USS Wakefield, S01E01 Act II - Changing of the Guard (Part 2)

Blood. So much blood. And the screaming. The Taureans screaming in bloodlust as they close in. Ens. Briggs screaming in agony from his injury. Dr Holstein screaming in terror as his mind snaps.

“Got it!” Ens. Zata announces triumphantly, moving his hands away from the gaping wound – “wound” is too mild a word; Briggs’ arm hangs on by a thread, with the bone snapped and much of the muscle sheared clean through by a Taurean throwing-spear. “Phaser, beam setting.” He reaches out, not taking his eyes off of the ruin of Briggs’ arm just in case the temporary clamp slips from the artery. I pass him his from where it lies, flicking the dial to the correct setting. He takes a breath, wipes the sweat from his brow – leaving a large, bloody smear – and then takes aim at Brigg’s injury. Lt Stephen Drake and I hold the poor ensign still while Zata completes what the Taureans started and amputates his arm, a few inches below the shoulder. The phaser does a cleaner job than the spear’s jagged blade, cauterising as it cuts. The small metal clamp stopping Briggs from bleeding out onto the alien soil melts under the phaser’s beam and the flesh around it sears, filling the air with the smell of cooked meat. Dr Holstein stops screaming and starts to sob instead. It is quieter at least. Briggs also stops screaming, and now lies still. Zata sighs, emotionally wrung-out.

“Is he…,” I start to ask.

“He passed out,” Zata answers, his fingers checking Briggs’ pulse at his throat. “Weak but there.”

“We need to move, sir,” I say to Drake. He nods and looks around nervously; we can hear how close the Taureans are.

“Ens. Zata, Miss Hylkis,” one of Dr Holstein’s research assistants looks up, terror in her eyes. “I need you two to get Briggs and everyone else to the shuttle.” He passes his phaser pistol to Hylkis and unslings his rifle. “You know how to use one of these?” She nods. She’s scared, we all are, but she’s coherent. “Good. Tarsi, you’re with me. We’re going to draw fire in the opposite direction to the shuttle to give them a clear head start.”

I nod. “And once they’re aboard?” Drake hesitates. He hasn’t thought that far into the plan. This is his first away mission as a CO, and he’s not as prepared as he wants to be. Honestly, none of us are.

“I can pilot a shuttle,” suggests one of the research assistants. I do not know his name. Never will. “I mean, I’m not licensed but…,”

“It will do,” says Drake, as he thinks quickly to formulate a rough plan. “Get everyone onboard, then take off and head for our position. Don’t try to land, just get close enough to scare off the natives, then throw down a line.” I nod in agreement. It’s as good a plan as we’re going to get right now, and we don’t have time to work on another one. “Ready, Lieutenant?” he asks me.

“Ready, Lieutenant,” I reply. I start with a photon grenade. It’s loud and flashy, guaranteed to get attention, and it does. The Taureans pause in their wailing, their prey located. Drake and I rush out from cover, him with his rifle, me with mine and Briggs’ pistols. The first couple of shots are blind and wild, more about getting attention and causing disruption than doing any damage. After that we start to aim. We can see them now, and they can see us, but we can shoot faster and further than they can throw. One Taurean takes a rifle bolt to the face and staggers before flopping heavily to the ground. A spear whistles through the air and lands where I had been standing. The air flickers and flashes with the light from our guns. We hope it disorients the Taureans even if it doesn’t hit them. Their spears are primitive, but Briggs could testify to how effective they are. The shielding in our away uniforms are designed to absorb and redirect energy weapons, but against a heavy bladed spear thrown by a three-metre-tall humanoid they’re just cloth.

Drake curses as a spear hits him. I turn in horror, expecting to see him on the floor, impaled, but he still stands. The spear must have tumbled in flight and caught him with the shaft, not the blade. But one arm hangs limply by his side and he has to fire his rifle one-handed. I drop Briggs’ pistol. Or is it mine? I drop it and use both hands for the other to steady my aim. A Taurean dies a moment later. I stand still and another one is gone. Another. Another. Another. There are so many of them. Where is the shuttle? Drake is crouching next to me, using his leg to brace the rifle as he fires. Another Taurean. There are so many. Too many. For every one we fell, three more appear. We keep shooting. Another. Another. Another. My leg goes out from under me and I don’t even know why. I shoot as I fall and try to get back up, but my leg won’t respond. I keep shooting, prone. I can no longer hear Drake’s rifle. Another. Another. Why am I cold? I’m Andorian. We can lie in the snow and be comfortable. Another. The sun starts to set, I think. It’s getting dark. Another. My phaser stops shooting. It’s getting darker. And colder. So many. So many.

***

“Lights,” croaked Tarsi. She had been sitting in her bed for several minutes before she found her voice, cold sweat coating her skin and her vest clinging wetly to her back and chest. Her room slowly flooded with a gentle, bluish-white light and she sat there unmoving for several more moments.

“It didn’t happen like that,” she reminded herself, her voice on the verge of cracking. “I am alive. I am Lieutenant Commander Tarsi zh’Enis and I am the First Officer of the USS Trent, and I am alive.” Tarsi looked confused for a moment, then shook her head to clear it. “Commander and on the Wakefield,” she corrected herself, then sighed. She stared at the door out of her room for a long while, unblinking. Eventually she turned and stood from her bed, then walked over to her medication nook and sat down next to the low table with its large IDIC statuette. It was one of the few personal items she’d unpacked since coming aboard. She sat cross-legged, a little stiffly, and stared at the IDIC, focussing on the gem at the top of the pyramid. After some time, she closed her eyes and focussed instead on her breathing.

***

Tarsi whistled to herself as she walked briskly down the corridor towards Ambassador T’Las’s quarters. The Wakefield was nothing short of amazing – she not seen even half of the facilities it had to offer but what she had seen so far was a massive step up from their previous commission. In fairness to the Trent, their old Centaur-class light cruiser wasn’t exactly a piece of junk, but it was a much older model than the Comet-class Wakefield and had been built during an extended period of warfare, where practicality and resource limitations necessitated a more spartan design. The Wakefield, on the other hand, had been built for quieter parts of the galaxy, and its recent refit had been commissioned with the comfort and needs of the crew as a priority. Her shower was glorious. She was also looking forward to giving the holosuites a try, but that would have to wait until they had all settled in and she could afford some downtime.

Reaching the Romulan ambassador’s room, she thumbed the intercom button and then waited for the reply.

“Yes?” The admiral sounded sleepy; strange, thought Tarsi, she doesn’t seem the sort to take naps.

“Commander Tarsi, Ambassador. Here to formally welcome you aboard and introduce you to the senior crew.” There was an extended pause before T’Las replied again.

“Okay. Give me five minutes.”

“Affirmative,” replied Tarsi, then closed the channel. Perhaps the ambassador had been celebrating last night and it had finally caught up with her. Tarsi decided to go over the remaining applicants and recommendations while she waited – the major positions had all been filled but there were still plenty of cadet records to check and a few more xenology postings. Though the latter at least were largely being left to Yao and Osennkca to sort out between them, with Tarsi just needing to sign off on the candidates they selected. She paused, realising something – she was an Executive Officer on a ship with a crew of over three hundred, and that meant she was eligible to have a personal assistant. That would have saved a lot of time and effort if I’d realised that before I started arranging all these cadet interviews, she thought. For no apparent reason a Klingon cadet’s name caught her eye; she brought up his profile. Kerlaa, a Klingon graduate from Starfleet Academy; excellent grades, and a holoprogrammer who earned himself quite the reputation at the Academy. That could come in handy, she thought to herself as she made a note to invite him over for an interview.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Tarsi stood straight with a start as the Romulan ambassador emerged from her quarters; she hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Not a problem, ma’am. Ready to meet the Wakefield’s staff officers?” The lights were off in the ambassador’s room, but Tarsi fancied she saw a couple of shadows moving in the darkness. Well, that explains the midday nap!

“Raring to go, Commander.” She smiled at the Andorian and then fell into step as the two turned to head off towards the turbolifts. “You’ve served under Capt. Drake since his first command, correct?” enquired T’Las, already knowing the answer but just needing something to break the ice.

“Before that; he was appointed XO on a vessel I was 2^nd officer on, the USS Atabeira.”

T’Las nodded, “All those years serving under him. You must know him very well.”

“I’d like to think I know him better than anyone else. Certainly, we have a very strong understanding of each other.”

“That’s good. It’s important for a CO and their XO to have a bond. Arguably the most important relationship on a ship." They arrived at the lift, and Tarsi tapped the call button. "I spent my entire career in command with the same XO, a fellow Romulan that I’d known just about my whole adult life. I can’t count how many times that bond, the instinctive understanding of each other, saved our arses in a crisis.” Tarsi nodded and gave a grunt of agreement but chose not to say anything. T'las looked askance at her and was considering a gently probing follow-up when the turbolift arrived and its doors opened to admit them. As the two women stepped into the lift, T'Las decided to take a blunter approach and asked a question with all the subtlety of a drunken Klingon. "So, tell me about Taurus IV." She saw the Andorian stiffen, and almost felt the emotional recoil it was so strong.

"Rescue mission to pick up some stranded scientists. Things ran hot before we even landed, but Drake got us all out of there alive." She stared straight ahead as she answered, gaze focussed firmly on the lift doors. T'Las watched her carefully and decided not to press any further. For now, at least.

"So, only a handful of the officers I'm about to meet are new to you, as well?" Tarsi visibly relaxed as T'Las switched topics, but still remained a little tense after that bolt form the blue.

"Yes. Cdr Skavrin served with Capt. Drake and I aboard the Atabeira, while Cdr T'Met and Lt Cdr joined us not long after our transfer to the Trent. Lieutenant Commanders Glihd, Vukarno, and Isgur, and Lieutenant Nereda, are all new both to us and the Wakefield."

The turbolift announced their arrival at the ship's bridge and the doors opened to reveal the Wakefield’s staff officers ready and waiting. Having been forewarned about the Romulan ambassador’s dislike of formality by Tarsi, they were all standing to attention but refrained from saluting.

“Ambassador T’Las, these are the staff officers of the USS Wakefield,” announced Tarsi as she stepped out onto the bridge. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Ambassador T’Las, Legate of the Romulan Republic and Admiral of the Romulan Republican Force. She has been seconded to the Wakefield as the head of its diplomatic mission.”

“At ease, folks,” said T’Las in a relaxed tone of voice. “This isn’t a formal inspection or anything, so you don’t need to stand to attention.”

“This is Commander Skavrin – the Wakefield’s Head of Engineering, and its Second Officer,” Tarsi introduced a squat Tellarite, who gruffly cleared his throat and gave a nod of greeting to the Admiral.

“I have read about the success of your diplomatic efforts on Edren IV, Commander,” commented T’Las, “though I could not find any direct transcripts of what you actually said to convince both the Gorn and Federation expedition leaders to agree.”

“No loss, Ambassador, it was all very dry diplomatic talk anyway,” replied the Tellarite, looking both sheepish and relieved at the same time.

“’Pull your fat heads out of your even fatter arses and realise this is a deal that benefits all, and harms none’ was one of my favourite quotes from your captain.” The Romulan grinned.

Skavrin’s cheek flushed a little but a smile spread across his face, “Like I said, very dry diplomatic talk, Ambassador.” T’Las laughed before moving on to the next officer.

“Our Chief Medical Officer and Third Officer aboard the Wakefield, Commander T’Met,” continued Tarsi, doing her best to keep a straight face and introducing a long-haired Vulcan woman.

The Vulcan gave a short bow, “An honour to meet you, Ambassador.”

“Likewise, Commander. I imagine the Wakefield is a far cry from Deep Space K-13.”

“Considerably less parasites, Ambassador,” replied T’met, smiling cordially. The next officer in the line was a pale violet-skinned Bolian woman who looked like – and gave the general impression – that she could and would lift T’Las over her head if challenged to.

“This is Lieutenant Commander Gorret Glihd, my replacement as Chief Tactical Officer,” said Tarsi.

“As well as being a former chief conn, and a gunnery officer, I’m given to understand that you are proficient in no less than three distinct martial art forms?” asked T’Las; the Bolian nodded stiffly in reply. “You know an impressive number of ways of hurting people, Lieutenant Commander,” remarked T’Las, to which Glihd smiled with pride. The Orion standing next to her looked like he should be off hunting game across the savannahs of 19^th century Earth, with his immaculately waxed moustache and beard.

“Lieutenant Commander Vukarno, Chief Security Officer,” Tarsi announced.

“Ma’am,” said Vukarno, already standing firmly to attention but stiffening up further as the Romulan approached him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Commander. I understand you speak Rihannsu?”

“Khiilalev, ihhai,” confirmed the security officer. “Rhanne lokhos lohia, ihhai.”

“Emael fvakh, Enarrain,” replied T’Las, a smile on her face. Vukarno nodded as the Ambassador continued down the line, where Tarsi introduced her to a young Reman woman.

“Lieutenant Commander Ekish, Chief Operations Officer. Lt. Ekish was one of the Academy’s youngest graduates. Like Dr T’Met, she was also assigned to DS K-13.”

“From where I was rescued by Capt. Drake and Cdr Tarsi!” exclaimed Ekish. “In more ways than one, actually. See, we had an infestation of neural parasites and T’Met, that is, Dr T’Met, or ‘Commander’ T’Met, I suppose, helped guide the Captain to engineering after they rescued her from-,”

“I’m sure the Admiral has read the report, Lieutenant,” interrupted Tarsi.

“Right, yes, sorry!” said Ekish, somewhat breathlessly. “Honour to meet you, Admiral – oh, er, Ambassador!” She reached her hand out to shake the Romulan’s, then seemed to realise she was breaching protocol and turned the gesture into an awkward salute. T’Las responded by lightly patting her on the shoulder.

“I have read the report, and between that and the rest of your career record I can see why you’re already Head of Operations on such a reputable ship.” Lt. Ekish grinned broadly and seemed about to speak again before being silenced by a look from her superior.

“Lieutenant Commander Yao,” said Tarsi very firmly, “Chief Science Officer.”

“Winner of not one, but two Cochrane Medals of Excellence, I understand. Well done, Lieutenant Commander.” Yao smiled graciously at T’Las’s praise and gave a small bow. The officer next to him was a tall, lean Saurian, whose eyes darted around the room as if he were tracking the progress of a particularly energetic fly.

“Lieutenant Commander Osennkca, who will be the chief officer of our newly-established Xenology Lab,” said Tarsi.

“Oh, Ambassador, hello!” blurted the Saurian, giving a toothless smile as his focus was drawn to the ambassador.

“Back at you, Lieutenant Commander. I am given to understand that you know more about Gorn mating rituals than most Gorn do.”

“Oh yes, quite possibly!” he nodded eagerly. “If it’s an area of interest to you, please to feel free to collar me about it anytime!”

“I shall bear that in mind, Mr Osennkca,” T’Las replied diplomatically.

“Lieutenant Commander Isgur, Ship’s Counsellor,” continued Tarsi, as they reached the penultimate officer in the line-up.

“My sympathies, Lieutenant Commander, I suspect you are going to be very, very busy on this ship.” The Betazoid laughed warmly.

“Oh, I know, Ambassador, but I don’t mind. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

“Oh?”

“The Lieutenant Commander is undertaking a thesis for her second doctorate,” answered Tarsi. Isgur smiled as she gave a small nod.

“Interspecies relations and the effect on the psyche,” she added.

“I see,” said T’Las, smiling. “Well, be sure to send me a copy when it’s done. Between that and our resident author’s work-in-progress, I look forward to having a comprehensive list of which species never to have sex with.” The three women shared a laugh before Tarsi introduced the Ambassador to the final officer on the bridge.

“And this is Lieutenant Nereda, our Chief Intelligence Officer.”

“Ah yes, Lt Nereda. How is the Gamma Quadrant at the moment?” T’Las asked, referring to Nereda’s official transfer.

“I’m currently enjoying an unhindered view of the Chamra Vortex, Ambassador. It’s quite breath-taking.”

“So, I hear!” T’Las smiled broadly and then took a couple of steps back as Tarsi prepared to address the assembled officers.

“To avoid any confusion, for the purpose of this mission Ambassador T’Las is just that – an ambassador. She does not hold any military rank within the Federation and is a foreign dignitary aboard our ship as part of a joint diplomatic effort. That means that while you do not have to salute her, you also do not get to order her around and must treat her with the respect that a high-ranking member of an allied power deserves. Remember that without Ambassador T’Las’s efforts, the Romulan Republic might still be just a handful of rebels and idealists, and not the respected entity that it is.”

“It also means that you can buy me drinks without it being considered a bribe, and that you can fraternise with me as much as you like,” added the Romulan, with a wink. “Oh, and for the record I prefer Andorian ale to Romulan.” There was a murmur of gentle laughter from the officers before her. “Joking aside, however, it is an honour to meet such a fine, diverse crew, and I look forward to working with you to help bring the United Federation of Planets and the Romulan Republic – and, indeed, everyone else in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants – closer together. We have a real chance to make lasting change in the galaxy, and I am confident that you are the officers for the job.” Every one of the staff officers stood a little straighter at her words. “Jolan tru, everyone,” said T’Las as she saluted the gathered officers. They replied in kind, and T’Las smiled before turning and leaving the bridge.

***

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.”

***