Star Trek: Four Years War
Behind Closed Doors
Brydon J. Sinclair
Behind Closed Doors
Brydon J. Sinclair
Waiting Room, Office of the Federation President
Paris, France
War. The very word was foreign in her mouth. In the Federation’s eighty-one years of existence it had never been in a state of war. Disputes, skirmishes, conflicts and battles, yes (an organisation the size and complexity of the Federation didn’t get to be as such without a few disagreements with other territorial races), but nothing that would be classed as a war.
Fleet Admiral Kaithe Natori, Director of Starfleet Tactical, now faced a new challenge, one she had never dreamt of. She would be at the forefront of planning their next move and devising strategies that would give them the edge against the Klingon Empire—a major power in the known galaxy that had grown from war and bloodshed. During her years as a line officer she had faced off against the Klingons almost two dozen times, though only resorted to exchanging fire in a third of those encounters—the rest had been resolved through words or by orders issued from those higher up (such as was her position now).
Natori had spent her entire adult life keeping others safe, from her first day of active service as a security guard, then a weapons officer, before entering the command arena and gaining captaincy of three ships, and ultimately entering the Admiralty. Despite her long career and long list of citations and commendations, she didn’t see herself as a warmonger, warrior or soldier, she was a peacekeeper. It was her responsibility to keep others safe, no matter what was asked of her herself. Now, it was her duty to safeguard the billions of innocents along the Klingon frontier.
She stood at the window that looked out at the Eiffel Tower with her arms tightly folded to keep from fidgeting—a bad habit she had when forced into inaction when she really should’ve been doing something. Her mind was too busy for her to take in the view, reviewing all the latest tactical information she’d committed to memory before beaming in to attend the meeting.
A chesty snort broke her concentration. She looked at the pane of glass and the reflection it presented of the other Starfleeters in the room. As a native of Rigel IV, she was indistinguishable from the two human flag officers forced to wait; Commander-in-Chief Gregory Hollings and General Hiro Watanabe of the Starfleet Marine Corps (though most marines she knew still proudly called themselves MACOs), whilst the squat, porcine-faced Border Service Commander Vice Admiral Grofft stood out in the quartet of uniformed officers.
There was a buzz on the desk of the President’s administrative aide. He was on his feet and at the door in a moment, grasping the handle and opening it for them. Hollings led the way, with Grofft putting himself ahead of the others, Watanabe gestured for her to go ahead of him. As soon as the General passed the threshold the door closed behind them, followed by the almost inaudible hum of a security field—to keep safe all those assembled in the office and what they were discussing.
There were two people in the office already. Seated on the nearside of the desk was a straight-backed, silver-haired Vulcan in long, dark robes. Natori had met Ambassador Soval at several high-level functions and meetings over the years, his role in the formation of the Federation as well as now being its senior most Ambassador-at-large made him a prominent and very interesting individual. She had just wished they didn’t have to spend so much time together under the current circumstances.
Sitting opposite Soval, her back to the curved windows that overlooked the picturesque city was President Talla Gared zh’Ulaan. At eighty-seven, the Andorian/Aenar woman was, to date, the oldest individual to hold the office, but after one very successful term her subsequent run for office had been a landslide victory. That had been only a few short months ago, now she was the Federation’s first wartime President, which seemed to age her far rapidly than her advanced years.
The Starfleet officers took the other seats that were in place, set out in preparation for the meeting. There was a quiet in the air that seemed unnatural—knowing that only a few dozen light-years away there were crews and civilians needlessly dying.
“Thank you all for coming,” Ulaan began her voice raspy. She looked at each of them in turn. “From all the reports you’ve all submitted, things are bad out on the front and getting worse with each day. We have lost twenty-one systems to the Klingon advance, dozens of ships and millions of lives.
“Having spoken with Ambassador Soval,” she gestured at the Vulcan, “there appears to be no possibility of a negotiated peace at present. The Klingon’s don’t fear Starfleet, but they do see the expansion of the Federation as a threat to their interests in the sectors where both sides meet.”
“There are also those among the High Council and Imperial Naval Command that see this conflict to be as much a ‘holy war’ than territorial,” added Soval in his customary tone, which was pitched in a way that made all those around him stop and listen. “There are a few systems the Federation has moved into the some Klingons see as sacred.”
“If they are so sacred, why did the Klingons give them up?” Watanabe queried.
“When posited with that logic they gave no answer, other than insults. One thing is abundantly clear about the Klingon leadership; they see the Federation as little more than a human-only organisation—using often interchanging the word ‘Federation’ with ‘human’. Some do not acknowledge the contribution of other races.”
“That settles it then,” interrupted Grofft, “we kick the humans out of the Federation.”
Everyone cast a disparaging glance at the portly Tellarite, whose uniform looked stretched to its limits. If it hadn’t been for the involvement of Earth then events over the last ninety years would’ve been very different, Natori dreaded to think where they would all be now if it wasn’t for the humans—as peculiar as they could be at times.
“We could use that to our advantage,” she stated, putting the meeting back on track. “We have dozens of species commanding our ships, all with their own historic strategies. Instead of what have been adopted as standard manoeuvres, we could have all ships engage with the tactics of their homeworlds, it may help keep the Klingons off-balance. We can then divide up our task forces and fleets, so as to incorporate as many as possible into a cohesive fighting force. It’s not a lot, but it’s at least a starting point.”
Ulaan nodded, her antennae flattening against her skull. “If we are to win this, we may have to drastically alter our battle tactics completely, beat the Klingons at their own game,” Ulaan mused.
She paused for a moment and none of those present pressed her, she was after all the woman at the very top of their hierarchy. After her moment of reflection, she turned to Hollings, whose silence had been noticeable. “Fleet Admiral, what resources can be practically allocated to the frontlines?”
Hollings, whose dark bags and bloodshot eyes showed he hadn’t been getting much, if any, sleep for last few weeks. For someone who used to be impeccably presented, it was a startling transformation, one that showed to all those at Headquarters just the toll it was taking.
He cleared his throat before beginning. “Every ship in the Beta Quadrant currently not engaged in security operations is being directed to the front.” President Ulaan’s antennae shot straight up, a clear sign of surprise. Hollings noticed it as along with the rest of them. “We have a number of ships providing tactical support along the Neutral Zone; the Romulans may take advantage of the situation and launch an attack of their own.”
“Admiral Hollings,” Ulaan began, clasping her hands on the top of her desk and leaning forward, “we haven’t heard anything from the Romulans in over eighty years. Though they may use this opportunity, I find it doubtful. Those ships will be of more use against the Klingons, we can cover their absence with more cutters from the Border Service—which are more than capable of raising the alarm should the Star Empire decide to make a move.”
Grofft gave a chesty snort. “If the Romulans try anything, they will rue the day they took on the Dogs.”
Natori hid a smile. As crass and difficult as the Tellarite could be, he knew just what his fellow Border Dogs could take on—after all they were used playing against the odds in ships well past their prime. Unlike many of her peers, she had a special appreciation for the Border Service, having witnessed on multiple occasions just how effective they were in action. A glance at the Hollings told her the CINC didn’t share her views on Admiral Grofft’s division of Starfleet.
“No offense to the Border Service, but this incursion from the Klingons has shown that they are not capable of holding our borders against a major power.”
“So far, neither has your Starfleet, sir,” growled the portly Tellarite.
“Gentlemen,” Ulaan interjected an edge of warning to her voice. “This is not the time for petty bickering. Our enemy is out there, not in here.”
Both men continued to scowl at one another, holding their tongues but the animosity between them was clear. The provisions and resources of the Border Service was always a sore spot, barely a week went by without there being some dispute about ships or personnel or supplies. She was surprised it’d taken them this long to start on one another again.
“What about the rest of the fleet deployment? How long can we muster a sufficient force to stand against the Klingons?”
Sitting forward, Natori was determined to keep things progressing. “We’re pulling together as many ships as we can from the Alpha Quadrant, as well as recalling those on deep-range assignments—though some will take months to return to Federation space.
“Looking at the progress of the Imperial Navy thus far, Intel has drawn up a list of systems they believe will be likely targets, including two Member worlds.” She produced a datacube from the briefcase she had brought with her and handed it to Ulaan. “Here are a series of proposed blockades to defend those worlds with the ships we have at hand.”
President Ulaan accepted the cube, but her antennae flexed and she fixed Natori with a curious look. “Is there a problem with our current ships-of-the-line?”
“No ma’am,” Hollings stated, shifting his scowl from Grofft to Natori.
The Andorian/Aenar looked at him then back at her. “Fleet Admiral Naroti?”
Natori had taken her concerns to Hollings, but then as now, he had brushed them aside. The ships they had at their disposal were good at what they’d been designed for: exploration and surveying, transporting freight and personnel, providing aid, defence and peacekeeping. None were built to fight full-scale wars. Even the brand new Constitution-Class, with her impressive weapons array, wasn’t deemed a ‘warship’ (not that it would help, seeing how the testing of the NX-1700 had failed miserably and was essentially back on the drawing board).
As the Commander-in-Chief of Starfleet, the decision was ultimately Hollings’ to put forward to the Federation Council for approval and funding of new starships, but he was being too cautious. This was not the time to be timid; they had to take action and pull out all the stops to get the advantage. That meant she would have to take the first step, right onto his toes.
“Starfleet Tactical has been working with Research and Development to design a new breed of ship, one purpose-built to fight a war.”
“We’re not at that stage yet, ma’am,” Hollings interrupted, still glaring at Natori. “I have every confidence we can hold out against the Klingons with our current forces.”
Ulaan looked between the two of them for a moment then nodded. “Very well, Admiral Hollings.” She turned to Watanabe and moved on to discuss their ground forces and the support the Marines were able to provide.
The rest of the meeting progressed without any other major fallout, though she did feel Hollings glance at her when no one else was looking. She knew she was overstepping her authority, but when posed with a direct question from the Federation President she couldn’t exactly withhold her opinion. It would cause some tension between them for a few days, but as the war raged then there would be other, more important, things to draw his focus and what had happened today would be surpassed.
Two important steps were taken: firstly, Marines units would be deployed onboard some ships, to give them a greater fighting force and provide support for planetary relief operations; secondly, all ships that could take them would be assigned a flight or two of fighters—normally reserved for planetary bases or stations, they could give a single ship a substantial tactical boost. Diplomatic overtures would continue, but with so much communications and sensor disruption along the border then it was impossible to be sure their signals would get through. Soval had proposed setting up a face-to-face meeting to try and find a peaceful settlement, though wary the President had given it her approval—if even one on the High Council was willing to listen then they had to try. Natori doubted the Klingons would want to talk, after all they were winning.
After Ulaan dismissed them, the five attendees rose and headed out the exit. Hollings was at the front, ignoring Natori as he led the way to the transporter room. Soval broke away from the Starfleeters when they reached the first hallway junction, heading elsewhere in the Council Building. The four uniformed officers were almost at the elevator when they heard fast footsteps approach from behind. Natori glanced back and saw the President’s aide hurrying towards them.
“Fleet Admiral Natori, you have an urgent communiqué,” he called. “There is a secure link in my office for you to use, sir.”
“Excuse me,” she said to the three men and followed the smartly dressed attaché, breaking into a slow sprint. Not for the first time, she found that her admiralty uniform didn’t lend itself to physical exertion.
It took less time to return to the anteroom, but as she entered with the aide behind her, she was surprised to find Talla Ulaan standing before the doors to her own office, hands clasped on top of an ornate walking stick, waiting patiently. The aide closed the doors and stood by them.
“Madam President, is there a problem?”
“When could construction begin on your new ships?”
“The final draft of the plans have been sitting on my desk for six months now, R&D would undoubtedly want to run a cursory check on them—to make sure all the ‘i’s’ are dotted and ‘t’s’ are crossed—but after that construction could begin immediately.”
Ulaan nodded to herself, then fixed her with an earnest look. “Get them on it. I am going to meet with Finance and get a prototype fast-tracked. You should hear from my office within twenty-four hours.”
“Ma’am, can I ask why?”
“I agree with Admiral Hollings, our current fleet could hold out against the Klingons, but our objective isn’t to reach a standstill. We need something that will give us an edge, that will give us the chance to fight back and reclaim the space we have lost.
“For now we’ll keep this between as few people as possible. Will you be able to oversee this ‘little project’ on the side?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good. Get the specifications to me ASAP—”
Natori smiled. “As it happens,” she began, reaching into her case and removing another datacube, “I had them with me, just in case the topic happened to come up.”
Ulaan smirked as she took the data storage device. “The Klingons may see the Federation as a humans-only club, but I suspect they will come to regret the day they ignored the rest of us.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Madam President.”
* * * * *
END
