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Dark Territory: Maelstrom (WIP)

Great stuff once again. Terrence finds himself isolated from friends and family yet again as the war grinds on. He's become alienated from his wife, and his friends are dying in droves.

I'm in full agreement with previous statements. The Dominion had better stay out of his way, 'cause Terrence is in a scrappin' mood. :evil:
 
Glover has been through the mill and its the stopping to reflect on it here that reminds us of the troubles and losses he has endured. Normally, he acts like such an ass that it is hard to remember, that a lot of his motivations come from wanting to protect his people and save those who mean most to him. That said, the fact he feels an almost burning compulsion to go out after the Dominion to exact some pay back for Pedro could prove decidedly dangerous and reckless.
 
Author's Note: I wrote this scene after realizing that I needed to somewhat wrap up Glover and Gralf. I inserted in before the scene with Glover and Rahul that takes place in November 2375. The following scene takes place only days after the battle of Chin'toka. Sorry about the confusing but I wasn't lying about a work in progress. I hope you enjoy and I enjoy reading all your comments. BTW, I'm having some computer problems so it'll be a little dicey posting new excerpts for the near future.


********************************************************************
USS Cuffe
Main Transporter Room

Captain Glover cracked a smile, but stopped himself from chuckling when he saw the mortified look on Gralf’s face. The startled Xindi dropped the duffle bag hanging from his shoulder. “S-Sir,” he stammered as he quickly stood at attention.

“At ease,” Glover waved from behind the transporter control station. “You want to know what I’m doing here right?”

Gralf nodded, gulped, and then replied, “Well, yes.”

“I’m beaming you down to the station,” the captain said. Gralf looked even more nervous. “I’m not going to scramble your atoms. Well, perhaps not too much,” he couldn’t help but add.

“Sir, I don’t think this is a good idea. Perhaps I should contact Lt. Ellan.” Terrence held up another hand. The man’s skittishness was starting to annoy him.

“Listen Mr. Gralf. I’ll cut to the chase. I was out of line in the Observation Lounge, but I’m not apologizing for it. Pedro was my friend, and he meant a lot to me. I can never forgive you for denying me a chance to save him, despite your intentions.”

“I understand,” the Arboreal lowered his head.

“But at the same time, you acted out of loyalty and your own sense of honor. I have to respect that…whether I like it or not. Things will never be the same…for any of us. But I would like you to stay onboard.”

Gralf looked back up. “Are you serious sir?” The captain tersely nodded.

“Sir, I appreciate you seeking out this time to talk to me, but I can’t give you an answer just yet. I see the trust you’ve lost in me, and I don’t know if I can work or thrive under a leader that doesn’t trust me. I can tell you this, as long as the war continues I will not leave you in a lurch, but after that…”

Terrence nodded again. “Okay, that’s fair enough. Well, do you now feel comfortable with me behind the controls?” He ran his fingers across the terminal’s smooth screen like he was playing a piano.

Gralf grunted and studied the man with such intensity that it made Terrence nervous. When he turned away from the Xindi, Gralf laughed. “Now I do,” the Operations Officer said. “If you wished me harm I would’ve seen it in your eyes.”

He still really doesn’t trust me, Glover realized, shocked and a bit frightened that any of his crew would view him or his motives with suspicion. Gralf picked up his bag and stepped up onto one of the transporter pads. “Permission to disembark?” He asked.

“Permission granted,” Glover said, almost as an afterthought. After he had beamed Gralf off the Cuffe, he remained in the Transporter Room, contemplating the pit he had fallen into over the last two years and if he would find a way out of it again.
*******************************************************************
 
Terrence is going to be all rational about Gralf, huh? I guess I lost that bet.

This was a nice little segment and besides showing that Terrence is big enough of a man to accept (even if not forgive) Gralf actions it also serves to remind us (and Terrence) how bad things have been going lately.
 
In life they say Forgive and Forget. But I don;t think Glover operates by that axiom. However he can probably manage to forgive or forget. That is progress and certainly that he recognises this need to evaluate his actions.

Good idea to redress the situation. It would have been too open ended as to how they would settle matters and might have bogged the story down if not dealt with in a direct way like this that also left a lot unsaid but stated more by their actions and choices to believe or trust one another.
 
Glover isn't the sort to forgive and forget as mirandafave pointed out--he can do one or the other, but I don't think he's capable of both. I liked the last line too--Terrence knows that he's in a hole--now, how's he going to dig himself out? He's either lost or is losing everyone important to him--who's he going to turn to as a lifeline?
 
Glover has quite an ego. (not saying if that's good or bad) At least he was able to see through that in this case.

I wonder what will come from this 'simple' supply run mission. :cardie:
 
Thanks again for reading and commenting. As for Glover and Gralf. I couldn't get rid of Gralf because I had already written him into the Battle of Cardassia in "The Valley of Peace". Plus I like the idea that Glover can be talked down by Dr. Cole, and that he's enough of a grown up not to be governed by his anger and hurt.

I'm in the process of rethinking some key ideas behind this story so when I post again, hopefully I will repost all that I have written and changed thus far. Most of the Battle of Chin'toka scenes will not change, except for name changes. Gibraltar informed me that I had misnamed Captain Berkhalter, etc.

But the name of the Negation Expanse and the mission inside it will perhaps change as well.
 
Okay,

Here is my second attempt at writing this story. I'm submitting the whole thing over. I hope the story flows with the changes/additions.

DARK TERRITORY:
MAELSTROM

USS Cuffe
The Second Battle of Chin’toka
October 13, 2375


Though blood stung his eyes, Captain Terrence S. Glover refused to look away from his dead wife. He stroked the still warm flesh of her charred face, locked on her sightless caramel eyes. He wanted to shout, to scream, to rage at the Heavens, but knew he could blame no one but himself for this tragedy…this loss.

Why…how could I ever have wanted to be here? To be part of this battle? He asked, though he expected no response, not any that could stitch together the chasm in his soul. It had been only three days ago that the Federation Alliance had been stunned when the Breen attacked Earth, striking Starfleet Headquarters before being demolished by planetary defenses.

Though their late entry into the war reeked of desperation, the Breen had quickly made their presence felt again, joining the Cardassian and Jem’Hadar vessels seeking to retake the Chin’toka system from the Allies. Terrence had wanted to be here, had lobbied to be here to be part of the force that would hold the line, to teach the Breen a lesson for attacking Earth, and to show the Dominion that the Breen wouldn’t do anything to stop their losing streak. How wrong he had been, he realized as soon as the Breen employed a new weapon, an energy dampening ray that rendered most of the fleet powerless. After that, they began mopping up the deactivated ships and their helpless crews.

Terrence had just ordered the ship to fall back when they had been hit. Everything went dark, and seconds later, the world upended, and the captain was thrown from his seat as plasma beams sliced into the ship. They were now on the mop up list. Just finish the job, Terrence thought, holding Jasmine’s head in his lap. I want to be with her.

He heard voices on the edge of his consciousness. Was it angels? Was it his ancestors? His mother come to greet him and carry him over the threshold? Maybe it was Jasmine? He eagerly began looking around, for the white light he had always imagined that would accompany death, but he saw only darkness. And then he felt a sharp, intense pain.

“Captain! Captain!” The harshness of the voice was softened by fear. “Captain, snap out of it!” Another snap brought Terrence back to reality. He threw a hand over his face to cover the intense light raking across his eyes. “Sorry about that captain,” Terrence squinted, looking up at his first officer, Lt. Commander Ivan Cherenkov. The man placed the arm containing the wrist lamp behind his back, though he kept it on. “You were mumbling sir, nonsensically…about your wife. Once we restore power, we’ll get you to Sickbay.”

Jasmine, Terrence thought, his eyes widening, as an acute pain pinched his heart. He clutched the stiffening flesh in his arms and peered down. “Jazz…no,” he whispered. He stared down into the burned face of Lt. Natalya Winters, the alpha-shift flight controller. His wife was alive, she was still on Earth. He felt relief, and then sadness, and then shame for celebrating that it was Lt. Winters in his arms and not Jasmine.

He gently placed the dead woman on the deck, and tried to stand, but his legs betrayed him. Commander Cherenkov rushed to his side, and caught him. He tried to push Terrence back toward the floor, but the captain pushed upward. If he was going to die he would do it on his feet. Ivan made a motion and one of the bridge officers, a young Bolian named Mehta, rushed forward, carrying an emergency medical kit. In her haste, she almost tripped over Lt. Winters’s corpse. But she caught herself. She quickly unlatched the case, pulled out a medical tricorder and waved it the length of Terrence’s body, stopping at his head.

He forced himself not to be annoyed by the scanner’s beeping and whirring, but each sound was like a slammed door. The Bolian sucked her teeth, and frowned.

“Well?” Both Ivan and Terrence asked in unison.

“Sir…sirs, I’m not a medical expert, but it appears that the captain has suffered a serious concussion.

“Anything in the kit for it?” Ivan asked, and Glover found himself irritated by the Russian’s take charge attitude regarding his health.

“I can speak for myself Commander,” Terrence groused. He looked at the young woman, “Anything?”

She bit her lip while perusing the scanner for the proper answer. She lit up when she found it. She took out an ampoule of clear liquid and attached it to a hypo. “I think this will unscramble those neurons in your head sir,” she said. The captain pulled down his red collar so that she could apply it to his neck. She placed the cool metallic device against his neck. It made a shushing noise after she pressed the release button. Its sting faded in seconds, and so did the haze in Glover’s vision. She then used a skin knitting laser with a pleasant burn to seal the gash on his forehead.

“How do you feel sir?”

“Functional enough Ensign,” he replied, before smiling at her. “Good job.” He patted the young woman on her shoulder. “Now, go take care of the others.”

“Yes sir,” the woman smiled. Terrence turned back to his first officer.
“Status report,” he said, his mouth dry as sandpaper. He gingerly tried to shake the rest of the cowbells out, but winced from the residual ache.

When Ivan reached for him, Terrence waved him back. “Status report,” he repeated.

“We just got hit with a sledge hammer,” Ivan said, succinctly. “Everything’s disabled.”

“Not everything,” Lt. Seb N’Saba said, his voice pained. Glover looked aft. Ivan handed him a wrist lamp before he asked for one. The captain switched it on and swung it low into the back compartment of the bridge. The Alshain Science Officer was slumping over his console, his whiskers twitching as he worked futilely on his console. Far too much dark blood shined on his matted, black fur.

“How are you feeling Mr. N’Saba?” Glover asked.

“Better than the ship,” he croaked, looking in Terrence’s direction. His blue, artificial eyes shone spectrally in the dimness. The captain smothered a retort to the man’s usual flippancy. Now wasn’t the time for an argument. It was the last way he wanted to spend his last few moments in the universe.

“Do we have power or not?” He asked. Operations Officer Gralf beat him to the punch. N’Saba’s growl was low and deep in his throat. Glover attempted to roll his eyes at the two men’s petty rivalry, but even that hurt.

“Every system connected to main computer and the warp core has been deactivated,” the arboreal Xindi replied. “However, disconnected networks, such as those on the shuttle craft and escape pods, which have separate power sources are can be operated manually, should be unaffected.” Glover glanced at N’Saba.

“You agree?” The Alshain struggled to fold his arms, and maintain his scowl, but he confirmed Gralf’s assessment with a nod.

“We’ve got to find a way to use this to our advantage,” Cherenkov said, “To turn the tables on those Dominion bastards.”

“No,” Glover shook his head carefully, “First, we’ve got to get as many people to the escape pods as possible. I want you and N’Saba working on that.”

“But,” Ivan started to protest, but was silenced by Terrence’s hard countenance.

“If…Pedro survived, he’ll be working on finding a way to restore the warp core, and if he does, we’ll get main power back. We’ve just got to help him.”

“How sir?” Cherenkov asked.

Terrence nodded at Gralf. “Mr. Gralf and I are going to test his shuttle theory. We’ll use the Jeffries tubes to hike to the nearest shuttle bay and see if we can contact Main Engineering from there. Mr. Meldin, you have the conn.” The steady Benzite Tactical Officer had maintained his post even as the ship had become a punching bag. Glover felt more comfortable leaving him in charge.

“Sir, you can barely stand on your own feet, much less tackle climbing through all of those tubes,” Ivan shook his head. “I’m sorry sir, but I can’t let you do that.”

Glover laughed, “I want to see you stop me.”

“Sir, do I need remind you of Regulation…” Ivan began.

“Every moment we stand here is one less we could be saving lives Ivan,” Glover replied, shutting the man up. The Russian slowly nodded. Terrence reached out, grabbed the man’s shoulder, and leaned close, “I know you’re concerned about Aquiel…don’t worry, I’ll do my best to bring her, and everywhere else through this, but I can’t do it without you.”

“Acknowledged,” Cherenkov nodded.

“Good, now let’s get to work.”

********************************************************************

USS Cuffe
Main Engineering

“Sir, you can’t be serious,” Lt. Aquiel Uhnari failed to keep the disbelief out of her voice. “What you’re proposing could blow up this ship.”

Lt. Commander Pedro Rojas huffed, “Which is what one of those Dominion ships could do any second.”

“That doesn’t mean we should help them,” Uhnari replied, more sharply than she intended. Rojas scowled.

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion,” he snapped, as an uncharacteristic streak of anger flashed through his eyes, bright enough to be seen through the gloom. Main Engineering was usually the brightest, noisiest place onboard the whole ship Aquiel thought. But now it was as quiet as a tomb.

Wrong choice of words, she realized, but couldn’t help herself. “Okay…” she managed to say to her superior. “What do you need me to do?” She had come a long way from the tempestuous young officer she had been, known more for her combative reputation than her service record. Meeting Lt. Commander Geordi LaForge had been instrumental in righting her course. He had also become a mentor, shepherding her from the communications field into engineering. He had also been more, but that was another lifetime.

The Haliian knew though that Aquiel’s choice not to challenge Lt. Commander Rojas though she thought his idea was insane would make Geordi proud. She was just sad that she wouldn’t live to see the pride on his face. But she could at least take some cowardly solace in not being there to see his grief, nor that of her sister Shianna.

“That’s more like it,” Pedro smiled. “I need you and Hutchinson to open the valves to the deuterium tanks, while Krasnikov and Verda release the antideuterium. I’ll manage their flow into the warp core, creating an internal combustion that should bring the warp core back on line.”

“If it doesn’t blow us all up like a Romulan candle,” Ensign Hutchinson griped. Aquiel was glad Dana was on her side, though she kept the thought to herself. Pedro couldn’t maintain his frown at the comment. He buried it with a sagely nod.

“If that happens, then it’ll be on my head,” He said, “Because as soon as you open the valves, I want you all to vacate Main Engineering, and take anybody still alive with you.” The comment prompted Aquiel to briefly gaze over the bodies and detritus littering the floor. Engineering had been hit hard after the Breen had deployed their weapon. The engineers assembled were the only ones able to stand on their feet, and Krasnikov, leaking blood like a faucet, was weaving. Lt. Verda, a pale green Troyian was propping the wounded man up.

“I’m not leaving you,” Verda said. Aquiel noted there was more behind the statement than merely loyalty to a superior officer.

“You’ll follow orders,” Pedro said, in a tone that brooked no debate. “We don’t have a lot of time to argue. Those bastards could be on us any second.”

Verda swallowed back a comment and helped the limping Krasnikov over to the antideuterium tanks. She propped the man beside the ladder while she scaled it. Both Aquiel and Hutchinson took to their task, slowly releasing the fuel into the main warp chamber. The clear liquid steadily filled the chamber.

They climbed back down the ladder and ran over to Pedro. He was staring at a gauge by the warp core. “I haven’t done this since the Academy,” he said, “I still can’t believe people had to do this by hand once, well, not really, but we don’t even have old computers.”

“That’s why I think this is still a bad idea,” Aquiel admitted. Rojas shrugged.

“You got a better one?” He asked. The Haliian didn’t have any answer. Verda and Krasnikov rejoined the group.

“All right, now carry out the second part of the plan,” Rojas ordered, “And be quick about it. I’m itching to start the fireworks show.”
********************************************************************

USS Cuffe
Jeffries Tube-Level D-14

Captain Glover was tired, but he wasn’t going to show weakness to Gralf. Plus, with the larger Xindi behind him, forcing his bulk through the tight, cylindrical tubing, Terrence couldn’t slow down if he tried.

“How much further to Main Engineering Captain?” Lt. Gralf huffed, but Terrence knew the man wasn’t tired. He detected a tension in the voice. A possible fear perhaps? Claustrophobia? He hadn’t seen anything of that nature in the man’s psych profile. Then again that said very little, and war changed people, and usually not for the better.

“We should be there…in roughly another ten minutes,” Glover said, angry at himself, though he knew he had no reason to be. The Cuffe was a huge ship, despite its compact size. It was a miracle that the two men had only ten minutes to their destination, but both men knew it would not be enough. However Glover was determined to press on. If he had to die in the pursuit of a mission, then it would be a worthy demise.

A loud rumbling shook the ship. He tried to glance back at Gralf, but could only make out a dark shape behind him. Is this it, he thought, the end?

Lights flickered on inside the cramped tube. “What the Hells?” Gralf asked.

Glover’s compin chirped madly. He struggled to activate it.

“Captain, this is Commander Rojas, we’ve got power, but I don’t know how long, so if you’ve got a rabbit, please pull it out of your hat now.”

“Pedro, how the hell did you do it?”

“I’ll tell you at the After Burner, once you got us out of the war zone.”

“Okay, okay,” Glover said. “Well done. Glover out.” He tapped his badge again, and gave instructions to Lt. Meldin. Almost instantly, he felt the tug of the engines as the ship turned to carry out the captain’s orders.

“Pedro,” Terrence laughed, “Pedro did it!”

“Should we return to the bridge now sir?” Gralf asked, an eagerness in his voice. The captain shook his head, a bit regretfully.

“Not yet Mr. Gralf, we need to be on hand in case Pedro needs help,” Glover replied. He used his elbows to propel him forward. “Let’s keep going.”
********************************************************************

USS Cuffe
Main Engineering

Lt. Commander Pedro Rojas stood alone, at the base of the warp core. He stared up into the depths of the tall cylinder. Normally it was swirling with a vibrant multitude of colors, but now a sickly green tide whirled within. He hadn’t the time to mix in the other fuels. He took the most potent, anticipating a quick jolt. But now it was fading.

He tapped his combadge, “We out of the woods yet Mr. Meldin?”

“Almost,” Meldin had always been too laconic for Pedro’s taste. “However…the Dominion forces have fallen back.” He added, a curious tone to his voice.

“What?” Pedro was confused. He had never known the Jem’Hadar to ever slack up. “What’s going on up there?”

“I’m not sure,” Meldin replied. “But it appears the Dominion is allowing escape pods to go unmolested. Several starships are assisting in the efforts. Perhaps, we can turn around and…”

Pedro never heard the rest.
********************************************************************
 
********************************************************************

USS Cuffe
Main Engineering
Antechamber

Lt. Verda stood by the dull gray blast doors, pressing her hands against them. Aquiel squeezed the woman’s shoulder and whispered in her ear, “It’s going to be all right. Commander Rojas…Pedro…knows what he’s doing.” The small engineering team was waiting anxiously as Commander Rojas restarted the engines. So far, so good, but Uhnari was still concerned. In the meantime Dana had found a medical kit and was doing the best she could to repair Krasnikov’s wounds. She had the man prone over the master display.

Verda looked at her, her cheeks wet with tears. “I hope so.” Seconds later, a loud blast shook the entire chamber, throwing the group to the floor. Krasnikov grunted, and Hutchinson cursed as Krasnikov’s wounds began to bleed again. Verda scrambled back to door. The heavy duranium had been pushed outward. She touched it, and screamed in agony, yanking back her curling hands. Aquiel ran to her and grasped her wrists, turning her hands around. They were scorched. She looked up and met Verda’s eyes. They both knew.

“Oh Gods no,” Verda shook her head, her voice cracking. “No,” she turned back toward the door, but Aquiel held onto her.

“No,” Aquiel said, “There’s nothing….”

“Don’t say that,” Verda rounded her on, “Don’t ever say that!” She pulled free from Aquiel and went back to the door. However, she didn’t touch the scorching metal. Instead she kneeled in front of it, her wail just as rending as the blast that had caused it.
********************************************************************

USS Cuffe
Jeffries Tube-Level D-14

He felt a second tremble beneath him. “What was that?” Glover asked, stopping. Lt. Gralf hit the back of the captain’s boots, grumbling something unintelligible. “What did you say?” The captain asked.

“Nothing,” the Xindi replied.

“What was the cause of that tremor?” Glover asked, concerned. He knew all the sounds of his ship and that didn’t sound right.

“Probably something unforeseen with Commander Rojas’s solution,” Gralf answered bluntly.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Terrence replied. “I hope Pedro didn’t do anything crazy.” A second explosion plunged the corridor into darkness.
********************************************************************

USS Tempest
Main Bridge

“I believe the human phrase is ‘bat out of hell’,” Lt. Commander T’Vari replied, arching an eyebrow.

“That sounds most appropriate,” Captain Ian Berkhalter said, with an inopportune grin at his Vulcan Tactical Officer. He, along with the rest of the bridge crew were transfixed by the starship plowing through the debris, a trail of fire behind them, issuing from the ship’s nacelles. It reminded Berkhalter of the old footage of Earth’s fire rockets. The spectacle had momentarily pulled him away from recovering escape pods. Now the runaway ship threatened to crush some in their way. “Can we raise them?”

“No sir,” Lt. Gregory Hause, his Operations Officer, replied. “They’ve got some power, but it’s fluctuating and it’s not enough to maintain a sustained signal for communication.”

“Damn it Glover,” Berkhalter grumbled quietly, “You figured out a way around the Breen weapon, but it might cost us additional lives in the process.” He turned to his First Officer.

“Liana, is there some way we can alter its course?”

“Perhaps changing the polarity of our tractor beams,” Lt. Commander Liana Ramirez quickly replied, “to make them repel, not attract, and using them to push the Cuffe out of the way.”

“Do it,” Berkhalter replied without hesitation. Ramirez put her idea in motion. Seconds later, a cone of green energy focused on the Cuffe, turning it starboard, just avoiding a gathering of pods and lifeboats. The Tempest bridge crew erupted in cheers. Even Berkhalter pumped a fist. Finally we’re doing something right today and not just cleaning up a mess, he thought.

“Uh oh,” Hause gulped. “You’re not going to like this.”

“What now?” Berkhalter grumbled, following Hause’s pointing finger. “Shit.” The Cuffe’s nacelles were engulfed in flame and the ship was heading for the line of Dominion vessels quietly ringing the battlefield. For some eerily strange reason the Dominion and Breen ships had pulled back and allowed the Midas, Victory, and Tempest to recover as many survivors from the battle as possible. Berkhalter wasn’t sure how they would respond to a starship bearing down on them. It might bring them back out to the battlefield and reignite the battle, and it was one that the captain wasn’t sure the allied reserve fleet waiting at the edge of the system, defending the Federation’s border, could win, not with the Breen’s new weapon.

“After that ship,” the captain ordered.
********************************************************************
Central Command Vessel Gianour
Command Bridge

Gul Omal Panar gripped her armrests, her neck ridges pinching with restrained anger. “Why can’t we engage them?” She asked, forcing herself not to shout at the Vorta standing placidly at her side.

Sarkos barely glanced at her before responding, “Because the Founder wishes it.”

“That ship is on an intercept course, heading right for us. Clearly they are provoking us,” Panar retorted. “Honor demands we respond to their provocation.”

Sarkos sniffed, as if he smelled refuse. “And clearly you are willfully oblivious of the true condition of that vessel. It was deactivated by one of the Breen ships. Though somehow the crew has found a way to counteract the dissipation ray,” the Vorta paused to rub his hairless chin. “Interesting.”

“I propose we retrieve the ship for study and detain the crew for questioning,” the Jem’Hadar First grumbled, surprising Panar that he half-way took her side in the debate. “In order for our victory to be complete we must deny the enemy any glimmer of hope.”

“Care to tell the Founder that?” Sarkos challenged. The Jem’Hadar scowled, but didn’t reply.

“I will,” Panar said. She snapped at her communications officer to open a channel.

“That won’t be necessary,” Sarkos said hurriedly, “I am sure the Founder would understand your need to prevent damage or destruction to your vessel.”

“I’m glad that Her Divinity considers Cardassians lives as worthy as those of our enemies…and the Breen,” Panar didn’t try to douse her sarcasm. Sarkos either ignored the jab, or was oblivious to her challenge. The Vorta merely nodded.

“Arm spiral wave cannons,” She ordered.

“Hold!” Sarkos said, with the imperiousness of a Legate. “Preventing damage to your vessel doesn’t mean that you destroy the Federation vessel. You could just as easily use evasive maneuvers, employ your tractor beam to slow its trajectory, and then offer assistance.”

“Are you insane?” Panar asked as many in her crew gasped.

Sarkos smiled. “The Founder has issued an order. We are to allow the remaining Starfleet ships and vessels safe passage, so that they can spread the horror of their defeat, and the invincibility of our forces, due to the Breen super weapon, to the rest of the Federation Alliance. Their own fear will undo them. It is a masterful plan, and you will not ruin it,” he declared, still smiling, but his eyes had turned into pale blue ice chips. “If you cannot follow the chain of command you will be replaced.” The small Jem’Hadar contingent tensed, their eyes brightening at the prospect of conflict.

Panar bit back the comment burning her tongue. “Well?” Sarkos asked, goading her. Panar looked at her crew and she saw a mixture of defiance and trepidation. What good would it do for her, or her family, to defy the pompous Vorta, especially right after a great victory against the Alliance? If she minded her tongue, she would surely be feted back on Prime. She might even receive the Legate’s Crest. But if she gave into her pride, and revealed her true disgust of the Vorta and his Jem’Hadar thugs, and scoffed at the divinity of the shape-shifter, Panar knew Sarkos would not hesitate to make good on his threat. And then a Dominion toady would be occupying her chair, and she had worked too hard to allow that to happen.

The gul promised herself that Sarkos would receive his comeuppance at her hand, but not today. Panar sighed before relenting. “Do as he says, make the offer.”
********************************************************************
USS Cuffe
Jeffries Tube-Level D-14

Lt. Gralf shook him roughly. “Captain, captain,” the man yelled.

“Wha?” Glover asked groggily. He blinked several times, the darkness punctured by a cascade of stars. The captain shook his head, wincing. He gingerly touched the throbbing bump already forming on his forehead. “This isn’t going to help my concussion,” he grumbled. “Glad Dr. Cole isn’t here.”

“What was that sir?” The arboreal asked.

“Nothing, are you okay?”

“We arboreal are sturdy stock,” Gralf replied.

“I’m certain,” His pounding headache did nothing to lessen his drollness. Gralf’s miffed grumble was almost payment enough. The need to chuckle reminded him of Pedro, and his heart thudded almost as loudly as the pain pulsed inside his skull. “Pedro…Engineering….” He started forward again, but Gralf grabbed his ankle. “What the hell are you doing Mr. Gralf?”

“We need to return to the bridge. That is where you belong, actually you belong in Sickbay.”

“Hold on a minute, the last time I checked, I’m the captain.”

“A captain suffering from two severe blows to the head. Do you think that might’ve affected your judgment, or your ability to render assistance to Commander Rojas, even if he is still alive?”

“Still…alive,” Glover’s voice choked. “Don’t you ever say something like that…don’t you ever even think it!” He snarled, his foot lashing out and connecting with Gralf’s nose. He heard the crunching of bone and he started crawling forward again. But Gralf had been correct about the hardiness of his species. An even firmer grip locked on his ankle, and ground the bone until it snapped. Glover bit back a whelp. He tried to turn around in the cramped, dark space to at least stare in Gralf’s direction.

“What did you just do? You just assaulted a superior officer; me, for goodness sakes. I’ll have your ass for this!”

“You broke my nose, I broke your ankle, a fair exchange,” Gralf mumbled. “Besides, you might in time come to thank me for saving your life. You know this ship better than I do, and even I can feel it’s out of control. Something bad…something terrible happened in Engineering, and it’s my duty to keep you from it. If that costs me my rank, then fine.”

“You son of a bitch!” Glover roared, lashing out with his good foot. But he struck only air.

“Sir, I suggest we turn back now,” the Xindi said.

“You do that, I’m going forward,” the captain declared. “And once I find out what’s going on in Engineering, I’ll deal with you.”

Gralf sighed loudly, and then grabbed Terrence’s other ankle. “You wouldn’t,” the captain dared, trying futilely to use his other leg, with its dangling foot to beat back the Arboreal. Gralf quickly broke the captain’s second ankle.

“No!” Glover wailed more in anger than agony, pounding the metal plates surrounding him. His anger was mixed in with fear and concern for Pedro. He knew that Gralf was right, he felt something awry had happened, but he didn’t want to leave his friend facing it alone, whatever it was. And now Gralf had robbed him of that. Terrence hadn’t been there when his wife had lost her arm and leg early in the war, and he had always felt that she silently blamed him, or better yet, he blamed himself for not being able to protect her. And now it might happen all over again, but this time he wasn’t a half-quadrant away. He might be able to actually help, if not for Gralf. He buried his head in his hands and cried, his tears flowing like a rainstorm. Once the storm had passed, he said quietly, his voice lethal, “I will never forgive you for this.”

“I know,” Gralf, just as quietly, responded. “I know.”
********************************************************************
USS Cuffe
Main Bridge

Lt. Commander Cherenkov had been able to double-time it back to the main bridge as soon as power was restored to the engines. He and Lt. N’Saba arrived just as Pedro’s transmission was cut short and the ship was gripped by a powerful explosion. It threw the Russian against the perturbed Lt. Meldin, who had still been occupying the center seat. The Benzite steadied him while also deftly vacating the command chair and plopping Ivan down into it. Hardly missing a beat, Ivan asked, “Status report?”

Meldin had taken the Executive Officer’s seat usually occupied by Ivan. He looked down at the inset console, flickering simultaneously with the bridge’s lighting. The Benzite frowned. “I-I can’t say.” Through the static on the main screen, Ivan saw the ship careening toward a line of Dominion vessels.

“I think that says it all,” Cherenkov grimly quipped. I just hope I get to see Aquiel’s face again, he prayed.
********************************************************************
 
********************************************************************

USS Tempest
Main Bridge

“Cardassian ship hailing,” Hause said.

Oh shit, here it comes, Captain Berkhalter thought. Though the Tempest was as quick and tough as any ship the captain had served on or commanded, he knew it was no match for a Galor-class destroyer in a straight-up fight, especially when they were trying to recover a runaway starship. But he would be damned if he backed away, and he knew Liana would never let the thought even cross his mind. He glanced at the olive skinned woman by his side. She sat ramrod straight in her seat, her gaze as hard as duranium. Berkhalter swallowed his doubts. “On screen,” he said with as much authority as he could muster.

Berkhalter was surprised by the loveliness of his adversary. A comely Cardassian woman glared at him, the anger in her eyes clashing with the relative softness of her scaly features. A dash of teal in the center of her forehead off set the grayness of her complexion. The markings on the breastplate of her dull brown cuirass identified her rank as a gul. “I’m Captain Ian Berkhalter of the Starship Tempest,” he began his introduction, but the woman held up a hand to silence him.

“We wish to offer you assistance in corralling the Nebula-class starship,” the gul said through gritted teeth. If Berkhalter hadn’t been sitting he would’ve hit the floor in surprise.

“Come again?” He asked, still not believing it.

The gul sighed, and started repeating herself. Commander Ramirez nudged him, and Berkhalter said, “Oh, I didn’t mean that…”

“What did you mean?” The Cardassian’s gaze was relentless.

“Oh, uh, never mind. How do you wish to provide assistance,” Berkhalter asked as his exasperation and incredulity got the better of him.

“I propose we trap the ship in a pincer of tractor beams, halting it from ramming into our fleet,” the gul proposed. The idea had merit, and they had just used a novel tractor beam approach on the Cuffe. Going to the well once more wouldn’t drain it, or Berkhalter hoped it wouldn’t.

“And then we allow the ship to return with you,” said a Vorta, stepping into range of the main viewer. “We have no desire to reignite hostilities.”

Berkhalter merely nodded, “Sounds good.” He had completely given up on trying to understand of any of this. After the Dominion had pounded the holy hell out of them they quit, and now they were offering to help the survivors of their onslaught. If there was some type of diabolical, masterstroke the Dominion had devised, the captain couldn’t see it. So, he decided against all logic to take them at their word. The captain glanced at Lt. Commander T’Vari. The Vulcan’s expression was more inscrutable than usual.

“Reverse the polarity on the tractor beams, and once in range, attach it to the old girl’s aft section,” Berkhalter ordered.

“Aye sir,” T’Vari replied. On the screen, they watched as the Cardassian warship broke free from the wall of Dominion vessels to intercept the Cuffe. They latched onto the primary hull, slowing the ship, but not stopping it. Gouts of flame were sparking from the Cuffe’s nacelles, driving the ship forward.

“I don’t like this,” Lt. Commander Ramirez huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t trust them.”

Berkhalter didn’t either, but he saw no point in adding to Liana’s black mood. “Are we in range yet?”

“In half a second,” T’Vari said. Then: “Now.”

“Engage,” Berkhalter ordered. Another greenish tractor beam issued from the Tempest, finding purchase along the Cuffe’s hind quarters. “Good job.” The captured starship trembled in its vise, shaking the Tempest in the process. “Divert more power to the tractor beam,” Berkhalter said, growing concerned. “We’ve got to find a way to stop that thing before it shakes itself apart.”

“Captain, I suggest we send engineering and medical teams over to the Cuffe, I’ll take the lead,” Commander Ramirez said, never shy about taking initiative. The young woman continued to impress. She’ll make a hell of a captain someday, Berkhalter realized. Someday soon, he thought, a bit sad about the prospect of letting her go.

“Make it happen,” Berkhalter said.
********************************************************************
USS Cuffe
Main Engineering
Ante-Chamber

Lt. Uhnari was holding the quivering Verda when the darkness was pierced by four bright shafts of light. A voice in the darkness said, “I’m Doctor Blassingame, Chief Medical Officer on the Tempest; we’re here to help.” The team activated several wrist lamps, and swept them around the room. The Tempest’s chief medic spied the distended duranium door, “My God. Was anyone in there?”

The question brought on another round of crying from Verda. Aquiel nodded a few times before finding her voice. “Yes.” She whispered.

“Who was it?” Another member of the medical team asked, drawing a disapproving grumble from Blassingame.

But Aquiel answered the man’s question the best way she knew how, “A friend.”
********************************************************************
USS Cuffe
Main Sickbay

The transporter beam had placed Captain Glover on the biobed only seconds before, but he was already sitting up, trying to force his uncooperative feet to touch the ground. “Juanita,” he whispered, his eyes riveted to a scene across the room out of his worst nightmares. Medics from both the Cuffe and the Tempest were trying to hold both her and Lt. Verda back from the transparent tube holding a body charred almost beyond recognition. But the knot of stone in Terrence’s stomach was all the confirmation that he needed. That lump of blackened flesh and shorn bone was Pedro. It had been Pedro. His friend, no, his best friend, and Terrence had failed him, as a friend, as a captain. “No,” he groaned, the pain unbearable. He rammed his fist into the bed, and then ground his knuckles onto the bed’s unyielding surface to give himself enough purchase to stand up.

“Captain Glover, just what are you doing?” Dr. Rieta Cole, his chief medical officer, ran over to his bedside. She stood in front of him. With her arms folded across her chest and that scowl on her face, she reminded him of his mother. “You’re in no condition to move. We haven’t had a chance to look at your ankles. Lt. Gralf informed me you were injured, but until I am able to take a look for myself you’re confined to that bed sir. Doctor’s orders,” she said in a disapproving voice, made all the more authoritative due to her clipped British accent.

“Then take care of the problem now,” Glover snapped. “I’m going to see my friend.” She looked back in the direction of Pedro, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry sir, but there’s not much you can do for him now,” She said, her expression becoming melancholy. “The explosion in Engineering exposed him to fatal levels of deuterium and antideuterium radiation.”

“I need to see him, I need to be with him,” Glover pleaded. He hated begging, but his image was the least of his concerns right now. He not only had to be there for Pedro, but for Juanita as well. The young pilot was bawling, her cries ripping across the packed Sickbay. An older, dark-skinned man with snowy white hair and a kind face, had succeeded in pulling the woman away, but he had to hold on to her. “Who is that?”

“Dr. Blassingame,” Cole explained. “From the Tempest. His team has been a big help to us. There’s no way we could deal with all of the injuries….and other casualties that occurred, and on half-power, without their assistance.” Another member from the Tempest had been able to corral Verda away from Pedro’s impromptu casket.

“Half-power,” Glover mumbled. “What’s our status?”

“You’ll have to ask Commander Cherenkov about that,” Cole said. “It’s not my area of expertise.”

“Touché,” Glover said, though without the usual joy their repartee always brought him. Verbal sparring with the good doctor was the last thing on his mind right now. “I’m getting up, without or without you.” He slid off the bed, wincing in pain, as his legs buckled. He fell forward, and with surprising strength and speed, Dr. Cole pushed him back onto the bed.

“Some people just have to learn the hard way,” she replied.

“Get out of my way,” Glover said, gently moving her to the side as he tried to sit back up. Cole sighed loudly. Uh oh, the captain thought, that sigh of frustration sounding a lot like Gralf’s did back in the Jeffries Tube. He went to into a hypo-assisted slumber wondering what Rieta was going to do to him next.
********************************************************************
USS Cuffe
Observation Lounge

Captain Berkhalter hadn’t felt right commandeering his counterpart’s ready room to meet with the Cuffe’s senior staff, so he opted to hold a meeting in the ship’s spacious observation lounge after conducting a brief tour of the damaged vessel. The Tempest skipper had also wanted to get a first-hand look at the efforts to repair the ship’s critical systems, especially propulsion before he heard the assessments of the department heads.

There hadn’t been much discrepancy between what he saw and what the Cuffe and Tempest repair teams reported. They were doing a splendid job, all things considered. His engineering chief, Fatima Eaves, was working with Lt. Uhnari, the Cuffe’s senior engineering officer to restore full impulse power. They had achieved quarter impulse power; which was impressive considering they were also cleaning up the radiation caused by the accident that had claimed life of Lt. Commander Rojas.

Berkhalter made sure to keep the meeting short, though there was one officer he kept behind after dismissing the others. Lt. Gralf gave him a sour glance. “Is there something I can assist you with further sir?” The captain was put off by the man’s insolent tone, but he chalked it up to the stress he had been under.

“Listen, Commander Cherenkov told me what happened with you and Captain Glover. I just wanted to let you know that once he’s back, he’ll understand you did what you thought was best.”

“Like hell,” A harsh voice boomed. Berkhalter hadn’t even heard the door hiss open, and from the startled look on Gralf’s face, the arboreal hadn’t either. A hulking Captain Glover stood in the doorway, his face a mask of anger.

“Terrence, it’s been a long time,” Berkhalter put on his best disarming grin. But his counterpart was having none of that.

“Off my ship Ian. Now!”

“Terrence, I wasn’t informed you had been cleared from Sickbay,” Berkhalter said. If Terrence wanted to play hardball, he could play with the best of them. Though his Omega Squadron flight team had lost the Rigel Cup against Glover’s Novas at the Academy, Ian had made them earn it.

“I’m standing here, aren’t I?” Terrence declared.

“Barely,” Berkhalter retorted. “Listen Terrence, you’ve just been through a really traumatic experience, emotionally…and physically.” He winced at the mention of Glover’s physical torment because it shifted the fuming captain’s focus back on Gralf. Though the stout man was doing his best to look unruffled, Berkhalter was close enough to see him trembling slightly. Just what kind of ship are you running here Terrence? Berkhalter wondered. What the hell had the war done to him? Stupid question, answered the other half of the internal monologue.

Glover hobbled into the room with an unstable gait. “I need to speak with Mr. Gralf, alone.”

“I’m sorry Terrence, but I don’t think that’s wise, for either you or Lt. Gralf,” Berkhalter said, planting his boots into the carpet.

“I don’t give a damn what you think,” Terrence seethed. “Mr. Gralf prevented me from saving my friend’s life, and he did it by physically assaulting me.”

“I did my duty,” the man said quietly, keeping eye contact with Glover.

“I want you off my ship,” He said, jabbing his finger at the man. “I want you gone.”

“Terrence, you’re letting your emotions get the best of you, and it’s unbecoming,” Berkhalter snapped, pushing niceties to the side. “Good Ops Officers are hard to come by. Don’t do something in the heat of the moment that you’ll regret later,” he advised.

“Like you did on M’Kallas III,” Glover shot back. Berkhalter’s next words died on his tongue as his stomach clenched. “I had no choice,” he said quietly. “I had to leave them….”

“You made a decision in the heat of battle,” Glover said, with surprising warmth. “The rightness or the wrongness aside, you can’t take it back. But you own up to it, and you moved on. That’s what both Gralf and I need to do right now. We have a lot to talk about.”

Berkhalter swallowed before pressing on. “I can’t allow that,” he tapped his combadge. “Counselor Ellan,” he called.

“Yes,” the Deltan answered promptly.

“This is Captain Berkhalter. You’re needed in the Observation Lounge, pronto.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Perhaps I’m not the best person to listen or give advice to either of you,” Ian admitted, “But Lt. Ellan knows you both. I think he’ll be better qualified.”

“But a whole lot more touchy feely,” Terrence groaned. Ian was glad to see the man had a little bit of humor left in him even though he hadn’t forgiven him totally because of the cheap shot about M’Kallas III.

As if reading his mind, Terrence grumbled, “Sorry about mentioning M’Kallas III.”

“Hey, we’ve all got our cross to bear,” Berkhalter said, unable to shake the sadness from his tone. “I just pray that you won’t have to carry a similar one before this war is over.”
********************************************************************
 
********************************************************************

USS Cuffe
Captain’s Quarters
Five Hours Later…

Captain Glover pondered his answer for a few moments. “Come in,” he eventually griped. Dr. Rieta Cole walked into the room, unfazed by the gruff response.

“Glad to see you too,” she said drolly.

“Now’s not a good time,” Glover replied before turning his attention back to gazing at the black screen on his desktop computer. He had been staring at it for the last half-hour. He hadn’t been able to do anything else since Jasmine had told him that she couldn’t attend Pedro’s funeral. She gave him some excuse about being knee-deep in the Corps of Engineers efforts to rebuild San Francisco after the Breen attack.

Terrence knew that was important work, but Pedro was family, and as far was Terrence was concerned, you don’t cut out on family. Even Admiral Glover, Terrence’s father, stuck on the Romulan front, was going to send a personal message. Pedro had been one of the biggest boosters of Terrence settling down with Jasmine. He had shored up Glover’s fading certainty about the pairing on more than one occasion. She owed Pedro, if for nothing else, she owed him for that. He didn’t know how he was going to explain her absence to Pedro’s family. It felt like he had failed his friend all over again. And to think they wanted him to conduct the eulogy.

He was really feeling unworthy, of everything, and he needed Jasmine right now. She was his wife, for God’s sake. But ever since she was injured at Tyra, Jasmine had pulled away from him. He had tolerated it though it had hurt him tremendously. Terrence thought that if Jasmine spent time on Earth with her sister and nephew it would help heal her physically and emotionally. Perhaps it had, but the healing was occurring without Terrence being present, and it felt wrong not to be there, or to even feel involved.

He was her husband, he should be there, she should want him there, but she had pushed him away, time and again. Unable to control his pent up frustrations, he had lashed out at her. Their conversation had ended in an argument. On one level Glover knew he should’ve conducted himself better, but at the same time, Jasmine should’ve known, should’ve sensed somehow through the bond they were supposed to share that his anger was covering up his pain, and she should’ve understood. But she got moody and defensive, and struck back.

After she had disconnected the call, tears streaming down her face, Glover’s pride had prevented him from calling back. So he had sat alone in his cabin, stewing.

“Is everything all right sir?” Cole asked, bringing him back to the present. Glover turned back around and stared at the woman. She shifted uncomfortably, shrugging her shoulders. “Stupid question right?”

“Yes,” Terrence wasn’t in the mood to mince words. “What do you want?”

Cole pursed her lips, and the captain could tell she was struggling not to aim another acerbic comment at him. “Just checking up on my patient,” she said. “I’m old fashioned that way.”

“Hmmm,” Glover folded his arms across his chest. “Is that right? Then where is your bag or your instruments?”

The medic held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. “These are all the tools I need.”

“What are you really here for…Rieta,” He hesitated over calling the woman by her first name. He wasn’t sure how personable he wanted to be at the moment. Though the familiarity did take the tension out of the woman’s posture. She visibly relaxed.

“Permission to speak freely sir?”

“Sure, and while you’re at it, take a seat. You standing by the door is starting to make me nervous.”

“I didn’t think anything could make the Great Terrence Glover nervous?”

“I’m not feeling all that great today,” Terrence quietly admitted. In fact, he hadn’t been feeling great since the war started. He had lost so many friends along the way, the closest being Lt. Dryer, Lt. Commander Bheto, and now Pedro. When was it going to end?

“Sir, we’re at war, and unfortunately these things happen.”

“I’m not a child Doctor!” Glover snapped.

“Neither am I,” she riposted, “And I would prefer that you not talk to me like one.” Glover was impressed by the woman’s fire.

“I…apologize,” he said. “I’m…not on top of my game today.”

“That’s understandable,” Cole said softly, and Glover knew that she meant it. She did understand. Working as a medic, she dealt with life and death situations even more than Terrence did sitting in the command chair. She probably knew loss better than anyone on board. He wished she was the counselor instead of Ellan. The gregarious Deltan was too emotive and grabby for Terrence’s comfort. He had done the perfunctory session and psych review after admitting he wanted to throttle Gralf in the conference room.

Terrence wouldn’t know if Ellan was going to report the incident to the higher-ups or not. He certainly didn’t feel unstable, or a risk to his crew and if the counselor put some garbage like that in his report Glover would fit it with every ounce of strength he could muster. But at the moment he didn’t care.

The Cuffe was scheduled for significant repairs, and he was going to escort Pedro back home in one of the starship’s shuttles. He would learn of his fate when he got back.

“I see that Gralf is taking a leave of absence,” Cole said. Glover raised an eyebrow.

“Oh.”

“Please don’t be coy with me sir. I had to give him a check-up before he disembarked.”

“Had to?” Cole merely shrugged and smiled, but Glover wasn’t amused. “If you wanted to dig for information Doctor, you could’ve come to me.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Though Terrence should’ve been pissed by her insolence, the challenging stance she took made him smirk. Before Dr. Nemato, the Cuffe’s former Chief Medic had taken a position at Starfleet Medical, he had recommended Cole to replace him. The Antosian had promised Glover that she was tougher than she looked, and once again Nemato had been right.

“Yes, Lt. Ellan thought it would be best if we both took some time away from the ship, but the only time I’m leaving this vessel is for Pedro’s funeral. Operations officers are easier to replace than starship captains.”

“Gralf doesn’t deserve that,” Dr. Cole said with a scowl. “I don’t know much about him, but by almost every measure he is more than competent. Am I incorrect?”

“No,” Glover grumbled, after a long pause. “He’s…a good officer.”

“An officer so committed to protecting your life that he was willing to sacrifice his career, or even worse, incur your wrath,” the medic concluded. “He deserves some understanding from you.”

“I understand what he did!” Glover gasped, exasperated. He threw up his hands. “And I know he’s a good officer damn it! I wouldn’t have selected him if he hadn’t been. It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about…Terrence,” Cole said quietly, without accusation. She leaned forward, peering deeply into his eyes. “You can tell me.”

The captain sighed. “He…Gralf, he didn’t trust me,” Glover said, his voice cracking. “He didn’t trust in my ability to make everything all right. He didn’t even give me the chance to attempt to save Pedro. He capriciously made the decision for me.”

“He took power away from you, that’s what it’s about, isn’t it?”

“No,” Glover shook his head. “It isn’t about me.” He paused, an askew grin formed across his face. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Dr. Cole chuckled, “Neither can I.”

“But I’m serious. It isn’t about me. I could’ve done something to help Pedro, and Gralf stopped me. He didn’t trust me and I no longer trust him.”

“Believe me captain there’s nothing you could’ve done. Death was instantaneous. There’s no way Lt. Commander Rojas could’ve predicted the volatile mix would explode, or when. Gralf saved your life.”

Glover grunted, and looked away for a long time. Eventually he turned back around, “That’s cold comfort.”

“No, that’s survivor’s guilt talking,” Rieta replied.

“Ellan tried to lay the same line on me,” Glover said. “I wasn’t in the mood for psychobabble then and I’m not in the mood for it now.”

“I’m not here to analyze you; I’m here to…to be a friend.”

“Okay,” Terrence shrugged, noncommittal.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm.” The drollness had returned. “It looks like this is going to be a long trip.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m accompanying you and Lieutenants Rojas, Verda, and the others to Allensworth Colony,” Dr. Cole said, matter of fact, “If you don’t mind of course.”

“Well…I…,” Glover stammered, not sure what to say. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” Dr. Cole said. “Pedro really helped make my transition to the Cuffe far easier than it could’ve been, especially in wartime. It’s the least I could do to accompany him home.”

“Thank you,” Glover smiled, his eyes glistening. Dr. Cole got up from the couch and squeezed his shoulder. A jolt ran through his system. He scooted back in his chair and Rieta stepped away from him. They both looked at each other.

“I…I have some reports to finish up in Sickbay, I better get back there,” Cole said quickly.

“Okay,” Glover said. Cole backed out of the room, Terrence watching her leave. Alone again, he turned back to the blank screen. Someone had stepped up for him in his hour of need, he realized. It just hadn’t been his wife.
********************************************************************
USS Cuffe
Cargo Bay Seven

Lt. Aquiel Uhnari traced her hand along the cold, polished torpedo casing, seeing her reflection clearly on its gleaming black surface. She shuddered when she thought about what the tube contained. Alexei Krasnikov had been an orphan, the engineer had only learned hours ago. And he hadn’t spent the few years of life he had been given building a family, or thinking of what he would leave behind. He had requested to be launched into space to spend eternity a silent witness to the ongoing engine of creation.

Alexei had always been a quiet man, which had baffled the gregarious Pedro, but Uhnari had seen nothing wrong with it. She smiled briefly as she thought about her checkered service record, with less than stellar ratings from her commanding officers on Deriben V and Relay Station 47. Sometimes it was better to just keep your mouth shut, she had learned the hard way after many tempestuous years.

“I probably knew Alex better than anyone,” Ensign Hutchinson said softly as she stepped into the room and past Aquiel to take up a position over the casket, opposite the Haliian. She gazed down at the tube, “And I didn’t know him at all.” Aquiel was shocked by the young woman’s ghastly appearance. Her skin was pallid, and her normally lush red hair was disheveled and stringy, lying limply on her shoulders. Her eyes were red and the skin around them looked red and swollen from tears. She looked broken, drawn in, not at all like the vivacious, outspoken young officer whose bluntness Pedro had relished.

But Aquiel couldn’t blame her. How else was she supposed to react to the carnage they had just survived, but so many of their comrades, enough to almost fill up the entire cargo bay, had not? And that’s on top of the massive casualties the entire fleet suffered, and the daily tragedies that assailed everyone each day when Captain Glover released the casualty reports.

Uhnari didn’t quite know what to say. Her life hadn’t been an easy one and tragedy had visited her early and often enough to toughen her hide, but most of the crew hadn’t had a clue how cruel and capricious the universe could be until this war. Hardships had taught her to hide her fears, by ignoring them or turning them into fuel to allow her to strike back. That was how she had coped, but it wasn’t a mechanism she would recommend for anyone else, even her worst enemy.

Aquiel could see how hurt the young officer was, how everything about her was crying out for help. Uhnari worked her mouth, a palliative on the edge of her tongue. But she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t lie to Hutchinson and tell her everything would be all right. Because it wasn’t going to be, she felt, not until the Dominion lie in ruins. And she didn’t know if that would ever happen.

So, she opted for something equally as bland and inadequate, “Alexei was a good engineer, a good officer,” she said, the words sounding detached and cold to her own ears. Hutchinson merely nodded, not looking up, and Uhnari wondered if the woman had even heard her. A part of her hoped she hadn’t. She left the younger woman to her grief.
***************************************************************
USS Cuffe
Outside Cargo Bay Seven

“Lt. Uhnari,” Lt. Commander Cherenkov called after her, the rough edge of his voice almost absent. She had never heard him speak with that tone. She turned around.

“Yes sir?” She asked.

He waved quickly, “No ranks,” he said just as quick. “I had stopped by your quarters, and you weren’t in. I checked the computer and it informed me you were here.”

“Yes,” Aquiel nodded, “I was…”

“I understand,” Cherenkov said solemnly, his face as gray as a tombstone. “If…you need someone to talk to,” he left the offer hanging. The blond-haired human, with the rangy, muscular frame had caught her eye the moment he had come aboard to serve as Executive Officer. Aquiel had been worried about how serving under Cherenkov would be because he had come across like a hard ass during his introduction to the crew.

But the various rumors swirling around why the man had left Special Missions for the exploration fleet had intrigued her. No stranger to controversy herself, she understood what it was like to make a mistake and how hard it was to redeem yourself. So, Aquiel had never allowed the man’s taskmaster personality burrow too deeply under her skin. In response, Ivan hadn’t treated her based on her past either, which she appreciated.

“I’m fine sir,” Uhnari said. “Really,” she reached out and briefly brushed Cherenkov’s hand. The hardened visage softened slightly.

“You don’t look fine,” Ivan said.

You should take a look at Dana and then compare, Aquiel thought, but kept the quip to herself. Now was not the time to be flippant.

“We’ve all lost a lot today,” Cherenkov said, his gaze far away, as if he was thinking of more than just today. “I…I just wanted to ensure you were okay.”

“Thank you, really,” Aquiel said. “I’ll hold up. I’ve come through worse.”

“Is that so?” Ivan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Let’s not go there okay?” Uhnari said, and the Russian nodded.

“Fair enough,” Cherenkov replied. “Listen, if you need to talk…”

She managed a smile, “I’ll know who to call on, and thank you really Ivan. I mean that.” One corner of the man’s mouth almost upturned, but he quickly suppressed the gesture, maintaining his steely visage.

“Well…I guess I better get back to the bridge,” Cherenkov said, the tone in his voice telling her that was not what he wanted to do. “The captain ran me off, and told me to get some rest, but there’s so much left to do.”

“Yes, there is,” Aquiel agreed. She wasn’t sure if she wanted Ivan to go or stay, so she said nothing to keep him. They both had tremendous pressure with a lot of people counting on them right now. Until a new Chief Engineer could be assigned, Aquiel was the senior officer in that department and would oversee Main Engineering’s initial restoration. And Ivan was practically the acting captain. Understandably Captain Glover had been devastated by Pedro’s death, and was barely functioning from what Aquiel had heard. She knew it would be a waste of time to ask Ivan, because he would never divulge such information about a superior officer. “I guess I had better head back to Engineering. Perhaps some hard work will keep us occupied and our minds off…”

“It won’t,” Cherenkov said curtly, “but at least we’ll be too tired to do anything about it.”
****************************************************************
 
****************************************************************
USS Cuffe
Juanita Rojas’s Quarters

Her roommate had left the room, giving Juanita the privacy she needed. She had played with the controls on her desktop for what seemed like hours. How could she do it? How could she tell her parents that Pedro, their eldest son, her brother was dead? She had insisted that she be the one to convey the information. Commander Cherenkov had suggested otherwise, but the captain had backed her. Now she had to deliver.

She ran a hand through her violet-dyed hair and chuckled. Despite his reputation, Pedro had been a bit of a prude when it came to her, and he hated her varying hairstyles and questionable fashion choices. “You look like you’re on the Sutherland,” he had grumbled more than once.

To which she would often reply, “But you have been on the Sutherland.” And Pedro would always laugh, but he would never tell her what went on after whatever official derring do had taken place. She began tearing up again, realizing she would never hear her brother’s voice again, or be swept up into his arms and twirled around madly.

“Oh God,” she whispered, “Please give me the strength.” The tears began to flow again and painful sobs wracked her body. Juanita pushed away from her desk and went to the replicator. She hovered over it, unable to make a decision about what she wanted to drink. Pedro had rigged the device to produce real alcohol, and Juanita figured that a drink might stiffen her spine.

“Screw it,” she muttered, turning back to the blank screen. Her stomach roiled with fear as she slowly approached the table, her innocuous desktop computer had now taken on an ominous cast. She sat down cautiously, and forced herself to activate the screen. Inputting the code to Allensworth Colony, Juanita found herself gazing her startled mother within seconds.

“Juanita, honey,” Luz Rojas smiled, “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon again. How’s your brother?” The force had gone out of the question as Luz got a good look at her daughter. “Where’s Pedro?”

“He’s,” was all Juanita could get out before more tears overwhelmed her. She placed her head on the cold desk and pounded the desk and the computer screen, lost in time and grief.
******************************************************************

USS Cuffe
Main Transporter Room

Captain Glover cracked a hard smile, but stopped himself from chuckling when he saw the mortified look on Gralf’s face. The startled Xindi dropped the duffle bag hanging from his shoulder. “S-Sir,” he stammered as he quickly stood at attention.

“At ease,” Glover waved from behind the transporter control station. “You want to know what I’m doing here right?”

Gralf nodded, gulped, and then replied, “Well, yes.”

“I’m beaming you down to the station,” the captain said. Gralf looked even more nervous. “I’m not going to scramble your atoms. Well, perhaps not too much,” he couldn’t help but add.

“Sir, I don’t think this is a good idea. Perhaps I should contact Lt. Ellan.” Terrence held up another hand. The man’s skittishness was starting to annoy him.

“Listen Mr. Gralf. I’ll cut to the chase. I was out of line in the Observation Lounge, but I’m not apologizing for it. Pedro was my friend, and he meant a lot to me. I can never forgive you for denying me a chance to save him, despite your intentions.”

“I understand,” the Arboreal lowered his head.

“But at the same time, you acted out of loyalty and your own sense of honor. I have to respect that…whether I like it or not. Things will never be the same…for any of us. But I would like you to stay onboard.”

Gralf looked back up. “Are you serious sir?” The captain tersely nodded.

“Sir, I appreciate you seeking out this time to talk to me, but I can’t give you an answer just yet. I see the trust you’ve lost in me, and I don’t know if I can work or thrive under a leader that doesn’t trust me. I can tell you this, as long as the war continues I will not leave you in a lurch, but after that…”

Terrence nodded again. “Okay, that’s fair enough. Well, do you now feel comfortable with me behind the controls?” He ran his fingers across the terminal’s smooth screen like he was playing a piano.

Gralf grunted and studied the man with such intensity that it made Terrence nervous. When he turned away from the Xindi, Gralf laughed. “Now I do,” the Operations Officer said. “If you wished me harm I would’ve seen it in your eyes.”

He still really doesn’t trust me, Glover realized, shocked and a bit frightened that any of his crew would view him or his motives with suspicion. Gralf picked up his bag and stepped up onto one of the transporter pads. “Permission to disembark?” He asked.

“Permission granted,” Glover said, almost as an afterthought. After he had beamed Gralf off the Cuffe, he remained in the Transporter Room, contemplating the pit he had fallen into over the last two years and if he would find a way out of it again.
*******************************************************************
USS Cuffe
Counselor’s Office

“Your meeting with Lt. Gralf before he disembarked is a good sign,” Lt. Ellan said, with a sympathetic smile. “I know how hard it still is for you.”

Glover nodded, the lump in his throat as hard and cutting as a jagged stone. He hated having to come to the counselor, to have to submit to the psychological evaluation. He was out of his element, with his fate in the hands of another person, a subordinate officer no less. Terrence was not pleased. “I did what I thought was the right thing to do.” He finally managed to say.

“And it was sir,” The Deltan counselor nodded. “I’m sure in time the rift between you two can heal.”

Glover doubted that, but he nodded. “So, is the evaluation over?” He asked, a bit too eagerly.

“Yes sir,” Ellan said. “I will submit my evaluation and recommendations to Command. You should receive their answer hopefully within hours, tomorrow at the latest.”

“What are your recommendations?” Glover asked. The Deltan’s grin brightened. The counselor was quite familiar with Terrence’s impatience. They had tangled more than once over the captain’s attempts to hurry through Ellan’s annual sessions.

“Captain I think you remain fit to command this vessel, but you’ve undergone a terrible tragedy, one that I will recommend that you need time away from the war, away from this tremendous stress, to reassess your life and to….reconnect with yourself.”

“Reconnect….with myself?” Glover snorted; but it was better than laughing at the absurd notion. “I’m pretty familiar with myself; always have been.”

“I’m not so sure,” the Deltan said, his smile fading as a cold, very uncommon dispassion settled over his features. “To be honest sir, you’re on the edge, and I want to give you time to step away from the precipice. This war should’ve shown you that you can’t handle everything, that not all things are within the realm of possibility, but instead your desire to control things, fate as it were, has increased exponentially. I’m concerned that if you endure another significant stressor while you are in such a fragile state, with all the burdens you have placed on your shoulders, you might crack.”

“I won’t,” Terrence promised, though the old familiar cockiness hadn’t limned the words. It sounded like he was trying to convince Ellan, trying to convince himself more than stating a fact.

“I’m sorry sir, but you mean too much to this crew, and this crew means too much to you, to allow you to not be at the helm when you are optimal. So, I have recommended you are removed from active duty while the ship is undergoing repairs.”

“You can’t do that,” Glover huffed. “I’m not a basket case!”

“Not yet,” Ellan retorted, not backing down. “And I’m not going to let it get to a point where you become a danger to the crew or yourself. I’m a big proponent of preventive care. A few days off might work wonders for you. I’m certain Lt. Commander Cherenkov is capable enough to handle things while you’re away.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” Glover replied, his anger bubbling beneath his skin.

“Why not take a chance to go to Earth? You haven’t seen Mrs. Glover for months,” the Deltan suggested cheerily, the cool clinician persona now banished.

The captain couldn’t argue with that. He did want to see Jasmine. He needed to see her. With so much in his life spiraling out of control, he needed her love and reassurance. Terrence struggled with the words, but finally said, “All right…I’ll do it. After…” his voice caught, “Pedro’s funeral.” Just as quickly, Ellan’s smile drew into a thin, tight line.

“I understand sir,” he said quietly.
******************************************************************
Starbase 21
Observation Lounge
Romulan Neutral Zone
October 20, 2375

“We’ve got to send a clear message not only to the Dominion, but to our own citizens!” Sub-Admiral Hesporian pounded the sleek black tabletop. Despite the slenderness of her frame, the force of the blow caused the table to rattle. “We are not losing this war, and they need to be reminded of that.”

“No, we’re not losing this war,” crowed Karnon, the brigadier representing the Klingons, “Despite Starfleet’s commendable efforts, the installation of Starfleet and Romulan vessels with anti-dampening measures is still ongoing. That leaves our Defense Force as the most capable to handle and defeat the Dominion, including leading this mission.”

“You’ve done such a fine job leading the Alliance that you sought our help eh?” Nauarch Anvos D’Anzan of the Alshain Starforce chortled. Talks finalizing bringing the Alshain Exarchate were still ongoing, but at a good enough point that Command recommended that one of their military officials participate in the meeting.

Admiral Samson Glover saw that Deputy Defense Minister T’Las was visibly perturbed, which wasn’t a good sign since the Vulcan woman had achieved Kolinahr decades ago. Rear Admiral Sumitra Aggarwal, the aide to Fleet Admiral Shanthi, Starfleet’s commander, wasn’t too pleased either. Both of their holographic likenesses shimmered in two seats flanking Samson, courtesy of holographic generators.

T’Las was actually on Earth, coordinating war efforts, and Sumitra was half-way across the quadrant at Starbase 116. Samson had cashed in more than a few of his credits to get both luminaries to hear out the plan he had devised with Captain Rahul, his former Executive Officer on Deep Space Five. The admiral knew that he was allowing the meeting to get out of control and devolve back into ancient backbiting and recriminations, and that he had to something about it.

“Somebody has to clean up the mess,” Karnon shrugged, prompting laughter from the Klingon contingent. Both Hesporian and D’Anzan glowered at the man.

“Enough,” Admiral Samson Glover stood up, raising a hand. He glowered at the meeting’s occupants. “We’ll get nowhere with all this constant bickering. Now, please let Captain Rahul complete his presentation.” The admiral turned to the Efrosian standing calmly beyond the large circular table, in the front of the room. “The floor is once again yours.”

“Thank you admiral, and esteemed colleagues,” Captain Rahul said before turning back to the flat screen. It currently displayed a graphic representation of the Romulan front, and the strong line of Romulan and Federation defenses holding the Dominion forces to a standstill. “Admiral Glover tasked me with finding an appropriate target to strike to cripple the Dominion’s current moment.” He moved his hand over the screen, and the scene shifted.

D’Anzan gasped. “You aren’t seriously entertaining this are you?” He looked from Rahul to Glover.

“Well, actually yes,” Glover shrugged, “with Command’s approval that is.”

“If it rattles the beasts, then I’m all for it,” the Klingon brayed. “I will have the Chancellor himself lend support to your plan.”

Glover nodded, “And what of the Praetor?”

“As soon as this meeting concludes, I will forward your proposal on to Romulus,” Hesporian promised.

“I…can’t even fathom the personal dimension of this plan to you Nauarch D’Anzan, nor the cultural or political implications,” Glover began, his voice filled with empathy, “But I can promise you that if it is successful, it will significantly shorten the duration of this war.”

“The Maw holds nothing but death,” D’Anzan warned. “But I will nonetheless take your proposal to the War Ministry and the Exarch. If my superiors can’t talk sense into you then I will leave it to the gods. I pray that you will heed their answer before it’s too late.”
***************************************************************

Starbase 21
Observation Lounge

After the Deputy Defense Minister had signed off, Admiral Aggarwal sighed before looking at Samson with an askew grin. “Sam, what else do you have up your sleeve?”

“Why would suspect something like that?” He asked a bit too innocently.

“How many years have we known each other?” the rear admiral grinned.

“It seemed like yesterday that you were my first Executive Officer, and look at you now,” Glover reminisced, a wistful tone in his voice. “Time does fly.”

“Yes it does,” Aggarwal agreed.

“But look at you now,” Samson beamed.

“I wouldn’t be here without you,” Aggarwal replied.

“No, you got those admiral bars due to your own efforts. Now, the position with Admiral Shanthi, that was all me,” he joked, thumping his chest. “And since you’ve been on the job for over six months, I think the Fleet Admiral owes me one.”

“Well, what can I do to help out?” Aggarwal asked, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “What have you got stirring in your pot?”

Samson put on his most winning smile, prompting Aggarwal to good-naturedly scowl, “Oh boy.”

“It’s nothing that bad, I assure you. I have a favor to ask of Fleet Admiral Shanthi, if the other powers approve the plan.”

“I’m sure they will. Having Minister T’Las sit in was a canny move, a sign that the Santiago Administration is fully on board with this gambit.”

“I do try to line up all my ducks, before I go duck hunting,” Glover rarely patted himself on the back, but he felt another light display of confidence might make his request go down a bit smoother.

“So, what can I do for you?” Aggarwal asked again.

“I want my son heading the Starfleet contingent into the Maw.”

“Come again?” Aggarwal asked, after a few moments of stunned silence. Samson repeated the request. “But I thought Captain Rahul helped craft this plan with you? He would be the logical Starfleet primary on this.”

Glover blew through his teeth. “Yes, Rahul’s tactical skill and astrometric knowledge were vital to forging this plan. But Rahul is a new captain, damn near raw. A steady, experienced hand is needed for this mission, and Terrence has that kind of hard-bitten, combat experience.”

“And you’ve discussed this with Captains Rahul and Glover?”

“I expressed my opinion to Rahul, but I haven’t spoken to my son in several days,” Samson said. “He’s taking some personal time.”

“I heard about what happened to his vessel during the battle,” Aggarwal said, her expression stricken. “My condolences.” Samson nodded as he accepted it. Sumitra had served as a surrogate for Terrence’s far flung mother more than once and he knew her sadness and concern were genuine.

“What did Rahul have to say?” Aggarwal asked.

“He…didn’t agree,” Samson admitted soberly. “But he trusts my judgment. He also trusts Terrence.”

“Terrence has experienced quite a bit of emotional turmoil recently,” Admiral Aggarwal said gently, “Do you think he can handle a mission of this magnitude?”

“Sumitra do you think I would even suggest this if I thought otherwise?” Samson replied.

“I know what happened after Lt. Commander Rojas’s death,” Aggarwal intimated. “I’ve read Lt. Ellan’s report, and so has Admiral Shanthi. I think it would be best for Terrence to get the rest that his counselor recommends.”

Admiral Glover shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “Terrence is too much like his mother. He works out his problems best by working, by contributing, by making an impact.”

“By lashing out? By getting revenge?” Aggarwal countered. “There were some disturbing signs in that report; not to mention Captain Berkhalter’s. Have you read either?”

“I perused them,” Samson said tightly. “I know my son a lot better than some counselor…or a captain who barely knows him.”

“Lt. Ellan is more than ‘some counselor’ and you know that Sam. He’s one of the best in the business.”

“I know,” Samson groused. “His psych evaluation rated him as command capable,” the admiral added. He knew that Terrence would be livid if he knew that his father had delved into his personal file, but the admiral would do anything to protect his son, even if it that meant removing him from the captain’s chair if he had become a danger to himself and others, and Admiral Glover knew that wasn’t the case. And the records backed up his gut. “I heard about the plans to sideline him after he returns back to active duty, to test him out before putting him back at the front, but I think it would be a waste of a good captain, and a keen tactical mind. Terrence will wither if he’s not in the thick of the action.”

Aggarwal nodded, smiling wearily. “I’m a parent now too, so I can relate. I know you’re worried about him as am I, but I have my concerns about his suitability for this mission. I will take you request to Admiral Shanthi though.”

Samson was disappointed that he hadn’t been able to convince Sumitra to become an advocate for his plan. He knew that if he had asked Thuosana directly, she would’ve dismissed it as nepotism. Even though Samson knew in his heart his decision was based on a personal reason, he also thought that Terrence would be more capable of getting as many of their people back as possible. Rahul was good, but Terrence was better.

“Thank you for listening Sumitra,” Samson smiled. “Please let me know as soon as Thuosana makes her decision.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll want to tell you personally,” Aggarwal said, her grin crooked. Samson’s smile brightened. That might give him one more shot at it, he concluded.

“I look forward to hearing from her.”
****************************************************************
 
Very nice. You padded this with a few more, excellent character segments which were all fun or/and heart-wrenching to read.

As for Admiral Glover, how he can convince anybody he's not displaying some class-A nepotism is beyond me. Not that I don't think Terrence shouldn't be in the mix here, I just don't feel that Samson's reasons are legitimate enough.

Regardless, I really dig this story.
 
I hope Terrence is up to it. I haven't seen him this torn up since The Crucible. Heaven help the Dominion once Glover gets a full head of steam, because the man will absolutely not show any quarter. :evil:
 
Thanks guys for your comments. As I was writing this I realized I was rushing through Pedro's death and its impact on Glover and the crew. It's a seminal event, so I felt the need to go back and flesh out more character reactions to his death, particularly Glover, Aquiel, and Juanita.

It remains to be seen if Samson can escape the nepotism taint. But Admiral Shanthi can't get too self-righteous with her own son serving in the Fleet.
 
Finally had a chance to sit down and read this all the way through. I'm liking it so far, the character moments are what's making it work. Keep that up!
 
The extra scenes dealing with Pedro's death were very well done and I agree that they are necessary. Regarding the nepotism theme--Starfleet does seem a bit "incestuous" at times, doesn't it? A strong plot, powerful and moving character work, emotional scenes--what we've all come to expect from a Dark Territory story.
 
mthompson1701 said:
Finally had a chance to sit down and read this all the way through. I'm liking it so far, the character moments are what's making it work. Keep that up!
Click to expand...

Well mthompson, if it's character moments you want. It's character moments you'll get. Also, thanks for your comments DF. It does seem like Starfleet's a small club even in our United Trek universe.

Here's the lastest installments for "Maelstrom". I hope you enjoy.


****************************************************************

USS Cuffe
Main Engineering

Lt. Verda stood on the upper level catwalk, gazing into the tenebrous darkness of the inactivated warp core. She stared at the cracked casing running the length of the cylinder that can fractured due to the volatile brew Pedro had cooked up to reignite the engines. He had spent so much of his life in this room, watching over the warp core as if it were a child, devoting so much time to it and it repaid him by breaking when he needed it most. It had betrayed him. The Troyian felt a visceral hatred for the inanimate cylinder. At times like these she wished she were a more primitive Elasian, so she could spew her hatred and bile at the cylinder, so that she could rail against it and continue smashing it to pieces, like it had done to her.

She pulled the ring out of her pocket and held it in her palm. The Denevan crystal glinted in the dim light from the ceiling. “Why hadn’t I told you yes?” She muttered to herself, punishing herself as she had for days. “Why had I kept you waiting?”

Verda bent over, cramping as the tears started to stream down her face again. “Why did I let you go without telling you how I felt about you? How I loved you.”

“Verda? Lt. Verda, are you alright?” It was Lt. Uhnari. Verda enclosed the ring in a fist and placed her hand at her side. She turned around slowly, wiping her cheeks with her other hand.

“I’m, I’m…” she sobbed. “Fine.”Similar to her, Uhnari was dressed in mourning garb, though Halliians preferred a deep crimson color, whereas Troyians grieved for their death in brown, to symbolize the earth to which their loved ones were returning.

Uhnari reached out to her, but Verda recoiled. “I’m sorry,” Aquiel said, her voice tinny. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

Verda had learned to shelve many of her cultural customs once she had joined Starfleet, but physical contact by one not at her status level had been one of the hardest to overcome. Born into the Troyian nobility, Pedro had often made fun of her aristocratic idiosyncrasies, showing her how pompous and silly she could be at times. Making friends had been hard for her, but with Pedro’s and Aquiel’s help, she had begun to break out of her shell. But at the moment she felt vulnerable and the old ways returned with a vengeance.

“Forgive me Lady Verda,” Aquiel said with pronounced, mock offense. “Shall I offer my commoner’s hand for you to lop off now?”


“No, it is I who should apologize,” Verda said, remembering that Aquiel had pulled her hands from the burning door in the Engineering antechamber seconds after the explosion that had killed Pedro. At the time she had been too distraught to notice or care about the cultural breach. “Old habits…”


“I see,” Uhnari said. “I…uh…came to tell you that the shuttle is ready.”

“Okay,” Verda nodded. “Could you give me a moment?”

“Sure,” Aquiel said though she hesitated to leave her alone. “What were you doing in here?”

“Just checking the progress of the repairs,” Verda lied. Aquiel nodded, but the look on her face told Verda that the Haliian didn’t believe her.

“I’m just going to be right outside the door if you need me,” Uhnari said.

“It won’t take long…I just want to say goodbye,” Verda mixed a bit more truth into the lie, “By the time we return this old warp core will be gone.”

“Yeah,” Aquiel nodded, buying it. “We spent a lot of time on her, didn’t we? She got us through quite a few scrapes.”

But not quite enough, Verda thought, though she didn’t voice it.

“A few minutes,” Aquiel said, “and then I’m coming back.”

“A few,” Verda nodded, already turning back to the warp core. Once the Haliian had left, Verda took the ring and flung it into one of the warp core’s fissures. She imagined she could hear it hitting the bottom, and shattering like her heart had. It was the final sacrifice she would ever make to the beast. She had already submitted her resignation, and would fight like hell to make sure she never returned to his accursed place.

Squaring her shoulders, and putting on a plastic smile she stepped out into the corridor, surprising Lt. Uhnari. “See, it only took one minute. I’m ready to move on now.”
*******************************************************************
Starbase 21
Commanding Officer’s Office
October 22, 2375

“Thuosana, it’s good to see you again,” Admiral Samson Glover said and he meant it. He had been friends with the Starfleet’s head since the Academy. And even though they didn’t always see eye-to-eye, he respected her greatly. It had been too long since had seen her, and he noticed a few more gray hairs and a lot more stress marks running down her dour brown face. It made him a little thankful that he had never been bitten by the ambition bug to the extent that Thuosana or his own wife and son had. Shanthi regarded him a few seconds from the viewer, her stern gaze softening slightly.

“Likewise Sam,” Fleet Admiral Shanthi replied, favoring him with a small uptick at the edges of her mouth, “Which is why I regret to tell you that I’ve vetoed your plan.”

“Why?” Samson asked, crestfallen. “It was a good, solid plan that would’ve hit the Dominion where it hurt, and showed them we were still united.”

“Oh, I don’t mean the plan entire,” Shanthi clarified. “Just your desire to have Captain Glover lead the Starfleet contingent. He’s not ready Sam, and you know that. I’ve known Terrence since he was a child, and I know both of you consider action as a form of therapy, but the stakes are too high this time. The mission will go on, but Glover will not be participating. Sub-Admiral Hesporian will be supreme commander of the taskforce and Captain Rahul will serve as her second, and commander of Starfleet forces.”

“But,” Samson began, stopping after Shanthi held up a hand. “And we’re moving up the timeframe for the mission. We’ll strike within a fortnight. The Cuffe might not even be space worthy by then.”

“Admiral I must protest,” Glover said.

“Protest all you like,” Shanthi said, though without hostility or arrogance. “I’ve already discussed this with the T’Las, the Security Advisor, and Defense Minister, and they all approve.”

“I see,” Samson shifted his gaze away to take control of the anger twisting his features. He felt stabbed in the back. Unable to hold back, he glared at his superior. “So, everyone thinks my son is crazy is that it?”

“No Sam, that’s not it at all,” Shanthi remarked, with more gentleness than Samson expected and knew he deserved. “Terrence’s emotional state wasn’t even discussed. Rahul’s knowledge of the plan was deemed more critical to its success.”

“I see,” Glover replied, but he wasn’t totally convinced. “Rahul is capable, but you know that plans never go the way we intend.”

“I’m a little surprised at your lack of regard for Captain Rahul,” Shanthi reproached him, her voice rising. “He performed in exemplary fashion for you at Deep Space 5.”

“I know that,” Samson groused. “But that has nothing to do with this.”

“And that’s the problem,” Shanthi riposted. “You’re so concerned about Terrence that you’ve lost perspective, even to the extent that you’re denigrating one of your own former officers.”

“Hold on a moment!” Glover snapped. “I’m not doing that,” he paused as his past statements and actions flashed through his mind, “Am I?”

“You tell me,” Shanthi said, her voice more even keel this time.

“It wasn’t what I meant,” Samson shook his head. “Rahul is a good captain, I just…” He paused, struggling for words, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“None of us do,” the Fleet Admiral admitted. “All we can do is the best we can with what’s available to us. But in order to do that, you’ve got to have a chance. Terrence is a hero to the Federation a dozen times over. Let Rahul get his chance.”

Samson pondered his old friend’s words. “Okay, he’ll get his chance. Now, if you’ll excuse me Thuosana, I’ve got some apologizing to do.”
********************************************************************
 
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