Monday 7 January 2019
USS Wakefield, S01E01 Act II - Changing of the Guard (Part 1)
Act II – Changing of the Guard
Day
-3
Captain Stephen
Drake leaned back in his chair as he regarded the computer display in
front of him. Twenty-four hours ago, he had been a commander in
charge of a light cruiser that undertook routine patrol and
assistance missions, almost entirely in the Beta sector, and had been
responsible for a couple of hundred crew. Now he was a captain,
sitting in a surprisingly smart and well-appointed temporary office
on Earth Spacedock – he would have to remember to thank Zhivkov for
that – having just carried out his fifth interview of the evening
for the positions of department heads on a state-of-the-art research
and science vessel that was expected to spend the next five years
on-mission. It was a lot to take in.
Still, the
interviews had gone well. All the promoted personnel had been
delighted – not just with the promotion, but also with the
knowledge that their commanding officer valued them enough to want
them to accompany him on his new commission. As Tarsi predicted, Lt
Seaholm had been happy with the reduction in role from department
head to deputy and had said that he still saw it as a promotion of
sorts, considering the vessel and mission he was being assigned to.
T’Met had been delighted to be offered the Chief Medical Officer
post and had even smiled, albeit briefly.
All in all, nine
members of the Trent’s crew had joined Drake and Tarsi in
transferring to the Wakefield – the heads of departments
that they had discussed together, and Lieutenants Seaholm and Flores.
Now he just had
chief security and tactical officers to interview, a deputy chief
engineer to approve – a Cardassian by the name of Jila Tele who
came highly recommended and who had already applied for the transfer
prior to Drake’s accepting the commission – and nine Romulan
exchange officers to meet. And then there was the Wakefield’s
new Head of Intelligence – another Cardassian, Lt Nereda had been
appointed to the ship by the Brass rather than at Drake’s request.
Although as Nereda was coming over from Section 31, her paperwork
stated her to have transferred to a different ship in an entirely
different sector. Drake wasn’t thrilled about having a Section 31
operative onboard, or about them being appointed without his say-so,
but he knew well enough how these things worked and understood that
he just needed to accept it.
The door buzzed.
Drake looked up and stared dumbly at it for a few moments before his
mind came back into focus. He glanced at his computer screen and
tapped back to his schedule – it was one of the applicants for the
Chief of Security position, an Orion by the name of Vukarno.
“Enter,” he
called out, remotely unlocking the door while skimming over the
officer’s application and service record to refresh his memory. A
very solid Academy record, particularly in the practical exams, and a
spotless disciplinary record during his career. He looked up as the
officer marched into his office and struggled to hide his surprise.
Lt Vukarno was not what he was expecting.
“Lieutenant
Vukarno reporting as instructed, sir!” announced the Orion as he
approached Drake’s desk and fired off a textbook salute. He was
young – the youngest Drake had interviewed for the position so far,
and maybe a decade younger than Drake himself – and possessed the
typically chiselled jaw, aquiline nose, and imposing physique of an
Orion male. While Drake was generally considered fairly tall and
well-built himself, Vukarno out-did him on both counts. However,
what really caught his eye was the Orion’s hair – while
the majority of his head was clean-shaven like most Orion men, there
was a two-inch-thick band of long, jet-black hair running down the
middle and tied into a ponytail at the back. And then there was the
beard – he’d never seen an Orion with anything more than evening
stubble on their face, but Vukarno had a tidily-trimmed pointed
goatee and handlebar moustache combo that was every bit as perfectly
presented as his uniform, which itself looked like it had been
cleaned and pressed just minutes ago, and then only put on right
before the Orion walked into Drake’s office.
“At ease,
Lieutenant,” replied Drake as he returned the salute, his eyes
still taking in the Orion’s unexpected appearance. “And, please,
take a seat.” Vukarno gave a curt nod before folding himself into
one of the chairs opposite Drake. He looks like he could be on a
recruitment advert, Drake found himself thinking. “I see you
are currently stationed here on Earth Spacedock.” The Orion nodded
briefly, still sitting to attention. Drake idly wondered if he even
slept to attention. “Why have you applied for a transfer to the
Wakefield?”
“Sir, I want
to see the galaxy, sir,” replied the Orion, stiffly.
“Understandable,”
said Drake, “but why the Wakefield in particular? There are
lots of security postings available on exploration vessels that will
see far more of the galaxy than we will on our mission.
“Sir, the USS
Wakefield was recommended to me by Adm. Syva, sir.”
“You realise
you don’t need to start and end every sentence with ‘sir’,
Lieutenant? This is Starfleet, not MACO. We’re a bit more
relaxed.” He smiled kindly at the Orion, who looked at him
uncertainly.
“My apologies,
sir. I wanted to make the best possible impression. It would seem I
got a little carried away.” It was odd seeing such a large man
looking sheepish.
“Quite
alright, Lieutenant. Interviews can be nerve-wracking affairs but,
please, just be yourself. I want to see if you’re the right person
to run my security department, not just the right person to take to
official events.” The Orion nodded, and his posture relaxed
somewhat, though he still sat stiffly. “Now, if Syva – that is,
Adm. Syva – recommended you, I can only assume that he had your
compatibility for the mission in mind as well as your capabilities as
a security officer. Would I be correct in thinking that?”
“Si-,” he
stopped and cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I had originally put
in an open transfer request for any ships in need of a senior
security officer and was contacted by Adm. Syva several weeks ago
after he saw this. The Admiral explained the broad overview of the
Wakefield’s upcoming mission’s parameters, and that he
felt I – as an Orion male – would be well suited to the mission.
He also noted that my ‘adoption of Federation and Starfleet ideals
and culture’ also served to illustrate a key point of the mission,
that is, the breaking down of old stereotypes.”
“Does that not
make you feel that you have been recommended perhaps as a PR move
rather than on your own merits?”
“Perhaps,
sir,” replied Vukarno, smiling just a little. “But I am
still an Orion, sir, and we are nothing if not pragmatic. A
promotion is a promotion, and regardless of the motive behind my
recommendation, it still provides me with the same opportunities to
further my career, see the galaxy, and partake in experiences that
simply would not be available here on the Spacedock, sir.” Drake
thought for a moment, his steepled fingers resting idly against his
lips.
“A very good
answer, and an attitude I can commend, Lieutenant.” The Orion
nodded slightly at the praise. “However, while I can agree with the
Admiral’s appraisal of your suitability for the mission, I am
concerned as to whether your level of experience and seniority makes
you suitable as a department head and staff officer. What would you
say in regard to that?”
“Sir, I would
say that I am currently in charge of a shift of one hundred and
twenty-seven personnel, which is three times the size of the
Wakefield’s entire security department. I am confident not
only that I could run the Wakefield’s security department,
but that I could excel in doing so.”
“I like your
confidence, and while your posting here speaks well of your
administrative abilities there is a significant difference between
leading the evening shift on Earth Spacedock and running the whole
department for a starship, even if there are less personnel. Our
mission might be one of diplomacy and scientific research but, with
the areas we will be travelling in, it is almost certain that we will
see active combat. As Head of Security, the officers under you would
be looking to you for leadership, not just staff management. You
will likely come under enemy fire more than once, and it is entirely
possible that people under your command will die. These are
difficult things to face.”
“I have scored
within the top five percent of all of the combat simulations I have
taken part in, sir, and have regularly undertaken additional
simulations beyond those expected of my position. While I appreciate
that simulated combat lacks the visceral reality of, well, real
combat, I can but offer my assurances that as an Orion I am not
easily intimidated or scared, and that as a Starfleet officer I see
keeping my crew safe as my number one priority in any combat
scenario, sir.”
“I see,”
commented Drake, nodding to himself before changing the subject. “On
the subject of simulations, let’s talk about the combat holoprogram
we ran you through before the interview.” The Orion sat up a
little straighter. “You were in command of a four-man away team
who had come under attack and had been pinned down, with
reinforcements unavailable...,”
--- Lt Vukarno and his team had taken a shuttle down to the
Ferengi mining colony - the rare metal deposits that had made the
valley such an attractive proposition for mining created too much
signal interference for transporters to be an option. While PO
Janssen from Security stood watch at the shuttle, Vukarno and the
other two officers on the mission were in the colony’s primary
warehouse, helping the inventory clerk check the medical supplies as
they were unloaded.
It was a straightforward supply run, and Vukarno’s team were
nearly done when two pirate ships had decloaked in a low orbit. The
USS Darlington, Vukarno’s ship, had immediately moved to
engage the two vessels, but not before the pirates had managed to get
several raiding shuttles away.
The initial attack had seen a dozen colonists injured or killed,
with the rest scrambling for the mine entrance and the safety of its
half-metre thick metal doors. Janssen had gone with them, providing
covering fire and doing what she could to herd the colonists and make
sure everyone got to safety. Janssen had acted with valour and
bravery, but sustained a gut shot in the process. With the colonists
safe, she had dragged herself the last few yards, helping hands
reaching out to pull her in over the threshold before the great door
slammed shut. ---
“Trapped, outnumbered, and separated from an injured officer who
needed prompt medical attention. A dire situation to say the least,
and one that requires a cool head and quick, decisive action to get
out of. Talk me through your thoughts, Lieutenant.”
“I had two options, sir,” explained Vukarno, “On the one hand
the surviving colonists were safe and secure either in the mine
entrance or in the warehouse with myself and two of my officers –
Dituri and Vehar.” Drake nodded, moderately impressed that the
Orion had remembered the names of the hologram officers in the
simulation – while a minor feat, it showed that he had taken the
sim seriously.
“With the shuttle – our only way off the planet – lying roughly
halfway between the warehouse and the mine entrance, I was obviously
faced with a choice,” Vukarno continued. “I rated the odds of
myself, Dituri, and Vehar successfully making to the shuttle as very
high – a simple bounding overwatch, using the abandoned supply
crates and traffic walls as cover. But that would almost certainly
condemn Janssen to death; she was safe from the pirates, but from her
description of her wound exsanguination would happen in considerably
less time than it would take for the pirates to fill their boots and
leave.”
--- “Lieutenant?” Vukarno’s combadge chirped to life,
though the voice that came through sounded crackled.
“Janssen?” he replied. “What’s your status? The clerk
here slammed the warehouse’s reinforced shutters as soon as trouble
started and is refusing to open them until it stops.”
“I…ine entrance, sir,” replied the security officer, the
connection unstable.
“You’re in the mine entrance?” Vukarno deduced.
“…irmative, Lieu…enant. Colo… … … ounded.”
“I can barely hear you, Janssen, there’s too much
interference.”
“… on.” There was a long pause, and Vukarno was about to
call the petty officer’s name again when her voice returned. “Can
you hear me now, sir?”
“Much clearer, Miss Janssen. What’s going on?”
“Pirate attack, sir,” she explained. “I’ve got the
colonists to the mine entrance and we’re safe behind the doors, but
we lost some on the run to safety. Not sure if they’re wounded or
dead; didn’t really get the chance to properly take stock. Sorry,
sir.”
“They’re probably dead,” interjected the colony’s
inventory clerk, in a very matter-of-fact tone. “Dead or dying.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Janssen,” Vukarno said, trying to
ignore the clerk. “You got as many people to safety as you could
and saved a lot of lives.” He paused, considering their options.
“We’re going to need to make a coordinated run to the shuttle.”
“Ah, that’s a negative, sir. I’m not going to be running
anywhere – took a gut shot before I could get my shields online.
Bleeding pretty badly. Done what I can with my personal medikit but
I’m not sure I can even stand back up without help.” ---
“While we could make a run to the shuttle with reasonable odds of
incurring minimal injuries, getting from there to the mine and then
back to the shuttle again, with an injured officer who would need
assistance to move, thus slowing the whole group down, would put all
four of us at a high risk of severe injury or death. Leaving Janssen
behind was the sensible choice.”
--- “Sit tight, Janssen, we’re going to work out a plan.”
“Not going anywhere, sir,” replied the security officer,
forcing herself to sound as chirpy as she could.
“Dituri, we’re going to need a distraction,” Vukarno said,
turning to face the away team’s operations officer.
“Sir?”
“Janssen can’t move and she’s not going to make it without
proper medical attention and fast. We need to get to the mine, get
her, and then get to the shuttle. The colonists are fine – they
can open the doors a crack to let us in and out and slam them shut as
soon as we’re clear. But we’re going to be awfully exposed once
we get Janssen.”
“I can rig the output of our shields, sir,” suggested Vehar.
“They won’t last long before burning out, but it will give us a
chance in the open.”
Vukarno nodded, “Good. Vehar?”
“We could…,” he looked around, searching for inspiration,
“we could rig up one of the auto-trucks to act as a makeshift
gurney for Janssen. It won’t help us move any faster because those
things don’t go much more than a brisk walking pace, but it frees
our hands up to lay down covering fire.”
“We could weld some of that sheet-steel to the sides, give
Janssen more cover,” added Vukarno. For a moment, the warehouse
clerk looked like they were about to object to the use and
jury-rigging of their equipment, but wisely decided to keep quiet.
“With Janssen covered, one of us can use her shield to boost our
own, right Vehar?” The operations officer thought for a moment,
then nodded.
“That should work, sir. It won’t take me five seconds to
tandem the two shields.” ---
“But not the right choice. We set to work, and within a few
minutes we had a crude but serviceable armoured gurney for Janssen.
Getting it over to the mine would be tricky and require some
coordination as we bounded, but it was doable if we left it switched
off and just rolled it between us. We ran our shields at normal
levels on the way to the mine and used the auto-truck as limited
cover. The miners had the door area cleared for our approach, and
had it open just enough for us to squeeze through. That was the easy
part. Making it the two hundred metres back to the shuttle at
walking speed was going to be hard. With the auto truck rolling, we
wouldn’t be able to bound effectively and would need to focus more
on covering that and keeping Janssen safe, rather than ourselves.
--- “Comfortable, Miss Janssen?” Vukarno asked.
“Like a day at the spa,” replied Janssen, smiling weakly. Her
face was pale and had a sheen of sweat on it. They knew they didn’t
have time to waste.
“Okay. Team, this is where it gets dicey. Vehar, take
Janssen’s shield, and mine, and tandem them with yours and
Dituri’s.”
“Sir?”
“I would advise agai-,”
“That was an order, not an invitation to discussion. I’m
Orion, I can take a lot more grief from a phaser than any of you can,
and I’m also the commanding officer here. Doubling your shields
and amping them up to max output should give the three of you enough
time to get to the shuttle. Stay as close as you can to the auto
truck so you’re covering any gaps in the plates.”
“What about you, sir? I counted a dozen pirates out there, just
waiting for us to pop out again, and that’s assuming more haven’t
come away from the looting to join the fun. Orion or not, you won’t
make it a hundred meters unshielded, nevermind two hundred.”
“Your assessment is noted, Dituri. I’m relying on the pirates
not having much trigger discipline, and also on the disorienting
effects of having half a dozen photon grenades thrown their way.”
“While we lay as much suppressing fire as we can,” added
Dituri, coming around to the tactic.”
“Short bursts, low power.” Dituri nodded at the suggestion.
“We don’t need to kill; we just need to confuse and disorient.
Now, I need everyone’s grenades and Janssen’s phaser.” ---
“It was a risky plan, Lieutenant,” Drake stated. The Orion
simply nodded in acknowledgement. “Charge out guns blazing, and
with a screaming Orion flinging grenades and running straight at
the enemy.”
“It took their focus off the slower-moving truck, and it is
statistically proven that rapidly closing the distance on an armed
assailant will throw off their aim, sir. A disciplined soldier will
focus and aim centre-of-mass, but an undisciplined one will panic and
just spray. I wagered the pirates would not be disciplined, sir.”
“You took seven hits, five of them glancing and the two direct hits
dealing survivable damage, thanks to your body armour and your
natural resistance to phase-disruption. Once your crew were aboard
the shuttle, they were able to use it to further scatter the pirates
and pick you up – with everyone aboard the shuttle, the simulation
was a success.”
“Yes, sir.” Vukarno managed to bite back the urge to smile in
self-congratulation.
“Frankly, Lieutenant, that’s the sort of borderline-deranged
tactical thinking that the Academy tries to drill out of cadets.”
He paused, watching the Orion’s face; the man was impressively
inscrutable in that moment. “It’s also the sort of
borderline-deranged tactical thinking that made legends out of
Admirals Kirk and Janeway, and just the kind of outside-the-box frame
of mind that I want in my staff officers.” He stood formally and
extended his hand towards Vukarno. After a moment’s processing,
the Orion stood as well and firmly shook the offered hand. “Welcome
aboard, Lieutenant Vukarno.”
“Thank you, Captain Drake!” replied the Orion, not so inscrutable
now as he grinned from ear to ear.
***
USS Wakefield, S01E01 Act I - The Promotion (Part 2)
“Officers on deck!” Announced the Wakefield’s
transporter chief as the four officers rematerialized on the
transporter pad. He stood to attention and saluted crisply at them
and they, after taking a moment to get their bearings, saluted back.
“At ease, Mr R’raak,” said Lt Zhivkov as they all stepped down
from the pad. Adm. T’Las, Capt. Drake, Cdr Tarsi, this is TO
R’raak. You would normally find him on the gamma shift but, as I’m
sure you can imagine, the shifts are a little non-standard while we
finish the refit.”
“Indeed. Thank you for getting us aboard in one piece and without
cloning us, Mr R’raak” said Drake, smiling jovially.
“Quite welcome, sir. And welcome to the Wakefield.” The
Caitian grinned broadly, and Drake nodded in acknowledgement of the
welcome.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, sirs, I just need to check in
with my crew,” Zhivkov said.
“Of course, Lieutenant.” Drake started to look around the
Wakefield’s transporter room as Zhivkov went over to speak
to R’raak. “A promotion and a shiny new ship in the same day,”
he mused. “I know it’s a little unprofessional, but I feel like
a kid in a candy shop right now.” He turned his head as a hand
fell on his shoulder.
“I quite understand, Capt. Drake,” said T’Las, smiling kindly.
“I felt just as giddy when I was given my first Dhelan warbird. It
was such a step-up from the T’varo and T’liss classes I was used
to commanding… I think I spent most of my first week aboard
wandering around in a daze, grinning like a fool.”
“Ha! Oh, that reminds me, Admiral, how should I address you now?”
“Well, if you’re introducing me to someone then my full title
would be ‘Ambassador T’Las, Admiral of the Romulan Republican
Force’. But you can just call me T’Las, or ‘Zig’.”
“Zig?” queried Drake, a curious smile on his face and his
eyebrows raised in amusement.
“Old nickname from my days on the Virinat farming colony. Get to
know me well enough and I might even tell you what it means.” She
smiled, then shrugged and continued, “In the meantime, just
Ambassador or Ma’am will do for everyone else. It
might be a diplomatic mission, but we don’t need to be on full
protocol all the time. And you and Commander Tarsi certainly don’t
need to address me as a superior.”
“That works for me, and you can just call me Drake. I have always
preferred a slightly less formal approach with my crew. Naturally,
formality and protocol have a place, especially during combat, but I
find the day-to-day life of flying through the void in a tin can to
be a lot easier if everyone’s relaxed.”
“We still expect full uniform on-shift, however,” Tarsi
interjected. “We’re not one of those super informal ships where
half the bridge crew are in their off-duty wear.”
“Shame,” replied T’Las, smirking playfully at Tarsi. The
Andorian flushed a little and mumbled something about needing to
check with Lt Zhivkov about the transfer, and promptly hurried off.
Drake and T’Las watched her retreat, the Romulan still smiling.
“Coolest head I’ve ever seen in a firefight,” commented Drake,
“But have a strong, dominant woman flirt with her and she turns to
jelly.”
T’Las laughed. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. It’s like an
automatic reflex.”
“Oh, it’s fine, she’ll get used to it and be trying to turn the
tables of you before long.”
“I look forward to it. Well, I have a shuttle at the Earth
Spacedock loaded with my personal effects and ready to go; permission
to come aboard, Captain?”
“Permission granted, Ambassador,” Drake replied with a smile.
“Splendid. If anyone needs me, I will be in my quarters. Drake.”
“Zig.”
Tarsi looked up as the Romulan ambassador headed off to the
turbolifts. She said something to Lt Zhivkov, and then they both
walked over to where Drake was standing.
“Seems everything is in order, sir. Lt Zhivkov has had things
well-prepared for our arrival.”
“Thank you, sir,” Zhivkov said modestly. “I have Adm. Syva’s
list of recommendations here,” she indicated the PADD she had
picked up from the ship’s transporter chief, “and we should
probably also go over your staff officer choices before I introduce
you both to the rest of the senior staff.”
“Good idea, Lieutenant,” Drake replied. “I take it my new
ready room will be just off the bridge, as normal?”
“Yes, sir.” She indicated the turbolift, “Shall we?” Drake
and Tarsi both nodded, and the three of them walked over.
“Bridge please,” Zhivkov said as they boarded the lift.
“I’m assuming Skavrin and Ekish will be joining us, sir?” asked
Tarsi while the lift ascended.
“Wouldn’t dream of leaving them behind. While engineering might
be a bit larger and more advanced than Skavrin’s used to, I’ve
never known him to find a problem he can’t fix. Likewise, I’m
confident that Ekish can handle the challenge of a larger operations
department.” He paused to consider this, then turned to Zhivkov,
“How large is Operations here, Lieutenant?”
“Eighty-three personnel, sir. Myself included. According to Adm.
Syva’s briefing we will also be taking on five cadets in
Operations, sir.”
Drake nodded, “Ekish will be fine. Though that reminds me,
Lieutenant – the Admiral said you would ‘explain’ the deputy
head of operations. Lt Dillon, I think it was.”
“He goes by D’Lan at the moment, sir.” Drake raised an
eyebrow, puzzled. “Lt Dillon is a photonic lifeform, a hologram,
sir. However, his programme is a little… eccentric. Not in
a way that affects his capacity to carry out his role aboard the
ship, I hasten to add, but he has a somewhat flexible persona.”
“We have a schizophrenic hologram in Operations?” asked Tarsi,
starting to look alarmed.
“No, no. Nothing like that, sir. Lt Dillon just likes to reinvent
himself. For instance, he is currently a Klingon by the name of
D’Lan, whereas a few months ago he was an alien species of his own
devising and had a name that was quite unpronounceable to ninety
percent of the crew, and before that he was a Vulcan, also called
D’Lan. It doesn’t affect his work, and his core personality
remains much the same, but it can take some getting used to.”
There was silence for several seconds, until Tarsi spoke just as the
lift came to a stop.
“That’s uh… that’s different.”
“We’re a pretty ‘different’ crew, sir,” replied Zhivkov,
smiling slightly. The doors opened, and they walked out onto the
bridge, with both Drake and Tarsi taking a few moments to appreciate
the sight
“Wow, this makes the Trent look like a mining vessel,” said Tarsi
as she started walking around. “Everything is so sleek and
pristine! And ooh, a triumvirate seating plan.”
“This is a very impressive bridge, Lt Zhivkov,” said Drake. The
lieutenant smiled in acknowledgement as she allowed her new
commanding officers to familiarise themselves with the bridge. “I
think we’ll need a new security officer, Tarsi.” He paused in
his wandering to inspect the mission operations display, tapping
through screens as he carried on talking to Tarsi. “I like Amos,
but I’m not convinced he’s got what it takes to run a department.
He seems to be a little in over his head on the Trent as it
was, and the Wakefield’s security department is going to be
larger.”
“Thirty-six personnel, sir. With five cadets and six new recruits
expected to join us before we leave Spacedock," said Zhivkov,
before adding almost as an afterthought, "and one Reman pirate.”
Drake and Tarsi both stopped dead and turned to look at her.
“A Re-…,” Drake started, then stopped. Then he said, “Lt
Zhivkov, I would appreciate it if, right now, you would list and
explain to me all the, ah, ‘non-standard’ crew we have
aboard the Wakefield, because otherwise I’m liable to injure
myself from whipping my head around in disbelief each time.”
“My apologies, sir. Lt Janiek is a senior security officer on loan
from the KDF as part of that exchange programme and was
formerly the captain of a Nausicaan pirate vessel. Prior to that, he
was a slave on a Romulan mining colony.” She paused, as both Tarsi
and Drake stared at her.
“Sorry, did I just hear that we have a Reman slave-turned-pirate in
our security team?”
“Yes, Cdr Tarsi,” replied Zhivkov. “We also have Lt Obisik in
Intelligence. She is a Reman, sir, but I do not believe she is a
former slave.”
“Well this is going to be a very interesting mission, with eleven
Romulans on board as well.”
“On the bright side, Tarsi, it’s an excellent opportunity to make
great strides in burying past grievances and moving forward
together.” Drake smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring
manner.
“Ha!” barked the Andorian. “Syva would be proud of that
answer!”
“We also have a Kazon shuttle pilot,” continued Zhivkov, “a
Suliban and a liberated Borg drone in engineering, a Lethean cook,
and a Gorn biochemist, sir.”
“I got on well with the few Gorn I’ve met,” mused Drake, “but
the idea of a Lethean cook wavers somewhere between disturbing and
outright horrifying.” He shook his head and turned to face his
first officer, “Right, well, back on topic – Tarsi, what are your
thoughts on Amos Seaholm?”
“He’s a capable officer and leader, sir, but as you say his
administrative abilities let him down. I think he would take the
beta shift as relief security officer without any complaints.
Probably thank you for it.”
Drake nodded before continuing, “We’ll need a new chief science
officer, too – Vani let me know a few months ago that he was
looking to retire and had an open offer of a permanent teaching
position at the Academy.” He opened the door to the ready room and
walked into the surprisingly plush and spacious chamber.
“Good for him,” said Tarsi, “he’s earned it. Yao would seem
the obvious successor.” She followed Drake and stopped in the
doorway, staring with her mouth open. “That’s the ready
room? It’s bigger than the conference room was on the Trent!”
“Room for seven plus one,” said Drake in agreement.
“It has a couch,” added Tarsi.
“Replicator, too,” said Drake as they continued to explore.
“Regarding Yao, he might be the senior officer but If xenology is
going to be our focus going-forward then it makes sense to have the
department run by someone with a stronger background in the
discipline. Yao certainly knows his astrophysics, but he can’t
tell a Klingon from a Nausicaan. On the other hand, passing him up
for the position could be seen as a snub, though I suppose I could
always formally recommend him as the Trent’s new head of
science.” Tarsi nodded in agreement and thought for a moment.
“Well, Lt Osennkca is our most experienced and qualified
xenologist. Tends to have his head in the clouds half the time
though so I’m not sure he could run a department.”
“Yes, Lt Vani has spoken highly of him in the past. Hmm,” Drake
drummed his fingers on his ready room’s desk while he considered
the problem., then wandered back over to the door and called out,
“Lieutenant, who or what are the extra specialists that Adm. Syva
mentioned?”
“According to the Admiral’s recommendations, sir,” Zhivkov
quickly scrolled through a list on her PADD, “we should look to
have specialists in: xenoanthropology, xenoarchaeology, xenobiology,
xenoecology, xeno-,” she paused, noticing the ‘get to the point’
hand gesture her new captain was making, “Um, we’re going to be
taking on about thirty extra xeno studies personnel, not including
cadets.”
“Thirty crew? That’s a department in itself!” Drake’s
eyebrows raised in surprise.
“It is,” replied Tarsi, poking her head out from the
doorway of a side room to the ready room. “So, let’s make it
one.”
“Ah, make Osennkca our ‘Chief Xenologist’, and promote Yao from
deputy to chief science officer?” The Andorian nodded. “Good
thinking, Tarsi. So long as we get Osennkca a level-headed deputy to
help him stay on track, he should be fine running a small
department.”
“Or perhaps an assistant,” suggested Tarsi.
“Another good option.”
“We currently have two xenologists posted to the Wakefield,
sirs,” Zhivkov informed them. “Of the two, the senior is Lt Mei
Lee; she has a reputation for being very methodical and driven.”
“That does sound like a good balance to Osennkca,” observed
Tarsi.
“Agreed. Book her in to sit down with me please, Lieutenant.
After my meetings with Yao and Osennkca, of course.” The
lieutenant nodded and tapped away on her PADD. Drake paused, and
then looked over to where Tarsi had vanished. “What have you found
in there?”
“Your head has a shower!”
“Really? Well, I guess a captain always has to be refreshed and
presentable.” He smiled at the Andorian as she re-joined him in
the main part of the ready room. “Now, regarding medical, I’m
thinking about bringing T’Met over as our CMO.”
“Not Muldaur?” asked Tarsi, somewhat surprised.
“Dr Muldaur’s a brilliant surgeon but he’s not getting any
younger and, honestly, I think he’d be happier on a patrol vessel
like the Trent than on a diplomatic mission. Especially one
with our, ah, parameters.” Drake started to walk back onto
the bridge, with his second following him.
“You have a point,” conceded Tarsi, after a moment’s
consideration. “So T’Met for medical, Skavrin for engineering,
Ekish for ops, Yao for science with Osennkca to head the new xenology
department, and then a new security officer to recruit. That’s all
the department heads planned out.”
“Not quite,” Drake stopped browsing over the bridge’s mission
ops display and looked at Tarsi. “Our crew is going to increase by
a huge margin, and the Wakefield’s just a lot physically
bigger than the Trent, with far more going on – including a
whole new department, it seems. With all that additional
administration, I’d like you to step down from running tactical and
focus purely on being our executive officer.”
“Okay,” she replied, simply.
“Really? That’s it? I’d expected to have to persuade you.
I’d even been working on a short speech.”
“I’m your second, boss. You need me to do it, it’s done.
Besides, I’m not going to argue against you trying to save me
paperwork!”
“Okay, good. Now, replacing you is going to be tricky – I’m
not sure young Flores is up to running a department just yet. Though
she has shown enough promise that I want to bring her along in some
capacity, but we’re going to need someone new to take over from
you.”
“Gorret Glihd,” said Tarsi.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Lieutenant and gunnery officer on the Springfield, sir,”
Zhivkov clarified, having quickly brought up the officer’s record
on her PADD. “Trained as a pilot, switched to gunnery when she
discovered how much she liked shooting things. Proficient in
Anbo-jyutsu, Suus Mahna, and Mok’bara.” She passed the PADD to
Drake to read.
“Impressive,” said Drake as he looked over her profile. “She
can beat people up in three languages. And this is one of Syva’s
recommendations?”
“Um,” Tarsi’s cheeks started to turn purple with embarrassment.
“No, she’s one of mine. I…,” she trailed off, a hand
gesturing aimlessly.
“You assumed I would promote you someday and have been scouting out
possible tac officer replacements since…,” he gestured for her to
finish his sentence.
“Oh, only since we got the communique summoning us to meet Adm.
Syva. Like you said earlier, the two of us being called to see an
admiral out of the blue, it had to mean promotion. New and bigger
ship was a surprise but I figured if they were promoting you to
captain then we’d be getting a mission to go with it, and that
mission would be more than just patrols, so it made sense that you’d
need someone to take some of the crew administration off of your
shoulders, and well…,” Tarsi trailed off again, then just
shrugged.
“That kind of forethought is why you’re my first officer, Tarsi.
Thank you.” He resumed looking at Glihd’s profile while Tarsi
beamed with pride. “She looks good. Huh, a Bolian? Don’t see
many of them in tac-sec.”
“That’s what caught my eye about her first. Everything about her
screams pretty much the opposite of your typical Bolian. Made me
look further and I saw her academy record was just as impressive as
her career so far.”
Drake nodded absently as he read, “It really does. Alright, sound
her out and invite her over for an interview, Lt Zhivkov.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Zhivkov as Drake handed her PADD back to her.
“Would you like to conduct the interviews here or back on
Spacedock?”
“Spacedock, I think. Temporary offices there are a bit basic but
at least I won’t be distracted by sitting in my shiny new ship.”
“Okay, sir. I’ll book you a room and schedule Lt Glihd in after
the others, so you have your own officers taken care of before
interviewing new ones.”
“Perfect, thank you.”
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, I think that concludes our business for the moment,
Lieutenant. Thank you for your assistance.
“Not a problem, sir. I will book the interviews in for you and
send the times over once they’re confirmed. Captain, Commander.”
Zhivkov saluted them both, then about-turned and went back to the
turbolift.
“She’s good,” observed Tarsi once Zhivkov was gone. “Slightly
odd, but good.”
“’Slightly odd’ seems to be a common descriptor for our new
crew. Between the Reman pirate, eccentric hologram, and all other
‘different’ crew we’ll have under us I am finding myself
wondering just what we’ve agreed to by taking this ship on.”
“You’ll find a way to make it work, Drake. Always have,” she
said, grinning broadly as she playfully punched his shoulder.
***
USS Wakefield, S01E01 Act I - The Promotion (Part 1)
Act I – The Promotion
Day
-4
Drake and Tarsi
stood before the door to Adm. Syva’s office, in their formal
service uniforms and looking every part the successful young
Starfleet officers they were, but feeling more like nervous
schoolchildren summoned by their principal.
“It’ll be
fine,” said Drake, smiling at his second. She gave a slight smile
in response.
“I’d believe
you more if it didn’t sound like you were still trying to convince
yourself.” Drake barked a sardonic laugh, then took a steadying
breath before reaching out to tap the office’s intercom button.
There was a faint electronic buzz and a half-second pause before the
admiral’s voice came through.
“Enter.”
The door slid open and the two officers straightened their backs,
squared their shoulders, and walked purposefully into Syva’s
office, moving to within the two regulation paces of the admiral’s
steel-and-glass desk before standing to attention and saluting.
“Sir, Cdr Drake and Lt Cdr Tarsi reporting as requested.”
Admiral Syva returned their salutes and smiled politely at them both
before gesturing to the chairs across from him.
“At ease, and please take a seat. Adm. T’Las of the Romulan
Republic will be joining us shortly and sends her apologies for the
delay. I gather her meeting with Ambassador Gra has overrun.”
“Thank you,
sir,” said Drake as he and Tarsi sat down. “Sir, might I ask why
a Romulan Republic admiral is going to be joining us? Especially one
as prominent as Adm. T’Las.”
“Of course,”
replied the Vulcan, nodding slightly. “I – that is, myself and
my fellow flag officers on the board of the Starfleet Office of
Cultural Affairs – have been in discussions with the Romulan
Republic for some time, with a view to improving and strengthening
the ties between the Republic and the Federation. They have come a
long way in just a couple of years, from a disorganised flotilla of
ships crewed by farmers and militia to an established Beta Quadrant
power and a valued member of the Alliance.” He paused in thought,
and absent-mindedly rubbed an ugly scar on the back of his hand.
“Yet, still, there are many in the Alliance, and particularly in
Starfleet, who remember all too well the treachery of the Romulan
Star Empire and have not yet learned to trust the young Romulan
Republic and its people. Humans are hot-headed, Vulcans are cold,
Klingons are warmongers, and Romulans are duplicitous. These are the
stereotypes and prejudices we in the Office of Cultural Affairs seek
to help eradicate. Indeed, egalitarianism and strength through
diversity are the pillars upon which the Federation stands.” Syva
looked up at the pair of officers sitting on the other side of his
desk and gave them a genial smile. “The crew of the Trent
is an excellent example of those pillars – your ship has one of the
most diverse crews seen since the USS Titan under then-Capt.
William Riker – and you have performed admirably in all of your
missions thus far.”
“Thank you,
Admiral,” said Drake after clearing his throat.
“Observation
of the facts does not require gratitude, Commander. A diverse crew
is a strong crew – as Rear Admiral Riker is still so fond of saying
– and the Trent has shown this to be true. For this reason,
we-,” Syva looked up at the door as the intercom buzzer interrupted
him mid-sentence. “Ah, I suspect this will be our delayed
admiral.” He pressed the button to open the door, admitting a tall
and handsome Romulan woman in formal RRF uniform, the twin-capes that
marked her as an admiral fluttering behind her as she walked in.
Drake and Tarsi both stood quickly and smartly saluted the flag
officer. “Admiral, it is good to see you. I trust Ambassador Gra
is well?” Syva asked as he stood smoothly.
“Well he
muttered something about a peptic ulcer when I left his office,”
replied the Romulan breezily as she gave a casual salute in reply,
“but otherwise seemed as hale and curmudgeonly as usual. And you
must be Cdr Drake and Lt Cdr Tarsi,” she said, extending a hand to
each of them in turn and smiling warmly.
“Adm. T’Las,
it’s an honour to meet you,” said Drake as he shook her offered
hand.
“Admiral,”
was Tarsi’s briefer reply as she too shook T’Las’s hand. Drake
glanced sideways at her and bit back a knowing smirk as he noticed a
hint of violet start to colour her cheeks.
“A pleasure to
meet you both. I’ve heard a lot about you – and your ship and
crew – from Syva here.” She pulled up a fourth chair from the
table in the corner of the office, casually hefting it one-handed
like it was made of lightweight foam instead of metal alloy. Drake
could tell without looking that his second-in-command would be
staring at the Romulan woman. “So sorry about the delay – you
know how Tellarites can be when they get going!” Across the desk,
Syva’s jaw clenched. “So, what did I miss?”
“We were just
discussing, Admiral, the benefits of diversity in a ship’s crew,
and also commenting on how the old racial stereotypes need to be left
in the past,” answered Syva, very pointedly.
“Right,”
said T’Las, smiling in mild embarrassment. “Tellarites,
fascinating people and brilliant negotiators.” Syva nodded
approvingly as the Romulan dug herself out of the hole.
“Argumentative little bastards, though.” Tarsi couldn’t help
but laugh, at both the comment and at Syva’s pained facial reaction
to it.
“Moving
on…,” insisted Syva, his patience straining. “Cdr Drake,
we would like for your ship to take part in a two-pronged initiative
that the Office of Cultural Affairs and our counterparts in the
Romulan Republic have been working on. The first prong is simply an
expansion of the existing exchange program – you would have a
number of Republic officers seconded to your crew, working under you
for a rotation as acting Starfleet officers, to increase public
exposure to and perception of Romulans and help show that the
treachery and backstabbing attitudes of the Star Empire were
cultural, rather than racial.”
“As part of
this initiative, I would also be seconded to your ship,” added
T’Las, “though I would be on-board as a cultural advisor and
diplomatic officer and thus outside of the ship’s chain of
command.” She paused, allowing the information to settle for a
moment. “This way, though I would still be an admiral, I would not
be able to in any way interfere with the running of your ship.
The RRF officers on board would of course report to yourselves, and
I would merely be there to help ease any tensions, and to be a
high-profile presence for both the general public and the brass of
our respective organisations.”
“That sound
wonderful,” comment Tarsi, grinning a little, “ah, I mean, that
sounds a wonderful idea, Admiral. Our crew would get to work
alongside Romulans, who would then still have one of their own flag
officers aboard to help them settle.”
“Exactly our
thinking, Lieutenant Commander,” said Syva with a nod, not noticing
– or perhaps just ignoring – the Andorian’s somewhat
misdirected enthusiasm.
“I agree with
my first officer, sir,” Drake chimed in. “This seems like an
excellent diplomatic venture, and one that we – and the crew of the
Trent – would be honoured to be involved in.”
“Someone put
his diplomat shoes on this morning,” commented the smirking T’Las,
causing Drake to clear his throat self-consciously. Syva nodded
again, with growing enthusiasm.
“Excellent. I
am very pleased to hear that you are both fully on-board with the
initiative. Which brings me round to the second part of it – the
mission itself to which the officer exchange program is merely a
component. Now, I do not wish to speak indelicately here but I feel
it would best serve all of us if I used plain language so that there
can be no room for misunderstanding.” Drake and Tarsi exchanged a
puzzled look as the Vulcan continued, “The Office of Cultural
Affairs has for some time been compiling a database on interspecies
matters and relations. That is to say, we have been cataloguing and
analysing which species are sexually compatible with each other.”
Across from him, Tarsi and Drake’s mouths opened almost
simultaneously as a dozen questions begged to be asked.
“Now, many are plainly known about,” Syva continued. “Starfleet
has no shortage of mixed-heritage officers, after all. But as the
Alliance strengthens and Federation members increasingly come into
contact with a greater variety of races, this work has grown in
importance. It is well-known, for instance, that Humans and Vulcans
are physically compatible and are even capable of having healthy
children together, albeit with a moderate amount of medical
assistance. It is less well-known, however, just how many species
are capable of producing healthy children together, or children at
all, or even which species absolutely should not indulge in sexual
couplings for the safety of either or both persons involved.” The
two non-flag officers sat in silence, both hugely intrigued as to
where this was leading but neither wanting to be so impolite as to
outright ask the admiral to get to the point. Besides, it was not
every day that one got to listen to a Vulcan talk about interspecies
sex.
“Did either of
you know, for instance, that were I to have sexual intercourse with a
Bolian woman it would make both of us very ill, and could potentially
result in fatal consequences if medical attention were not received
promptly?”
“I did not…,”
replied Drake, as fascinated as he was bemused.
“I did, sir,”
said Tarsi. Drake turned to look at her. “All to do with pH
levels, sir. Bolian blood and bodily fluids, like Andorian, are more
acidic than most other races. With my people the difference isn’t
great enough to cause any serious concerns – though I would imagine
having children with a Vulcan would be impossible -,” Syva nodded
in confirmation, “but Bolian blood is more acidic still. It would
likely cause some mild post-coital discomfort in a human – muscle
fatigue, nausea, that sort of thing – but Vulcans are slightly
alkaline compared to the galactic norm, and the pH difference
would lead to serious complications.” She paused, and there was
silence in the room as both Drake and T’Las took this information
in. Syva merely nodded again, quietly impressed by the Andorian’s
knowledge of the subject. “I mean, just kissing between a Bolian
and Vulcan would be unpleasant,” Tarsi added. “The Vulcan’s
saliva would taste very bitter to the Bolian, and the Bolian’s
would be as sour as stomach acid to the Vulcan. Sir.”
“You are quite
correct, Lieutenant Commander. I suspect – much as it is on Vulcan
– such concerns are taught as standard, on account of your people’s
blood chemistry being outside of the ‘normal’ range for the Alpha
and Beta quadrants?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When I woke
up this morning, I did not think that I would end up talking to an
Admiral about Vulcan-Bolian sex complications,” commented Drake,
slightly stunned by the direction taken.
“I can
sympathise, Commander,” said the Romulan admiral, her brow creased
in a mixture of puzzlement and mild disgust. “I did know
what the meeting was about, and I am still finding myself somewhat
taken aback.”
“My apologies,
sirs,” said Tarsi, meekly.
“No need for you to apologise, Lieutenant Commander,” Syva said,
raising his hands placatingly and with a patient smile on his face.
“It was I that instigated this conversation and I offer my
apologies for the unintentional mental discomfort caused by the
subject matter. However, I hope we can all see now why this is a
rather important subject of study.” There was a general nodding of
heads and murmured confirmations. “For that reason, the Office of
Cultural Affairs has commissioned the production of a comprehensive
work on the nature of interspecies relations, to catalogue them fully
and highlight where there are dangers, where offspring are viable,
and so on. The writer we have commissioned is a joined Trill by the
name of Odani Decanis, and we wish for him and his research assistant
to join you and your crew aboard your ship, Commander.”
“You want us to be involved in the production of this work, sir?”
“Do not feel you have to deliberately and directly contribute,
Commander, but yes, I would like for Mr Odani to have the chance to
see your crew in action-,” he paused, catching the unintentional
euphemism a little too late, “that is, to see how you go about your
work on a day-to-day basis, and to be able to catalogue where
relationships exist between differing species and – with the
permission of the individuals concerned, of course – interview them
about the experience and any difficulties, or perhaps any particular
highlights, that they would not find if they were with a member of
their own species.”
“He wants your crew to sleep around while someone makes notes,”
summarised T’Las, drily.
“Yes, thank you for that succinct synopsis, Admiral.”
“Quite welcome, Syva.” T’Las smiled sweetly at the Vulcan’s
sarcastic reply.
“You will, I hope, get used to Adm. T’Las’s lack of formality,”
said Syva with a sigh.
“The Trent is a fairly relaxed and informal ship, sir,”
Drake assured him.
“Then you should get on splendidly. This leads me onto our
penultimate piece of business today, Commander – your ship.”
“There’s a problem with the Trent, sir?”
“Not a problem as such, but it is felt that with this new mission
your vessel is in need of an upgrade.”
“Well, we did really enjoy the showering facilities here at
Earth Spacedock, sir,” said Tarsi hopefully. She blushed again as
she noticed T’Las smirking at her. “Separately, Admiral.”
“I’m not judging!” replied the Romulan. Syva pointedly cleared
his throat to bring the focus back to the topic at hand.
“It is not the ship’s facilities that we would be looking to
upgrade, rather the ship itself. The pair of you, and indeed your
entire crew, have shown themselves to be more than capable in a wide
variety of missions, and it is only fair that your ship should
reflect your versatility and capabilities. To that end, I am
proposing that you be given commission of the USS Wakefield, a
Comet-class RSV.”
“Comet-class?” Drake’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“That would be quite a step up from the Trent, sir.”
“It would be a seventy-five percent increase in your crew
complement. The incoming rotation of crew has been selected with
this mission in mind, and changes to the permanent staff have been
made in the same vein. You will however be free to assign your own
senior staff. My office has also compiled a list of available
specialists who would be suitable for the mission; the information
has been transmitted to the Wakefield’s computer. You will
also find the facilities to be a lot more advanced than on your
Centaur-class light cruiser. The holodecks, in particular,
are state-of-the-art. I have no doubt that this will prove useful in
your mission.” Drake and Tarsi sat staring silently at the Vulcan
for some time, neither of them quite sure how to follow-on from the
implications of that last comment. Eventually it was Tarsi who spoke
up, choosing to shift the focus.
“That’s a very large, very advanced vessel for a commander, sir.”
Her words were carefully measured.
“Quite so, Lieutenant Commander.” There was a twinkle in Syva’s
eyes as he turned to focus on Drake. “The new commission will also
come with a promotion, Captain.” Drake sat up straighter,
practically snapping to attention in his chair.
“Thank you, Admiral, I’m honoured.”
“It is earned, Capt. Drake. Now, I would also advise you have an
officer of the commander rating as your first officer. Would it be
safe for me to presume that you will be putting Lt Cdr Tarsi forward
for recommendation?”
“Absolutely, Admiral,” Drake emphatically confirmed, causing
Tarsi to grin broadly.
“Good. I shall approve both these promotion recommendations and
have them finalised by the end of the day. Additionally, please
submit to me by eighteen hundred tomorrow a list of other personnel
you would recommend for promotion, and which officers you wish to
invite to join you aboard your new command. We will waive the usual
regulations and recommendations, and you should feel free to build
your command staff as you see fit.”
“I could provide you with a list here and now, sir, but I would
prefer to speak to my crew on a one-to-one basis before putting their
names forward. Given the nature of the mission, there are some
officers who might prefer to stay with the Trent.”
“Hmm, a fair point, Captain. Very well, would forty-eight hours be
sufficient?”
“Amply, Admiral. Thank you.”
“Excellent. There is just one last thing before you go – I need
to introduce you both to your new First Lieutenant aboard the
Wakefield.” Syva pressed a button on his desk’s intercom
unit to hail his secretary in the adjacent office. “Mr Gevan,
would you be kind enough to send Lt Zhivkov in.” He finished the
call and looked up at Drake and Tarsi, “Lt Zhivkov has served on
the Wakefield for the past four years and was previously the
ship’s deputy chief of operations. She was promoted to the role of
First Lieutenant at the end of the Wakefield’s most recent
rotation.” He paused for a moment, before adding as an
afterthought, “Lt Dillon is the new deputy chief. I will leave it
to Lt Zhivkov to explain him.”
“Explain him?” Drake had been about to say but had barely
opened his mouth when the door chimed and was immediately answered by
Syva. A young woman in Operations colours walked in and smartly
saluted the gathering of senior officers.
“Sir, Lt Zhivkov reporting as requested.” Syva nodded and
saluted in reply.
“At ease, Lieutenant. Capt. Drake, Cdr Tarsi, this is Lieutenant
Elena Zhivkov, the Wakefield’s First Lieutenant. Lt
Zhivkov, your new Commanding Officer and First Officer. Adm. T’Las
you already know.” Further salutes were exchanged, with Drake and
Tarsi standing to greet their newest crewmember, while T’Las merely
gave a small wave.
“Captain, Commander, it is an honour to be able to welcome you to
the Wakefield’s roster and I look forward to formally
welcoming you aboard our fine vessel.”
“As do we, Lieutenant. She sounds like quite the ship.”
“She really is, sir.” Zhivkov half-turned to face Adm. Syva,
“Sir, will that be all?”
“Yes, thank you Lieutenant. You may now show the Admiral, Captain,
and Commander to their new vessel.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Zhivkov, saluting Syva smartly then turning
back to the other three. “Sirs, if you will follow me.” Drake
nodded in reply before he and Tarsi stood to attention before Syva.
“Admiral,” they chorused as they saluted.
“Captain, Commander,” replied Syva as he saluted in return.
T’Las languidly stood from her chair and flipped off a casual
salute in the other admiral’s general direction.
“See you around, Syva,” she commented as she joined the others in
heading out of the office. Once the door had closed behind them,
Syva let out a long, exhausted sigh and pressed his intercom.
“Mr Gevan, please reschedule the rest of today’s appointments for
tomorrow. I feel the need for a long period of meditation. And
maybe some strong alcohol.”
***
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