloud, but the fact that I’m still able to worry about others helps prove to me that I’m not such the shallow person I’m convinced that I’m turning in to.

However, to combat my feelings of helplessness and utter frustration over not knowing the fates of my missing friends, I’ve stopped even thinking about them between these updates. It smacks of cowardice to me every time I remember, but I’ve started to convince myself that they are going to be rescued to fend off the feeling of doom for another day, and each week that I don’t see them on the Deceased list helps bolster that emotional crutch.

It’s going to hurt like hell if that crutch is ultimately pulled away from me, so I’ve decided to stop asking for them until our mission is over. Until then, I’m just going to cross my fingers and hope for the best, keeping them safe within my own mind. Gods’ willing, my four missing friends will all still be alive, surviving on crippled ships or safely within their lifeboats, waiting patiently to be rescued, just like we did for the crew of the Torjal.

*****

The ship’s crew settled into their usual routine once again, although it was noted that the survivors from the Torjal were pretty much keeping to themselves. To combat the malaise that had come over the survivors, the captain had a meeting with the Torjal’s Andorian XO, Lieutenant Commander Shesra, to find out the reason. She discovered that it was exactly as we had feared, and that most of the survivors were feeling useless and depressed.

There are few things worse than giving brooding and guilt-ridden people unlimited time to think. The captain ordered me to keep them occupied, even authorising them to start duty shifts as part of our regular crew.

This met with general approval ship-wide, as our own crew was having problems with the events on Alora II. Too many people were dwelling on the horrible events there--and the other places we’d been--so the morale of the crew was low, an atmosphere of gloom, anger, and sadness pervading the ship.

With these "extra hands" starting to appear outside of their temporary quarters, our own crew was reminded that we had saved almost seventy people. Admittedly, at the start all I had for them to do was make-work or no-work--what I call tending a machine just in case it goes wrong--but the Torjal crew willingly and gladly pitched in, for the most part.

Out of the 63 survivors, we have two Command division, seven Ship’s Services, sixteen Sciences, twenty-three Engineering, five Communications, and ten Ship Operations personnel. I’ve tried to assign them tasks appropriate to their divisions and ranks, but some have to just grin and bear it, holding the tools--as it were--of the people they’re supporting.

I have the sciences people working with ours to find the best way to improve our sensors and discrimination algorithms for detecting powerless lifeboats while we are at higher warp speeds.

I have the communications staff working with ours to try and break the codes we’d found the Klingons using on Alora II.

I confer with Lieutenant Commander Shesra on switching around crewmembers whose abilities are better suited to different tasks, as well as monitoring the dozen or so who have been diagnosed as suffering from clinical depression and survivor’s guilt, not to mention many who were suffering post-traumatic stress syndrome.

Puzzling over what I could get the support services personnel to do beyond doubling up the engineering watches, I suddenly remembered that we actually had tons of work for them to do. The captain and I had agreed to deep-six the suggestion that our off-shift personnel be assigned to minor but extensive maintenance work for the duration of this mission because of the stress levels of our current duties.

With all this extra staff basically begging for work to do I set out to change all that. I now have the ship’s services, ship operations, and engineering staff assigned to clearing the backlog of maintenance problems, time-in-place and end-of-life service checks, and general repair duties that are nominally within their own field of responsibility or expertise. The Kusanagi is an old ship, first commissioned in 2228, so minor things are always going wrong in one area or another. Systems dropping offline, fabricators going on the fritz, power sources running rough, console buttons sticking or too loose, chairs squeaking... the list goes on. Plus, the ship had been badly damaged herself almost a month ago, and new systems were talking to older systems with a bit of an accent.

There is nothing wrong that threatens the safety of the ship as those problems are instantly dealt with whenever they arise. This is just a long list of quite minor, but sometimes intensely aggravating, problems that we haven’t been able to find the time to sort out.

By the time this mission is over, I want everything running smoothly and even the dent in my cabin wall fixed and painted. I’m also going to make damn sure that the crew of the Torjal know that we all appreciate it.

*****

It takes us three days at warp five to get to the site of a rather one-sided battle between two D6 heavy cruisers and a lone, Twenties-vintage Mann-class cruiser, the USS Danai. During this time, Starfleet confirmed that they’d sent a transport ship to follow in our footsteps to Alora and to salvage all small equipment in the area. We supplied them with co-ordinates so that they could pick up all the lifeboats encountered so far as well.

We slow to warp three to begin our search pattern, spiralling outwards from the last known co-ordinates of the Danai and overlapping our sensor coverage by 10%.

It should be explained that we are now searching for ships officially listed as "missing", having already investigated three sites where Starfleet Command had been informed of survivors at time of last contact. Now that the most likely sites for survivors have been searched, we’ve moved on to the last reported positions of ships that Starfleet hasn’t heard from since their first report of enemy contact, or that hadn’t reported in at all.

The Danai had managed to send an initial contact report before being jammed--we assume--but she had been taken by surprise. Had they detected the Klingon ships, I’m quite sure that Commander Zorash of Izar wouldn’t have been suicidal enough to engage them alone.

Since we are searching for an entire ship--we hope--we are able to proceed much more quickly than normal, especially with the initial improvements made to our sensors which are now adapted to our specific needs of searching for powerless hulks.

Even so it takes us three hours, and we almost miss it.

*****

"Captain, sensors are picking something up," Enax reports.

McCafferty swings her chair round to face his station. "Can you identify the contact?" she asks.

"I’ll need some more time, but it’s on a bearing of 282 mark 300. Scanner readings are indeterminate, but we’ve detected something different from the usual readings of empty space," the Edoan replies.

"Alter course to that bearing, Mr. Maknal," the captain orders. "It’s the only thing we’ve found so far, we might as well investigate it."

"Aye-aye sir. Coming to new course, bearing 282 mark 300."

After a few minutes, our science officer updates us. "Readings are clearing now, Captain. We have apparently detected the boundary of an expanding gas cloud. The farther sensors penetrate the cloud the more dense the readings get."

"Cloud composition, Mr. Enax?" I ask.

"Analysing now, sir," he answers. "It seems to be... air, sir."

"Air?"

"Yes sir. Standard oxygen/nitrogen mix, with trace gasses and water in ice-crystal form."

"We know what that means then," I say quietly to the captain.

"Yes," she agrees grimly. "That a ship exploded at the centre of this cloud. Damn."

"Any further data, Mr. Enax?"

"The exact ratio of components seems to favour Tellarite physiology. There is a high percentage of evenly distributed ice crystals, indicating high humidity levels in this atmosphere. Also, that at standard atmospheric pressure the volume of air is approximately the same as that of a Mann-class cruiser."

"Thank you, Mr. Enax," the captain acknowledges. "Focus sensors on that cloud and guide us in to where the particle density is thickest. Co-ordinate with Helm."

"Aye, Captain."

"Mr. Maknal, slow to warp one."

"Warp one, aye sir."

After a few more minutes, Enax calls out again. "Now detecting very small pieces of metallic debris, Captain. No piece is larger than half-a-meter in any dimension."

"Acknowledged. Slow to one-quarter impulse, Mr. Maknal."

"Aye sir."

"Mr. Enax, how close are we to the centre of the atmosphere cloud?"

"Sensors indicate it is... 500,000 kilometres directly ahead."

"Can you analyse the debris to determine its origin?" I ask.

"Yes sir, but we’d have to beam it aboard and analyse it in the labs."

"Very well then," the captain decides, "please do so. I want a definite answer in thirty minutes."

"Yes sir. We’ll have it for you by then."

"Good. Keep scanning, Mr. Enax, I want to know if there is anything else out there that could help us. Can you determine how long ago this happened by tracking the expansion of the cloud?" McCafferty inquires.

Enax, who had been ready to secure his station and head below, looks over in surprise. "Ah, yes sir. I can have someone relieve me to carry on the scan--"

"I’m sure your department can handle a simple analysis, Science Officer," she states pointedly. "I want you on the bridge."

"Ah, yes sir," Enax replies in a neutral tone then busies himself with his orders, but it’s clear he feels he’s missing out.

The problem with being a junior officer is that--in my experience, anyway--you feel you have to attend every task and carry out every order personally. Enax still doesn’t have the knack for delegating duties yet, but as Department Head of Sciences the Edoan has nearly twenty staff to do his legwork for him, and he has to learn to use them.

The bridge becomes quiet once again as we await further reports from our scientists. Unfortunately, nothing more is found but Enax is able to determine that this ship exploded approximately twenty days ago--the first day if the war.

Twenty minutes after that, the labs report back that these are indeed pieces of the hull of a Federation starship constructed in the Twenties. We have no information in our databanks regarding the exact composition of the Danai’s hull, so this is, unfortunately, as solid an answer as we can expect.

Unwilling to give up quite yet, I ask Enax, "Any nearby systems that escape pods may have travelled to or are still heading towards?"

"No sir," he replies crisply. "The nearest system is the one we just came from, Alora, at just over a light-year away. At full impulse it would take them four years, one month to get there."

"Mr. Salok," the captain announces, "plot a course to where any possible escape pods would have reached, at full impulse for twenty days and heading for the Alora system."

"Aye Captain," the Vulcan replies. After a few moments he adds, "Plotted and transferred to Helm, sir."

"Mr. Maknal, ETA at warp three?"

"Four hours, twenty-six minutes, Captain."

"Good. Engage at warp three then, Mr. Maknal."

"Aye sir. Warp speed."

The star-bow effect decorates the main viewscreen as we flash into warp. McCafferty turns to me and says, "You have the conn, Mr. Brown. I’m going for some lunch and then to unwind. Inform me at once if we find any pods, occupied or not. Understood?"

Her prickly tone irritates me, but I merely nod and acknowledge her orders. "Aye-aye, Captain."

She gets up and as she strides to the turbolift I settle into her vacated chair. I try to ignore the warmth that greets me, reminding me of her presence even as the doors close on Lieutenant Commander Karen McCafferty.

*****

Four and a half hours later and we still haven’t picked up any lifeboats. I have Lathena page the captain, who hasn’t returned to the bridge.

"Captain here. Report," she orders.

"Sir, no lifeboats, debris, or rescue beacons located within one-tenth light-year. It doesn’t look like anybody made it off the Danai, Captain."

Over the intercom McCafferty sighs, sounding very human. "I feared as much. Very well. Set course for the next search area and engage at warp five. Give me an ETA when we’re on our way. Captain, out."

"Aye sir. Bridge out." Addressing our navigator, I order, "Mr. Salok, plot a course to the last reported position of the USS Crosis. Urrih, engage on that course at warp five and calculate an ETA for the captain."

"Acknowledged."

"Aye sir." After a few moments, Urrih adds, "Warp speed, sir. Steady at warp five and estimating nine days, seventeen hours, and thirty-five minutes to arrival."

"Thank you, Mr. Maknal. Lathena, inform the captain of our ETA as requested."

"Aye sir," Lathena replies. I pause for a moment to watch her work. I often think that communications officers are one of the most ignored aspects of life aboard ship, despite how much we all rely on them. I listen to her whisper-soft voice murmuring down the intercom as she flicks her long, slightly wavy white hair away from her celery-green eyes. I can’t help but think that even though she does look good in red, her powder-blue skin would look better in the blue of sciences.

Or even better, something white and silky--

My eyebrows shoot up and I immediately swing the command chair back round to face forwards, feeling my cheeks warm slightly.

Now where the hell did that come from? I ask myself. All I get in reply is the impression of a knowing smirk in the back of my head, which makes me blush deeper. I try to banish the thought, but without much success.

She’s only a grade below you in rank, the voice in my head volunteers. She’s what... three years younger than you? You can see that she’s not exactly cracking any mirrors, and it’s not like you’re going to get the captain in the sack any time soon! it goads me.

Shut up! I tell it.

C’mon, you know you want to, it teases me.

Fine! Yes, we’d make a lovely couple. Yes, she’s very beautiful. And yes, damnit, now that you mention it, I do want her! I silently argue with myself. But Shex is interested in her from what I’ve noticed, and I’m not going to try to steal his girlfriend!

Who says he’d mind? Andorian marriages require four people, or so we’re told, my very own personal demon taunts me. I know you’re not scientifically minded, but go on! Experiment!

Shut up! You know I’m not built that way! I demand of the voice.

"You"? You do realise, don’t you, that this is all in your own head and that you’re arguing with yourself? it taunts me further. Not only that, but if I’m thinking about experimenting, then obviously you’re thinking about it too!

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and try to focus on my initial train of thought to silence "myself". To my relief, I find it working this time and the voice fades.

Yes, communications. Even now, newer ships like the Constitution-class starships and the Jugurtha I used to serve on don’t need to route every intercom call through comm. officer to talk to one another, the computer can automatically route the call ship-wide or direct to the other person. I can see a point in the near future where several bridge stations--or rather, responsibilities--can be combined with the advent of better-still computers.

However, for the moment, the communications department still holds sway over all the comm. systems, cryptography, maintenance and updating of the ship’s computer systems, and likewise for the ship’s logs. When you think about it, it’s a lot to handle for a small department.

Hey, why not just ask Shex if he’s dating her, or if they’re just friends?

I screw my eyes tight shut again. Once this shift is over, I’m going for a cold shower.

*****

[Commander Maxillius]

Very nice!  Enjoying it so far, especially where the Captain got an equal dressing down from the Commodore at Starbase 22 (or was it 21?)  Anyway, I'm under the impression that the CO and XO are ex-lovers.  The signs are all there, right down to nitpicking each other's every detail.

If you're trying to keep the Springer Factor going, having the XO banging the hot Andorian comm officer would do that   With a ship's complement of 200 or so it wouldn't take any time at all for word to reach the captain's ears and THAT is the icing I'd love to see you implement.  If that's the direction you're going.

From a character standpoint, I'm not sure if it would be Andrew's best idea to go after his friend's girl while the Captain still has it out for him.  I would think he'd want to make things simpler, but apparently the red guy on his shoulder has other plans

Somehow I think you have Jerry Springer doing a cameo on the Kusanagi in your mind

[CaptJosh]

I don't think they're ex-lovers but rather both would like to be lovers and neither will admit it to eachother.

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Six, Pt II

First Officer’s Log, Stardate 3336.6

Starbase 22 reports that the transport ship Sulaco has picked up the Klingons and is now taking aboard the various collections of lifeboats we’ve discovered so far.

The Kusanagi is within an hour of arriving at the last reported position of the USS Crosis, an older Baton Rouge-class cruiser. In this battle, the Crosis engaged a D6-class heavy cruiser and managed to hold her own until caught out by superior Klingon manoeuvrability. The ship had her warp capability destroyed at last report and Starfleet has heard nothing since. Hope remains high that there is a ship to find this time and survivors still alive aboard her because it was a single ship engagement.

Our ship’s condition continues to improve, and with it the morale of both our crew and the Torjal survivors. Only four of the original twelve clinically depressed Torjal crewmembers are still on the watchers lists, the other eight making slow but steady recoveries and been added to the ship’s duty roster. Half of the major machinery and circuits have already been overhauled and their problems corrected, so I’ve switched them to tracking down and eliminating the most frustrating and elusive glitches in our ship’s systems and ‘upholstery’, as it were. This is so that once completed they can go back and finish on the big fixes with more satisfying results.


First Officer’s Personal Log, Stardate 3346.6

My relationship with the captain is at its highest point since our blow up occurred. In public settings she is now civil, if somewhat brusque and cold, and scenes like what happened on the bridge nearly two weeks ago are apparently a thing of the past.

However, in private settings--like briefing sessions with only the two of us present--McCafferty still seems to find cold amusement in finding and assigning the worst possible motives for my actions and laying them out on me. These sudden and slanderous attacks are, unfortunately, very common as we have one-on-one meetings almost every day, so I’d better remind her again that she isn’t even allowed that outlet for her ire.

Let her go to the gym, like I used to have to all the time.

*****

"Approaching mission waypoint, Captain."

"Slow to warp one, Mr. Maknal," she orders. "Mr. Enax, what do you have for me?"

"Nothing yet, Captain. No sensor traces of any kind."

A sigh. "Very well. Mr. Salok, set up your search grid and lay in a course. Mr. Maknal, engage on that course at warp one."

"Acknowledged, Captain."

"Aye sir."

All we can do now--yet again--is wait, I comment silently as I walk over to the navigation databanks on the periphery of the bridge and sit down at the console.

Over the next few hours I watch our progress through this region of space as our course is charted and the findings of our sensors are displayed, until:

"Captain! Sensor contact!"

Urrih’s call easily carries over all the bridge noise, and both the captain and I turn to our science officer for the details.

"Confirmed, sir. Reading another gas cloud, but it’s smaller this time." After working his controls for a few moments the Edoan reports, "At standard atmospheric pressure it would indicate a ship of our size."

"That doesn’t make any sense," I object from the station next to him. "We know that the only ships in this area were both bigger than us."

"Mr. Enax, could it be a partial leak? One that was sealed off in time to be replenished?" the captain asks.

"Yes sir, it is possible. However I don’t think that is the case as the cloud seems to be spherical, indicating simultaneous release in all directions."

"You mean like in an explosion?" I ask.

"Yes sir," he replies. "If it were a hull breach later sealed, the sphere of expanding gases would oblate along the axis of the expelled atmosphere."

"Ah," I comment. The things you can learn from scientists...

"Change course, Mr. Maknal. Head towards this cloud," McCafferty orders.

"Aye sir. Coming to new course bearing 063 mark 34. ETA is seven minutes to cloud boundary."

"Very good, Mr. Maknal. Slow to relative rest when we arrive."

"Aye sir."

"So, Mr. Enax, we apparently have a smaller ship that exploded here. Any other suggestions for what it might be?" the captain asks.

Enax thinks for a few minutes before suddenly looking up in excitement. "It could be part of a ship, sir!"

"Of course!" I exclaim. "The Baton Rouge class has a secondary hull. Maybe they had to do an emergency separation and one hull was destroyed?"

McCafferty looks annoyed, probably because she was about to venture that suggestion herself. That thought is confirmed with her next words.

"Just what I was thinking, Lieutenant."

Heh. Yes, childish, I know. It’s hard to break old habits that are so firmly entrenched.

Enax turns back to his instruments as we drop from warp. "Sensors are now reading small pieces of metallic debris, similar to those we encountered looking for the Danai. The mass of the debris is inconsistent with the total mass of either a D6 or the Crosis, sir."

"Have some beamed aboard for analysis."

"Aye sir."

We wait for him to instruct the transporter rooms and science labs, then the captain asks, "Assuming our theory is right, do you have any readings that could point to the whereabouts of the other section of the ship?"

"All ion propulsion trails have decayed or been swept away by the solar winds, sir. There is no local terrain or phenomena to hide in either. All I can do is suggest initiating another grid search from this point, Captain."

"I see," she says, thinking about it.

"Sir, the last communication from the Crosis told us she’d lost warp capability. I’m betting it was the stardrive section that was destroyed here, but either way the surviving section cannot be far from here with only impulse power."

"Agreed, Mr. Brown, but what if the Klingons captured it, or even just took it under tow? It could be back in the Klingon Empire or have been discarded at some random point within Federation space."

"I don’t think so sir," I counter. "A single Klingon cruiser, and one that took moderate damage at that, would not have wasted the time or resources in capturing half a ship that didn’t even have warp power. They’d have destroyed it or ignored it and proceeded further into our space looking for more targets."

McCafferty mulls that over for some seconds before backhandedly agreeing. "I concur with your conclusion but I find your reasoning flawed, Mr. Brown. It would surely benefit the Klingons to capture the saucer section to gain the data from her computers. That way, the Klingons could have known where further targets of opportunity could be found, rather than searching aimlessly. However, as I said, I agree that Klingons wouldn’t have wasted more time on a defeated enemy than need be, so we’ll proceed on that assumption. If it turns out that this actually is a smaller, unknown ship, we’ll resume our previous search pattern."

I swallow a growl as she returns to her command chair and merely reply, "Very good, sir."

"Ensign Salok, plot another grid search pattern from this point, and try to start in the most probable direction the saucer might have taken.

Salok turns around at that. "Captain, without knowing any of the variables, such a direction would require time spent on detailed analysis--"

McCafferty cuts him off. "Ensign, just assume that they were still under Klingon attack and were trying to evade and head back to the nearest friendly base or planet, okay?"

"Very well, sir," the Vulcan replies in a flat tone. "Calculating now."

Under her breath I hear the captain mutter, "Vulcans! Always wanting the exact details before doing any work..."

I heard it so I have no doubt that Salok heard it too. I flash a quick look in his direction, but as expected he gives no reaction.

If she’s taking her frustrations out on the crew now it’ll bring them even further over to my side, especially if I let her know I’m not going to stand for it, I observe gleefully. She’s slitting her own throat if she keeps that up.

"Course plotted and laid in, Captain," our navigator informs us in his usual tone. If he’s feeling insulted or angry, he’s not giving any sign that I can pick up. Mind you, he is a Vulcan.

It’s kinda silly on my part but even now, after four years of the Academy and seven years of active duty, I still expect to catch a Vulcan emoting. Whether it be smiling, rolling their eyes, or muttering angrily under their breath at the actions of those around them, I’m always thinking I’ll catch them out of the corner of my eye. I really should know better.

"Thank you, Ensign. Mr. Maknal, engage at warp two."

"Aye-aye, sir. Warp speed," Urrih answers, and he eases the ship up to eight times light-speed.

The captain settles back in her chair and regards the main viewscreen for almost a minute before directing a question at me. "Well, Mr. Brown, how long do you think it will take to find our suspect this time?"

"I--"

"Sensor contact!" Urrih calls out. "Range is four light-hours, ten light-minutes, bearing 324 mark 10."

My eyes widen in surprise, and McCafferty swings to Enax again. "Science Officer?"

Enax is already working his controls. "Sensor profile matches that of a Baton Rouge saucer section, Captain. I’m reading massive hull ruptures and most of the superstructure is at absolute zero, but..."

The Edoan plays with his scanner some more before continuing. "Also reading heated sections and a power source!"

"Maknal, alter course to intercept and give me an ETA at present speed. Lathena, try hailing them."

"Intercept course, aye Captain," Urrih replies with alacrity. "ETA at warp two is... 31 minutes 15 seconds."

"Increase speed to warp five," she snaps out. "Put the saucer on the main viewer."

"Aye... revised ETA is two minutes."

"Very good. Mr. Enax, any more details? Do you have life-form readings?"

"Yes sir!" the Edoan reports triumphantly. "Sensors now reading twenty-nine life-forms, but their life-sign readings are weak. Internal heat is currently seven degrees Celsius."

"Lathena, get me Doctor Nebukov," McCafferty snaps out, "and transfer her to my station."

"Aye sir." A few moments’ pause. "I have the doctor, Captain. Transferring now."

"CMO here, Captain," the gravelly voice of Tatiana Nebukov filters through.

"Medical Alert, Doctor. We’re about to have 29 new patients for you, all possibly suffering malnutrition and hypothermia. What resources do you need to treat them?" the captain asks.

It is a bit of a problem. The Medical Department only has nine staff and a grand total of ten beds, including the operating and gynaecology tables, the ICU and convalescent wards. And I somehow don’t think anyone will want treatment in the dentist’s chair, I smile internally, happy again now that we’ve found more survivors.

There is a moment’s silence on the intercom while the Russian doctor considers the problem, then she says, "We’ll have to go over and assess them individually, but the worst cases will obviously stay in Sickbay. The rest should be assigned to nearby quarters, preferably shared staterooms. We’ll need extra personnel assigned to carry antigrav stretchers, and have them on standby in the transporter rooms in the likelihood that some of these survivors are incapacitated."

"Very well, Doctor, stand by." Turning to me, McCafferty orders, "Mr. Brown, see to the arrangement of quarters for these people. Like the doctor suggested, the crew quarters next to Sickbay would be best."

"Aye-aye, Captain," I acknowledge and return to the navigation databanks to bring up the information I need.

"Lathena, any luck raising the Crosis?" she asks next.

"No, sir. I don’t think they’re receiving us," the Andorian replies.

"Approaching the saucer section, Captain," Urrih reports.

"Drop to sublight at ten thousand kilometres and approach at quarter impulse. Slow to relative rest at 500 kilometres from the saucer."

"Aye Captain. Dropping from warp... now."

"Mr. Enax, any more details?"

"We’re close enough to tell that the life-forms are concentrated where the medical section is on a Baton Rouge, and that the crew is stationary, Captain. I’m reading twelve Tellarites, seven Vulcans, six Andorians and four Humans. They are still alive, but they’re not moving."

I take a moment from my duties to look at the image on the main viewer. What was previously and indistinct white blob has resolved itself into a disk roughly the same size as our own ship, but with a far deeper ventral bulge. We’re approaching the remains of the ship from above her port side aft, and we can see one impulse engine glowing feebly. Our image-enhancing routines show us deep gashes in the upper hull surface, including a blackened sore where the bridge used to be and a burned out husk where the port impulse engine was.

"Answering all stop, Captain," Urrih states. "Holding relative rest at 500 kilometres."

"Thank you, Mr. Maknal. Lathena, any response?"

"No Captain, not even on the hand-held communicator frequencies."

Good girl, Lathena! I mentally praise the young Andorian. Trying the communicator frequencies without direct orders shows initiative.

"Very good. Call Lieutenant Shex and tell him to meet me in the transporter room with one of his guards. Tell Doctor Nebukov to assemble there also with Dr. Chinn and a nurse. Inform the Chief in Transporter Room One to outfit these personnel as a Medical Boarding Party."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

I rise from my chair at that and address McCafferty. "Captain--"

She holds up a hand to silence me, then speaks. "I know what you’re going to say, Lieutenant, but there is no danger to me here. If any arises, I’m sure Mr. Shex can take care of it."

I nod my acceptance. "Very well, sir." As she turns to leave, I offer, "Good luck, Captain."

I’m just hoping she brings all the survivors home alive, but she pauses just before entering the turbolift. Giving me a slightly puzzled look, she apparently decides to take it in the spirit it was given.

"Thank you. You have the conn, Mr. Brown," she states, and disappears below decks.

"Aye sir."

A few minutes later and I’ve completed my task at the navigation databanks. To accommodate the crew from the Torjal we’ve had to begin ‘hot bunking’ amongst our own crew. Lieutenant Commander Shesra has been sleeping in my bed during Beta shift, demonstrating to the crew that I’m not asking them to do something I’m not willing to do myself. So, the eight junior officers and 54 crewmembers are doing the same with the lower ranks on board. Currently, eight junior officers quarters and 27 enlisted quarters are hosting two sets of occupants. So far its caused barely a ripple in the ship’s routine, although off-duty areas are a little fuller than before. Until we find out how many officers yet survive on the Crosis--and after all have been given a clean bill of health by Medical--all twenty-nine survivors will now have the fourteen double staterooms closest to Sickbay all to themselves. Once the Crosis’ crew is all healthy, I’ll assign them other quarters that they’ll share with more Alpha shift personnel so that the rooms closest to Sickbay remain available to more incoming wounded or sick.

So, I’ve just informed another thirty of our own enlisted crew to pack their essentials and start sleeping in someone else’s beds. I’m sure they’re thrilled.

My tasks complete, I move over to the command chair and await further updates from the boarding party. They’ve already signalled their safe arrival in the Crosis’ Transporter Room One and their intent to move directly to Sickbay.

"Mr. Enax, plot the position of the boarding party and the survivors on the Crosis and keep a close eye on their life-signs," I order. "I want to know the instant something happens."

"Aye sir," he replies, and brings up a schematic of Deck Six on the crippled saucer section on one of his auxiliary screens. The six blips of our landing party are already entering the Medical section.

One of the blips breaks and runs towards the weak life-signs in the ICU, quickly followed by the others, so I’m expecting a call at any second. Nearly a full minute passes before I get it, though.

"McCafferty to Kusanagi," the speakers crackle.

Lathena opens the channel and gestures to me. "First Officer here, Captain. What do you need?" I ask.

"Man both transporter rooms and Evacuation Transporter One. We need to get some heat into these people now!" she barks. "Beam them and our Medical team over right away. The Security staff and I will be attempting to access their computers. If we can’t do it, I’ll want Mr. Enax and a couple of his technicians over here, so alert them to be ready for my order. Captain, out."

"Lieutenant, have Chief Talbain report to Evac Transporter One along with the rest of the Medical staff," I order. I want our best transporter chief handling the mass beam-out and even though Abukar Talbain isn’t the senior chief, he is the most experienced. "Have Chief Anderson replace him in Transporter Room Two."

"Yes, Lieutenant Brown," she replies, and sets to her task.

I straighten up and walk back to the command chair. We got them! I silently exult with a smile.

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Seven

Two hours later, everything is taken care of and the senior officers are in the briefing room for final updates.

"...and so the seven patients suffering from hypothermic shock are in Sickbay under close observation. The other twenty-two are safely tucked away in their beds on Deck 5 and recovering nicely. I expect the worst of them to be on their feet within four days," Tatiana is telling us. "They are all sleeping naturally and the first of them should be awake and ready to answer questions in a few hours."

"Excellent news, Doctor," McCafferty replies. "You and your staff are to be commended on their actions today."

The normally dour-faced doctor almost beams at this praise, but as usual it is somewhat misplaced in the somber atmosphere of the briefing room.

"Security report," the captain instructs next.

Lieutenant Shex nods solemnly. "We have completed our sweep of the saucer and brought home a total of 77 bodies. They have been stored with their comrades in the cargo bay."

Everyone seems grim after that pronouncement, as it brings home yet again the fact that we’ve ‘rescued’ far more dead bodies than living survivors. Not only that, but the prospects for more survivors were poorer and poorer the longer we took at this mission.

Collecting our fallen comrades still leaves almost half the crew of the Crosis unaccounted for, I note grimly, and even then we’re going to be a morgue ship by the time we reach Starbase 22.

"Thank you, Mr. Shex," the captain says quietly. "Tell your staff that they all have my personal thanks."

"Aye, Captain," the Andorian replies respectfully.

"Science report," she says next.

"I’m sorry Captain, but we’ve had no success in finding out what happened to the Crosis from her computers. We managed to gain access, but there was nothing there." Enax steeples the fingers of two of his hands while he rubs his bony chin with the third. "I can only assume that the crew wiped their own computer banks to prevent the data falling into Klingon hands. We’ll know more when we can question the Crosis survivors."

"Understood. Very well, thank you ladies and gentlemen. We’ll now proceed to the next mission waypoint and continue our search. Doctor, the moment any of the officers wakes up, let me know. Lieutenant Lathena, compile the ship’s logs for the entirety of our search for the Crosis and transmit them, our findings, and current position to Starbase 22."

"Understood, Captain," the doctor replies.

"Aye sir," Lathena acknowledges.

"That’s all people. Dismissed."

*****

First Officer’s Log, Stardate 3338.1

We are on our way to our next waypoint, although our ETA is another seven days at present speed. The mission proceeds well from an ‘objectives accomplished’ point of view, but the grim nature of it continues to impact on crew morale. My meeting with the department heads informed me that, while crew efficiency is not down appreciably, the atmosphere in the Rec. Room, for example, is almost too cheerful. Doctor Inidria seems to think that the crew is depressed to varying degrees but are putting on a brave face and trying to remain happy for the people we have rescued. Basically, they’re overcompensating and creating a brittle facade of cheerfulness that crumbles all to easily when struck with the hammer of reality.

The crew of the Crosis continues to recover, although we are still awaiting the return to consciousness of any of the crew. Of special interest is the senior officer of the contingent, a Vulcan Lieutenant T`Prada, who is in a very bad way. She has apparently entered a deep healing trance to allow her to survive the constant fridge-like temperature maintained aboard the wreck of the Crosis, their only remaining impulse reactor having been badly damaged in the attack. We have Ensign T`Pala from Sciences on standby to help revive her.

We have ascertained the identities of all crewmembers recovered from the Crosis through the Starfleet Personnel Database, and subsequently found that three officers are among them, two of whom are Ship Operations officers who can tell us what we want to know.

*****

The captain and I arrive in Sickbay at almost the same time, even though we’ve come from different areas of the ship. I follow her through to the ICU ward where Ensign Marn has regained consciousness. The Tellarite had been at the helm in auxiliary control during the Klingon attack and thus should have the answers we seek.

Marn is sitting up in bed and being fed some hot soup. The doctor had previously determined that the survivors had been existing solely on emergency rations collected from the still-habitable areas of the ship since there had been no power to the food slots, and prescribed solid, proper meals for them as soon as they awake.

The ensign immediately looks over at us as we enter, his highly developed olfactory senses detecting us long before his poor eyesight allowed him to see us. Since he is completely unfamiliar with any of the Kusanagi’s crew, he won’t be able to tell who we are until we either get really close, or identify ourselves. We opt for the latter.

"Ensign Marn, I’m Lieutenant Commander McCafferty, captain of this ship, and this is my first officer, Lieutenant Brown," the captain introduces us.

The Tellarite makes an abortive attempt to sit at attention before gruffly stating, "Sir! Ensign Marn, Beta shift helm officer, USS Crosis. Thank you for rescuing us, Captain."

"You’re welcome, Ensign," she replies. "You’re the reason we’re out here."

Marn blinks. "Your mission was to find me, sir?" the Tellarite asks in surprise.

McCafferty looks momentarily amused, then says, "No, Ensign, not exactly. Our mission is to locate and rescue survivors from the war. We didn’t just happen on your ship by random chance, we were out looking for it."

"Understood, sir," he nods, then blurts out, "So, we won the war?"

"Not exactly, Ensign..." McCafferty starts, then launches into the explanation of the end of the war that each of us has given at least ten times. At its conclusion, Marn is staring at her in a way that, on a human, would have been incredibly belligerent and rude, and been inviting a lesson in manners from the recipient. However, on a myopic Tellarite such a look came under the heading of ‘disbelieving’.

He switches his gaze to me and I offer, "This information is available in our databanks, Ensign. You can look it up on your library reader once we’re done here and read for yourself what happened."

"Aye sir," he says doubtfully, probably deciding that saying anything more forceful about his disbelief would land him in trouble.

"We’re glad to see you awake and well, Mr. Marn," I tell him as I discreetly switch on the recording function at the biobed’s library reader. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, sir," he replies shortly.

The silence stretches for a second too long and the thought occurs, Okay, so you forgot--again--that Tellarites aren’t much for small talk.

McCafferty ignores my comment and launches straight into her inquiries. "Ensign Marn, we’ve been aboard your ship and brought home all your shipmates, both living and dead, but we need your help. We tried to access the ship’s computer but found that the memory banks have been completely erased. Can you tell us what happened to your ship after she lost warp capability?"

The Tellarite hesitates and his eyes lose focus as he recalls the events leading to the demise of his ship. We wait patiently for the young officer to begin his story.

"Yes sir," he starts, his growling voice at odds with his off-planet taught English. "The Klingon ship--we identified it as the IKV Soy’Tu’pech--had managed to get behind us and pour a full alpha-strike into our weakest shield. It easily brought the shield down and ripped into our starboard nacelle, completely wrecking it. We started to loose antimatter containment there but couldn’t jettison the nacelle. Captain Ganesh ordered the evacuation of the engineering hull and an emergency saucer separation, all the while still trying to hold off the Klingons.

"The separation was successful and we managed to lure the Klingons in so that the explosion of the warp reactor would damage them, but we also got hit in timing it so close. The D6 took moderate damage, a couple of phasers offline and warp power reduced, but they were still almost fully combat capable. We didn’t get them in close enough.

"They then came after us with a vengeance. We... ran, straight for the nearest system, firing back as much as we could while they chewed holes in our ship." Marn pauses there, the emotion so thick in his voice that even I could hear it despite his growing speech. "The bridge was destroyed after the Klingons basically cut open the upper surface of the saucer. They seemed to be deliberately punching holes in inhabited sections, and with all the secondary hull staff packed into the saucer..."

Marn breaks off, the emotion of the memory too much for him.

"I’ve been reading the reports of battles in this sector, Ensign," I tell the young officer. "The Soy’Tu’pech was intercepted by the destroyers Jenghiz and Saladin on the second day, as it attempted to attack the Davlos system. Our ships blew it apart before it could do any damage there. There were no survivors."

"Good," is all he says. I didn’t offer it as condolences or a consolation prize, just to give him some closure.

"Please, continue," the captain orders gently.

"Yes, sir. After the bridge was destroyed, Second Officer T`Prada took command of the ship. She had us make it look like our impulse engines had blown from running too hard. Killed all power--including life support--and had us tumble the ship. She said it was the most logical thing to do, make the Klingons believe we were dead anyway. Said offering our surrender was illogical, based on the pattern of the Klingon attack which was aiming for the crew rather than our weapons or propulsion. They were just playing with us for their own amusement, she said.

"It worked. The Klingons left to find more targets, but not before putting some disruptor bolts into our impulse engines for good measure." Marn looks back up at us. "Those that remain owe our lives to Lieutenant T`Prada, Captain. She single-handedly coaxed the damaged engine back to life, just as our battery power gave out. Even then, with all our help, she couldn’t get it to produce more than 10% power. We searched the rest of the ship for survival gear and the warmest clothing we could find and made camp in Sickbay. After we’d collected every piece of useful equipment and supplies, we sealed ourselves in the medical section and tried to keep warm and stay active without using up too much air. The Vulcans succumbed to the cold quite quickly and had to enter deep healing trances to stay alive, so I’ve been in command of the others for nineteen days now. If T`Prada hasn’t regained consciousness yet, I suppose I still am."

"And the ship’s memory banks?" McCafferty prodded.

"On her order, sir. We downloaded the impulse control routines and survival guides into our tricorders, then erased all data from the ship’s computers in case any more Klingons showed up. A supply ship could have captured us easily and had all that data to wreak havoc with. The lieutenant said it wasn’t logical to take the risk."

"It seems that Lieutenant T`Prada did a magnificent job in extremely bad circumstances," I put in. "She is to be commended."

"As are you all, Ensign, for surviving long enough to be rescued," McCafferty states with an angry look at me. "The doctor tells me that if we’d arrived even 36 hours later all of you may have died of hypothermia."

"I’m glad you showed up too, Captain," Marn gruffly thanks her. "I’m glad you were even looking at all. I thought we’d all die there, eventually."

"Starfleet looks after it’s own, Ensign," I say softly. "We wouldn’t have just left you for dead without making the attempt to be sure."

This is really starting to get to me. Bloody hell, every group of survivors we’ve come across over the past month has said the same damn thing. Why do they think they’d be left to die? Maybe it’s because they had to wait so long for rescue? Or is it because they thought we’d loose? My thoughts are interrupted as Doctor Nebukov walks into ICU.

"Okay, Captain, that’s enough for today," she states. "The ensign is still quite weak and needs his rest." She very pointedly ignores me.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her pettiness, which is made all the easier when I again remember my behaviour of the last few weeks.

"Very well, Doctor," the captain replies. To Marn she says, "Thank you Ensign, you’ve been very helpful. Now get some rest like the good doctor tells you and you should be back on your feet very soon."

"Yes sir," he replies as he settles back down into his bed.

"Come on, Mr. Brown. Let’s get back to the bridge."

"Aye Captain," I reply as I turn off the recorder, then accompany her out.

*****

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Seven, Pt II

First Officer’s Log, Stardate 3397.1

The next two battle sites we headed for played out exactly the same way as our search for the Danai. Days on end spend getting there, then many hours on a grid search pattern, cumulating in the discovery of a spherical gas cloud and lots of fine metallic debris.

All in all, another twelve days spent chasing ghosts. Literally.

It’s hard to tell what additional effect it’s had on the crew. I think it’s been easier than finding a wreck and bringing on board more dead bodies, but we’re not exactly bringing home our full evacuation capacity either. Maybe that’s why Starfleet sent the smaller frigates and destroyers out to look instead of the more valuable cruisers. They just knew, but had to make the attempt.

We are now on course for our final waypoint and our ETA is five days, nine hours. However long it takes us to find what we find, our mission--our sad duty--is almost over.

But it will be a long voyage back to Starbase 22.

*****

"All hands, this is the Captain," the speakers announce. "We have arrived at the last reported position of the USS Borok. Our search begins now, so Alpha shift stand ready to return to duty if and when we find them. All decks, Standby Alert. Captain out."

"Looks like we’re on for tonight, Shex," I comment to my companion.

The Andorian gazes levelly at me across the chessboard. "We have been, ah, ‘lucky’ so far with regards to the searches," he states in his off-planet taught, ‘proper’ English. "This search might take all night, into the Gamma shift."

"True, true," I concede, "but somehow I don’t think it will. I just have a feeling, that’s all."

"We shall see. It is your move, Andrew."

"Oh yeah. Sorry." I move my remaining bishop into a position protected by my queen and a rook, which places one of his knights in an untenable position.

We are about midway through our second game, our first one having been a ‘free’ teaching game with Shex instructing me on the finer points of offensive strategy. I seem to have picked up the defensive side of things quite well as I’ve proven I can hold off Shex pretty much indefinitely. My scream-and-leap offensives seem to have earned his respect, though he can usually force me into a misstep that then costs me the game.

What my main weak point seems to be is a balancing of offence and defence. I can’t quite grasp the concept of ‘strategic reserve’, or not committing all my forces to the attack, and this is what Shex is trying to teach me. Four weeks and, oh, sixty-odd games later and I’m making progress. Not exactly huge strides, but I’m getting there. Perseverance has its rewards.

This being our ‘for real’ game, Shex makes no comment on my move. He considers his options for just too long though, and I decide to test the waters on another matter.

"So, Shex, I saw you talking to Lathena a couple of nights ago, and it isn’t the first time either. Getting all romantic by the windows, bathed in starlight..."

I trail off uncertainly as the security officer snaps his eyes up from the board and frowns at me for several seconds, before slowly smiling. He leans forward.

"Andrew, are you... what do you humans say... ‘trying to psyche me out’? An attempt to distract my full attention from the game to cause me to make an error?" he asks slyly. "That’s not exactly good sportsmanship, you know."

"All’s fair in love and war, Shex," I reply, although that wasn’t my reason for saying it. "But no, I’m not playing dirty, I was wondering... ah, that is, I was curious..."

I trail off again, feeling slightly foolish. Shex raises an eyebrow in a manoeuvre mainly attributed to the Vulcans and merely waits, apparently enjoying my discomfiture.

"Okay, damnit!" I blurt with a grin. "Are you two going to become a couple?"

The Andorian blinks. "Are you asking me if we’ve mated yet?"

I feel a rush of blood to my face, wondering if he’s deliberately misunderstanding me. "No! No, I don’t mean sexual coupling, you literal blueberry!" I whisper fiercely, then continue in a more normal tone. "I was just wondering if you are considering asking her to be your mate, girlfriend, significant other, or whatever!"

Shex’s face splits open into a huge toothy grin, and I know he’s been playing with me. He also extricates his knight into another dangerous--but better protected--square that also dares me to break a defensive formation to capture it.

"Why Andrew, what’s the sudden interest in my, ah, ‘romantic life’ all about?" he asks playfully, then grins nastily. "Could it be that you’re feeling we should take our relationship to the next level?"

The look on my face must be something, as Shex starts laughing hard, leaning back in his chair and actually gripping his belly as his whole body shakes.

Struggling to push words out past his laughing, he gasps out, "Hoo hoo hoo... the look...on your face...! Hoo hoo hoo! You’re... so easily flustered... on this topic... My poor Human friend... hoo hoo hoo... so provincial!"

I throw myself back into my own chair and exhale explosively. "You’re hilarious, man. A real scream," I tell him. The Andorian is gradually subsiding, but I look around the Rec. Room to see a lot of smirks and grins directed at us. Well, at least he’s lightened the mood in here. That’s something. Even I feel a smile tugging the corners of my mouth up.

Still chuckling slightly, he chides, "Oh Andrew, don’t be such a grouch. Also, it is your turn again."

In both arenas, is my silent addendum to that. I decide to be bold and risk it. I break my defensive position and capture his knight, while asking, "So? Are you and Lathena getting together?"

"No Andrew, we are not. Lathena just needed my help on a personal matter a few weeks ago, and in helping her out we’ve become good friends. I am already married."

"Ah, when you said you had family on Sh’Tarr IV I thought you meant your parents and siblings," I say, pleased to have that cleared up.

"No, I meant my mate and cohabitants," he confirms, then demonstrating that his command of English idiom is more than up to the level of this conversation, he continues with his nasty grin evident again. "Which means I am already spoken for, so you’ll have to look elsewhere for your own mate-to-be!"

I’m expecting it this time, so I manage a quick retort. "I suppose it’s a good job too. I really have to start setting my standards higher."

"Nice try, Pink-skin," Shex grins. "You’re getting better at this."

"Oh, great, compliments from the boyfriend who jilted me. That’s not patronising at all, no sir," I say, deadpan, staring right into his purple eyes.

"Wha...?" Shex mumbles, and begins to look slightly uncomfortable. Searching my face for clues, he offers, "Now, come on, I was only joking..."

He stops as I lean in, expressionless. I point a finger at him and say one word.

"Gotcha."

Shex looks outraged, and this time I start laughing. "Looks like I’m better at this than you thought, hmm?"

Shex shakes his fist at me and accuses, "You--!"

"Your move, Blueberry," I grin at him.

*****

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Seven, Pt III

"Red Alert! Red Alert! All hands, man your battle stations! This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill. Red Alert!"

The whooping of the alert siren blasts me out of a good sleep, but I’m already throwing on my uniform as my mind cycles to full wakefulness. I steal a look at the chronometer on my desk just before heading out the door and to the bridge.

Two in the morning! Can’t we have a red alert at a decent hour? I silently gripe as I run down the corridor to the turboshaft. Ah well. At least I managed three hours’ sleep.

Practically the whole Alpha shift bridge crew is waiting there too, and we all pile into the turbolift together. No questions or speculations are exchanged, as we all know we’ll find out in seconds anyway. We all pile back out of the turbolift two decks up and race to our positions.

As the Gamma shift is relieved and sent down to the Emergency Bridge at the bottom of the saucer, I take in the viewscreen and status readouts on my way to the navigation databanks on the periphery of the bridge. Once there I bring up the logs and sensor data from the past hour.

They show that half way through a sweep the Kusanagi had detected a large power reading--as would come from a warp-powered ship--stationary in space, and moved in to investigate. As the range wound down the initial reading of a single cruiser-sized vessel was discovered to be actually two destroyer-sized vessels--one of which turned out to be an Orion ship. The other one seems to be a derelict, with no warp signature. It does, however, display low power readings and heated compartments, as if on minimal life-support.

I approach the captain, now informed of the immediate situation and ready for action, but before I can speak Lathena reports in.

"All decks acknowledge battle stations, Captain."

"Very good," McCafferty replies, staring intently at the viewscreen.

"Orions, Captain?" I ask. "Do we know what kind of ship it is yet?"

Instead of answering me, she barks at our science officer. "Well, Mr. Enax?"

"It’s a Slaver-class salvage freighter, Captain," the Edoan reports in a disgusted voice. "I’m still not detecting any raised shields, but there is transporter activity between the ships."

McCafferty’s eyes narrow in anger at this news and I exclaim, "A Slaver? The Orions will be stripping that ship to her bones, then cutting those bones up and taking them too!"

"Warp five, Mr. Maknal," the captain orders. "Lathena, hail the Orion ship and tell them to stand down and prepare for boarding and inspection."

The acknowledgements echo back and Enax calls out again. "Sir! We’re now close enough for sensors to pick up the other ship’s silhouette. Databanks show it’s an Federation Ambush-class destroyer!"

I snap an irritated look at Enax for giving an explanation before a report, but I’ll have to speak to him later about it. I mutter to the captain, "If they’ve been here for any length of time, there’ll only be the hull of the ship itself still there!"

McCafferty is angry. I can feel it radiate off of her in waves, and I am picking up that the bridge crew is absorbing it. To my surprise, I find myself taking it in as well, with the thought, Good. We’re going to make these scavengers pay for looting our fallen comrades.

Rationality and the Regs pop up again though. We don’t actually know what’s going on here. The Orions could have a reasonable explanation for being here and aboard our lost ship. Admittedly, rarely have the Orions been found to be lending a helping hand but there was always the chance, and that chance had to be given before aggressive action is initiated. We have to find out what’s actually happening here before we wade in with phasers blasting.

"Transporter activity has ceased. They’re powering their warp engines," Enax calls out.

"Maximum warp speed," the captain snaps out. "Revised ETA?"

"Twenty seconds," Maknal replies.

"Mr. Enax, sensor scan of the destroyer," I order with a pointed look at McCafferty. We’re here to rescue survivors first and foremost, Captain, I mentally chide her.

"Sir, readings aren’t clear yet, getting some interference..." Enax works his board, trying to clear the static. "Now confirming heated sections and an active fusion power source," he finally reports after endless seconds, then adds excitedly, "Sensors are picking up 72 life-forms on the destroyer! We’ll have to be within 10,000 kilometres to determine what races, though."

The unspoken question is clear: Are these 72 people survivors from the Borok’s crew of 100, or are they a scavenger/salvage crew put aboard by the Orion ship? It’s obvious what we are hoping, but it’s just as obvious what the captain is assuming.

Our comm. officer chips in. "Captain! The Orion ship is answering our hail and they’re demanding that we halt out attack run!"

"Put him on screen," McCafferty growls. "I want to speak to them myself."

Lathena nods, talks some more, then the viewscreen changes from a picture of the two ships in space to an image of the Orion bridge. The ship may be Orion-built, but the crew is most definitely not. A motley hodgepodge of various races man the vessel, as I can see a Caitian--or Mira`Kzinti, more likely--a couple of Andorians, some Human-looking crew, and even what looks like a Klingon-Human Fusion. Most notable, though, is the impressive mountain of a man sitting in the command chair, glowering at us.

McCafferty’s eyes narrow angrily as she takes in the arrogant expression on the Imperial Klingon’s face.

"I am Korol. Stand down your attack, Starfleet!"

"You’ll have to give me a very good reason, Klingon," she responds dangerously. "You are illegally salvaging Federation property and have been caught in the act."

" ’e is not illegally salvaging anything, Captain," a new voice states, sounding almost relieved, as a human in a Starfleet uniform steps into view on the Klingon’s bridge. "Is that a good enough reason to call off your impending assault?"

"Dropping to sublight now, Captain. Distance to targets is 10,000 km," Urrih reports sotto voce.

The attitude on the bridge is one of shock and surprise, as we had been roused from bed expecting a battle and we’re now switching back to ‘rescue’ mode. Not only that, but we had been racing in to avenge the dead crew of the Borok on the pillaging pirates invading their ship. Now we have living, breathing evidence that at least one member of her crew was not only alive, but apparently well rested and healthy. This implies that there are going to be more, and that the ‘pillaging pirates’ are, for some reason, the ‘good-guy rescuers’ that we are meant to be.

McCafferty seems to take it in her stride, though. "Bring us to relative rest at 5,000 kilometres, Mr. Maknal. Hold position there until we clear this up." To the man onscreen she directs her next words. "Identify yourself, please."

"I am Commander Pierre Drapeau, captain of the USS Borok," the dark-haired human responds, a wisp of a smile on his face.

"Captain Karen McCafferty of the frigate Kusanagi. We are here to rescue you, Commander," she states dryly. "Would you care to explain your situation here?"

Korol’s face twists in anger at being so cavalierly dismissed from consideration on his own bridge and breaks into the conversation to reassert himself. "This human and I have negotiated a contract for my ship to tow his to the nearest Federation shipyard for a worthy fee. We have no need of your presence here!"

A look of concern flickers across Commander Drapeau’s pale face, but he nods. "That is true, Captain," the Frenchmen confirms, "at least, insofar as the agreement we’ve made with Korol."

Message received loud and clear, Commander. The captain is obviously of the same mind, as she makes her own position perfectly clear.

"That was very generous of you, Korol. You have the thanks of Starfleet and the Federation for your altruistic motives. However, as you can see, your services are no longer needed here. We can take it from here and tow the Borok home ourselves. You are free to go about your business with no hindrance from us, and again, with our thanks."

Apparently, though, the high regard of the Federation and the thanks of Starfleet are not sufficient reward for a Klingon who has to make a living from his ship and a crew to pay.

"We have a deal!" he bellows. "A verbal contract with the Daven Cartel is binding, as well you know, Starfleet! We have a recording of it for just these exact situations, where the authorities we live outside disregard or blatantly violate our ways and means of doing business!"

"Korol, in Federation law a verbal contract is not binding, and well you know that," McCafferty reminds the ‘merchant’ captain with an edge to her voice. "Since we are in Federation space and I am an officer charged with upholding the laws of the Federation, you have no legitimate claim to whatever fee you would have earned. Had my ship not come across this situation, the Federation would have been thrilled to have our missing crew and ship returned to us, and gladly honoured any agreement made regarding payment for your services.

"However, your services are no longer needed, Korol," the captain hammers her message home. "Your verbal contract is no more binding than a ‘gentleman’s agreement’, and since you have not yet provided that service and that it is no longer necessary, you have no recourse."

As an additional incentive for Korol to consider, loud enough for the Klingon to hear I ask McCafferty, "Should we stand down from battle stations, Captain?"

I get a judicious nod from her, almost a ‘thank you’ in and of itself, as she states, "Well, that depends on our Klingon friend, Mr. Brown." Addressing the merchant captain, she asks, "What of it, Korol? Do we part terms amicably, or do you want really want to force this issue?"

Korol is now resembling a cooked lobster, sans pot, as it seems like his skull ridges are about to split apart and start whistling out steam. A small part of me actually feels some sympathy for him, after the way he’s been lectured to by our dear captain.

Smouldering yellow eyes glare furiously at us from under heavy, beetling brows and his jaw works back and forth as he considers his options. His ship is now rigged for towing and it will take precious time to reallocate the power for battle. Not only that but even if he were fully armed and ready to go, his ship is tactically inferior to ours. He could hurt us, yes, and badly if he’s a good captain, but we will triumph unless he is extremely lucky and a good captain doesn’t play solely for the breaks. Independent captain/owners and even cartel-sponsored shipmasters are loathe to enter battle with a warship when it is they who have to repair their ship out of their own pockets or through favours owed by cartel overlords.

His decision is obvious as he really has no choice, but it is a hard admission for him to make, I’m guessing. Independents are renowned for their pride and pirates are likewise known for their bluster and bravado. Whichever category Korol falls into, he finally forces out his answer.

"We will leave, Starfleet, but heed this well: Daven Cartel will remember this insult, that we offered to help the mighty Federation, and had our offer thrown back in our faces, after it was accepted!" the Klingon rages. "We could have just attacked and taken what we wished, but we did not. And this is how the Federation repays us? Broken agreements and armed threats?"

"Korol--" McCafferty tries, but is cut off by the incensed Klingon.

"I will hear no more from you, betrayer!" he roars, eyes aflame. "Take your spineless human from my bridge and be gone!" he growls, then leaves us with a chilling warning.

"If this is how the Federation repays our altruistic motives," he sneers, mocking McCafferty with his choice of words, "perhaps next time we won’t have any. We will remember you. Screen off!"

I notice that McCafferty is looking less than impressed with Korol’s threats, but don’t take the time to comment on it. Instead, I urgently order, "Enax, pinpoint Commander Drapeau’s location on Korol’s bridge and get a lock on his communicator or human life-signs. Forward them to the transporter room. Lathena, tell Transporter Room One to stand ready to beam him aboard, co-ordinates to come from Science."

"Aye sir. Locating..." Enax pauses, then reports. "Lieutenant, I’m detecting a beaming in progress, Orion ship to the Borok. There are no human life-signs on the Orion bridge, nor any Starfleet communicator aboard the ship. Korol dropped his shield facing the Borok while keeping up the one facing us."

"Lathena, try to raise the Borok ship-to-ship, and try the communicator frequencies too," McCafferty orders. "Get confirmation of Drapeau’s safe arrival. Try hailing Korol as well, to see if he did beam the commander back to his ship."

"Aye sir," the Andorian replies crisply, setting to her task.

"Korol’s ship is powering its warp engines again, moving away on impulse power," Enax reports.

"Borok confirms their captain is safely back on board and wants a meeting of our respective senior staffs, in person," Lathena reports back.

McCafferty sits back in her chair and relaxes slightly. "Mr. Maknal, let Korol go and hold position here. Mr. Brown, stand down from battle stations but maintain Yellow Alert until Korol’s ship leaves sensor range. Mr. Enax, track his course and record his ship’s data and signature in our database. Keep an eye on him and let us know instantly if it looks like he’s coming back," she instructs, with final words for our comm. officer. "Lieutenant Lathena, acknowledge Commander Drapeau’s request and inform him we’ll have a meeting in ten minutes aboard the Kusanagi."

I voice my acknowledgement of her orders along with the others and set to my task. I let the tense excitement of the last thirty minutes seep away, and allow myself a jubilant thought.

Seventy-three more!

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Heh... I've always liked this scene. Keep 'em coming Andy.

[Lieutenant_Q]

Seems to me like the Captain needs a fitrep update, she seems like she's starting to crack under the pressure.  Dismissing out of hand someone who offered to help?  Even if they are Orion...you just don't turn down a helping hand.

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Eight

"Welcome aboard the Kusanagi, Commander Drapeau," McCafferty says warmly, walking forward to meet him as he steps down from the transporter stage. The implication of "Welcome back to civilisation" is obvious but remains unspoken.

"Thank you, Captain," Drapeau replies with a slight French accent as he clasps McCafferty’s hand and shakes it limply. "It is good to be ‘ere," he adds, missing out his H’s as most French speakers are wont to do.

McCafferty turns to face her assembled senior staff, with me at the head of the line. "Commander, this is my first officer, Lieutenant Andrew Brown."

Drapeau nods a greeting to me, which I acknowledge with a respectful, "Commander."

McCafferty moves on down the line introducing in turn Urrih Maknal, Enax, Shex, Lathena, Doctor Nebukov, and Engineer Trey`gar to the visiting ship captain. He in turn introduces his own senior staff as they step down from the transporter pads.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my Chief of Ship Operations and Acting XO, Lieutenant Sophia Mancuso." Sophia is an atypical-looking Italian woman, blonde hair, blue eyes, and rather short at barely five feet. Her full, sensuous lips and sweet voice contrast rather sharply with her no-nonsense attitude.

"My Chief of Security, Lieutenant Commander N`Garr." The huge Caitian marine exudes an air of competence, his black and silver fur complementing his red uniform jumper. He’d get on well with Master Sergeant N`Rowl, and probably give him a run for his credits in hand-to-hand--or claw-to-claw?--combat, I note with brief internal smile.

"My Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Ronk." The short, round Tellarite glares around almost comically, as if daring any of us to make a comment. He reminds me of a yappy purse dog one of my friend’s mothers had when I was eight, snarling at anything bigger than itself to appear brave.

"My CMO, Lieutenant Jesh`ra." The slim, hairless Deltan man nods amiably. He has a friendly face and warm, expressive brown eyes.

"My Communications Officer, Ensign Samak, and my Science Officer, Ensign Zora Tuf`no." These two are like stone-faced bookends, both with black hair, sharp features, and severe expressions. Samak’s excuse is that he’s a Vulcan, but Zora--judging by her name and completely human-looking appearance--is probably Centauran. Maybe she’s just having a bad day.

Introductions over, we all troop towards the conference room one deck up. Once there and settled, Drapeau gets the ball rolling.

"Captain McCafferty, thank you for coming to our rescue. Commander Korol was most insistent that we accept his offer of ‘elp. I am quite sure ‘e would ‘ave ended up capturing my ship on the voyage to Starbase 22, once ‘e had convinced ‘imself we ‘ad began to trust ‘im."

"You are more than welcome, Commander," our captain answers, "but the Orions and independents all know that it is illegal to ‘salvage’ Fleet property. As long as you managed to get out a distress call, he’d be arrested immediately on sight afterwards."

"Yes, but if we’d been able to send a distress call at all, we wouldn’t ‘ave been in that situation in the first place," Drapeau counters.

McCafferty can only nod to that. "Quite true, Commander. Can you explain why Korol was offering assistance instead of just taking what he was after? Klingons or the Daven Cartel are not known for their helpful ways."

"Just so, Captain," he agrees. "We were in no condition to resist him successfully. It would ‘ave been a bloody and costly battle for ‘im, but if ‘e’d been willing to take those losses ‘e would ‘ave taken my ship."

"Ah, that must be it," Shex agrees, earning him an annoyed look from the Frenchman, probably for breaking into a ‘captains-only’ conversation. "The Klingon might have captured your ship, Commander Drapeau, but he would have had to replace easily a quarter if his crew, probably a lot more. That takes time, effort, resources, and favours from the Cartel Overlord."

Various heads nod around the table at that, and I notice Shex getting an almost grateful look from Security Chief N`Garr, but a further annoyed look from Drapeau. I think it’s a safe enough assumption that Pierre had already been informed of this, but decided to dismiss the possibility.

"It is quite likely," Shex continues, "that Korol is not in a position within his cartel to take those risks. Plus, a towing contract would have been honoured and he would have received a hefty sum for doing our job for us. The Federation would want to encourage and reward such actions, even if the motives behind them are not altruistic."

"So that’s why you agreed to a towing contract?" McCafferty asks.

"Not only that, Captain, but we were almost happy to see him," Lieutenant Mancuso puts in with an edge to her voice. "Having been out here for forty-five days, we were becoming convinced that Starfleet had written us off," she all but accused.

"We are all very relieved to find that isn’t the case, though," Doctor Jesh`ra quickly adds, presumably attempting to head off any offence his first officer’s words may cause.

Too late. It’s annoyed me. I’m willing to accommodate the fears and frustrations of those cast adrift during the war, and especially those who have waited so long for rescue, but it is still harsh for me to be blamed for things completely out of my control.

"Lieutenant Mancuso, please believe me: If we could have gotten here any sooner we would have. This ship has been searching for survivors throughout this sector for over a month now. I am truly sorry that you and your crew have had to wait so long for rescue, but we got here as quickly as we could. Every search has a start and end point, and being so far out from starbase your vessel was at the end."

Okay, so it isn’t exactly 100% true as we could have cut short previous searches to proceed more quickly to the next possible site. However, that would have left us with lingering doubts as to whether or not we had done all we could for the crew of that particular ship, and whether or not there were still escape pods crawling through space heading for whatever star system was closest. We didn’t want to take that chance, and I’m sure if I was someone who’d managed to get out in a lifeboat from one of those ships, I wouldn’t want us to either.

However, my words have the desired effect and Sophia backs off.

Their respective first officers having duked it out and aired the lingering anger and concerns, the captains get down to business.

"Captain McCafferty, my crew is in desperate need of immediate medical care. My ship’s power systems are ‘eavily damaged and leaking dangerous radiation that is slowly contaminating the engineering spaces, and we are all undernourished and in need of good food and warm beds. I ‘ave brought over my senior staff to co-ordinate with yours so we can secure my ship and transfer my crew to yours."

I catch a flash of anger in McCafferty’s eyes at Drapeau taking control of the meeting, but she quickly suppresses it and nods politely.

"Of course, Commander. If you can give us the specifics of your needs, my staff can see to their respective areas of expertise," she states. He nods and is about to speak again but McCafferty beats him to the punch. "You are telling me, then, that your vessel is still salvageable, possibly repairable, but is not comfortably habitable?"

Unruffled, the Frenchman nods again. "That is correct, Captain. I believe that she can be of further use to the Federation, but our power levels are so low and erratic that life support systems function at a bare minimum of comfort. Our food slots are also running with minimal power, so we--the entire crew--‘as been on a diet of chicken soup and coffee. For forty-five days."

I brutally suppress a smirk at that. It is by no means funny, especially for the crew of the Borok, but the way he delivered that line just pushed one of my buttons. Typically, the one that makes me laugh at inappropriate times.

"Understood, Commander," McCafferty says sympathetically. "Now, we should pair off our respective department heads so we can get your crew comfortably aboard and your ship secured, ready for towing back to Starbase 22."

"Agreed. Let’s get to work."

*****

The adrenaline rush from the red alert nearly four hours ago has long since worn off, the end result being that I don’t so much stride alertly into my quarters as stagger in bleary-eyed. Had I been awakened normally or even just stayed up to--a quick glance at the time--5:45 in the morning I wouldn’t be so tired, but the adrenaline withdrawal I’m now suffering from leaves me feeling wiped.

Since a fair number of my Alpha shift comrades will no doubt be feeling likewise, I arranged for Gamma shift to work a double so that us precious hot-house flowers can get our beauty sleep.

Just before I surrender to the wiles of my unmade bed--which is all but seductively calling my name--I decide to make a log entry to detail tonight’s nocturnal activities while they’re still fresh in my head.

Sitting down heavily in the chair behind my desk, I hit the voice tie-in to the computer and instruct, "Computer, begin recording."

"Working," the mechanical-sounding female voice of Kusanagi’s main computer acknowledges.

"First Officer’s Log, Stardate 3426.2," I begin in the Starfleet-approved manner of recording all initial log entries. I spend the next few minutes detailing our detection of the Orion ship and subsequent discovery of the Borok and Korol’s departure, then move on to the events of the last few hours. "The meeting of the senior staffs from both our ships was productive and a plan of action was quickly drawn up. The main issues were ready to be dealt with so we set up mini-task forces to handle them. It was decided early on to completely evacuate the crippled destroyer and shut down the leaky reactor rather than spend time and effort repairing it," I report as I rub at my gritty eyes then stretch in my chair, trying to work out the kinks in my muscles. Stifling a yawn, I continue with my entry.

"Commander Drapeau’s claim of malnutrition was exaggerated, but not by much. The food synthesisers having to operate on minimum power meant that, to feed the entire crew, the menu was reduced to the most energy-conscious choices possible. Fortunately, that includes lots of cool water and hot beverages, so they weren’t dehydrated. Doctor Nebukov gave the whole crew a fortifying vitamin booster shot and told them to avail themselves of our own fully powered food slots. Subsequently, the Commissary Chief’s request for additional power allocation to his systems was approved. The Environmental Chief is currently crunching the figures for the alterations to the life support and environmental systems, and should be ready for the start of the morning watch.

"Of the 73 crew, 34 of them are ill or wounded, fourteen critically. These wounded were brought aboard first, then the healthy crew, and finally the engineering staff. They were working with ours to ensure the safe shutdown of the damaged fusion reactors and to bolster the structural integrity of the ship to ensure that she’d survive the rigours of a warp-speed towing."

I feel a yawn building, so I order, "Computer, pause recording."

"Affirmative," is the short reply.

Freed of the constraints of official protocol, I let loose a long, drawn-out yawn that almost resounds off the bulkheads despite the sound-absorbing carpet and furnishings of my quarters. Wiping a couple of tears from my eyes, I instruct the computer to resume recording.

"This being the last of our assigned search areas and the end of our rescue mission, our final tally stands at 165 survivors rescued, and 165 bodies recovered..."

I trail off, surprised at how the numbers worked out exactly the same. It must just be one of those coincidences. I’m just glad we found the Borok intact, or the dead would outnumber the living by a considerable margin. Shaking my head, I resume my entry.

"Our engineers managed to finish reprogramming the inertial dampers and the shape of the warp field to take into account the extra mass we’ll be hauling shortly before their engineers left the Borok for the last time. Their senior officers were on the bridge for our easing into warp speed, which went exactly as we expected and without a hitch. We are now on course for Starbase 22 at warp 4.5, our ETA at this speed being seventeen days, five hours."

Which is a bloody long cruise home, I curse, and will get us there two days before Christmas Eve.

"Computer, end recording."

An electronic chirp tells me of its compliance.

I almost decide to make a personal log entry, but I’m being drawn to my bed as if it’s playing one of those old Indian snake charmer’s flutes. I shut down the terminal and strip off my clothes, leaving a trail from the desk to my bed, then all but dive under the covers. I manage to utter, "Computer, lights off," before the Sandman comes to take me away.

*****

[Governor Ronjar]

Heh, even though La'ra and the other Klinks may have already read this, I'm surprised none commented on your characterisation of the Klinks here.

There are all sorts as we know, and I'm sure that while we have altruistic Klingons like La'ra, devious Klingons like Ron'jar, stolid/stoic Klingons like Kadh, there are also nasty Klingons like JOLLYROGERs Dath'mar. The evil (by Fed standards) Klingons here are yet another facet of them.

Any Klink proponents care to forward a theory/rationale for their behaviour here?

Hello all! Been away from this sight for some time working on new stuff and R/L-crap.

As to the above...
Dath'mar is not what I call evil (though, as you say, nasty may be an apt term...). But he is what TOS Trek would have presented as the 'villian'. That was my original idea for the character. He is a Klingon commander, brought up with totally Klingon warrior values. He does what his government orders him to do, and he treats his government's enemies as HIS enemies. He was no remorse for them. He does not understand his enemies...and does not want to. He may learn their ways, but only as a means to better eliminate them. He is a Klingon's Klingon. He values honor of course, but not at the expense of completing his government's missions (usually, he has been known to blow up Rommies every once in a while, against the wishes of said government...). My idea when writing with Dath'mar was to show a Trek story, similar in fashion to what might have been in TOS Trek or Enterprise, and show the story from the 'villian's' POV.

Ron'jar [or Ran'jar, if you prefer]... well, La'ra has written more with my own character than I have. Needless to say, there are differences, and I will probably not write with Ron'jar as the main character in any further stories. But on the whole... yeah...Ron'jar is a dirty bastard.   One of my friends calls him the 'Al Capone of the Galaxy'. Not the best of comparisons in my mind...but it shows what he thinks of Ron'jar.

La'ra is a whole new bag of cookies. He's damned effective, but hardly a typical Klink in solid Trek standards. I think that's why he's so interesting. Enterprise and TNG showed us different fascets of Klingon life, from cave-dwelling outcasts to Klingon lawyers. La'ra is ALMOST a nonwarrior in a warrior's role. Which adds a perspective no Trek ever has. His attitude and style are so different from the traditional dumb-Klink from TOS on. Too many writers try to portray them as 'thu badguy'. Klingon shows up with lame-ass plan to do something bad. Klingon is soundly whipped by good guys. The end. It takes an imaginative writer to make them interesting, and any story is better with imaginative characters, badguys as well as good.

Thems my thoughts, discombobulated though they was...

--thu guv'!

[Scottish Andy]

Hi All,

Sorry about the wait for the next part of this. I'd completely forgotten that I hadn't updated it last week. Oops. My bad. (and where the smeg does that expression come from, anyway?)

So, without further ado, the story continues.

Chapter Eight, Pt II

A few days later and I’m on the bridge with the conn. The captain is below decks in a conference with the other crew contingent commanders about how to handle our arrival at Starbase 22. Specifically, what kind of service and/or ceremony would be appropriate to handing over the dead from our ship to the starbase, who should attend, who should stand where, and other such items of importance. Normally I’d have been there for that meeting too, but McCafferty told me--in coldly professional tones, of course--that this was just a preliminary meeting, the first of several, just to get an idea of what we should be arranging. The actual arranging would come later, she’d said.

Fair enough, I’d said.

So, I’m in the command chair, signing off on yet more requisitions for parts and power allocations to keep our systems balanced with more than double our usual crew complement aboard and hauling something with the same mass as ourselves. It is taking more power than I would have thought, so I’m casually investigating why by reading up on the inner workings of both the life-support and food synthesis systems, and how they interact with the rest of the ship. Not only that, but how different warp field configurations suck up differing amounts of power. Since I’ve actually caught up with my paperwork for the time being, it’s something to expand my horizons and keep me busy at the same time during our now routine run home.

"Lieutenant Brown?"

I swivel the chair round to face Lathena, once again admiring her slender form. Damnit, she’s not a woman, she’s our communications officer! I chide myself again. Yet, ever since I first started to think of her as someone I’d like to get to know, my treacherous mind has been like a little terrier with a bone. It’s not letting go.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" I ask firmly, determined not to embarrass myself by letting on to my mildly inappropriate thoughts.

"Sir, the information you requested from Starfleet has come in," she informs me, leaning over her board with her legs tucked in under her chair. "Do you want to read it now, or shall I send it to your terminal queue for you read later?"

I’m nonplussed for a second, then I remember that I’d left a standing order with her to get the latest casualty reports from the war after our mission had been completed. All other thoughts, appropriate or not, fall by the wayside as an overwhelming one crashes audibly into my head:

Is she alive?

Stiffening in my chair, I get up and move over beside her. "Upload it to this clipboard please, Lathena," I instruct in a controlled tone.

"Aye sir," she replies, a look of understanding in her green eyes. She knows what I asked for and has made the obvious connection that I’m worried about someone.

I’d completely forgotten about this, and these brief weeks of not admitting the truth, pretending and hoping that my missing friends were all okay had deluded me into a false sense of security. Even going so far as to consider dating Lathena while she was missing.

What was I thinking? Was I thinking?

I walk slowly back to the command chair, unsure if I should stay on the bridge or leave for some privacy. Privacy would be hard to find... No. I don’t want to put myself on guard to read this. The briefing rooms should be empty, I’ll go there.

"Mr. Maknal, summon your relief and take the conn," I order our helmsman.

"Aye sir," he responds crisply and signals Lathena to send a call down to his department, but there is a question in his eyes.

"There is a personal matter I must see to. I shouldn’t be gone too long, but I’ll be in one of the briefing rooms if you need to reach me."

"Very well, sir," he replies, looking slightly surprised that I elaborated. The prerogative of command is the right not to explain your every decision, but trust is earned by being open. Besides, Urrih is my friend.

I head down to Deck 4 and approach Briefing Room One. The captain and her companions are in the main conference room on this level so I might run in to them, but hopefully they’ll stay in their room and leave me in peace. With all these extra people on board all our facilities are being well used, however, so there is the possibility that my intended destination has some occupants as well.

Fortunately there is no one here, so I step in and codelock the door behind me. Sitting down at the head of the table, I start going over the updated casualty reports Lathena uploaded to my clipboard, which I read most carefully for familiar names.

My spirits lift when I see both Toni and Zefal on the ‘Rescued’ list, but moments later a soft "Damn!" escapes my lips. The final name makes me literally sag in my chair, almost pouring off it into a gratefully relieved puddle on the floor. Completing my rundown of the list, I return to the name I highlighted in the ‘Deceased’ list. It glows at me darkly from the white, soft-tone screen, wounding me with its existence. The notes beside the name show that the ship he was on has been moved from the ‘Missing, Presumed Lost’ list to the ‘Confirmed Destroyed’ list.

That makes what, twenty now? I ask myself, remembering the names of my other classmates who’ve already been listed as KIA, and adding one more. Seventeen, then, I correct myself, looking at the clipboard again.

Gardiner, Scott, SE 368-2256 T. Lieutenant. Ship-fitting Officer, USS Montooth

I rub my fingers into my eyes. Another person from my classes at the Academy, someone I knew and considered a friend.

"Scotty-boy" Gardiner, a fellow Scot who just loved modifying his own flitter with speciality parts to make it look better and go faster. He always seemed to know just where to go for those hard to get parts, and loved to tinker with things to get better performance out of them. It made him a natural for a Ship-fitting Officer in Engineering. I smile in remembrance of his off-colour nickname, but that’s not how I want to remember him right now.

I return to look at the names of the survivors I know, thankful that they’re still alive and rejoicing at one in particular.

Shilleto, Antonia, SO 497-2256 HH. Lieutenant. Navigator, USS Azrael
Ory`nan, Zefal, SB 409-2256 HC. Lieutenant JG, Security Specialist, USS Zoldar
Nhu, Nâm Quymin, SS 752-2256 HH. Lieutenant Commander. Botanist, USS Captain James Cook

Zefal is a Centauran I got to know as a regular member of the teams we were assigned to for certain tasks and classes. He’s not much for words, but his instincts for the tactical aspects of a mission were almost dead on every time. A good man to have at your back as a protector, but he’s not keen on the offensive side of things.

Antonia--Toni--Shilleto was with me for practically all my classes, wanting to be a navigator too. A stunning, voluptuous brunette from the Amber colony on Tau Ceti IV, I was originally terrified of her because of her popularity with the other cadets--especially the male ones. Her outgoing personality and sweet nature led her to reach out to ‘the quiet one’, and we became fast friends after I got over the very shyness which she helped me overcome. It was Toni who urged me to ask out Nâm once she found out I had a thing for her, and I’m very glad she pushed me into it. When I heard that contact with the Azrael had been lost I got real worried for her. I’m glad she’s safe.

And then there is Nâm herself.

Nâm is a porcelain-skinned, tiny china doll of a girl from Vietnam. A very talented scientist, hence her rapid promotion to Lieutenant Commander, and assigned to a brand new Oberth-class survey vessel earlier this year. We’d kept in irregular touch via subspace since we’d graduated, and more frequently since I’d been injured, but I’d heard nothing from her in the last two months.

That had me worried, and though I had lived in a self-imposed state of "ignorance is bliss", I’m relieved beyond words that my fears have finally been banished. Nâm, with her coal-black eyes, shoulder-length raven-wing hair, rosy lips, and pale skin, really had looked like a porcelain doll on that first day we met, and far too fragile for the rigours of Starfleet training. She had definitely surprised many of us with her inner strength and quiet dignity.

We’d become a couple in our second year at the Academy and it had lasted until we received our separate postings upon graduation. We’d both known it’d be virtually impossible to continue our relationship after that, so we’d agreed to say goodbye but promised to keep in touch. It was only my then-growing closeness with Karen that I’d begun to let go of her for real. Then we had our blow-up and there’d been no room for the nicer feelings in my heart, until a few weeks ago I had started to look to Lathena to combat my private loneliness.

But Nâm...we were close. Going into our third month as a couple I knew I was starting to fall in love with her instead of us just having fun together. My first serious relationship...

...thank the Gods she’s alive.

I shiver with relief and feel the knot of worry in my stomach finally begin to loosen, for good this time. I feel almost light-headed with euphoria, and a sudden desire to speak to the four survivors, to make sure for myself that they still live, grips me.

I hit the ‘com panel for a channel to the bridge. "Lathena, send a signal to the Starbase 22 Personnel department requesting the current whereabouts and/or contact details for the names I’ll read off for you. I’ll be back up on the bridge shortly."

"Aye, sir. I’m listening," she replies crisply.

I begin my list of serial numbers and the names they belong to, feeling better than I have in almost two months.


Date: 15th December 2267
Stardate: 3479.27
Location: Briefing Room One, USS Kusanagi

Ten days after the rescue of the Borok and the crew has pretty much settled back into the routine of the last month. Now that the mission is over bar the homecoming, crew morale has risen abruptly--mine included--no doubt due to the knowledge that we’ll be pulling no more dead bodies out of wrecked starships. Not only that, but our mission ended on a high point with both chasing off the pirate ship and rescuing 73 people--and another twelve corpses, but that sad point was more than outweighed by the number of living rescued.

With these new survivors the Kusanagi now has just over double her usual complement, so the entire crew is double bunking. Actually, with the 17 double staterooms next to Sickbay still occupied full time by the recovering members of the Borok’s crew, and the large number of officers rescued, most of Kusanagi’s officers--including me but not the captain--and several enlisted crew are triple bunking.

As I said, with morale being high, a convivial atmosphere is prevalent on the ship with the Rec. Room, gymnasium, crew lounge, observation lounges, and mess hall always well populated. Our non-denominational chapel also seems to be in regular, if not constant, use. Doctor Inidria, our Deltan psychologist/recreation officer, informs me that it’s from people either thanking their personal/racial deity that they’re still alive, asking He/She/It/Them what it was all for, or the eternal question of "Why?"

The ship’s condition is fully operational and as close to factory new as she ever has been since leaving the shipyards almost 40 years ago. We officially recognised the diligent efforts of the crew of the Torjal and latecomers from the Crosis and Borok for their work in getting the Kusanagi ship-shape and in Bristol fashion once more. In a small ceremony presided over by the captain and I, and broadcast over the ship’s visual data feeds, they were thanked personally and sincerely. After all, my dented bulkhead had been repaired and repainted too.

That night I finally got to talk to one of my rescued friends, the one I needed to talk to: Nâm. Her and Yoshi were assigned to the same sector so he must either not want to talk to me or still be in intensive care and unavailable. Lathena still hasn’t been able to track down Zefal or Toni either, so the same must be applying to them. I’ll see what Lathena can find out about them for me.

I was almost speechless with joy at seeing Nâm and mentally cursed a blue streak that I couldn’t reach into the screen and wrap her up in a bear hug. She’s become closer to me than my own sisters and I love her dearly. The sappy stuff I said to her that night still makes me blush to even think about it, but I’m glad I said it to her. Glad that I could say it to her and have her respond to it, rather than murmuring them to a gravestone.

However, with those events having occurred three days ago I’m beginning to think about the future again in the passage of days since. First and foremost in my mind is the exceedingly ugly possibility of my not having a future anymore, at least in Starfleet. The issue of Commodore Tandara’s--and thus Starfleet Command’s--final judgement on our performance of late is causing me a fair degree of concern. With our journey home now uneventful and routine once more, this matter is pressing in on my mind when there is nothing else occupying my attention.

Fortunately, that isn’t too often as my duties keep me busy and my social calendar is fairly full, now that I’ve actually become a part of this crew instead of remaining an outsider. Not only that, but I’m sharing my cabin with Lieutenant Commander Shesra of the Torjal and Commander Drapeau of the Borok--more leading by example--so my alone time is few and far between.

However, I was thinking of the way the final review will proceed and I’m sure that the senior officers and chiefs who work regularly with us will be quizzed and their logs, both public and personal, will be examined.

So, here I am in Briefing Room Two during the Beta shift--as Drapeau is right now asleep in my quarters--reviewing my personal logs from the day we set foot aboard this little frigate.

A quick glance at the chrono tells me it’s 2030 hours. I’ve been in here for close on three hours reviewing these damn things so my concentration isn’t what it was, but an unusual detail is still teasing the back of my mind, not quite showing itself. I’ve had the feeling for close on two hours now so it’s definitely something to do with these logs, but I just can’t pin it down.

I sit back in the chair and sigh, stretching my arms up and behind my head to ease the tension in my shoulders, thinking that I really need to take a break. Urrih will be appearing in the Rec. Room within the hour. After all this nonsense filling my head, his cabaret show will be just what I need to clear it. I pause my rising spirits with an apprehensive thought. I wonder if she’ll be there tonight?

All the evenings I’ve been hanging out with Urrih & Co. in the Rec. Room and I’ve still managed to avoid a sit-down chat with the three of us, even with the captain there. It has been on occasion both intentional and not--on my side, anyway--but I’m still not looking forward to it, if and when it finally does happen.

I can still hear Urrih’s voice chiding me in my quarters from all those nights ago. "Is your feud with Karen more--"

KAREN!

The name jumps out at me as my brain tease resolves itself. My immediate reaction is to dismiss it as irrelevant and unimportant, but I know it isn’t. With a fatalistic certainty of the results, I test my hunch anyway.

"Computer, scan all my personal log entries from," I pause for a quick search of my memory, "stardate 3150 for any occurrences of the name ‘Karen’ and give stardate of the last such entry."

"Working." Seconds later it replies, "There are 57 occurrences of the name ‘Karen’ within specified limits. Last such log entry was on stardate 3199.5."

I sigh and nod even though there is no one else in the room, my hunch confirmed. I’ve not thought of her as "Karen" since the night I stopped us from attacking that lone Klingon ship. I still want to dismiss it, but this little revelation indicates a fundamental shift in my thinking so I know I have to confront it.

Actually, no I don’t, I realise after pondering it for a few moments. Make no mistake, there has been a fundamental shift in my thinking but it is now more than two months past and I’m well aware of it. The fact of the missing name merely illustrates that point. It’s painfully obvious in my logs and prevalent in my thoughts of the past two months, I realise on reflection, and it’s just as obvious why I’ve subconsciously done so.

Karen was my friend and comrade, and up until The Incident, someone I was beginning to fall for. Since her inexplicable--to me at least--change on that night, my friend has been replaced in that body by someone else making full use of Karen’s memories to shred me at every opportunity.

It’s obviously a mental defence mechanism, separating them into two people, probably to protect the memories I have of better times with Karen, which--if Urrih is right--will come again. I’ll have to be able to relate to her like a normal person then. Yes, I know that’s intellectually dishonest, but to my mind that’s exactly what happened. It was that sudden, that abrupt. At the end of an evening where I bared my innermost feelings and most painful memories, some evil spirit took over Karen’s body and either banished my friend to a distant corner of her mind or pushed her out of her own head. She was replaced by someone who suddenly hated everything I stood for or believed in.

Someone called McCafferty.

I’m glad I noticed this matter, as Tandara is bound to ask about it. This’ll give me time to prepare a polished answer that will satisfy both of us. I look at the chrono again. 2045, it tells me. Just not tonight, I decide, thinking that I’ve been at this long enough. I’ve managed to identify several points that are second nature to me now but which will need explaining to an outsider, so I’ll work on those explanations tomorrow.

Right now, all I want to do is splash some water on my face and grab a bite to eat, then find a seat in the Rec. Room and have Urrih make me laugh and forget my impending doom for another few hours.

Suiting actions to thoughts, I set out to do just that.

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Nine

Date: 22nd December 2267
Time: 0845 hours.
Stardate: 3511.83
Location: En-route to Starbase 22

Our communications officer suddenly speaking into the quiet of the bridge draws my mind from the paperwork I’m dealing with. "Captain, incoming challenge from the starbase. IFF responding normally."

"Very good," McCafferty replies. "Send the base duty officer my compliments and request confirmation that the arrangements we’ll need on assuming orbit will be in place."

The arrangements we’ll be needing is an empty dry-dock to take care of the Borok, priority use of the base’s transporter rooms, and a reception area for the mass beaming down of the survivors we’ve picked up. We sent the request--our requirements in truth, but it doesn’t hurt to be polite--in upon the completion of our mission over two weeks ago, so there should be no reason they’ve not been taken care of. The captain is just making sure that no emergency has arisen that demands the use of what we need at the time of our arrival, necessitating the bumping of our schedule.

Lathena does as instructed and after a few minutes has an answer. "Captain, Commander Ky’thitan id-Noruk returns your compliments and confirms that all will be ready for our arrival."

With a name like that I’d guess the commander is a felinoid, though it doesn’t fit the usual pattern for a Caitian. I idly consider looking them up in the database to pass the time, but decide not to.

"Excellent," McCafferty nods, sounding satisfied. "Now give me all-call."

"You’re on, Captain."

"All hands, this is the Captain. We will be arriving at Starbase 22 within three hours, so anything that isn’t squared away as stated in the regulations had better be taken care of before we get there. This will be your last warning, so make damned sure the starbase staffers don’t have anything to find fault with. That is all." She thumbs off her intercom connection and addresses the bridge at large. "That goes for you people too. Make sure your departments are running like the proverbial Swiss watch. Although if they aren’t already with all the free time and extra help we’ve had on the run home, you deserve anything you get," she adds pointedly.

Heads bob in acknowledgement and a few wry grins are in evidence at that.

I know that the ship and crew are in top form, far better than when we first stepped aboard her over two months ago. However, because of my oft-cursed second-guessing nature, I have to do a quick mental rundown of all the problem areas we’ve had, and that all areas of responsibility are up to speed.

Yup, they are. Just like they were the last time I did this, ten hours ago. My expression at this thought isn’t so much a wry smile as an annoyed grimace.

The next few hours pass by peacefully, with practically all of the bridge crew keeping surreptitious watch on the distance/time countdown, until Lathena speaks up again.

"Incoming hail from the starbase, Captain."

"On speakers, Lieutenant," McCafferty instructs.

"Frigate Kusanagi, this is Starbase 22 Traffic Control, we have you on our screens," the disembodied voice states, sounding quite bored. "Please drop from warp at the outer system markers, then proceed in-system at full impulse along the standard orbital approach vector. Be advised that an in-system mining convoy is due in orbit at 1500 hours Federation Base Time, but no other interstellar ships are expected today. The threat boards are blank and long-range sensor sweeps are empty, so this facility is at condition green. You are cleared to begin your approach."

The captain orders, "Mr. Maknal, alter course to align with outer system markers. Ensign Salok, plot a standard orbital approach to the starbase at full impulse and transfer to Helm."

"Acknowledged, Captain."

"Aye sir. Dropping from warp in two minutes."

Signalling Lathena to open a return channel, McCafferty speaks up. "Received and understood, Traffic Control. Beginning approach now."

"Acknowledged. Lock on to outer marker two on subspace frequency K for guidance beam and to synchronise with FBT," the voice instructs, before adding in a warmer tone, "Welcome back, Kusanagi."

I catch a look of annoyance at that, or maybe it’s trepidation. It probably matches my own. She can’t quite force out the traditional "It’s good to be back", so she settles on a neutral phrase.

Forcing some warmth of her own, she says, "Kusanagi acknowledges," before instructing Lathena, "Close the channel, Lieutenant, then tie in to the outer marker and synchronise our chronometers."

"Aye Captain," the comm. officer replies.

"Dropping from warp now, engaging impulse drive, Captain," Urrih speaks up. "ETA to starbase is 27 minutes at full impulse."

Lathena gives a final update a moment later. "Chronometers synchronised, Captain. We had lost only 3.2 seconds. Subspace guidance beacon coming in strong and clear."

"Very good," McCafferty acknowledges, settling back in her chair and gazing at the viewscreen.

I take my now familiar position at the navigation databanks to watch our progress in to the base. Starbase 22 is a planetary installation rather than a space-borne station, a point of minor annoyance for the crews of older ships like ours as we have to drop from warp outside the system. Newer ships like the Constitutions, Saladins, and now the brand-new Oberth-class survey ships can warp directly in to and out of planetary orbit due to their more advanced engine hardware and control routines. We could just as easily get the new control routines but the control equipment in our forty-year-old engines just isn’t up to the task of regulating the warpfield precisely enough to prevent a wormhole from forming due to gravity-induced imbalances.

We can still warp right up to deep space stations, but until and unless Starfleet decides that it’s cost-effective enough to upgrade its force of 60 older frigates and nearly 100 older cruisers, we’ll always be half an hour later for an planetary party than everyone else.

The trip in-system is rather boring, scenery-wise, as the outer system markers are aligned with the quickest route in to and out from the base. This means that there are no planets in nearby orbit or asteroid belts in the way. We can already see our destination on the screen and it grows steadily larger as we close in.

Starbase 22 was built in 2220 on the sixth planet of the Gamma 231 system, an uninhabited, barely Class-M planet several light-years from the recently encountered Klingon border. Its primary mission was and still is border patrol and the defence of the Federation colony on Davlos and the member world of Cygnet XIV, as well as numerous other subsequent Federation interests in this area. All the main base facilities are on the planet’s surface, including the administration, science, and medical sections, guest housing and staff barracks, and long-term cargo storage. The only off-planet facilities are in fact the dozen or so dry-docks and repair bays, and a massive cargo transfer station.

As we enter the terminal phase of our approach, these orbital structures become visible on the viewscreen, as do several interplanetary cargo and transport ships, flitting around the cargo station like so many flies around a horse’s head.

As the base developed and skirmishes with the Klingons became a regular thing, it was deemed wise to have local resources rather than shipped-in supplies, so several mining colonies were set up on the planets of the system. At present there are mineral extraction sites on the second, third, fourth, and sixth planets, the two asteroid belts, and gas collection facilities in low orbit of the three gas giants, planets eight, nine, and eleven. With all these mining projects on the go the space around Gamma 231-VI can become quite crowded. There is almost always at least one ship on- or offloading from the transfer station around the clock, and with dozens of other ships transiting the length and breadth of the system, traffic control is a must.

Our path in is clear as promised by the base and Urrih deftly manoeuvres our little frigate up to one of the smaller dry-docks and holds position while the wounded Borok is transferred from our tractor beams to those of the dock. The seventy-year-old destroyer is gently pulled into the waiting arms of its final resting-place as Urrih performs a flawless orbital insertion to Gamma 231-VI.

"Geosynchronous orbit over Starbase 22 ground facilities achieved, Captain," he states formally.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Maknal," the captain responds in kind. Turning to face Lathena, she instructs, "Give me all-call, Lieutenant."

"Intercraft address, aye," the Andorian replies, flipping some toggles.

"Attention all hands, this is the Captain. We have arrived at Starbase 22, but we have one final duty to perform before this mission is over. You have performed well under difficult circumstances, and I am proud of the professionalism and compassion you have shown so far."

As McCafferty says this, she sweeps her gaze over the bridge crew, praising each one of us with her eyes. I do notice a certain lack of pride or praise in the look she directs at me, however. For some reason, I find myself fighting a grin.

Resuming her speech, McCafferty continues, "It is now time to deliver our fallen comrades home. To the crews of the Torjal, Crosis, and Borok, please assemble in the evacuation transporter rooms for beam-down to the starbase. Once this honour guard is in place, we will begin beaming down the deceased from each ship we encountered. Beam downs to commence in five minutes. That is all."

*****

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Nine, Pt II

I stride into my quarters feeling somewhat drained, despite the fact that it’s still only halfway through my shift. Maybe it’s that I’ve not eaten in over five hours, but I’m betting it’s that and the ceremony I was just a part of--and that I’ve just had a time set for my interview with the base CO.

Pushing that thought out of my mind, I activate my desk terminal to make a log entry. "First Officer’s log, Stardate 3512.7. Our mission to bring home the survivors and our honoured dead from the short war with the Klingons is finally over, with the delivery--"

I stop there, reconsidering that word. "Computer, erase word ‘delivery’ and resume recording."

"Affirmative. Recording," it replies, taking longer to tell me than to actually do it.

"--transfer of our personnel to Starbase 22," I continue, getting up to pace as I know it’ll help my elocution by organising my thoughts. "In a ceremony that lasted twenty minutes, the assembled crews of the Torjal, Crosis, Borok, and many of the Kusanagi’s own crew gave silent tribute to the Starfleet members who gave their lives in defence of their homes and the freedoms and rights we enjoy as citizens of the Federation."

I try not to wander too far from the desk terminal or talk away from the voice pickup while striding around. My anthropomorphizing of almost every piece of equipment I use has me not wanting to annoy the computer with the added hardships of deciphering what I just said while talking down my sleeve, as it were.

"Once our fallen comrades had been temporarily interned before being taken back to their own families later this week for proper funeral rites, Captain McCafferty gave a short service in their honour. Although adroitly avoiding any faith-specific religious overtones, it was clear to all that this was a very emotional moment for her, with her personal feelings blazing forth sincerely.

"Although they may not have been the most politic of things to be said at a funeral, I admire her for unashamedly expressing them and find myself in total agreement with her sentiments. I also think that the people she was praising and promising never to forget would have appreciated them too."

I pause there, remembering her almost "fiery rhetoric" style of address and looking around to see uncomfortable and/or disapproving looks on the faces of some attending base staffers. However, on the faces of people who’d lost friends and loved ones, people who’d actually "seen the elephant" as it used to be called, were looks of proud remembrance, approval, and agreement with her hard line.

McCafferty herself had let tears roll unashamedly down her face as she paid grand tribute to those who had died for what they believed in, knowing that it was the right thing to do. On seeing the disapproving faces she had railed on the pacifists who believed that this war could have been avoided with diplomacy, or said that the militaristic nature of the Star Fleet had provoked the Klingons when they’d never laid eyes on a Klingon themselves, let alone met one face-to-face.

My own views had clouded this issue somewhat, as I had believed that war should be avoided at all costs. However, my deciding to serve has let me in on a secret that the stay-at-homes never find out or accept: That no matter all your good intentions or how far you bent over backwards to demonstrate your peaceful and accommodating nature, sometimes other peoples just didn’t believe or trust you. Or simply just didn’t care what you wanted and merely seek to impose their will on you regardless.

Over these last two months I’ve found out just what "at all costs" actually means in terms of avoiding war with the Klingons. It has become firmly entrenched in my mind that paying the cost of standing up for yourself is far preferable--and ultimately less costly to your society--than paying the cost of constant appeasement. For once an opponent knows they extort something from you, they are never satisfied with what they get until they have all that was once yours.

Mind you, even with this revelation I still know that a balance must be maintained. It has further impressed on me the importance of staying as McCafferty’s XO, as even though I agree with her sentiments--on this wide-ranging matter at least--I fear she swings too far the other way into being a war hawk. One who desires to teach a lesson first and foremost rather then as a last resort.

If a borderline pacifist such as myself can learn that that last resort must come and not just be bandied about as an empty threat, maybe a driven patriot like McCafferty can learn that compromise must be tried first.
As with all things, people and their viewpoints are at opposing ends and reality--the way things have to be in the real worlds--is somewhere in between.

Shaking my head to clear it of these unrelated thoughts--maybe I’ll put them into a personal log later--I notice that my long pause has shut off the computer. "Resume recording," I instruct it, and continue with my current entry.

"Our most important task completed, the crew of the Kusanagi went back to more mundane matters. Re-provisioning of the ship, dealing with transfer requests, and drafting the roster for three days’ shore leave were all dealt with fairly quickly, and the ship is now running with a skeleton crew on orbital shutdown status. The warp engines are in the process of being completely shut down for the only maintenance there still is to do--that of going over every millimetre of conduit and the reactor systems for cracks and micro-fractures. For obvious reasons, this cannot be done while the warp engines are supplying power so the ship is running off the impulse reactors."

"My meeting with Commodore Tandara has been scheduled for 1400 hours on the 27th, with the captain’s at 1600 hours that same day. We’ve both been informed that over the next couple of days select but unspecified members of our crew will be interviewed in regards to our conduct and such testimony as offered will be factored into our final interviews. This might cast a pall over our Christmas, especially as we have no one to spend it with except for our own friends--the same ones who might decide it in favour of the ‘other side’. Although, if we can get past that, we can all attend the party on the starbase to try and loose our woes in the feeling of seasonal spirit and festive cheer."

I sigh, thinking that this part of the entry should really be part of the personal logs, but decide to let it stand.

"We can only hope. ‘Tis the season’, after all. Computer, end log entry."

An electronic chirp acknowledges my order, along with an audible grumble from my stomach.

I really must keep myself fed while on duty. If anyone else hears this kind of racket I’ll never live it down. It’s embarrassing!

I take an electronic clipboard and load it up with all the datafiles of the latest news and Fleet updates Federation-wide and for the local sector, then head to the mess hall for some lunch.

*****

On the almost deserted mess deck--most of the crew is already "ashore"--no one is sitting by the viewports so I grab a table there and gaze out at the planet, seemingly stationary 24,000 km below us. I eagerly devour one of my favourite lunchtime meals, a massively thick tuna and mayonnaise sandwich accompanied by a coffee with cream, while taking in the somewhat drab appearance of Gamma 231-VI.

Being "barely" Class-M, this very old planet has exhausted it’s bright vegetation colours and is now just various shades of yellow and brown. The wispy white cloud formations covering a quarter of the planet offer some relief from this beige monotony, but none of the small seas this planet has are visible from our orbital position, adding to the feeling of uninspired uniformity.

Even so, it’s nice to have some scenery to look at out there.

My sandwich seems to have vanished into thin air but I’m feeling considerably better and less tired now. Sipping on the rest of my coffee, I return to the other items on my clipboard. Federation-wide, a few items of major interest occurred, including the inauguration of a new president in the Altair system after the ending of a long interplanetary war there, and the deliberate incursion by one of our starships into the Romulan Neutral Zone on a mission of mercy. The most recent incident draws not only my undivided attention but my personal ire: some unsuccessful Klingon interference in the negotiations on Capella IV for mining rights.

Bloody Klingons! I rage silently. We’ve only just finished collecting the bodies from the last war and already they’re trying to start another!

Fortunately, though, our sector of the Klingon border is quiet for a change. No skirmishes, incursions, or even alerts so far this month.

The data that relates to our own mission is more interesting. One of the starbase’s Ptolemy-class tugs is on her way back to base after having secured the wreck of the USS Crosis, though it is quite likely the shredded saucer section will just be decommissioned and scrapped. The transport ship Sulaco is still out there collecting the discarded lifeboats we’d pinpointed, although curiously no mention is made of the Klingon prisoners presumably still aboard her. Possibly has something to do with operational security. We don’t want those damn butchers being rescued by their own side, now do we? I ask myself vengefully.

After letting my temper cool again, I read through the remainder of the news. A few field promotions that have been confirmed, but nobody I know. Some notices of resignation and retirees from the Fleet, but again, no one I know.

And that’s it. Back to business as normal, as if the war never took place.

How do people do it? I ask myself, still feeling the stab of my own painful memories. How do people just decide to get over things?

Probably everyone in Starfleet knew someone who was killed or injured during the war. Hell, I knew 17 who’d died out of my class of 1,000 and the two ships I’d served on already. How do people decide--no, manage--to move on, forget the horrors and just go back to their normal routines? Or maybe it’s just the illusion of normalcy, the thought strikes me. That by believing that things are normal, clinging to what passes for normal in your life, you have an anchor to reel yourself back to friendly waters and safe ground.

The idea makes sense, to me at least, so until proven otherwise that’s what I’ll believe to keep myself grounded and functional.

I suppose that’s all any of us can do.

*****

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Nine, Pt III

To get away from the morose feelings that are dogging me, I take my leave of the ship and beam down to the starbase to search for my friends. Despite never having been to a planetary starbase before, Starfleet reassures its members by using standardised layouts whenever possible, and here is no exception. Designated as Omicron-class--presumably for the Terran obsession with the Ancient Greeks, and for no other reason than a capital omicron symbol could be a representation of a planet--this is a cookie-cutter-style base that looks the same no matter what planet it’s on. Only the colour of the sky and surrounding scenery changes from planet to planet.

Memorising the locations of the base’s highlights relative to one another, I fix my orientation in my head and move out to explore the place. Its corridors are full of Starfleet personnel and miners, and as I get closer to the social areas of the place I see people in civilian garb too. They’re possibly the crews of the independent traders and scouts in orbit, or maybe the families of the base personnel. Either way, their non-regulation clothes add a splash of unstructured colour to the denizens of the base. It’s not like a civilian station or a more centrally located starbase, which would be practically heaving with non-Fleet personnel, but it’s still pretty bustling in it’s own way.

Especially with all the Christmas decorations festooning the place, I note with a smile. I’m mildly surprised at this, what with the base CO being non-Human, but I suppose he’s a believer in this whole cultural diversity thing even when we may not understand it’s origins. Admittedly, Tandara might have a riot on his hands from the human personnel if he’d cancelled Christmas, I grin to myself.

Making my way to the social centre of the base, I find that the main concourse hosts a huge, beautifully decorated Christmas tree. That thing must be thirty feet high! I wonder if it’s real? I gaze at it in awe. It certainly looks like a pine tree, but I don’t know what the local forests are made of. Or if there still are forests on this sandy rock.

Window-shopping my way through various tinsel-strewn boutiques and stores, I find my way to the bar that Urrih told me he’d be relaxing in with "the usual suspects." I have a feeling Chief Price is still contributing to the Centauran’s vocabulary.

"O`Reilly’s Tavern," it proclaims proudly over main entrance. Of course, is my amused assessment. No matter how far out Humans reach into space, there’ll always be an Irishman two steps behind with a keg of Guinness and a plank to serve it from.

I shake my head again and grin, definitely glad I took Urrih up on his offer of R&R. Just being around other people has made me feel better, and the rising of my own spirits coincided with every new corner turned and decoration sighted.

My morose mood is falling away from me and my tentative new festive cheer is given a boost as I stand on the threshold of O`Reilly’s. Inside is darkly lit, with the upholstery in dark colours of deep brown oak and rich green pseudo-leather, and the whole place is decorated almost--almost--to the point of overwhelming.

I catch a waving arm out of the corner of my eye and turn to see Urrih beckoning me over. As I walk over to their booth, I take note of the occupants of this wooden cavern, flickeringly lit from what could be real candles in the centre of each table and strategically placed holders along the walls.

The place is slightly over half-full and someone laughing aloud occasionally swamps the buzz of happy voices. The people themselves are mostly human-looking, but I do notice some aliens too. Popular place, then. I wonder who from our crew discovered it?

I can see at the booth I’m approaching that Urrih is sitting with Shex, Lathena, and Salok from the Alpha shift, and Teresa Price, Olaf Petersen, Achmed Al-Mahaid, Setik, and Gloriana Demeter from the Beta shift. I greet them all as Lathena makes everyone else move around so that I can join them on the horseshoe-shaped couch. The table is piled high with various oddly shaped glasses containing beverages from across the Federation. The two Andorians seem to be joining the four Humans and single Centauran in sampling some festive spirits. Even Setik, our Vulcan Beta shift helm officer, seems to be experimenting. Ensign Salok is the sole holdout, apparently content with his glass of Altair water.

Jumping straight in at the deep end, I order a Long Island Iced Tea in an attempt to catch up to them in one go. I acquired a taste for these superb concoctions while in my third year at the Academy in San Francisco and I’m hoping O`Reilly’s can do one justice here. Since this base is host to a couple of hundred miners at any one time I’m expecting the alcohol to be real. Waiting on the cute blonde returning with my drink, I catch up on what I’ve been missing.

"...now, ladies and gentlebeings, if you’ll sample this one, you’ll notice the fine, smoky taste that allows it to go down smooth, and the... ah, warm, fuzzy feeling it gives in the pit of your belly afterwards," Engineer Petersen is saying. I grin as I watch all of them take experimental sips. I don’t know the Swede very well, but judging by the way that this afternoon is going to go, I’m sure I’ll know him like a brother by tomorrow.

If I can remember anything at all, that is.

Again trying to get a jump on the activities, I dredge up what can remember from each of their personnel files. Despite the number of humans here, only three of us are actually from Earth.

Gloriana--"Glory" for short, but only to her friends--is from the Vega Colony and is the daughter of an Amazon matriarch. The Amazons moved to Vega from Earth to take advantage of Vega’s looser constitution, which allows the Amazons to practice their own society in it’s original form with no restrictions. Princess Gloriana here apparently pissed of her mother royally by leaving their idyllic island paradise on Vega to join Starfleet, but Glory herself is unrepentant.

As for my own relations with her, I’ve only recently gained her respect as before she seemed to regard me with nothing but contempt. I realise that I seemed to get that a lot from strong female personalities, and I think I know why. Of course, I only know now because I’ve changed a lot over the past few months but at the time I was completely clueless. It was something to do with my own lack of a backbone. Since I’ve recently re-grown one I’ve been getting more respect from most of the crew, with the notable exception of Doctor Nebukov. I’m still clueless what I’ve done to annoy her, but I may learn in time.

Recently though, my harder line of command and my daily sparring routines with her--in which she energetically thrashes me in an attempt to improve my hand-to-hand skills--seems to have given us a point of commonality from which we started to become friends. It’s a good thing I’m still so easy-going most of the time, as the amount of abuse I take at her hands is a good starting point for a grudge match. Especially when you consider that Ensign Demeter’s private tutoring means I’ve been seeing a lot more of Doctor Nebukov, though fortunately in an official capacity.

Teresa Price--"Tess" for short--is from Benecia, a standard Earth colony established in 2162 and one of the first under the auspices of the newly formed Federation. Tess herself is study in contrasts to the six-foot, sleekly muscled, sun-bronzed Amazon warrior she sits opposite. Of pale skin and small build, Teresa is a plain looking woman in her mid-thirties, with short mousy brown hair and a horsy face combining to form a totally nondescript appearance. This is, however, completely offset by the sheer likeablity of the woman, which usually renders her as the centre of attention at any gathering. She is fun, engaging, well informed about a surprising number of topics, and generally a pleasant companion to spend any length of time with.

She is also terribly good at her job. She has risen through the enlisted ranks like a comet, five grades in ten years and making her the youngest Chief Petty Officer on the Kusanagi, and in the Gariman Sector. I for one am glad she’s in our crew.

As for us Terrans, Achmed is a Saudi from a large family in Duba, who run a deep sea diving business in the Red Sea, taking sightseers to visit the religious relics on the sea bed. I think that’s where he got his sense of adventure from, as the young Arab is always eager to see new things and unlock mysteries. Shame that he got a frigate instead of an exploratory posting, but he is just at the beginning of his career. His coarse, jet-black hair, hawk-like nose, and piercing black eyes make him look very aristocratic, even though he has no royal blood or connections--quite a feat in Saudi Arabia, or so I’m told.

Olaf is from the town of Storuman in northern Sweden, but he’d lived in Ullapool in Scotland for a few years during his teens, which I suppose explains his knowledge of expensive whiskies. The engineer is a typical Scandinavian with a hulking six-foot-plus frame, broad shoulders, forearms the size of my thighs, short, flaxen blonde hair, and ice-blue eyes. He always has a ready smile for his friends, but sometimes becomes so involved in what he’s doing that it takes a photorp to derail his single-mindedness.

Getting back into the conversation, I ask, "What’ve you got these people drinking, Olaf?"

"It’s a fine scotch called ‘Glenlivet’, sir," he answers.

I roll my eyes. "No ranks here, please. We’re all off duty, after all. Or at least, we’d better be," I remark, grinning and gesturing at the horde of empty glasses on the table. To the whole group I say, "Call me Andrew."

I see Urrih grin behind his glass as the waitress arrives with mine. Thanking her with a smile and a nod, I turn back to the group and raise my glass to offer a toast. "Everyone, to your health. And Merry Christmas!"

Everyone dutifully parrots it back to me and we all take a swallow of our drinks.

Mine almost ends up all over their faces as the volatile liquid hits the back of my throat, but I force it down and start choking, tears in my eyes. I feel a thump on my back that almost introduces my spine to my breastbone, but it has the--mostly--desired effect and I regain my breath. I glance around to see concerned looks on all but one face, and it’s not one of the Vulcans.

"Urrih, you little weasel!" I yell in mock anger. "You spiked my drink, didn’t you? You set me up!"

His imperfectly concealed smirk erupts into a wide grin and he bobs his head, laughing at me.

"Are you okay now, s--Andrew?" Lathena asks. I realise from our positions that it must have been her who unclogged my pipes so effectively. As if reminded of the fact, my back gives a reflexive wince of pain.

"Yes, thank you, Lathena. I take it that was you...?"

She nods, and returns the smile I give her.

"What do you mean by ‘spiked’, sir?" Salok asks me, formal to the end.

Glory answers him with a smirk directed at Maknal. "Andrew means that our chief helmsman here increased the potency of his drink without our XO knowing of it. Double shots, was it, Urrih?" she asks.

The Centauran nods, still grinning at me. Double shots? I silently exclaim. I’m surprised my head didn’t blow off!

"Double shots?" Teresa exclaims. "You nutter! Double shots of tequila, vodka, rum, and Triple Sec?" Addressing me, she adds, "So much for your health, Andrew!"

"Exactly what I was thinking, Tess," I smile back at her.

"I wish to query that also," Setik speaks up. "Why do you offer a blessing of good health while ingesting substances which are quite clearly unhealthy, especially to the mind?"

"Well..." begin Olaf, Glory, and Urrih all at once, who then look at each other and laugh. "Go ahead, Olaf," Glory prompts with a grin. "You are our resident expert in noxious concoctions."

Nodding a smiling acknowledgement to the Amazon, Olaf launches into his explanation to the two Vulcans.

I sit back to listen, as Achmed, Shex, and Tess confer over who has the better drink, and Glory, Urrih, and Lathena start scanning the cocktail lists for what they want to try next, arguing the merits of their own selections.

I smile to myself and take another, more cautious sip of my drink. This is going to be a good Christmas.

[Governor Ronjar]

This is a pertty good lengthed story. And it doesn't get bogged down like many I've read (not that I've read 'them' here, mind all of you...). That's a very important to me when I'm reading a story. There can be aby lack of action in a story (again, making reference to nothing here...), but if there's a good, flowing pace, it's readable.

For now, I don't like the main characters, and hope they meet a bad end in the future, or else get redeemed (in my eyes if in no one else's). I'm not totally done reading what's up already, but I'm working on it (this I add in the case said characters have already met said bad end and I haven't come across it yet...).

Write on!

[CaptJosh]

Nicely done. Glad he's loosening up. I thought he was going to be a permanent hard case.

[Scottish Andy]

Thanks guys, I really appreciate the comments, so keep 'em coming.

I'm surprised by just how much people don't like the two main characters. I had wanted them to be acting like arses, but not to such an extent that you actively disliked them. Oh well, looks like i overdid it.

Keep reading. The main event is around the next chapter.

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

More Moral Support (TM) for Andy! You know I like this, but if you feel the need, I can do a version of "Larry's Big Ass Review (TM)" for you telling everyone else why. *grin*

Let me know if you want me too.

[Scottish Andy]

Hi all, just back from a second interview for a job I really want. Wish me luck, I'll hear the decision on Tues/Wednesday. Anyway, here's the Beginning of the End... of the story. 

Let me know what you think, comments very welcome.

Chapter Ten

That feeling lasted all the way up to the night before my interrogation--sorry, interview with Tandara. During that time I was actually able to forget all my fears for the future and even my hostility with the captain was put on hold. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between us, and we even managed to attend social gatherings together and not spoil anyone else’s fun.

That was probably it, though. Our issues were by no means resolved, but we were both able to bury them for the sake of our mutual friends. It was still "Mr. Brown" and "Captain" as we couldn’t unbend that far, but since we both managed to smile and laugh in the same room as each other, the festivities went smoothly.

Christmas Dinner on the base turned out to be a huge buffet affair, which was only logical, really. People came and went almost all day with their friends in tow--and if they were lucky, their families too--wandering in and out of various parties held by various starbase and ship departments. Those with families were mostly base personnel, but we didn’t see too many of them wherever we went, presumably because they were "at home" spending Christmas with each other.

The traditional fixtures were in there in huge amounts--lots of turkey dinners--but you could get almost anything else you asked for if you didn’t mind waiting while they made it specially. That was what was so good about this dinner. It was real food prepared and cooked by real chefs in real kitchens, not some rearrangement of CHON delivered to you out of a food slot. Despite all our technology--and maybe because of it--the human touch is still necessary, and even though some of the chefs weren’t even human the principle holds. Mindless food supplied by mindless machines has no soul.

I spent Christmas with my friends from various departments and shifts, and their friends as well. I listened to them talk about themselves, their families, upbringings, planets, societies, hopes and dreams. I responded in kind, and we actually got to know one another a little bit better.

I found Christmas to be completely relaxing, as putting aside my anger was surprisingly easy. On further reflection, I only really exhibited it around McCafferty, almost as if I’m summoning my own anger as a defence against hers.

I seems like I’ve gotten over whatever McCafferty did to me, and it also seems like she’s putting her own issues to bed too. It’s exhausting fighting and being angry all the time and we have so many other things to focus our energies on. We are no longer friends, but I think the Christmas spirit got to us, as it seems like we are no longer enemies either, actively trying to get one over on the other.

Because Christmas was such and all-over-the-place affair, with various people appearing and disappearing all the time anyway, I didn’t really notice when our crewmates were called in for their own interviews to help decide my fate. However, now that my own one is looming, the more unpleasant thoughts are keeping me awake tonight. Reflecting on the enjoyment we’ve all shared in over the last few days has led me to look ahead to my future. Our interviews tomorrow, in which we are going to have to go over all our past actions and explain them, may bring it all back--the why of the fighting--and with it a renewal of hostilities.

If we both manage to keep our jobs, that is.

I really don’t want all the healing we’ve just done to be for nothing, but with all these old wounds being reopened--hell, practically ripped open--the outlook is not promising.

I have no doubt that tomorrow is going to be a nightmare of epic proportions. What remains to be seen is if we’ll both wake up from it and move into the new year with mended attitudes and hearts, or whether we’ll stay immersed within the nightmare and continue onto the new year as we spent the last few months--at each other’s throats with poisoned hearts.

It is still the season. I can only hope.

*****

Date: 27th December 2267
Time: 1330 hours.
Location: Bridge, USS Kusanagi

After looking at the chronometer for the sixth time this minute, I decide that I cannot stand it any longer. Getting up from the command chair, I order, "Mr. Maknal, you have the conn. I have a few things I need to take care of before beaming down."

"Aye sir," he replies. He looks like he wants to add something else, but refrains. The bridge crew is looking tense, knowing what is about to happen.

I was surprised to learn that the crew is so involved in this, that they have a personal stake in it. Of course, our friends are concerned for us and wishing us both well, not to mention hoping that both of us will patch up our differences. What surprised me was how people we didn’t know were regarding us. Apparently, both McCafferty and I are liked by the crew--the captain more so, although her unprofessional attacks against me have cost her some popularity points. But apart from the way we treat each other, the crew seems to appreciate the way we do things.

Scuttlebutt from the lower decks has it that if McCafferty had been in command of our first engagement with the Klingons we’d have done far better than we had. The crew likes having a captain that thinks and feels like they do.

My own standing with the crew apparently dramatically improved after the incident on the bridge when I stopped us from attacking the lone F5, quite contrary to my own assumptions about the incident. That’s when I stood up for what I believed in, and in doing so, finally earned the respect of the crew for myself rather than merely my position. Apparently, since then I’ve shown myself to be worthy of being followed.

On hearing all this from various sources--Shex, Urrih, Lathena--I felt a pride in myself that I hadn’t felt in months, not since before the Jugurtha Betrayal. I also feel warmth for this crew, for the people who think that way, and have become even more determined to do right by them.

So, all this boils down to the fact that the crew doesn’t want to see either of us go. Any more, that is. That surprised me even more as I didn’t think they’d be bothered one way or the other. Mind you, I’ve had the good fortune to serve under two good people for commanders. From what I’ve heard of the Kusanagi’s previous commander he was a good captain, but not a well-liked one.

It now remains to be seen if we can convince Starfleet that we’ve gotten over it, and to let us keep our jobs.

These are my thoughts as I make my way off the ship, down to the planet, and through the corridors of Starbase 22 to Commodore Tandara’s offices. I take my time getting there but still manage to arrive almost ten minutes early, upon which Tandara’s adjutant informs the commodore via intercom that I’m here. To my surprise I hear him say, "Send him right in." The powerfully built Vulcan with a lieutenant’s braid on the cuff of his red uniform gestures to the door into Tandara’s inner office, which slides open as I approach. I walk in, towards my impending doom.

"Ah, Lieutenant Brown, take a seat, please."

"Yes sir," I reply, sitting down in the chair opposite him as the door to his office slides shut and presumably locks behind me, cutting off my escape route. The commodore is dividing his attention between his desk terminal and an electronic clipboard he’s holding, making notes on the latter from the former, then sets it down to appraise me.

"Now Lieutenant, before we start," he begins in his pleasant baritone, "I must tell you that this is not a court martial or official inquiry, and no charges against you have been filed at this time. This is, however, a formal meeting and your final hearing in the last stage of my preliminary investigation. As before, you are under the same obligations placed on witnesses within a legal trial, and anything you say will be taken into the official record. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," I reply confidently, suddenly at ease now that the moment is at hand.

"Very well. Now, I’ve spoken to several crewmembers from your ship over the past few days and believe I’ve built up a good picture of the ship’s general routine and your part in it," the Deltan begins. "What I want from you firstly is your explanation for your own lack of professional conduct in this matter."

Well, that’s easy enough. "Commodore, I simply got tired of turning the other cheek. There came a point after about... two weeks, I think, of constant harassment that I decided that being the better person was taking too much of a toll on my personal equilibrium and I started responding in kind to Commander McCafferty."

Tandara merely nods to acknowledge my answer, no expression crossing his face. "Did you not think that instead of doing so, you should have filed a formal complaint at that time? Starfleet would definitely have come down on your side there and then, if Commander McCafferty had been acting in the manner you described in your previous testimony," the Deltan points out reasonably.

Entirely too reasonably, as that is exactly what I should have done. This is where it gets embarrassing... "Sir, with hindsight I do agree that that was the correct course of action to take, but at the time I had just been assigned as first officer of the ship. I had thought that running back to Starfleet with my problems would speak to a weak character and label me as someone who couldn’t handle or solve his own personal problems."

"I see," Tandara replies, his tone indicating he might not have been expecting that answer. "Starfleet does look for resourcefulness and resilience in its officers, but doesn’t want them to have to endure a daily regime of abuse, especially at the hands of a fellow officer."

Again, the neutral, toneless voice. He’s holding onto that fence like it’s his lifeline, is what pops into my head. He’s sticking to the Starfleet approved line of "obey the regulations", and not confirming that my statements of McCafferty’s behaviour are true. He’s not denying them either, though, as that would put me on the defensive. Is he trying to trip me up? Give me enough rope to hang myself? Or is this just Deltan objectivity?

My analytical thoughts are disrupted by the commodore asking his next question. "So, given the situation to do over again, you would...?"

"Sir, I would definitely file a complaint. At that point I was unsure of my own position and of how it would affect my own career to do so. I admit that I did make the wrong choice, through uninformed assumption on my part."

Tandara nods again, making a quick note on his clipboard. I’m hoping that it’s something like, "Honest, admits mistake, has learned his lesson."

That hope goes up in smoke at his next question. "So, why didn’t you?"

I blink. "Sir?"

"Lieutenant, according to your own official and personal logs, this situation continued aboard the Kusanagi for over a month, from when you had your argument with the commander on stardate 3170 until stardate 3320, a tenday after I contacted you personally." Tandara looks back up at me from his clipboard. "Why, during all that time, didn’t you file a complaint? Or even threaten to, if only to halt further harassment from McCafferty?"

"I..." I’m nonplussed, that’s what I am. Why didn’t I? Scrambling for an answer I push out, "Sir, I was already engaged in this battle of wills with the captain. I wanted to make her realise that what she was doing was wrong by showing her how if felt to be treated that way."

"You wanted to hurt her back."

"Yes!" A moment later I realise my mistake. Damn, he got me...

"That does not reflect well on your intentions or your character, Lieutenant," he tells me, still in that aggravating neutral tone.

"I know, sir," I respond quietly. "I’m not particularly proud of it, even at the time I was doing it. Well," I reconsider, "not at the exact time, but usually when later reflecting on it."

"For example when making a log entry?" he inquires, but I see this one coming.

"Yes sir, I usually made my log entries after I had time to cool my temper down. It allowed me to make a rational, objective, and honest entry."

"So it wasn’t merely that afterwards you had time to think about how bad it would make you look to any eventual board on inquiry should you show no regrets or feelings of shame?"

I feel a flash of intense anger and indignation, made all the more so by his blank face and bland tone. I try to cover it, but I’m sure he saw it anyway. Clearing the haze from my mind, I strive for the same level tone he’s using and give my answer.

"No, sir," I refute him, my voice still slightly thicker than normal despite my striving. "I admit that I was starting to keep those logs in case Starfleet became aware of the situation, but the feelings and observations expressed within are genuine."

"Very well," the commodore says, not indicating to me whether or not he believes my answer. "Now, in the time since my conversation with both of you in your quarters, on stardate 3282.4, how has Commander McCafferty behaved towards you?"

A loaded question, certainly, but I decide to miss out in my answer her initial reaction to our reprimand. "As you will no doubt have read in my personal logs, sir, all the public displays of animosity ceased immediately. It was clear to the crew that we hadn’t resolved our issues and still weren’t friends, but from then on, her demeanour towards me varied between coolly and coldly professional. No insinuations, veiled comments, or detectable double meanings."

"What of her conduct in private settings?" Tandara asks pointedly. "I notice you make no mention of that in your answer."

I sigh. "Sir, it took the captain almost a week further to stop her comments while we were in private. I finally had to remind her that your... orders... also applied to all active duty moments, not just when in public. After this, her relations with me have been entirely proper in all respects, if not always cordial."

"That is reassuring to hear, Lieutenant. What of your behaviour towards her?"

"As I’ve previously said, sir, my... lack of courtesy towards the commander was a means of showing her I wasn’t going to take her... harassment lying down, and to vent my own anger and frustrations," I explain, just so that he knows exactly where I’m coming from. In situations like these it doesn’t do to assume your motives are as obvious to others as they are to you. "After your orders on this matter, I mended my attitude and behaved as Starfleet expected of me. Even though it took a few days for Commander McCafferty to make her peace with the situation while we were in private, I held my peace and only refuted or ignored her words. I made sure not to respond in kind."

"So, what is your opinion of the situation as it stands now?" Tandara asks, probably only to have it on record in my own words, as it must be obvious from my testimony so far as to what I think.

"Sir, I believe the situation to be resolved. It is clear that Commander McCafferty and I still need to resolve our own problems with each other, but we are both now fully aware of our duties and responsibilities to Starfleet and the people we serve with." I say it almost formally, trying not to be too obvious in my hopes that he should now leave us be, but blow it by making myself crystal clear. "I firmly believe that a repeat of this incident will never happen, sir."

"Indeed," he replies, a fine eyebrow going up. "I’m glad someone does," he adds pointedly. I deflate rapidly at that, as was no doubt his intent, but I had to try.

"Overall, Lieutenant, why do you think Commander McCafferty behaved in this manner in the first place?"

I sit back in my chair and raise my hands in bewilderment. "Commodore, if I knew that, this whole situation could have been neatly avoided. I know she is angry with me at the way I was dealing with my injuries from the Jugurtha Betrayal, but I believe her own reactions--and the perceptions that drove them--are wrong. However, I also believe that those perceptions alone couldn’t have been enough to fuel that level of animosity for so long. I feel that there is a deeper issue that I’m unaware of behind all this, but I am no longer in a position to find out what that may be."

I give it some more thought, pondering her motives for pursuing the course of action she had, and opined, "As for her actions... I think she was just trying to get me off her ship because of her issues with me. It may be that simple. Having decided that she suddenly couldn’t stand me, but being unable to order me off, she might have done this to force me off, to make me want to leave, after which she’d have happily endorsed my transfer."

Tandara looks at me critically and asks, "You can think of no other reason?"

I repress a shudder and look away from him, uncomfortable with my next response. "The only other alternative I can think of is that I really am worthy of such despisement, and I really don’t want to consider that possibility."

Making no comment on that--in itself a supremely irritating and unnerving move, giving credence to the thought by not refuting it outright--Tandara further inquires, "From your logs it seems that both of you were confiding in Lieutenant Maknal. If it would help you to resolve your personal issues with Commander McCafferty, would you try to find out from him if she had confided that secret?"

"No sir." The words are out of my mouth almost before I’ve finished thinking them. The flare of anger and indignation that follows as his question fully registers are welcome, as it seems that I won’t stoop that low.

"You seem very sure of that, Lieutenant. Why not?"

I stare at him disbelieving for some seconds, wondering if this is a test of my reactions or an honest question. I give him an honest answer regardless. "Sir, it would put Lieutenant Maknal in an awkward position, in which he should refuse. If the positions were reversed I would not want him to reveal something I’d told him in confidence, regardless of the good motives and honourable intentions evidenced by the other party. If Commander McCafferty wants me to know, I’ll be told either by her or someone she trusts, but I will not ask." I pause there for a moment, to reflect on my relations with McCafferty. "It does pain me to say that, sir. The commander and I were good friends before this happened, and I do wish I could fix it. Forcing the issue will just make it harder, though."

"I understand, Lieutenant," the Deltan responds, before apparently changing gears. "Now that I have a general overview of your situation as you see it, I want to go over your log entries with you. There are certain points I wish to discuss, and to ascertain your state of mind while you were making them..."

Oh great. This is where it gets deadly personal. This is where it could all go horribly wrong. The commodore continues, bringing up the first such log entry, and I steel myself for the assault of raw emotion that the details of our feud are bound to bring. I just hope that re-opening these not-so-old wounds doesn’t poison my heart and mind again. What’s more, when it’s McCafferty’s turn to do this, I hope it doesn’t poison her again, either.

*****

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Ooooh, now we're getting to it! The fur'll fly now... *grin*

And good luck on getting your new job, Andy!

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Ten, Pt II

Nearly two hours later and my head is spinning, crammed full of the litany of charges, motivations and assumptions behind each, and the dull, throbbing anger I feel as a result of it all. Through the pounding in my head, I can only think that this was a bad idea. I want to go tear a strip off the captain, give her an earful for all the crap she dumped on me that first month. I tried to be dispassionate about it, clinical and without emotion, but going over only the bad points and examining each in what amounted to excruciating detail finally drove that mantra from my head.

The thought strikes that it was too much detail but at this point I cannot think clearly enough to follow it up.

"Very well, Lieutenant, I believe I’m satisfied with your answers," Tandara tells me, breaking my reverie. I nod stiffly and he continues, "You will be informed of my decision at around 2000 hours tonight."

Again, I nod stiffly and force out a "Yes, sir."

"Thank you for your co-operation, Lieutenant," he tells me with a nod. "You’re dismissed."

I smartly turn on my heel and exit his office, my emotions held tightly in check--until I’m stopped short a step outside his door.

In the adjacent room, waiting to be seen next, is Lieutenant Commander Karen McCafferty.

Let her have it!! My mind shrieks at me as we make eye contact. There is no way she can miss the fact that I’m angry and she starts to react to it. Remember Christmas! Remember what’s happened in the last three days! the rational part of my brain shouts at me. What you’re feeling now is just echoes of the past!

Barely a second has passed since we saw each other. I manage a civil, if stiff, nod of acknowledgement to my captain and resume walking towards the corridor. Before I depart, though, I catch McCafferty’s look of puzzlement at my actions.

Getting into the nearest turbolift, I grate out, "Transporter Room Six." I need time and space to think, to consider my reactions, but I won’t get that anywhere nearby on the base. Arriving at the transporter I order, "Contact the Kusanagi and have me beamed aboard."

The operator looks startled, but does as he’s told. "Ready, sir", he tells me in clipped tones.

I didn’t want to be rude, but my anger makes me short with people. It’s hard to be nice to others when you’re ticked off. "Thanks, Chief," I offer by way of apology. "Energise."

He nods, his features relaxing, and works his controls. Seconds later I’m aboard the ship, looking at Jerry Anderson. He nods a greeting and I tell him, "Inform the bridge I’m back on board, but I’m heading to my quarters. I’ll be on the bridge soon, but unless it’s urgent I don’t want to be disturbed."

"Aye sir," he replies as I leave the room and begins speaking down the intercom in his odd Boston accent.

A minute later and I’m in my quarters, locking the door behind me. I’ve been managing to let go my anger bit by bit on the journey here so I no longer feel the need to scream my rage out, but I do need some release. My eyes rove all over my quarters for something replaceable to break or shred, and they fall upon my stiff, functional, Starfleet-issue pillow lying on my bed, just asking for it.

I stride over to my bed, pick it up and heave it with all my strength across the room. I feel a little better as it makes a satisfying crash, knocking over a pile of data tapes containing various reports and books, so I pick it up and heave it again, this time into my living quarters. The noise isn’t as satisfying though, just a muffled thud off the bulkhead, so I grab it and give it a thorough punching. This process is repeated over the next five minutes, with me alternately throwing it around and beating the fluff out of it if it doesn’t make a destructive enough noise.

The only reason I stop after five minutes is that I suddenly get an image of how this must look to an outsider. Bent over, hands on my knees, breathing heavily, and my face no doubt red with dissipating anger and slight exertion, I glance at the poor pillow lying dejectedly and misshapen on the floor.

I must look completely ridiculous doing this, I note with a snort of laughter. The snort becomes a chuckle the more I think about it, which in turn develops into a real laugh. Before I know it, I’m sitting on the floor myself, back propped against the bulkhead with an arm around my belly and my other hand slapping the floor as I roar with laughter.

Subsiding a little after a few minutes, I open my teary eyes and catch my breath, only to see the pillow again.

It still looks dejected.

I start laughing again, and this time I don’t stop until I’m exhausted.

*****

A short while later I’ve composed myself once more and I’m pondering the whole interview situation. The emotions engendered by it having been washed away--however temporarily--I can now think clearly about how Tandara conducted the interview. Something was already bugging me about it as I left, but I couldn’t focus on it then.

I can now.

Thinking it over, with the general inquiries first, questions with obvious answers, then the specific incidents and extreme detail Tandara wanted...

It was all a test, I realise. Not only was he getting his answers, even the way he was asking questions was a test of my reactions, my emotions, how I felt about my answers and his questions. The first part was to get a baseline to work from for the second part, to learn how to read me properly for the main inquisition. The detail he went into later on was a test of my patience and emotional restraint, not just of my honesty and objectivity. Hell, seeing McCafferty afterwards was probably also a test, observed by his adjutant to be reported and graded by Tandara. I shake my head in awe. It wasn’t just an interview, it was a complete psychological evaluation!

This realisation rocks me back on my heels. It was beautifully done, too, as I’m only realising it after the fact, now that it’s too late to do anything about it.

Not that there was anything I could have done, really. Except to try and modify my reactions to what I thought he wanted to see, and that could have backfired horribly. Just as well I didn’t realise it then, I conclude, then wonder:

How did I do? And how will the captain do?

*****

Two hours later and she’s back on board, apparently in much the same way I returned--looking pissed and going straight to her quarters. Those two hours passed by slowly and tensely enough as it was, but I’m betting it’s going to be nothing compared to the next two, upon which both our fates now rest.

Both the captain and I are scheduled to be off duty right now, but I’m in no mood for any of my usual off duty activities, and I’m sure McCafferty feels likewise. So, here I am, just stewing in my own juices, alone in my quarters as I have been for the last three hours. I had been up to the bridge as promised, just to check in, but there was nothing requiring my attention. I returned to my quarters and alternately sat, paced, stared at the walls--and yes, managed an occasional smile whenever my eyes fell on my pillow.

I know that I had decided, months ago, that I’d let the chips fall where they may and that if I had to leave the Service I’d accept it as a just resolution. However, wandering around my quarters actually waiting for that call, I realise that I don’t want to go. No, more than that; I want to stay.

Over the last few months I’ve been treating this as a job. Just somewhere to spend my time, earn my pay. There is something terribly wrong with that.

I remember when I got into Starfleet Academy. I was so damn proud of myself, as was everyone else in my family, and rightly so. For every available spot at the Academy, Starfleet receives twelve thousand applications. Just to get in proved that you were special, and to graduate meant that the faith placed in you was justified.

Serving in Starfleet isn’t just a job, it’s a privilege! One of the highest honours that can be bestowed upon a Federation citizen, to become an ambassador for your culture, race, and society within the Federation, and as an ambassador for the Federation itself in its dealings with alien races.

And I had forgotten all that, acting like a spoiled child! I really do deserve to be kicked out in disgrace. The image is cringe-worthy.

It makes me thoroughly ashamed that it took until this moment to realise it, mere minutes before the final decision. If I am allowed to remain, in whatever capacity, I’m going to dedicate my life to upholding the traditions, ideals, and spirit of the Star Fleet.

I know. It sounds cheesy, trite, and desperate even to my own ears, but I’m vowing that it’s true. However, my New Year’s Resolution-making is interrupted by the door chime.

I sigh. I don’t really want visitors right now, but neither do I want to be rude. Everyone on board knows what’s happening tonight, what’s at stake for us, so they wouldn’t come calling for nothing. "Come," I call out.

The door unlocks and slides open to reveal Karen McCafferty.

"Captain!" I exclaim, jumping up from my bed. To say I’m surprised is a bit of an understatement. She hasn’t been here since our falling out over two months ago. The memory of that plus what Tandara just put me through lodges a bubble of anger in my throat. I swallow it back down and force out a polite, "Come in, please."

"Thank you," she says shortly, stepping inside and letting the door close behind her. She looks around for a few moments, as if re-familiarising herself with what it looks like in here. Standing there in her gold command uniform with its incredibly short skirt, her black boots, and her so-dark-brown-its-almost-black hair all piled up on her head, I can almost pretend things are back to the way they were.

Even when she finally turns to face me, the illusion is not quite dispelled as her face is missing its now usual expression of hostility or coldness. Instead she wears a confusing mix of emotions, each warring with the other. Although we’re just two people standing in a room together, it’s a totally surreal moment for me.

"Mr. Brown..." she begins, but falters. Trying again, she says, "Andrew."

I feel the need to sit down lest I fall down. The thought comes to me in a flash of hope that she’s here to tell all and let us fix what went wrong between us, and that Tandara’s inquisition forced her to re-evaluate herself. Oh, please let it be so! My hopes rise further when she finally manages to speak into this awkward silence.

"Andrew, I wanted to... to say this to you before we find out from Tandara what’s going to happen to us." She stops again and starts pacing, but I don’t press her. I can see what she’s trying to say is hard for her and I don’t want to make it any harder if she’s going to say the words I want to hear.

"After my... meeting... with him, it put certain... things... into harsh perspective for me." She swings round to me suddenly, looking directly into my eyes, exclaiming, "He didn’t order me to do this, though!"

I swallow to lubricate my throat and say, "I understand."

She nods and resumes her pacing. "The meeting showed me... I came to realise that... my treatment of you was..." She again turns to look me in the eye. "It was wrong."

I’ve never really been overly emotional, but I find myself welling up at this. She’s about to do it! She’s come to her senses! I exult.

My imminent tears of joy dry up at her next words.

"No matter what I think of you as a person, you do perform your duties well."

She looks set to continue that statement, but apparently decides against it. I can hear an undertone of anger now, but I’m unsure who it’s directed at. My own anger and hurt are threatening to make a comeback now that it seems she’s not going to allow us to be friends again, but I brutally quash it to hear her out.

"No matter how badly--how angry you made me," she continues--though for a moment I was sure she was going to say "how badly you hurt me", which makes no sense--"my treatment of you was unworthy of me. So, I... apologise to you. Andrew."

Looking away again to begin pacing, she adds, "I just wanted you to know that, before..."

"Yes," I utter, feeling bewildered. She’s still angry with me for whatever she thinks I did, I realise. The voice of sanity within my head urgently points out, At least she’s admitting that driving you insane was wrong! She’s apologising to you, for Pity’s sake. That means she’s coming around!

"Thank you," I blurt out, before the silence stretches too long. I add, "It means a great deal to me to hear you say that."

Nodding stiffly, she turns to go.

"Wait!" I call, taking a couple of steps toward her. "Karen, please." It is a day of surprises. I never thought I’d call her that again. She half turns, so I plunge on. A famous captain once said, "Push. Push ‘til it explodes in your face."

So, I push. "Tell me."

She turns further, a question on her face.

"We can fix it!" I all but plead. "Tell me!"

Her face contorts with anger, but she whispers, "I’m not ready."

I step closer again, reaching to her. "Karen--"

"I said, I’m not ready, Gods’-damnit!" she thunders, eyes full of anger and grief, then storms out of my quarters.

Damn, damn, DAMN! I curse. I was so close! We were so close...!

Just then, the intercom pages me. Trying to settle my emotions, I answer it.

"Lieutenant Brown, Commodore Tandara requests your presence, along with the captain’s, in his office in ten minutes," Achmed tells me.

"Understood," I reply, voice quavering. "Page the captain again, she should be back in her quarters now."

"Aye sir. Bridge out."

The butterflies in my stomach return with a vengeance. Feels more like a squadron of heavy cruisers on manoeuvres, actually. I do a few quick stretches to relieve some of my nervous tension, then head down to the transporter room.

The captain is already there, looking calm and in control as always. I nod respectfully to her--something else I haven’t done in a while--and step up beside her. "Energise," she commands, and seconds later we are on the starbase.

Another minute and the turbolift deposits us on Tandara’s office level. Walking in perfect step we enter the adjutant’s office, who announces us to Tandara.

Getting a quiet response that I cannot make out, the still-nameless Vulcan states, "The Commodore will see you now."

[Governor Ronjar]

I am forever behind youir pace on reading this post!!!

I would catch up on it tonight, but my eyeballs just imploded...

As to your surprise that so many "actively dislike the main characters"...that's not necessarily a bad thing. You write assholes quite well. Use this fact to your advantage.

I, myself, being an asshole, love it!
Write on!

--thu guv'!!

[Commander La'ra]

Thing is Guv, is that, where McCafferty and Brown are being childish, grudge-bearing, and petty type assholes, you are more the style of asshole who'd be quietly encouraging their self-destruction.  Once their adolescent behavior toppled them from their posts the Kusanagi would be yours...yours!...ALL YOURS!!! *villanous laughter*.

 

[Governor Ronjar]

Innnndeed!

[Scottish Andy]

Chapter Eleven

The heavy cruisers have turned into dreadnoughts and I steal a quick glance at McCafferty before we step into Tandara’s office. Either she’s unconcerned, or that’s one hell of a poker face.

The commodore is standing up behind his desk, staring out of his window at the dark skies and bright lights of his base. Possibly seeing us reflected in the window, he says, "Commander, Lieutenant. Please take a seat."

Karen looks to me and I shake my head slightly. Addressing Tandara, she states, "Thank you sir, but we prefer to stand."

He turns to face us, expressionless. "As you wish," he replies evenly. Not sitting down himself, he paces around behind his desk. "Tell me, Lieutenants, in my place and knowing what you know, what would you do? Mr. Brown."

Taken by surprise, I manage to avoid stammering my answer. "I would dishonourably discharge us both, sir."

A fine eyebrow goes up. "Would you now? And you, Mr. McCafferty?"

On hearing my answer I had felt her flinch slightly, but on being called herself her answer was prompt. "I agree with Lieutenant Brown, sir. We should be punished."

Clasping his hands behind his back, he appraises us. "Yes, you should," he agrees seriously.

I feel my heart sinking into my boots and cannot stop myself from drooping slightly. Although his question was a classic heads-I-win-tails-you-loose scenario, I was hoping he’d reconsider. If we’d said "keep us", we’d be unrepentant or arrogant and deserving of a slap down from him, but by saying what we had we invited him to do the same. I don’t risk a glance at Karen this time; I just keep my eyes fixed on the scenery behind Tandara, a barren planetscape in the rapidly fading light.

Seems to be an appropriate metaphor for my career, I observe. Where will I go? What will I do? My questions about my future are put on hold as Tandara speaks again.

"I have studied the evidence presented to me in all its forms and come to my decision. Both of you will be punished, but it will not be necessary to convene courts martial," the Deltan proclaims.

Are we going to be kicked out without a trial? I ask myself, not sure whether that’s better or worse. Probably better, I decide, as it spares my family--and me--the shame of a public disgrace. Karen might object, though.

"Lieutenant Andrew Brown."

"Yes sir!" I reply firmly as I step forward.

"An official reprimand will be placed in your permanent record for as long as you serve in Starfleet, said reprimand to reflect your un-military behaviour in this matter. You will also be placed at the bottom of the promotion lists, erasing your two years of seniority as a lieutenant.

"Step back, Mr. Brown."

I automatically step back, but I’m dazed. That’s it? A reprimand and held back? I’m still in Starfleet? I have to stop a goofy grin from spreading across my face as I realise, I’m still in Starfleet! I’m still first officer of a frigate! Oh, thank the Gods!

"Lieutenant Commander Karen McCafferty."

"Yes sir!" she acknowledges, stepping forward.

"An official reprimand will be placed in your permanent record for as long as you serve in Starfleet, said reprimand to reflect your un-military behaviour and conduct unbecoming an officer. You will also be placed at the bottom of the promotion lists for the next two solar years, to prevent you gaining any seniority in your recently conferred rank of lieutenant commander.

"Step back, Mr. McCafferty."

She steps back and this time I do risk a glance at her. She looks kind of shell-shocked, but I don’t know if she considers this result as good or bad for her.

"Lieutenants, I want you to realise that you have been let off lightly. Both of you, along with others, managed to convince me that you can act like officers and that this shameful situation will not happen again." Tandara unclasps his hands and leans forward over his desk, glaring at both of us. "However, both of you will now be held to a higher and stricter standard that is the normal for the Fleet. You have used up all your leeway with this one incident, so if there is any--and I mean any--kind of resurgence of this behaviour from either of you, then you will be immediately relieved of duty, arrested, and held pending your court martial. This is not limited solely to your interactions with each other but includes dealings with all other personnel, and holds for whatever subsequent postings either of you may hold, together or apart.

"I also want you to realise just how close you both came to destroying your careers with these stupid, childish games!" he yells.

Oh believe me, Commodore, I realise it! I mentally yelp. I vow there and then not to make a fool of him for trusting us. Well, me, at any rate.

"Understood, sir," Karen replies, and I echo her.

"I truly hope so, Lieutenants. I really do." Pushing himself up off his desk, he turns back to gaze out of his huge bay windows. "That is all, Lieutenants. You may return to your posts. Your new orders will be forthcoming. Dismissed!"

"Aye sir!" I acknowledge crisply, and Karen echoes me. We both pivot smartly and step in unison out of the commodore’s offices. At this time of the night the office complex is mostly deserted, so our ride back to the transporter room is an undisturbed one. I don’t feel safe talking about it down here, as if merely mentioning it will get us hauled back in and kicked out anyway. Karen seems quite content to stay silent as well, even after we beam up to the ship.

I have to say something to her though, so I ask her to remain and dismiss the transporter operator.

After she leaves, I turn to McCafferty and ask tentatively, "Captain, do you want to talk about this...?"

She looks up at me, her face in that confusing jumble of emotions again, and slowly shakes her head. I can see relief warring with anger, hurt with shame, jubilation with disappointment in her eyes. "No, Mr. Brown. I’m too... too tired, right now," she tells me in a dishearteningly flat tone. "It’s been a long day. I’ll see you tomorrow for first watch. Goodnight, Mr. Brown."

"Understood, sir," I reply quietly. "Goodnight, Captain."

She nods and leaves the room. I watch her go, feeling sad for some unaccountable reason.

I stand in silent contemplation of what I want to do next, then follow her out. It’s still only 2030 hours. I’m going to the Rec. Room to celebrate the fact that I’m still a Fleetie.

I wonder when Urrih will show up?

I arrive in the Rec. Room to find the usual activities of the night in full swing. Urrih is already there but off to one side playing some Tri-D chess with Shex, with Salok and Lathena looking on. I’d like all my immediate friends to hear this, but with it being the middle of the Beta shift, Tess, Glory, Olaf, and Setik are on duty.

Almost as one, the entire room turns to look at me as I walk in and the noise dies. Although I shouldn’t be, I’m slightly surprised by the level of interest being displayed in me. The silence is starting to unnerve me, but they don’t look as if they’re about to let me off the hook. They’re hungry for information, so it looks like I’ll have to make an announcement.

I hadn’t really planned out how I was going to do this. It was in my head to just sit with Urrih and my friends and tell them, as I thought announcing it over the ship’s PA would be... inappropriate. Moving to where everyone has a clear view of me, I clear my throat and just say the first thing that comes into my head.

"Ah... I’m sorry, everyone, but it looks like you’re going to be stuck with the both of us for a little while longer..."

There are a couple of knee-jerk laughs at that, then the whole room resumes its previous noisy exuberance. I shake my head in bemusement as I head over to where Urrih is energetically waving to me. Not so much interested in me as in the result, I surmise with a smile. Sitting down next to Shex, Urrih excitedly asks, "So, can you tell us what happened?"

"Thanks for the warm welcome and support, I really appreciate it." I tell them all. "Now, you know I can’t tell you exactly what went on, but suffice to say that I got both wrists firmly slapped, a stern talking to, and the admonition never to do anything like it again or I’d be immediately court martialled. If you want to know what happened to the captain you’ll have to ask her. She has, however, retired for the night," I warn them.

"So, how do you feel, Andy?" Urrih asks me.

"Relieved!" I laugh, and they smile. "I all but had an epiphany just before the meeting, and realised that I love what I do here and that I really didn’t want to be kicked out. I had made a fatalistic peace with that eventuality, but at just after the eleventh hour I felt myself wake up from this... almost numbed nightmare/dream state."

Urrih eyes me critically. "So, you’re feeling... better?" he asks with a special emphasis.

I know exactly what he’s referring to, and tell him so with my eyes. "Completely. I’m feeling a lot like my old self again."

"Does that mean you no longer wish to date me, Andrew?" a whisper-soft voice asks, stopping the conversation cold.

Now, Lathena is at the table talking around me with my other friends who are doing likewise, but all my mind can supply to that question is wrong Andorian!

Salok raises an eyebrow. Urrih’s eyes are wide with surprise and amusement. Lathena’s looking intently at me, and I’m staring back at the person who spoke.

I regain my voice and yell, "Shex!"

"Is that a no?" he replies, wide-eyed and innocent, before starting to laugh.

*****

[Governor Ronjar]

I greatly enjoyed the whole search and rescue elements of this story. As a commanding Admiral, I would, however, make sure neither or these officers served together ever again. Oddly enough, the two most senior officers' innain squabbling seems to have little or no effect on the crew. Maybe they're all too blaze to notice...

As to the disposition of the Klingons on that planet... I would have had to fight NOT to just blast them from orbit. I certainly would have given them a thorough stun blast before leaving, no matter what I decided to do with them later. Maybe beam them up into the other cargo bay, stacked three men deep...with the life support turned so low they wouldn't be able to regain consciousness.But alas... that's not the starfleet way...

On the other hand... Captain Dath'mar would likely have done exactly the same as this story's Klinks if he'd discovered his survivors were on a planet with human survivors. La'ra certainly would not have. Ron'jar would have surveiled them to make sure they were no threat, but otherwise left them alone till opportunity arose to exploit them...

This is a great story. Took me some time to get used to the way its written, but grand effort all around. Might have tried a bit TOO hard in getting those TOS-ish 'blow-ups' you were wanting. Blow-ups are fine and dandy till they interfier with the operation of the ship. Though the crew of the Kusanagi seem to pull their sh*t together rather well dispite their captain and XO.

Bravo!
--thu guv'!

[Scottish Andy]

Thanks Guv, I really appreciate the feedback. It's great to get some!

I enjoyed doing the search and rescue scenes, though when this story was envisoned I was only going to do the one and have the main story about the Klingons on the planet.

As for their punishment, I did ask Larry what he thought about their punishment. He said it was a moderate response, different people do different things based on their personality and culture and stuff. Like you said, if you'd been the Commodore, you'd have split them up. I tried to rationalise keeping them based on their previosu records, and the fact that Starfleet is short of good command material after the war with the Klinks, and are willing to give these officers their second chance.

As for the crew not reacting... that was on purpose. The command staff had just been introduced to the crew (their previous offiicers were killed) so they had no investment in them eithre way. They were pretty sure to start with that they'd be removed, I think, so were inured to the bickering. No point in getting an emotional investment to someone who'll be gone soon, hmm?

Ya, I'm glad you approve of the way we dealt with the Klinks. I did want to bombard them from orbit, but it really would be revenge, or sour grapes at worst.

The 'blow-ups', as I've said before, are in extremis for a reason. A pendulum swings both ways, and they were good friends to start with, and breakups can get nasty. So, they swung from 'happy-cosy' behaviour all the way to the other side into 'vicious-petty'. Now that they've had their arse to a slap, the pendulum will swing the other way and they'll start getting along better.

The crew are what make a ship. This is a seasoned frigate crew, and they're not letting bickering senior officers get to them. Their previous captain trained them well.

Also, the way you wrote this makes me think that you think that's the end. There are a couple more sections to come, detailing the start of the new mission, so stay tuned.

Anyone else have a penny's worth, or 2 cents, to add? All your comments and critiques are welcome. Lay it on me.

[Commander La'ra]

The crew are what make a ship. This is a seasoned frigate crew, and they're not letting bickering senior officers get to them. Their previous captain trained them well.

Officer wise, I'd give credit to the previous captain.  Crew wise, I'm willing to bet the NCOs on that ship were older hands, who could've ran things without input from the officers at all.

[Governor Ronjar]

My post might have read as such, but I wasn't under the impression you were done yet.

The two main characters put me in the mind of a ship where I'd have to serve under my ex-wife. There you would see the kind of 'blow-ups' you've described. If these are the kind of blow ups you contend with in your life on a daily basis, then my friend... you live a very interesting life.

I'd like to see some POV from the lower officers and NCO compliment in later instalments if at all possible. See just what your crew thinks about their squabbling CO's. You've intrigued me...

Any who, thou art welcome for the feed back. You have always kept me happy in my own posts and I am glad to return the favor.

--rogmann

[Commander La'ra]

I'd like to see some POV from the lower officers and NCO compliment in later instalments if at all possible. See just what your crew thinks about their squabbling CO's.

I'm guessing that the 'used to be sleeping together secretly and had a falling out' theory would be getting a lot of play.

[Scottish Andy]

I'd like to see some POV from the lower officers and NCO compliment in later instalments if at all possible. See just what your crew thinks about their squabbling CO's. You've intrigued me...

I'm guessing that the 'used to be sleeping together secretly and had a falling out' theory would be getting a lot of play.

That's definitely an interesting comment Guv, and thanks for the idea Larry. I think I will include some of that in the next Karen'n'Andrew story (if I managed to work up enough steam to continue with it), it'll give some good depth to the daily life there.

Remember, though, I'm telling this from 1st-person present perspective. I don't know anything that goes on outside of my own perception range. Maybe the crew'll be discussing it amongst themselves and one of my friends will hear it and discuss it with me... yes...

If these are the kind of blow ups you contend with in your life on a daily basis, then my friend... you live a very interesting life.

I and my wife laughed long and loud at this, because I do. *grin* It's never boring in our house... She's craaaaaaaaaaazy! (In that "damaged goods" kinda way *grin*)

Any who, thou art welcome for the feed back. You have always kept me happy in my own posts and I am glad to return the favor.

Give to receive and all that. That's my approacjh to life as I believe in karma. I know how much I crave feedback, so I'm thinking you guys out here are wanting it too.

Anyway, Muchos Thanksos for the comment(-sos). Glad to see some interest in this!

[Scottish Andy]

Hi all,

Sorry for the long delay in posting the final section, but getting a new job kinda got in the way. 

Anyhoo, here's the final section of my not-quite merry tale, so feel free to deluge me with your thoughts on the story as a whole and on the conclusion. Thanks for your patronage, donations are welcome. 

Chapter Eleven, Pt II

I step onto the bridge at 0755 hours the next morning, feeling refreshed, relaxed, and more like a Starfleet officer than I have done for the last four months. The Alpha shift are already in place and getting final updates from the Gamma shift. After briefing them on the non-events of our last night in orbit of the starbase they all head for the turbolift, presumably going below for some breakfast.

I manage to tour the bridge stations once, getting friendly/respectful nods of acknowledgement from everyone and a grin from Urrih, before the captain appears at exactly 0800 and our morning begins. I head over to her and she acknowledges me with a nod.

"Good morning, Captain," I greet her evenly, unsure of how happy to be in case she has used last night to think things over and decide she hates me all over again.

Everything seems okay for the moment though, as she returns my cautious approach. "Good morning, Mr. Brown. Ship’s status?" she asks, even though she’s probably already went over the Gamma shift reports.

"We are fully operational, Captain," I reply. "There are no ‘casualties’ from the Christmas festivities on the base, and even Chief Talbain managed to avoid becoming a guest of starbase security."

Karen looks at me, surprised, before gracing me with a slight smile.

It looks like our crew was on their best behaviour while ashore because of the trouble between us, even down to the rowdier elements like Abukar and his buddies. It seemed to me that they didn’t want to complicate matters for us by getting involved in brawls or scams, possibly thinking that their own lack of discipline would reflect badly on us. I may be wrong and we were just lucky this time, but if not I am once again touched by our crew’s regard.

"Will wonders never cease," she finally replies, then asks, "Status of the warp drive? How did the conduit integrity checks go?"

"The warp engines are fully back online and running within expected parameters, all systems check out," I tell her. "Conduits 261-Alpha and 578-Gamma were found to have stress fractures and had to be replaced. Computer simulations and static power tests have confirmed that the new conduits are up to scratch and properly integrated into existing systems," I finish, though I know she has already read up on these matters too. It’s just her way of making sure we both know all the latest information about our ship.

"Very good," she acknowledges. "Anything else?"

"No sir. All systems read green, all departments are up to speed and ready for departure."

"Very good. Thank you, Lieutenant," she tells me--another good indication--then turns to our comm. officer. "Lieutenant Lathena, contact the base operations division and give our current readiness status, and request our new mission orders."

"Aye sir," she replies as both of us step onto the bridge proper, Karen heading for her command chair and me to the navigation databanks.

A few minutes later Lathena reports, "Captain, Base Operations acknowledges our status, but informs us they have no orders for us at present. We are instructed to maintain position until contacted again."

That’s annoying, I observe, and see my thought echoed in the captain’s face. There is no trace of it in her reply, though.

"Very well, Lieutenant. Acknowledge those orders and confirm our compliance."

"Aye, Captain."

And once again, all we can do is wait. Surely they won’t keep us in the dark for too long, I hope to myself. There’s no point having a fully crewed ship ready to go just hanging about in orbit doing nothing all day.

For lack of anything else to do at present, I check up on a detail from our last mission that I’m curious about. However, a quick search of the computer records tells me nothing more than I learned a few days ago. Puzzled now, I decide to ask the captain if she knows anything new.

"Captain, do you know the current whereabouts and status of the Klingons we captured?" I ask in a quiet voice. "The Starfleet updates make no mention of them..."

I trail off on seeing the expression coming over her face. She glares at me for a few seconds, apparently searching my face for something. I feel myself start to get angry back at her, thinking, was this truce between us just for show? Is she going to start it all over again?

She relents, however, her anger slowly sinking back beneath the surface, leaving me puzzled as hell. What was that all about? She looked ready to rip my head off, but seemed to decide she didn’t need to.

Forcing most of the anger from her voice, she pushes out, "I’m sorry, Mr. Brown, but that information has been restricted to CO’s Eyes Only. I can’t tell you anything."

Not even why merely asking you about it lit off your fury again, Captain? I don’t ask. Instead, I acknowledge that my curiosity won’t be satisfied, on any level. "Very well, Captain," I reply briskly, then return to "my" station.

Before I was just curious about what was happening to them, when and where their trial would be so that I could watch it via subspace or whatever. When I discovered that there was no information about them at all, I became curious about that, too. Now I had an unholy itch in my brain to find out what was going on, and why it was now classified above my head.

I shake my head ruefully, as if trying to gently dislodge my curiosity. Nothing worse than an itch you can’t scratch.

*****

It took another couple of hours, but our new orders finally come in. To our surprise, Tandara himself delivers them.

"Captain, I’m receiving a hail for you from the base commander’s office," Lathena informs us. If it had been private she’d have mentioned that too, so Karen orders it on the main screen. The Andorian woman nods and our view of the planet is replaced by an image of the commodore behind his desk.

"Commander McCafferty, I have your new orders for you," he begins, his deep voice resonating onto the bridge. "The Kusanagi is being transferred to the Romulan border to counter the increased incursions into the Neutral Zone. Starfleet Command has determined that the threat from the Klingons is at its lowest point for many years, so experienced personnel are being redeployed."

I feel my eyebrows rise in surprise at that. Although I agree with Starfleet’s assessment of the current threat levels, the Klingons are cunning and sneaky and the Organians are not all-powerful. It’s not a situation to inspire neither confidence nor a lax attitude to border security. However, not being an admiral myself, I have to go where they tell me.

"Understood sir. What are our new orders?" McCafferty asks.

"You are to report to Commodore Sanek on Starbase 23 for anti-piracy patrols in Sector 19-L, no later than stardate 4300. Apparently, the Penzance Cartel has been taking advantage of Starfleet’s preoccupation with the Klingons to enrich their own coffers and are trying to improve their overall position in the pirate hierarchy. You will receive a full briefing from Commodore Sanek upon your arrival, but for now current data is being transmitted to you so that you may become familiar with the situation before you get there."

"Transmission received, Captain," Lathena states quietly.

"Received and understood, Commodore," McCafferty tells him. "Is there anything else?"

"Actually, yes. We have several personnel needing transport to Deep Space Station K-7, so we have them assembling in the transporter room. They should be ready to beam up in ten minutes." Tandara pauses to consult a clipboard, then resumes his briefing. "I realise that K-7 is somewhat out of your way to your next assignment, so you are authorised to drop these people off at Cygnia Minor if it interferes with your own schedule for Starbase 23. If necessary they can take a transport from there to complete their own journey."

Ah, good. I was beginning to worry about our timetable but that solves it neatly. Taking a detour to K-7 would cut it very close for us arriving on time at our new posting, and no one wants to be late for their first day at a new job.

"Aye sir. We are ready to beam them aboard at any time."

"Very good, Commander." Changing gears now that our new orders had been given, the Deltan informs us, "You are cleared for departure at 1030 hours FBT. The transporter room will contact you shortly. May fortune favour you in your new mission, Commander. Tandara, out."

Karen swings her chair around to view all the bridge stations as she speaks. "You heard the man, people. Departure stations. Ensign Salok, plot a course to the outer system markers and transfer to Helm. Lathena, contact Starbase Traffic Control with our flight plan once our navigator has completed his calculations. Mr. Enax, make sure our way out is clear of traffic."

The acknowledgements echo back and minutes later Salok confirms, "Course plotted, Captain. Transferring to Helm and Communications."

"Contacting Traffic Control now, Captain," Lathena states. Moments later, she has them online.

"Frigate Kusanagi, this is Starbase 22 Traffic Control, we have your flight plan," the unseen person drawls onto our bridge with a heavy Arkansas accent. With a voice like that, it’s not the same person we dealt with on our way in, that’s for sure. "We confirm that you’re cleared for departure from 1030 hours to the outer markers. There’s no immediate interplanetary traffic, although be advised that two cargo ships are due at the transfer station at 1045 hours. We’ve no interstellar arrivals for the next solar day, and the threat boards are still clear. There are no known storm fronts or adverse conditions reported for the sectors you’ll be passing through, so y’all have a nice flight, y’heah?"

"Thank you, Traffic Control," Karen acknowledges with a smile in her voice. "Kusanagi acknowledges."

Switching channels, Lathena has another report for the captain. "Sir, transporter room acknowledges receipt of beam up request from the starbase."

"Have them brought aboard, Lieutenant." Turning to me she orders, "Mr. Brown, see to our guests and make sure that they’re settled comfortably."

"Aye sir," I reply and head for the turbolift. Before the doors close on the busy bridge, I hear us set off.

"All departments report ready for departure, and the transporter room reports that our guests have arrived safely."

"Thank you, Lathena. Mr. Maknal, break orbit. Ahead, full impulse."

"Full impulse, aye sir. Estimating system boundary in 25 minutes."

*****

I manage to have our guests and their luggage installed in their new quarters on Deck 3 within twenty minutes. The three scientists and an administrator are heading to K-7 to help in the development of Sherman’s Planet. Peaceful competition to show who is better at developing a planet successfully is one of the more positive things to come out of the Organian Treaty, but apparently the Klingons are beating us on Sherman’s. The Federation is transporting in a huge shipment of the new wonder-grain quadrotriticale from Deneva to regain the edge, and these four people are experts on it.

I look forward to going over the details of this and the background data for our new assignment on the long trip to sector 19-L, but for now I want to be on the bridge for the transition to warp speed.

I step back into the command centre in time to hear Salok state, "Outer system markers ahead, Captain."

"Thank you, Ensign. Plot a course to Cygnia Minor at maximum cruise speed and transfer to Helm."

"Aye sir," he replies as I step down beside the captain’s chair.

"Our guests all taken care of, Mr. Brown?" she inquires.

"Yes sir, the four of them are sharing our two VIP quarters and seem quite pleased by them." I pause to consider extending another olive branch, then decide to go through with it. "Their assignment seems quite interesting, sir. If you like, I can have them brief you on it once we’re on our way."

"What’s it about?"

"A new strategy for Sherman’s Planet, Captain."

Karen raises her eyebrows. "Really? I think I’ll take you up on that, Lieutenant."

"Very good sir," I nod amiably.

"Course plotted and laid in, Captain," Salok updates.

Urrih adds, "Passing outer markers now, sir."

A ripple of excitement passes around the bridge, and Karen leans forward in her chair. It seems to me that the whole ship is poised like that, eager to be out there again. "Engage, Mr. Maknal. Warp five!" she commands.

"Warp five, aye. We’re on our way!" Urrih replies, eyes shining.

The screen breaks up with the transition to warp speed and settles into the familiar star-bow effect as the Kusanagi leaves the Einsteinian universe behind for Cochrane’s one.

At peace once again, we all look to the future and what it may hold.

The mission continues.

The End

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

A great story, Andy. Your best to date, even if the two main characters were too childish for the tastes of most. Hopefully in yoru next story you'll have them settle down some, hmm?

[Scottish Andy]

Yes, Jaeih I do. The whole point of this story was them "getting over it" while dealing with an emotionally taxing mission, so that by the next story, more nornal relations are resumed. I'm kinda stalled on that though, which is why I'm foing well with mu Chronicles. Straight to the heart of the matter in a single scene.

C'mon everyone, where are your comments? Where are your persons? I think Jaeih is right. Larry's kidnapped everyone into playing EVE online with him... lol