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[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