Star Trek: First Duty #3 - "At Her Majesty's Discretion" (WIP)

For those of you who enjoyed Leo's first adventure in "Trial of Transfer," and are avidly reading Leo's second story, "Borderline Justice" in WIP format here on TBBS, I got distracted working on the third story with a lot of worldbuilding and character sketching. So much so that I started writing some scenes I could not get out of my head and onto paper fast enough, which snowballed into me writing about 10k words inside a week. I am fully intending on going back to "Borderline Justice" to finish that story, but since I've gotten much further with this one, I figured I would post some of it here in advance. As before, what you're reading is essentially a first-draft, likely riddled with spelling and grammatical errors. The usual caveats apply in terms of changes and revisions likely coming that might alter the plot or scenes as you've read them here. Feedback and suggestions are welcome as this is a learning opportunity to improve my writing.



Story Summary: Leo Verde is temporarily detached from his duties on Starbase 8 to join a task force headed for the colonial world of Greenwood - a sovereign realm operating as a constitutional monarchy, replete with the pomp and protocols of the Georgian Era of British history. Amidst the trappings of royalty, Leo finds himself drawn to Greenwood's Queen Amelia, sparked by mutual interests, becoming a fast friendship that develops into something more. Their relationship challenges the boundaries of duty and desire, causing upset to Greenwood's leadership and social elite. As political tensions rise and the prospects of open war with the Kzin Patriarchy loom, the Federation Starfleet and Greenwood's Royal Navy must navigate the treacherous waters in space, while Leo and Amelia are torn between their respective duties and the yearnings of their hearts. With passions igniting under the flames of conflict, Leo finds his fate may become entwined with the fate of a monarchy - a story that will test the limits of love and sacrifice.

Star Trek: First Duty #3 - "At Her Majesty's Discretion"
by Lord McCovey Cove

Part One: Her Majesty's Cordial Invitation

Fitzwilliam Castle
The City of Readington, the Royal Duchy of Fitzwilliam, the Sovereign Realm of Greenwood
The Queen's Private Study
June 15, 2318 (Stardate 140024.74)

Amelia Eleanor Fitzwilliam, the reigning Queen of Greenwood, released an uncharacteristic sigh, her gaze firmly locked onto the digital document sprawled across large display device atop her desk within her private study at Fitzwilliam Castle. The verbose reports from her government officials were a necessary evil, yet their length and density often tested her patience.

Her eyes narrowed as they traced the lines of the Minister of Defence's report. Dame Jillian Munro’s words held a gravity that etched a deeper frown onto Amelia's regal features. Her left hand moved instinctively, activating an internal communication system within the castle walls. Her voice, rich and melodic, echoed through the chamber with her words tinged with the accent of the upper received pronunciation: "Sir Robert."

Within moments, the grand double doors swung open to reveal a hallway stretching far into the castle's heart. A distinguished man stepped inside - his fair complexion framed by silvery hair and complemented by a tailored green waistcoat and crisp white cravat. A walking cane rested at his side as he entered with an air of quiet authority.

"Majesty," he greeted in his distinct and aged tenor brogue, bowing respectfully before raising his gaze to meet hers. "How may I serve?"

The Queen gestured towards Dame Jillian's report on her desk with a look of mild disapproval. "I assume you've perused this… request?"

Sir Robert Lennox, GCO, approached Amelia’s desk cautiously, extending a hand for permission to view the document more closely. "May I, ma'am?"

"Of course," she agreed, passing him the PADD with one hand while indicating a highlighted section with another. "This is what concerns me."

With a contemplative gaze, Sir Robert studied the report's contents, his silver eyebrows furrowing in silent deliberation. "Shall I call for your naval advisor, Your Majesty?" he ventured, after absorbing the critical details inked on the digital parchment.

"I would value your perspective first," she invited, her dark eyes seeking his seasoned wisdom.

A shadow of concern crossed his fair features. "I find myself in agreement with the report's predictions. Our territories face increasing peril as our enemy's audacity grows daily," he confided quietly. He positioned the device on her mahogany desk with a respectful distance rather than passing it to her directly.

Rising from her chair, Queen Amelia's hands glided over the polished surface of her desk before she moved towards an inviting settee nestled in the room's corner. Dressed in a plush dressing gown that enveloped her like a comforting embrace, she sank into the cushioned comfort of the sofa.

In this secluded retreat away from public scrutiny, Queen Amelia savored moments of tranquility within the ancestral estate passed down since Greenwood's founding matriarch; her thrice-great-grandmother and first monarch—Queen Victoria Edwina Fitzwilliam. The castle was a testament to that first generations' best architectural offerings, gifted to their pioneering then-Duchess by the colony’s initial settlers.

Silently trailing behind his queen, Sir Robert maintained an attentive vigilance. He stood erect and patient at a respectful distance as he awaited her next words.

"Summon Sir Tracy for a consultation," Queen Amelia commanded after a thoughtful silence, referring to the naval advisor he offered earlier. "Following that, arrange a conference with the Prime Minister, the Minister of Defence, and the First Naval Lord." She paused, her gaze distant. "The Chancellor of the Exchequer will undoubtedly want to discuss the financial implications."

He failed to suppress his wry grin before bowing ceremoniously. "Am I correct in assuming your acceptance of their proposal?"

"Unless Sir Tracy presents a viable alternative," she responded, resignation shadowing her features. "It appears my hands are tied." Then, her voice tightened with playful reprimand as she added, "And Robert, do endeavour to erase that mischievous smile from your face."

"My sincere apologies, ma’am," he responded, a playful flicker dancing in his eyes. "I shall call upon the commodore, directly."

"Thank you," she said, giving him a small smile of her own.

The Queen exited via a smaller adjoining door leading to her private quarters. She had no intention of receiving company in nothing but her sleepwear.

​

"Starfleet?" Queen Amelia queried, her dark eyes narrowing in thought as she reclined gracefully in the antique armchair of her castle's drawing room. This grand chamber, once a favourite haunt of her late father for entertaining dignitaries and esteemed guests, was now hers to command. Across the expanse of polished mahogany table sat Sir Tracy, his posture rigid within the confines of his Royal Navy uniform. "The Federation's presence is seldom felt within our borders. What could possibly motivate them to extend their aid to us?"

With a subtle lean forward, Commodore Sir Tracy Newby KO RN, she noticed that his light chestnut fringe cascaded over his furrowed brow. "The annals of history, your Majesty, reveal that the Federation Council has extended Starfleet's aid to us numerous times. This assistance was primarily for swift military operations or humanitarian relief efforts," he said, his voice echoing with authority. "My predecessor, Dame Rowena, meticulously archived contingency plans endorsed by both your father and grandmother."

Queen Amelia's eyes flickered with surprise as she absorbed the commodore's detailed briefing. "Even in the recent century?"

A curt nod from Sir Tracy confirmed her query. "Precisely, ma'am. The last instance dates back to the 2260s during a widespread outbreak of Thelusian flu." He paused for effect before continuing. "A formidable Starfleet task force arrived, comprised of fifteen starships and an additional twenty-seven smaller support vessels, including three fully-equipped hospital ships."

He concluded with a note of reverence in his tone. "King Edward bestowed knighthoods upon the admiral and chief medical officer leading the task force, along with several doctors who worked closely with the Crown during that crisis."

"When has Starfleet ever lent us military support?"

Sir Tracy paused, sifting through the information on his PADD as he recalled from memory, "Their starship Challenger made first contact, or perhaps we could call it a restoration of contact, in 2160. But, that was nothing more than a single ship on an exploration mission. Seven years later, the Federation dispatched a squadron of five starships during the First Kzinti War. Your esteemed great-great-grandmother, Queen Eleanor, granted them permission to establish a temporary base within our star system." With a flourish, he held up his PADD to display the historical deployment. "It was one of the vessels of that flotilla, Atlantis, that stumbled upon dilithium deposits during an initial sweep-"

With a dismissive wave of her hand and an impatient glance at the glowing display, she cut him off. "The discovery of our dilithium resources I'm only too painfully aware of, Sir Tracy," she interjected before he could delve further into his impromptu history lesson. "However, in scenarios devoid of humanitarian considerations or without strategic advantage for the Federation's operations, how probable is it that they would rally to our defense?"

"Indeed, the likelihood is high, Your Majesty. Likely for the reasons you've outlined in terms of the Federation's interests. After all, they rely on our dilithium as a power source for their starships just as we do. Their fleet vastly outnumbers ours, making our ore indispensable to them," he explained further. "Moreover, the historical ties between the Federation and the Realm cannot be overlooked. We owe our existence to one of their esteemed admirals. And given Queen Victoria's connection to the early days of our intertwined history, Greenwood holds a unique fascination for Starfleet. The name 'Victoria Fitzwilliam' resonates with reverence among both our peoples."

Queen Amelia was well-versed in her family's illustrious history; however, she indulged Sir Tracy's penchant for slipping into his professorial mode from his Royal Naval Academy days. She saw it as an opportunity to glean more insights from his vast knowledge base. "Quite so," she concurred with his assessment, maintaining her regal composure while attentively absorbing his words.

The drawing room door echoed with a trio of authoritative raps before it swung open, revealing the imposing figure of Sir Robert. "I beg your pardon for the interruption, Your Majesty," he intoned gravely, his Edinburgh accent resonating in the hushed room. "Prime Minister Isley has arrived along with the Minister of Defence and the First Naval Lord; they await your audience."

At this announcement, Sir Tracy began to rise from his plush armchair. "Would you prefer if I retire to the library, Your Majesty?" His inquiry hung in the air.

"No need for that," Queen Amelia responded smoothly, her gaze steady on Commodore Newby. "Your insights could prove valuable should our guests prove reticent." She then shifted her attention back to her trusted advisor, Sir Robert. With a slight nod of acknowledgment, she instructed him quietly yet firmly, "Escort them in."

The Prime Minister of the Sovereign Realm of Greenwood, Lawrence Isley, led the procession into the room. He was closely followed by his associates - Dame Jillian Munro and Admiral Sir Joseph Harney KCO RN, the fifth Earl of Dundonald - who bore an air of solemnity befitting their ranks as esteemed members of Her Majesty's Government and Royal Navy. At their entrance, Commodore Newby rose from his seat – a gesture of respect toward the powerful triumvirate now gracing the royal drawing room.

The Prime Minister, a towering figure of authority, bent in a reverential bow. He gently cradled the Queen's extended hand, pressing his lips to the back with an air of deep respect. "Your Majesty," he intoned, his voice resonating through the room like the echo of a cathedral bell.

"Prime Minister," she responded warmly, her smile brightening her regal countenance. "Please, I insist that everyone take their seats."

Sir Tracy, ever mindful of courtly etiquette, moved with deliberate grace towards the chair furthest from the Queen. This action paved the way for the Prime Minister to claim the seat nearest to Her Majesty—an unspoken honor among Greenwood's elite. In this orchestrated dance of deference and propriety, Dame Jillian and Sir Joseph found their places nearby—their presence adding another layer to this tableau of power and prestige.

"Your Highness," Dame Jillian offered a respectful bow, which the Queen acknowledged with a subtle nod. Her gaze then shifted to Lord Dundonald, "Always a delight to have you in our midst, my Lord of Dundonald." Her words were followed by an introduction of Sir Tracy, her trusted naval advisor.

The Prime Minister's response came without delay. "Indeed, Your Majesty," he said, his eyes darting towards the commodore not once but twice. A fleeting twitch of his right eye betrayed his annoyance at the unexpected presence. "I had envisioned this discussion shrouded in confidentiality and tact."

The Queen's retort was swift and unyielding. "This meeting unfolds under my auspices, Prime Minister, not yours. Sir Tracy stands as my counsel on naval matters. His advice is invaluable and for him to provide it effectively, he necessitates full disclosure. Now if you may proceed."

Her assertive stance seemed to unsettle Isley as he stumbled over his words in response - "Yes...well... I gather we are here regarding Dame Jillian's proposed defense measures?"

"Among other matters," the Queen replied coolly. "My apprehensions lie with the proposed additional spending; it leans precariously on dilithium futures for my comfort."

Dame Jilian's lips curled into a strained smile. "Your Majesty, without the necessary expansion of our Royal Navy, our future might be in jeopardy." Sir Tracy cringed at her words, acutely aware of the misstep she'd taken in this critical dialogue.

Queen Amelia's gaze hardened as it fell upon Dame Jillian. Her brow furrowed in a frown. "I am not a journalist seeking sensational headlines nor is this a philosophical debate. Reserve such speculative ponderings for more suitable occasions."

The Prime Minister intervened subtly, raising his hand towards his Defence Minister while offering a placating grin to the Queen. "My apologies, Your Majesty. We will strive to articulate our points with greater clarity henceforth. Dame Jillian, perhaps you could illuminate us with the specifics?"

"Certainly," Dame Jillian replied, a blush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. Caught off guard by the Queen's stern inquiry, she hastily rummaged through her valise, seeking the written evidence to bolster her suggested defense strategy. "As outlined in my proposal, I emphasized the necessity of enlarging our naval forces. With the successful recruitment campaign, we've seen an unprecedented surge in personnel tempo. Additionally, at the First Naval Lord's behest, we have made offers to and hired several retired members of the Federation Starfleet to augment our officer corps."

"Am I to understand that my Government overlooked this influx?"

Dame Jillian was quick to allay her concerns. "Not in the slightest, Your Majesty. Our objective is to ensure we have seasoned space-faring professionals mentoring the next generation of sailors."

"And these ex-Starfleet officers have pledged allegiance as citizens?"

"Quite so," Sir Joseph interjected gently. "The Navy greatly appreciates their expertise and insights. We've adapted our deployments accordingly and have reaped considerable benefits. However..."

The Prime Minister picked up where the admiral's words had fallen silent. "The fleet's repositioning, coupled with our vigorous enlistment campaign, has left us with an abundance of trained sailors but a dearth of berths to harness their skills. It is fortuitous that, given our enemy's audacious incursion into our sovereign space, the urgency for new constructions aligns with both optimal utilization and national defence."

"Fortuitous that our territory is under siege?"

"Erm, ma'am... I did not intend to—"

"I'm well aware of your intentions, Prime Minister," the Queen interjected smoothly. She turned her attention to another member of her council. "Dame Jillian," she began in her regal tone, "your plan suggests building twenty fresh starships within a year's span. Such an endeavor would strain our production capabilities, both surface and orbital, would it not?"

The Defence Minister gave a measured nod. "Indeed, Your Majesty. Every iota of production would need to be redirected towards shipbuilding for approximately thirteen months - plus or minus a fortnight."

"Such a course of action appears ill-advised," Queen Amelia expressed, her gaze fixed on her folded hands. "Seizing control of all facilities could potentially destabilize the need for civilian or consumer-grade spacecraft. I fear this might precipitate industrial and economic complications."

"We welcome such discourse with the various industries when the appropriate time arises," responded the Prime Minister, his tone firm yet respectful. "Nonetheless, we are confident that this proposal's implementation would necessitate a workforce that should appease the unions while simultaneously invoking their patriotic spirit to aid us in safeguarding the Realm."

Amelia tilted her head slightly, an air of nonchalance veiling her deep concern. "Pray tell, how do you propose to protect my Realm before these starships are operational?" she queried. "Especially given the Navy's alleged deficiencies."

With unvarnished honesty, Sir Joseph addressed the Queen's concerns. "Your Majesty, our current fleet is more than capable of safeguarding the Realm and its territories. Yet, we must not merely consider today's needs but also anticipate tomorrow's challenges. By this time next year, after a rigorous period of expedited assembly, we'll be in the midst of testing and refining our first batch of newly minted starships. Not long thereafter, these vessels will take their place on the front lines."

The Queen, ever pragmatic in her approach to matters of state, posed her next question with straightforward simplicity. "And should our adversaries become increasingly audacious in their attempts to seize control of our dilithium mines within that timeframe?"

"Rest assured, Ma'am," Sir Joseph vowed with unwavering resolve, "the Royal Navy stands ready to confront such aggression directly. Admiralty House shall redeploy to provide adequate protection to our holdings throughout the system."

Queen Amelia's lips pressed into a firm line, her displeasure evident as the First Naval Lord continued to spout clichéd reassurances. Her gaze shifted towards the commodore stationed at the far end of the assembly, acknowledging his previous suggestion. "Sir Tracy," she began, her tone laced with authority and resolve, "put forth an intriguing proposal. He suggested we leverage our infrequent and modest alliance with the Federation. We could request a provisional fleet of starships to bolster our Royal Navy's strength." A pause for effect, then she added, "Under the guise of a cooperative training initiative and cultural exchange, his notion is to utilize their resources for a period of no less than eighteen months."

A fleeting smirk ghosted across Sir Joseph's stern features, yet he held his silence. The Prime Minister, however, recoiled at the Queen's proposition. "Your Majesty," he protested, "I believe extending an invitation to Starfleet might be a hasty decision."

Her brow arched in question, "Indeed? Pray tell, why?"

"An eighteen-month joint exercise is implausible," Dame Jillian stated with a note of skepticism. "I find it hard to believe that the Federation would consent to such an extended commitment of Starfleet's resources."

The Queen's lips curved into a smile. "Is the duration your only concern? The inconvenience?"

"No, Your Majesty. I am confident in our ability to uphold the Realm's defence without requiring aid from a foreign power," the Prime Minister interjected firmly. "Not to mention, the positioning of the Federation in a conflict with our enemy."

"Our enemy was once their enemy as well," reminded the Queen softly. "If they should conquer the Realm, I would imagine that would have some imapct on other nearby Federation systems such as Arbazan. We're far closer to the enemy's territory, obviously, but if we offered the Federation a long-term option in strategic positioning, it would be more advantageous for a response should the enemy forces decide to strike while the iron is hot, so to speak. Conquer us, then turn their eyes to Arbazan."

"Majesty," Isley said, his consternation made clear through a deeply furrowed brow. "It would be damaging to the pride of the nation to rely upon the Federation for aid."

"You speak of pride, Prime Minister. You would hold the balance of the nation's future against pride?" Queen Amelia queried, her voice ringing with authority. "And the lives of my subjects as well?" Isley, caught off-guard by the intensity of her questioning, parted his lips to retort but found himself faltering at her subsequent inquiry. "I thought not," she concluded, her tone laced with a touch of satisfaction.

Turning her attention to another member of her court, she called out, "Sir Robert?" The corners of her mouth lifted in a subtle grin as she reveled in her political triumph. "Would you be so kind as to extend an invitation to the Federation Ambassador to the Palace this evening? Include the Prime Minister and the Minister of State."

​

Upon the conclusion of their discourse, the pair of civilian leaders vacated the castle with uncharacteristic urgency. Sir Joseph, seizing Commodore Newby's attention, ushered him into the crisp embrace of mid-morning, a setting more conducive to confidential discussions.

"My lord?" ventured Sir Tracy, once they were comfortably isolated.

"Excellent work, my friend," Admiral Harney commended, his voice awash with elation. Regaining his composure, he elaborated further in a more measured tone. "I wouldn't dare propose reaching out to the Federation myself. The Prime Minister staked his political future on the autonomy of the Realm during his election campaign. However, considering the escalating onslaughts on Sovereign territories, it's hardly the time for vainglory and self-importance."

A knowing smile played on Sir Tracy's lips. "It's a pleasure to assist. Queen Amelia is known for her discerning mind, she has but a scant tolerance for unnecessary grandeur or pompousness."

As the military vehicle of Sir Joseph rumbled into sight, bearing the proud insignia of the Royal Navy, he gestured towards it subtly, alerting his companion to the impending end of their conversation. "Quite right. That's the robust Fitzwilliam lineage shining through," affirmed the First Naval Lord with a note of admiration in his voice. "Now, I must hasten to Admiralty House and set in motion our collaboration for a 'training exercise' with Starfleet's elite forces."

 

Interesting open... I'm assuming that this micro-empire is an offshoot of original Earth colonization?

Thanks!! rbs

 

Is that a sprinkle of inspiration from David Weber's Honor Harrington series I detect? If so I dig it.

 

More on this in the next part.

Most of my inspiration is coming from (the late) Dewey Lambdin's Alan Lewrie Naval Adventures, but given that I'm a member of The Royal Manticoran Navy (Honor Harrington fan club), yeah, I will fully admit to having some influence from that series in here.. it's so hard not to!

That club is where my new nom de plume (Lord McCovey Cove) comes from.

 

Part Two: The Commander's New Assignment

Starbase 8
In orbit of Memory Alpha
JAG Complex, Level Four
July 5, 2318 (Stardate 0.47)



In the confines of his office on Starbase 8, Commander Leo Verde extended his arms high above, feeling the satisfying pull of muscles strained by hours hunched over his desk and terminal. A resonant groan echoed around the room as he allowed himself a moment's respite, his heterochromatic eyes fluttering closed and his bearded jaw going slack as he expelled a weary yawn.

"This day keeps dragging on…" murmured Lieutenant (jg) Barzel Timel from across the desk. The Trill paralegal's fingers danced over the surface of his PADD, continuing to compile their case brief despite his commander's evident fatigue. "Could we maybe pause here and finish up tomorrow?"

Leo's gaze flickered towards the terminal display, scanning through their progress before sighing in resignation. "But, we're so close-" A chime from the door cut his words short. He shot Barzel an apologetic glance and sighed out a resigned, "Enter."

"Pardon the intrusion, Commander," Yeoman First Class (YN1) Lara Zenn ventured hesitantly as she stepped into Leo's sanctuary-like office.

"Not at all," Leo assured her with a small smile. "What brings you here?"

"The captain requests your presence," Zenn relayed softly, clasping her hands in front of her midsection.

Leo cast a look at his desk strewn with unfinished work and shrugged. "Can I have fifteen minutes? We're just tying up loose ends here."

Zenn's expression tightened slightly. "She insists on seeing you immediately."

Barzel swiveled in his seat to face Zenn before shooting Leo an apprehensive look. "Sounds... intriguing."

"Indeed," Leo concurred, pushing himself upright from behind his desk and reaching for his pristine Class A uniform jacket draped over the armrest of the nearby couch. As he swiftly donned it, ensuring each button and twist was in place, he fell into step behind Yeoman Zenn as they exited his office. "Should I be worried?" he asked her under his breath.

"That's not for me to say, sir," Zenn responded cryptically, leading him through the maze of identical offices until they reached Captain Ch'charhat's door. Without knocking or announcing their arrival, she entered and nodded towards the Andorian captain. "Sir, Commander Verde has arrived."

"Leo!" Janeera's voice echoed, a clear invitation to enter. As the door slid open, the Andorian officer gracefully rose from her chair and circled around her desk to greet him.

Stepping into the room, Leo felt the absence of Zenn behind him as the door quietly sealed shut. "You wanted to see me, sir?" he inquired, deciding on a formal tone to gauge her mood.

Janeera's face lit up with a warm smile. "Yes, and sorry from pulling you away from whatever you were buried in. A mutual acquaintance of your mother has sent me an interesting message."

A wave of relief washed over Leo at her words, quelling his initial unease. "And who might that be?" he asked.

"Rear Admiral Neema Essa," Janeera announced with a broad grin stretching across her blue face, "Commanding Officer of Task Force Seventeen." She watched for his reaction closely. "I presume you're familiar with her?"

A matching grin spread across Leo's face as he replied, "In my family circle, she goes by 'Auntie Neema.'" A faint blush dusted his cheeks at the admission. "She holds the honor of being my godmother."

Janeera let out a soft chuckle; she was already privy to this information but enjoyed seeing his response nonetheless. "'Auntie Neema' has extended an invitation for you to accompany her on an expedition to Greenwood with her task force," she informed him. "Apparently there's some unrest brewing between an independent colony and the Kzin."

"Really?" Leo exclaimed in surprise, eyes widening at this unexpected opportunity. He hesitated momentarily before adding: "I do have some ongoing cases... If you believe it won't disrupt operations here too much...?"

"You’ve been more than hardworking, Leo… and if I haven’t told you enough how much I appreciate you, then let me acknowledge that, now," Janeera acknowledged thoughtfully. "Perhaps it's time for you to take a breather and reconnect with family ties." She waved off his concern. "Just delegate your ongoing cases to Major Bex. She’ll be acting in your stead."

"Understood, sir," Leo responded, his brows knitting together at the unfamiliarity of the colony's name. "Greenwood doesn't ring a bell."

Janeera didn't miss a beat. "Computer," she commanded crisply, "display mission briefing for Operation CASTLE WALL." The computer hummed its compliance, replacing the digital artwork that had been displayed on their viewscreen with a detailed sector map.

"Sigma Serpentis IV is what the Federation knows it as," Janeera began to clarify, her voice steady and informative. "‘Greenwood’ is the sobriquet adopted by its colonists. Its roots trace back to the early twenty-second century, after the conclusion of the Earth-Valdori conflict."

She paused for effect before continuing, "In 2102, Victoria Fitzwilliam, another rear admiral and a hero from that very war, steered an armada of twenty transport ships carrying one hundred thousand colonists towards this fourth planet in the Sigma Serpentis system. Thus was born Greenwood."

As Janeera elaborated on Greenwood's history, Leo skimmed through the briefing document swiftly yet attentively. His eyes caught a phrase that piqued his curiosity. "It mentions here 'the Sovereign Realm of Greenwood'..."

"I'm getting to that part; don't jump ahead," Janeera chided him gently with an air of playful reproach.

"My apologies, sir."

A wink from Janeera reassured Leo she bore no ill will towards his eager interruption. "Upon landing there," she continued with a certain gleam in her eyes as if relishing in sharing this piece of history, "the settlers resolved to resurrect an era long past — specifically Earth's late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries when England evolved into the United Kingdom in 1801."

"Initially, Greenwood was a mere duchy, with the retired Admiral Fitzwilliam wielding power as its Duchess. However, within the span of a decade, they chose to amplify her authority. The coronation of Queen Victoria marked the inception of a monarchy, replete with a Royal House and the grandeur that accompanies such regality."

Leo furrowed his brows in thought, trying to dredge up memories of another colony that bore similarities. "This sounds... reminiscent of another settlement..." His voice trailed off as he grappled with his elusive memory. After an unsuccessful attempt to retrieve the name, he managed a hesitant offering. "Uh... it begins with an H?"

Janeera shot Leo a lopsided grin. "Hysperia?"

A light flickered in Leo's eyes at her suggestion. "That’s the one," he confirmed with a nod.

She reciprocated his gesture, adding, "Indeed, there are similarities. Although I think that world dove deeper into history for inspiration - adopting a Renaissance-like society while still embracing contemporary technology."

"Of course," he pondered aloud, "Does Greenwood hold membership in the Federation?"

Janeera shook her head, a hint of amusement playing on her blue lips. "No, not precisely. I'd say they're more akin to an informal protectorate... if even that. A sovereign entity teetering on the edge of Federation territory; Starfleet has only visited three times in the last two hundred years, that's only if you include the initial contact in the mid-22nd century. The diplomatic corps has an attaché stationed there, though the Queen has recognized them as an ambassador to suit her purposes."

"All right, then. What role does Auntie Neema have in mind for me?" he queried.

Janeera's antennae twitched slightly as she responded, "Admiral Essa requests your presence as her force judge advocate, on temporary loan from my command. The Federation Council sees this as a golden opportunity to maintain amicable ties with Greenwood, considering the myriad advantages they bring to the table."

Driven by his curiosity, he probed further, "Could you elaborate?"

In response, she deftly manipulated the interface, prompting the computer to magnify two remote planets on the edge of the system. "These two worlds," she gestured towards the ninth and tenth planets, "are significant sources of dilithium. There's also a potential opportunity for us to establish an outpost there. Such an outpost would deter the Kzin Patriarchy from escalating tensions in that sector."

"But isn't DS-Five designed to serve that very purpose?"

Janeera chuckled lightly at this. "DS-Five is hardly imposing. It's a modest station with a quartet of cutters that have no more than collateral duties along the border. The Federation has intention to improve that installation, however…" Her antennae twitched subtly as she added, "Greenwood would offer a more solid base because of its abundant resources."

His eyebrows knitted together as he absorbed her words. "I... see." Despite his tenure in the Border Service, with all the long patrols of some of the furthest reaches of Federation territory, he never made it as far as that remote outpost. "When am I shipping out and for how long?"

"Anticipated docking duration for the Task Force here is a mere handful of hours," Janeera stated, her voice trailing off into an uncharacteristic silence. The absence of her usually steady stream of information hung in the air like a forgotten echo.

Leo, picking up on the anomaly, swiveled away from the sprawling viewscreen to fix his inquiring gaze on his superior officer. "And?" he probed, his baritone voice laced with curiosity.

She exhaled a weary sigh, her antennae twitching slightly. "Six months' minimum duration."

"Half a year?!" Leo echoed, his tone thick with incredulity and burgeoning frustration.

She briskly detailed, "The task force's mission duration is slated for eighteen months, with the Council sanctioning an extension at the admiral's discretion. However, it must not exceed twenty-four months in its entirety. This does not account for travel time... a minimum of two weeks at warp speed to traverse the distance from here to Sigma Serpentis. The preliminary half-year of their assignment encompasses a multitude of cultural exchange events, and Admiral Essa will provide you with a comprehensive briefing on what this involves."

Brushing aside the logistical details with an airy wave of his right hand, Leo interjected, "I've only held this post for six months. Can my unit withstand my absence for such an extended period?"

Janeera's laughter echoed softly, a gentle affirmation of shared understanding. "Leo, do recall that we managed to hold the fort for eight months before you came on board," she reminded him, her voice carrying the wisdom of experience. "And while I hold your efforts in high regard, I firmly believe this will be a major career move for you. It also presents Major Bex with a chance to broaden her skills from a far more advantageous position than the chaotic scramble she initially faced."

As he absorbed her words, Leo's mind wandered back to a previous conversation where Bex had confessed that being the acting XO prior to his arrival was far from desirable. He exhaled slowly, relinquishing his resistance. "You're right," he conceded. "Perhaps my restructuring has paved a smoother path for succession."

Her response was a warm smile of approval - cordial yet genuine. "Your contributions here have been invaluable," she praised him sincerely. "You've not only fortified our JAG team but also discovered some truly remarkable talents." Her gaze held his as she continued, "Yet you've shouldered immense responsibilities, tackling more cases than I'd ever envisioned you would..."

She trailed off momentarily before resuming with an added note of concern in her tone, "A change of scenery could do wonders for you." She paused again before adding thoughtfully, "This experience will serve your professional growth. Providing legal counsel to flag officers under diplomatic orders uncovers an entirely new aspect of JAG service and would do well to give Starfleet Command a fresh perspective on your unique abilities."

With a measure of reluctance etched into his features, Leo conceded, his head dipping in a slow, thoughtful nod. "I see," he confessed, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. "Yet I hadn't envisioned myself returning to the field after the Detmer incident."

Janeera responded with her characteristic softness and wisdom. "That was well outside your control, Leo; field work is tough," she offered gently, her blue-skin glowing under the artificial light. Her white hair shimmered like a halo around her blue face as she continued. "I can appreciate your… apprehension." She paused for effect before adding, "I'll remind you of what I told you when you returned: You made the right call."

A sigh of relief escaped Leo's lips as Janeera's words washed over him like a balm on an old wound. His eyes met hers with gratitude before he respectfully acknowledged, "Thank you."

 

this paragraph appears to be incomplete...

 

Thanks! Fixed.

 

I love the idea behind this whole scenario. Long distance Earth colony with a penchant for all things Napoleonic-era (is that Georgian in English history?). This is going to be a hoot! Break out your formal dress uniform, these people are going to have a thing for all the pomp and circumstance.

I empathize with Leo's angst about leaving a relatively new post for a six-month detached assignment, it's not an easy choice.

An excellent start, sir!

 

A totally cosplay colony. Yeah, that's going to be a thing...

I like the idea that Leo is moving on and moving up by taking this assignment. Although I am looking forward to more about the beginning of that assignment.

 

Leo will eventually return to Starbase 8. In the previous story (which I haven't finished writing) there was a big to-do involved with his investigation that has greater impact on his reluctance to leave for such a long time. Also, factor in the trauma of having been "fired" previously and meetings like this really ratchet up his anxiety. I kind of live with this, personally, so anytime a blind meeting with the CO comes up, his worst fears prey on his mind automatically.

 

​

Almost two full days later, Leo found himself on the threshold of Task Force 17's flagship, the venerable Excelsior-class USS Farragut. "Requesting permission to come aboard," he projected in his baritone voice to the officer of the watch—a fresh-faced ensign.

"Permission granted, sir," she responded promptly. Her eyes flicked over him appraisingly before she asked, "May I inquire about the reason for your visit?"

With a swift motion, Leo extracted his PADD from his uniform jacket and presented his orders. "I am here to report to Rear Admiral Essa. She has requested my presence on her flag staff."

A flicker of understanding crossed the ensign's face. "Understood," she replied, then proceeded to guide him towards his destination—the forward section of the second deck that served as both flag bridge and combat information center.

As Leo navigated through the corridor, his eyes admired the navy-blue carpet underfoot—a tribute to Admiral David Glasgow Farragut, after whom every starship was named. This color choice mirrored that of the United States Navy during Farragut's service in the American Civil War—an homage seamlessly integrated into Starfleet's modern aesthetic.

Upon reaching the flag deck, two members of ship’s marine detachment halted him just beyond its threshold. A staff sergeant raised a hand and stated quietly yet firmly, “Apologies Commander, but this is a secured area by order of Admiral Essa. Are you cleared for access?”

Leo lifted his hands peaceably and flashed a warm smile at them. “I believe I am,” he said smoothly. “My name is Leo Verde. I’m here on orders.” He waited for a nod from marine NCO before retrieving his PADD again and presenting it for inspection.

The staff sergeant glanced at it before excusing himself momentarily to confirm its authenticity. Upon his return, he seemed more relaxed. “Commander, the Admiral is in her flag quarters. Take a right at this junction, another right at the next one, and it’s the second door on your left.”

Leo returned his PADD to its place with a nod of gratitude. "Thank you for your assistance, Staff." He then turned to acknowledge the other marine with a respectful nod, "And you as well, Corporal."

Their surprised expressions made him chuckle inwardly as the staff sergeant managed a somewhat flustered reply: "Anytime, sir."

With their directions in mind, Leo soon stood before the correct door. As he pressed the annunciator button and heard Auntie Neema's familiar contralto voice inviting him in with an affectionate nickname—"Come in… Lalito"—he felt a surge of anticipation for what lay ahead.

 

Part Three: The Commander's Family Reunion

NCC-2582 (USS Farragut)
Docked at Starbase 8
Flag Stateroom, Deck Two
July 7, 2318 (Stardate 4.33)

The spacious quarters assigned to the flag officer aboard the Excelsior-class USS Farragut dwarfed Leo's VIP Suite on Starbase 8, making it feel akin to a closet. His gaze swept across the vast room, momentarily drawn away from the knot of gold-braided uniforms gathered near his godmother, Rear Admiral Neema Essa. Despite this distraction, Essa's towering presence was unmistakable. With long and deliberate strides, she bridged the gap between them swiftly. A genuine smile brightened her features, and her voice carried an equal warmth as she greeted him, "Wonderful to see you again, Lalito!"

Without a moment's pause, the tall woman enfolded him in a hearty embrace. Taken aback by her exuberant display of affection, an involuntary gasp escaped Leo's lips. "A privilege to be here with you too, sir," he managed to reply in a choked voice while preserving their professional decorum; they were amidst company after all.

"Pish posh!" Essa waved away his formal address with a dismissive flick of her hand. "I'll always be your Auntie," she asserted in her characteristic Londoner lilt before stepping back and allowing him room to breathe. "Let me introduce you to our team," she gestured towards the group of officers who stood patiently lnearby.

Flushing with discomfort at the affectionate welcome, Leo advanced, his gaze sweeping over the assembled officers. Save for a lieutenant engrossed in her PADD off to one side of the expansive desk, he was the lowest ranking among them. He recognized two of the flag officers - Vice Admiral Pavel Chekov and Commodore Thelk, the commanding and deputy commanding officers of Starbase 8.

Thelk, a figure from Leo's past encounters, directed a disdainful look his way. His Tellarite lineage manifested this scorn through a dramatic display of tusk flexing and enlarged nostril flaring. "Verde," he sneered dismissively. "What brings you here?"

Before Leo could respond, Admiral Essa intervened. "This is Commander Leo Verde," she declared openly to the group. "He'll be seconded to my flag staff for ForceEx Castle Wall. I require an upstanding legal advisor by my side." She assessed Thelk's reaction before adding pointedly, "Would that be an issue for you, Commodore?" Her hard gaze bore into Thelk, causing his confident exterior to crumble.

Chekov, sensing the mounting tension, stepped forward with a cherubic smile. In his Russian accent, he said, "My deputy and your new legal officer have been butting heads since Leo arrived on base," he said, his tone dripping with casual diplomacy. "If you would please pardon us, we will take our leave and wish you success in your mission."

"Cheers, Pavel," Essa replied with warmth. "Do give my love to your family." They exchanged a quick kiss on the cheek before parting ways. Thelk gave Essa a curt nod - "Sir" - then quickly exited, acknowledging no one else.

Chekov turned to Leo and shook his hand firmly. "Commander, come find me when you return from Greenwood." He didn't wait for a response before following Thelk out of the room; the door slid shut behind him.

"Okay…" Leo muttered under his breath.

Essa gently guided him towards her team by his elbow. "Lalito, come meet my staff." She motioned towards a Vulcan woman standing nearby at attention. "This is Sakna – she's been my flag captain and right hand for seven years."

Sakna bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment of Leo. "Commander."

Leo raised his palm and split his fingers in the Vulcan custom, and responded sincerely: "I've come to serve, Captain."

Sakna reciprocated Leo's gesture with her own raised hand, along with an intrigued rising right eyebrow. "Your service honors us," she responded, her voice resonating like smooth stone echoing in a cavern. "I have assigned you to the flag staff section, on the port side of this deck. My executive officer, Commander Tolani, will see to any of your needs."

"Appreciated, sir," Leo responded, his hand falling to his side.

Essa pivoted towards the lieutenant at her elbow, a PADD clutched in her grasp. "My flag lieutenant, Aravila. She's the one who manages all my blasted paperwork. She is supported by her hand-picked team of yeomen."

Leo directed an acknowledging nod towards the Bolian woman and offered a warm smile. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant."

"Commander," Aravila responded, the clipped formality of her greeting reverberating in the spartan room. "A pleasure to have you on board."

"My second-in-command, Commodore Mogasu, is currently aboard his flagship Kearsarge," Essa interjected, her London accent adding a touch of warmth to the sterile environment. "He commands Task Group 17.2."

"From Kearsarge? I read the briefing. Why not command from one of the two Excelsior-class ships in the group?"

"He has a penchant for the refitted Constitutions," she explained.

Leo couldn't help but let a smile play across his lips. "I've never served on one, but I know they're magnificent ships."

"In due course, you'll cross paths with him," Essa assured, her tone carrying an implicit promise.

"What's the size of our fleet?" Leo queried, curiosity etching lines on his forehead.

Captain Sakna's crisp, precise voice called his attention to her as she informed, "The main task force consists of fourteen ships, divided into two task groups. Accompanying them is a support division of four; three repair tenders and a single medical vessel. That brings our total to eighteen starships."

Essa swiveled her gaze towards Aravila. "Ensure he receives a copy of OpPlan Castle Wall."

Leo interjected with a thoughtful furrow on his brow, "I'll also require the orders from Starfleet Command."

"Right you are," Admiral Essa concurred with a nod. Her dark eyes sparkled with approval as she added, "Grant him full access to everything – orders, briefings, comments... the lot."

"Immediately, sir," Lieutenant Aravila responded dutifully. Her nimble fingers were already dancing across her PADD in swift obedience to the order.

"Admiral, if you will excuse me, I will be in my ready room," Sakna said.

"Proceed, Captain," Essa encouraged.

The captain paused at the threshold, her gaze steady on Essa. "We depart at oh-six-thirty Zulu, Admiral." Her words hung in the air for a moment before she turned and disappeared into the corridor.

Essa then turned to Aravila, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Go off-duty for half an hour, love," she suggested warmly. "I fancy a chinwag with my Lalito."

Leo felt his cheeks warm at the affectionate nickname. Aravila’s knowing look made him flush even deeper before she nodded and followed Sakna's exit path. As soon as the door slid shut behind her, Essa moved to her desk and retrieved a carefully wrapped package.

She carried it to Leo and placed it on the coffee table that sat in front of a long couch hugging the bulkhead beneath an expansive view of Starbase's interior docking facility.

"This little gift comes courtesy of your old man," Essa revealed as she settled onto the couch. She patted the seat next to her invitingly, gesturing for Leo to join her. "When I told him about my plans to whisk you away on this mission."

With a grimace etched on his face, Leo eased himself onto the plush cushion next to Essa, eyeing the coffee table warily. "I'm not in any immediate danger of it blowing up in my face, am I?" he ventured, a twinkle of mirth dancing in his heterochromatic eyes.

Essa's rich contralto laughter filled the room. "Blimey, no!" She shot him an amused smirk, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "What could possibly make you believe that?"

Leo exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping as though carrying an invisible weight. "Since I made the switch to JAG," he began, running a hand through his dark hair streaked with red highlights. "He's been rather... aloof. More so after I was beached following my departure from Hansen. Mamá said that it was going to take some time for him to get used to the idea of his son no longer serving on starships."

Essa absorbed Leo's words thoughtfully, her gaze softening as she considered their implications. "Fathers and sons... quite the complex relationship," she mused aloud before turning back to Leo, her expression serious yet empathetic. "Bran told me that she knew your Dad placed some high expectation on you. Being his only son," she continued. Her voice softened further as she added: "And you did for the most part until last year."

A crease deepened between Leo's brows, though he affirmed his godmother's words with a terse nod of his head. "You're your own person, and he ought to respect that," she asserted sharply. "I suppose this gift is his roundabout way of expressing his continued affection for you."

At her words, Leo reached out, fingers brushing the cool surface of the box lid as he lifted it. He set it aside and used his unoccupied hand to grasp at the object nestled within. Extricating it from its confines, he held it up for closer inspection. "This is… an interesting way to show his affection," he murmured with awe, cradling it in both hands as he turned it over, scrutinizing every inch.

The present from his father was a type-two phaser dating back to the 2280s - forty years into Starfleet's past - with its dark silver finish still gleaming after all these years. The weapon's grip was positioned forwardly, allowing the power pack to rest comfortably atop his hand. The emitter - wide yet thin - would unleash a ribbon-like beam upon firing.

Ensuring safety first and foremost, Leo swiftly checked the power pack's setting; confirming that it remained disengaged while in his possession reduced any potential for accidental discharge. His Starfleet training instinctively guided him as he dismantled the fire control mechanism to inspect its 'action.' In doing so, not only did he gain insight into its workings but also effectively neutralized the weapon by removing several integral components.

"This is beautiful," he admitted aloud, his voice softening as he assessed the weapon. "Exceptionally well-maintained. Like, at a Chief Marine Gunner's level."

Essa smiled. "Is that so?"

With a fleeting glance in her direction, Leo redirected his unwavering focus back to the dismantled phaser cradled in his hands. He meticulously traced each component with his eyes and fingers as he skillfully restored it to operational status.

"Oh, yes," he replied, his baritone voice resonating with nostalgia. "My father keeps a similar phaser on display in his office back home." His nimble fingers danced over the antique weapon, echoing a familiar routine etched into muscle memory.

"He toted this model around until Starfleet mandated he upgrade in '93." A hint of reverence seeped into his tone, painting the image of a man deeply attached to his equipment. "Out of all the phasers he's ever wielded, he held this design in the highest esteem; the epitome of refinement." He chuckled softly at the memory. "He said it was 'elegant.'"

An involuntary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he lost himself momentarily in remembrance. "The first time he entrusted me with it... I was barely out of middle school, the month before I started high school." The wistful note in his voice underscored a cherished memory; a poignant reminder of simpler times and childhood fascination with Starfleet legacy.

"See? He still loves you, Lalito," Essa assured him. She reached to grip his shoulder gently.

He sighed and offered a wan smile to her. "I… I mean, it's really nice of him to send me one of these. I guess I'm not sure-"

"Look at the serial number of the weapon," she nodded to the phaser as she urged him.

So taken with the condition of the phaser, Leo realized he never once looked closely at the alphanumerics that lined the main body, along the underside of the power pack. When his eyes slid over the engraved characters, he looked up at Essa in surprise. "This is his."

"He said you would need it more than he would, now," she explained. "And since mission requirements calls for security alert two, you will need a proper, reliable sidearm. He told me that his son should have the best."

Leo wordlessly kept his eyes on the serial number, reading and rereading it once more in disbelief. "I'm stunned."

"Not yet. You have to switch on the power pack, first," Essa quipped.

Allowing himself a slight chuckle at her witty rejoinder, Leo shook his head. "I-I-I can't believe he gave me his phaser. I couldn't possibly accep-"

Essa pushed herself closer to him and embraced her godson tightly. "You should accept it as the gesture he intended. He said he wanted you to have it."

He leaned into her warmth. With an outstretched arm, his hand pointed at the box. "But-"

"You don't have to wear it, if you don't want to," she offered. "In fact, if you prefer, head back to the base now and stow it in your room."

They sat together in the compartment; two members of the same family by choice, rather than by blood. Leo contemplated his options for a few moments and then decided. "No, I'll wear it. He'll pepper me with questions about how well it functioned when I get back, anyway, right?"

She giggled. "Most likely."

Leo removed the holster from the box and slipped the phaser's muzzle within. He slipped free of his Auntie Neema's embrace and placed the holster on his belt to try it on for size.

Essa leaned back to appraise the look and gave him a nod with her lips turned downward. "Brilliant."

"You think so?" He peered down at himself. "I might adjust this, I think it's a little too high to get a quick grip."

"If you slide it more forward so it's just above your hip?" she suggested. When he did so, he lifted the weapon and smiled. "That's got it, I think."

Leo explained the source of his discomfort. "The last time I carried, I wore the combat uniform. The holster position on that is far more comfortable than trying to wear one with your class A's. This is definitely going to take some getting used to."

Essa rose from the couch to stand before Leo. "We're getting close to departure. You should go settle in and meet me in the conference lounge in three hours. We'll go over the mission orders together after we're underway. I have some questions for you."

Hearing her tone carry that professional undercurrent, Leo recognized he was now taking orders from his new boss. "Aye, sir," he replied, automatically adopting a formal address. "I'll see you out there."

 

very nice shift between familial and professional tones and a really interesting bit of family history with the antique phaser... Thanks!! rbs

 

Part Four: Her Majesty's Honoured Guests

F-35 (HMS Proteus)
Elliptical Patrol Orbit of Sigma Serpentis IX, Nine Knots
Quarterdeck
July 23, 2318 (Stardate 44.1)

As the ship's bell sounded once to mark off the first half hour of the middle watch, Mr. Midshipman Gwendolyn Ballard stepped onto the quarterdeck and approached the port side railing where Proteus' Second Officer, Lieutenant Euphemie Castlereagh, stood as she gazed out at the stars.

"Mister Castlereagh, sir," Ballard said, holding a ship's mug out to the lieutenant. "With the Steward's respects."

"Ah, most kind, thankee," Castlereagh said with a wide grin. She inhaled the strong scent of black coffee and closed her eyes. "Smells heavenly. My best regards to the Steward, if you please."

Ballard smiled in return, glad to provide a creature comfort to an officer she held in great esteem. "My pleasure, sir."

After the steaming quaff passed through her lips, Castlereagh swallowed and then released a happy sigh as her eyes shifted back to the stars. "Thank you for standing watch with me. It's been dreadfully boresome thus far."

"You do me a great kindness with your tutelage, sir," Ballard admitted. "It is my desire to stand for examination next month."

"If the captain approves," Castlereagh reminded her. Off Ballard's crestfallen expression, she consoled her, "Chin up, now. The captain is firm, but fair. Either way, continue your studies regardless. You'll benefit far beyond a panel of three captains shouting at you."

"My desire is to return to Proteus a passed midshipman, and hopefully, a commissioned leftenant into her," Ballard blushed as she admitted her plan.

Castlereagh tempered the midshipman's expectations quickly, "Passed midshipman, certainly. But once you receive your commission, they may also come with orders to report to another vessel."

Ballard's eyes widened. "I had not thought of that, sir. I always assumed-"

The shrill whistle of the ship's intercom system made both women wince. Castlereagh stabbed the control panel as the frequency sliced through the muted tones of their discussion violently. "You'd think I'd get used to that," she muttered to Ballard. With a raised tone, she replied to the caller, "Quarterdeck, Leftenant Castlereagh."

"'Tis the flying bridge, Able Sailor Rimes, here, sir," replied a rough Cockney-accented masculine voice. "Unknown vessels in sight."

"Number and where away, Rimes?"

Rimes hesitated for but a second before responding, "At least fifteen vessels, traveling at middle-speeds from out-system. Relative bearing is four points by fifty-six starboard, sir."

"Thank you, Rimes. Leave it with me." Castlereagh unceremoniously closed the circuit and turned back to Ballard. "My respects to the captain, and please inform her we have strange vessels in sight and request her presence on the quarterdeck."

"Right away, sir," Ballard said, already in motion as soon as the lieutenant spoke the last word of her order. She passed through the doors leading aft to the great-cabin where a pair of marine sentries stood outside. She nodded to the senior marine and said the reason: "Strange vessels in sight."

A quick nod preceded the marine's movement in opening the cabin door, allowing the midshipman entry. Ballard knocked on the interior hatch leading to the captain's private quarters; the compartment almost no one entered without authorization, even in a critical situation. "Captain?"

The familiar contralto voice of Captain the Honourable Dame Stacy Meyn, KCO LV, RN, replied; her tone thick with the effects of interrupted sleep. "Yes, who's there?"

"It's Midshipman Ballard, sir. Mister Castlereagh's respects; there's at least fifteen strange vessels on approach to the home system," the midshipman spoke though the closed hatch.

The midshipman could hear the subtle thump of feet hitting carpeted flooring beyond the hatch. Seconds later, Captain Meyn exited her private quarters pulling on her uniform coat; primarily space black with the green trim of their national flag.

Their uniform boots clapped down on the harder deck outside of the great-cabins as they traversed the corridor to approach the quarterdeck. Ballard noted with incredulity that the First Officer stood next to Castlereigh, as though he were already on watch. Both lieutenants stood opposite one another at the plotting table, where the ship's position and the tactical display appeared. They straightened their postures upon sighting the Captain.

"Mister Castlereagh," Captain Meyn said sharply, "have we made identification, yet? Are they Kzin?"

The second officer shook her head. "No, sir, distance is still well aways. We have minimal sensor resolution, presently."

"Captain," said the First Officer, Lieutenant Andry, as he pointed at the path of the group of ships, "the trajectory of the vessels indicates they might be approaching from Kzin territory."

"A boldness from the Kzin we've yet to see since they began their encroachment campaign," Castlereagh pointed out, while turning to Andry. "Fifteen ships? They don't normally skirmish with more than three at the most, sir."

While keeping her eyes focused on the plot, Meyn pressed the nearest intercom panel. "Flying bridge, Captain."

The response was immediate. "Flying bridge, Rimes, here, sir."

"Has the strange fleet altered course?"

"No, sir, they've maintained speed and course for our position."

"How long before they make our territory?"

"If they hold, roughly an hour, sir."

"Thank you," Meyn ended the discussion. "Proteus," she ordered, "pipe 'All Hands,' if you please?"

The ship's main computer replied immediately with a pleasing and acknowledging set of tones. Then, the whistle of a bosun's pipe sounded over all ship's speakers; one long blast to call full attention. "All Hands, report to your stations. All Hands, report to your stations," the ship's computer said in her feminine tones.

"Mister Andry, stations for wear, come about, and put us on an intercept course," Meyn ordered promptly, once the announcement finished. "Mister Ballard, Inform Signals to laser-link to the nearest relay and dispatch a message urgent for the Commodore. Send all our sensor data. Include our current position, course, and speed."

Ballard nodded, taking down notes on a PADD. "Aye, aye, sir." She tucked away her device into her uniform coat and turned away.

Meyn raised her hand and placed it on Ballard's shoulder, stopping the midshipman from running aft with the message. She added one last detail:

"Tell him if it is the enemy, I intend to engage them, forthwith."

 

Life aboard the Pinafore to the stars... Somehow I get the idea that cultural contact with the Federation will be more hazardous to them than a rough and tumble with the kzin. Nice bit of culture-building.

Thanks!! rbs

 

Loving the fic, generally, but there are a couple of points which are not consistent with historical Royal Navy and British social practice. Whether this is a problem is obviously your choice, but I thought I would bring them to your attention.

Putting aside the question whether "Mister" is the appropriate title generally for a female officer, and I believe that midshipmen would referred to as such by some personnel (such as warrant officers, who would also use that title (or Doctor as applicable) for the most part), it seems odd to use both titles in prose.

A midshipman would refer to a lieutenant by their rank, not their title as that would be demoting them and somewhat implying that they are equals, which they aren't.

"the Honourable" is a courtesy title, so IMO is unlikely to be used in combination with "Dame" (which is a substantive title), though it certainly possible that either "the Honourable" or "Dame" could be used in combination with a military title. Similarly, titles and post-nominals should match, so Captain Meyn should either be a Dame and DCO or a Sir and a KCO (I favour the former, but accept writer's privilege).

I'd prefer Lt Castlereagh for consistency, but it's not incorrect in protocol for a more senior officer to use Mister.

 

LOL, thanks! Now thinking of possibly adapting Pinafore to life in Starfleet, but I'll let more talented people have at that (if they haven't already done so). However, no Little Buttercup showing up in this story, sorry!

This chapter's going to be the first time the Royal Navy's seen what Starfleet's been up to in the last 60 or years. Previously, the only ships they've seen were Federation couriers/cutters carrying diplomatic missions (they assign/retrieve their envoys). They last saw a Starfleet ship in the 2260s, during TOS era.

 

Firstly, glad you're loving the fic, I'm really enjoying writing it. I'm already up to 27k words so far and it's practically writing itself at this point with how fast I'm proceeding (so far, fingers crossed). I will say that mostly I'm merging my reads of Forester's Hornblower, O'Brien's Aubrey/Maturin series, and Lambdin's Alan Lewrie series (largely the latter, because I adore Lewrie as a down-to-earth fighting captain).

Also, keep in mind that Greenwood, while aping Georgian-era England, has had some cultural drift over 200 years of the colony's existence, along with the 300 or so years between the founding of the colony and the era's close on Earth. I say this because I'm cribbing from historical fiction (largely), and given that Greenwood's Royal Navy is technically an offshoot of Starfleet (its founder was a Starfleet rear admiral), there's likely to be a little bleedover between the two cultures which makes for an easier collaboration later on in the story (I'm presently writing part ten).

In short, this gives me, as a writer, a lot more latitude in choosing the idiosyncratic deviations from the norm of what's known historically. While I agree that my employment of the style and address won't be perfect, I'm hiding behind the above explanation as to why.

Hope you'll let me have that slack in trying to couple an "ancient" era with the twenty-fourth century and continue your enjoyment of the story.

Thank you for reading and more importantly, taking the time to point out the inconsistencies. This is a WIP draft, and the final will be posted to Ad Astra. So, you might see some changes between the two versions, if you're of a mind to want to compare once the die is cast.

 

I've been running Star Beagle Adventures the opposite direction. I've been posting it to Ad Astra first, then going back and making revisions as needed before posting here. I'm just about to post the final scene for Episode 4 here, but I'm currently posting Episode 14 over there.

This site seems to generate a lot more readership, so I've wanted to make sure the story is refined and my grammar and usage corrected before I set it over here.

 

Loving how this story develops. The diplomacy and intrigue, plus the throwbacks to the Age of Sail are especially well rendered. One wonders just how deep Starfleet will be drawn into the the conflict between Greenwood and the Kzinti.