Author's Note: This is a retooled version of the previous story, and it is a work in progress.
Historian's Note: This story takes place after the events in "Stealing Fire" and "No Win Scenario".
****************************************************************
UNITED TREK:
TASKFORCE VANGUARD/DARK TERRITORY:
THE QUALITY OF MERCY
State Room
Starbase Bastion
Mid-2378
The transparent aluminum window was frigid to the touch. Captain Banti Awokou suppressed a shiver before removing his hand. The Starship Aldebaran, his latest command, floated before him. The moorings entangling the angelic ship didn’t mar its sleek beauty one parsec.
Stretching over six hundred meters in length, the Galaxy-class starship dominated the docking port, as befitting its class designation. Uncharacteristically Awokou smiled, thrilled at the prospect of returning to her.
“I don’t believe I have said anything in jest,” Rear Admiral Terrence Glover said by way of introduction. The younger brown-skinned man stood ramrod straight at the entrance to the room. Awokou’s smile quickly morphed into a look of concern.
He always knew that his protégé would one day rise to the admiral’s rank, but he hadn’t assumed it would be so quickly, or under such tragic circumstances. Yet so much had changed in Awokou’s universe since that fateful day in the skies above Lakesh.
The captain put the thoughts of that particular tragedy in the back of his mind. “My apologies…sir,” He nearly tripped over the word. It would take him a little while to get used to the idea of Glover being his superior officer. “I meant no offense.”
“None taken.” Terrence seemed oblivious to the fumble, which saddened Awokou. He would’ve thought the Glover he knew would’ve enjoyed showing off his fifth pip to his old mentor.
But a lot of bad things just hadn’t happened to Banti since the Dominion War; Terrence had been drastically changed as well.
The man seemed more closed off, his body language wary, his arms folded across his broad chest.
His expression was mildly impatient, at odds with the recollections of Banti’s wife Rozi, who told him how Glover had spent hours at his bedside while he had been in a coma.
“You wished to speak with me captain?” Glover prodded, gently but still insistent. Awokou’s heart sank further.
“Yes sir, I…I wanted to thank you,” Awokou began, not quite sure how to proceed, and feeling as awkward as he had on his first date with Rozi.
Glover’s head tilted to the side and he gave the captain a look like he was a curious new specimen. “I don’t follow.”
“I know you helped get me the Aldebaran,” Awokou said, recalling the scuttlebutt he had heard from some of his friends in the Fleet. “Not everyone thought I was ready for such a prestigious assignment.” He was one of those doubters, but only Rozi knew that.
“It was…a logical choice,” Glover shrugged, coming off even colder than many Vulcans Banti knew. “Your service record was exemplary before your accident.” Banti tensed at how sterile and antiseptic his old friend made it sound. “And with the dearth of skilled senior officers currently in the Fleet, and in light of your previous history restoring the reputation of Phoenix, it made sense to move Aldebaran past the incident.”
“I see,” Awokou nodded slowly, wondering if these were the same arguments Terrence had made to secure the post for Banti. There was a part of him that hoped that Terrence hadn’t been so dry when making those arguments though.
The captain chided himself. He had no right to criticize the man who had just helped him get a prestige command. Further, Awokou wasn’t taking into account how rough the last several years had been for Terrence, the emotional buffeting the man had received.
He had lost his father and his marriage; and before that his ship. That fifth pip must seem like cold comfort, and something that can’t replace what had been torn away from him.
“Admiral, Aldebaran doesn’t push off for another several days, if you would like to…tour her, that can be arranged, and then afterwards we could have dinner. Rozi would love to see you.” Banti was a laying it on a little thickly. Actually Rozi was a little peeved at Glover for not showing up while Banti was convalescing after reawakening.
But Awokou had cut the man some slack. Terrence was dealing with his own emotional turmoil and the demands of a new and possibly crushing responsibility. However, Banti also knew that his wife would smother any sharp words she had for the younger man and treat him with the respect he deserved.
The thought of his wife, her graciousness and compassion, made him smile again. “Am I wearing my uniform inside out or something?” Terrence asked, a glimpse of the man’s old mirth breaking through.
Laughing, Banti couldn’t help but give the man a quick once-over. The man looked resplendent in his long black jacket and matching trousers. Glover’s hair hadn’t been touched by gray while Banti’s had become snow-white. Terrence looked nearly the same as when he had commanded the Aegis, though he seemed even sadder now, with bags around his eyes. The major difference was the man’s neatly trimmed mustache and beard, perhaps a sign of his new office.
The man’s visage was still stern, but he had unfolded his arms at least. Now they awkwardly rested at his side. Awokou had never seen Glover anxious, even when they served on the Cardassian front.
“We’ll have to reschedule I’m afraid,” the admiral replied. “I have business to attend to at Starbase 27.”
“Along the Romulan Neutral Zone,” Awokou pointed out. “Don’t tell me the Star Empire is acting up again? Trying to take advantage of this whole refugee situation?”
“Let’s hope that isn’t the case,” Glover said, without adding more. Normally Terrence would add something, he would drop a hint, but that was the past, and Awokou had woken up to a much different future. Glover nodded respectfully before he turned to make his exit.
The man tried one more stab at it. “Lt. Rojas will also be at the dinner.” Glover stopped, but didn’t turn around.
Banti sought to reel him in. “She was gushing about seeing you again, well, not in so many words, but I could read the excitement on her face when she heard you would be here to review Intercept Group Four.”
Terrence turned around slowly. I think I’ve got the fish on the line, Awokou thought. “I appreciate you also recommending her for flight control officer,” the captain added. “We’re going to need someone with her skills navigating us through the Delta Quadrant.”
“Please send my regards to Lt. Rojas,” Glover said, “But I will have to get reacquainted upon your return.”
“Excuse me sir,” Awokou’s forcefulness erupted from him, “I know you’re grieving Terrence, but that doesn’t give you the right or excuse to turn your back on your friends!”
“I think you need to watch your tone Captain,” Glover’s nostrils flared and his eyes lit with fire. Banti knew that he was risking losing his ship even before he had made himself at home, but there were some things that needed to be said.
“I understand that your schedule is busy, but I really wish you could comprehend how much it would mean to all of us if you stopped by,” Awokou softened his tone, but not his stance.
“There’s no time,” Glover said.
“We could be gone for years,” Awokou rejoined. It was predicted that the mission would last at least five years, unless circumstances demanded otherwise.
“I’m sorry,” Terrence said, his neutral expression not giving a hint to his true feelings.
“It’s almost as if you want to get rid of us, shorn us off like dead skin or something,” Awokou felt his emotions springing forth and the words escaped before he could stop them. Since his awakening from the coma, his emotions had been harder to control.
“I’m an admiral now, things are different,” Terrence offered.
“No, the biggest difference is you,” Banti shot back. “Lt. Rojas had thought you were going to put her on your staff. She did all that extra training at Starfleet Academy to build up her resume and then you pass her off to me. I’m pleased, but it’s not what she wanted.”
“Is this what she told you?” Glover’s expression became hooded.
“No,” the captain admitted, “but sitting in that captain’s chair, you learn something about sapient nature.”
“Perhaps you are mistaken,” Terrence replied.
“Maybe,” Banti confessed, “But my gut tells me otherwise. You don’t have to push us away. You don’t have to do this alone. I can tell you from personal experience that you can’t do this alone.”
“Thank you…Banti,” Glover said. The captain’s voice caught in his throat. Awokou reached out, to grab the man’s shoulder, to pat it for reassurance, but the rear admiral fell back. “It’s going to take time,” Terrence offered.
“Fair enough,” Awokou reined in his emotions.
“Please relay that message to your wife and Juanita,” Glover said.
“I will do,” the captain promised.
“Now sir, am I dismissed?” Terrence asked with the heartening sliver of a smile.
“Yes sir,” Awokou smiled in return.
*****************************************************************
The Watering Hole
Starbase Bastion
Lt. Kenule Dryer leaned half-way over the table to hear what the other man was saying even though he was practically shouting. If the music, pounding from archaic audio speakers lined along the bulkheads, wasn’t loud enough, the raucous crowd was.
There was dancing, singing, a lot of swaying, furious games of dom-jot and billiards among others. And the maddening clanging of glass and metal steins; often against rough wooden tables and bar tops as the patrons ordered more rounds. The scantily clad Farian and Orion waitresses were only happy to accommodate them. The gruff Nausicaan tending the bar looked tougher than any of the drinkers-including the Klingon ones, or the aggressive décor.
“Say again?” Dryer asked.
“This is great isn’t it?” Lt. Yori Shibata grinned.
“Huh?” Now Kenule was yelling.
Shibata got halfway out of his chair, and leaned over the table. His lips nearly brushed against Dryer’s ear. Still, the man cupped the sides of his mouth, “This is great,” he repeated.
Kenule winced at the shouted words bouncing directly against his eardrum. “If you say so.”
“Ah come on, don’t be such a buzz kill,” Shibata good-naturedly chided. Kenule had just met the man on the shuttle ride to Bastion. Both were late replacements. Despite Dryer’s desire to be left alone, Shibata had attached himself to Kenule like an Aldebaran mud leech. “This is great, a to the letter recreation of an Old Earth establishment called a biker bar,” Shibata said, clearly impressed.
The words were lost on Kenule and not just because he could still barely hear them. Against his better judgment, which had been happening far more frequently since Shibata had warped into his life, Dryer asked, “What is a ‘biker bar’?”
Shibata’s smile faltered, “Are you serious?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t,” Kenule rejoined.
“Oh, of course,” Shibata’s smile returned. “I forgot who I was talking to here for a moment. Mr. Uptight.”
“Uptight?”
“Never mind,” Shibata waved the query away. “I bet you never even went to your ship’s recreation lounge.”
“My last posting was at the Daystrom Annex on Galor IV,” Kenule huffed; miffed that Shibata had forgotten that already. “And no I didn’t frequent the recreation establishment there. I…was too busy. I often just ate in the lab.”
“Like I said, buzz kill,” Shibata’s words were belied by his smile. “Got to live a little Ken.”
“Kenule,” Dryer pointed out, now really peeved. He hated being called Ken.
“What?” Shibata asked.
“Kenule,” he repeated. “That is my name. Not Ken.”
“Like I said, way too uptight,” Shibata replied. “Anyway a biker bar is a made for bikers,” he paused, seeing if that would register. It didn’t. Shibata continued, “Bikers were people on Old Earth who rode motorcycles.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Kenule pointed out, a bit too proudly.
“Ah…good,” Shibata said, “Anyway, these bikers would sometimes form clubs and bars like these catered to them.”
“Oh, I get that,” Dryer said, “It’s like a themed-establishment, often like starship lounges.”
“Yes,” Shibata said, “Something like that.”
“Who would want to spend their time or their money in a place like this?” Kenule wondered, looking around again. He held up his golden Tenarian Schnapps, “The drinks are too potent, the food is subpar, and I sense a fight is about to break out any moment.”
Shibata laughed, “That’s the whole point. It’s the spirit of adventure, the unknown, and I mean, that’s what Starfleet is all about, is it not?”
“I suppose,” Kenule offered, starting to regret his decision to leave the comfortable environs of his lab. But Admiral Haftel had literally pushed him out. He said it would be good for Dryer’s career, and that he couldn’t hide forever. “If you wanted some real adventure you should try that Alshain restaurant on the promenade. I would go in there, except I don’t eat meat.”
“Damn, you’re a vegan and you barely drink,” Shibata shook his head, “What do you do for fun?”
“Well, I,” Kenule began, but paused as he struggled to formulate an answer.
“You know, hold that thought,” Shibata said as his head nearly cranked 360 degrees on his neck. Kenule followed his gaze. He saw an attractive blonde, dressed in low cut green blouse with matching skintight pants, making her way to the bar. Shibata wasn’t the only one paying attention.
“Hey, Ken, I’ve already paid for the drinks, so I’ll catch you around,” Shibata said, as he got out of his seat.
“My name is,” Dryer started, but Shibata was already gone. Kenule was both happy and sad that he was alone again.
*****************************************************************
Historian's Note: This story takes place after the events in "Stealing Fire" and "No Win Scenario".
****************************************************************
UNITED TREK:
TASKFORCE VANGUARD/DARK TERRITORY:
THE QUALITY OF MERCY
State Room
Starbase Bastion
Mid-2378
The transparent aluminum window was frigid to the touch. Captain Banti Awokou suppressed a shiver before removing his hand. The Starship Aldebaran, his latest command, floated before him. The moorings entangling the angelic ship didn’t mar its sleek beauty one parsec.
Stretching over six hundred meters in length, the Galaxy-class starship dominated the docking port, as befitting its class designation. Uncharacteristically Awokou smiled, thrilled at the prospect of returning to her.
“I don’t believe I have said anything in jest,” Rear Admiral Terrence Glover said by way of introduction. The younger brown-skinned man stood ramrod straight at the entrance to the room. Awokou’s smile quickly morphed into a look of concern.
He always knew that his protégé would one day rise to the admiral’s rank, but he hadn’t assumed it would be so quickly, or under such tragic circumstances. Yet so much had changed in Awokou’s universe since that fateful day in the skies above Lakesh.
The captain put the thoughts of that particular tragedy in the back of his mind. “My apologies…sir,” He nearly tripped over the word. It would take him a little while to get used to the idea of Glover being his superior officer. “I meant no offense.”
“None taken.” Terrence seemed oblivious to the fumble, which saddened Awokou. He would’ve thought the Glover he knew would’ve enjoyed showing off his fifth pip to his old mentor.
But a lot of bad things just hadn’t happened to Banti since the Dominion War; Terrence had been drastically changed as well.
The man seemed more closed off, his body language wary, his arms folded across his broad chest.
His expression was mildly impatient, at odds with the recollections of Banti’s wife Rozi, who told him how Glover had spent hours at his bedside while he had been in a coma.
“You wished to speak with me captain?” Glover prodded, gently but still insistent. Awokou’s heart sank further.
“Yes sir, I…I wanted to thank you,” Awokou began, not quite sure how to proceed, and feeling as awkward as he had on his first date with Rozi.
Glover’s head tilted to the side and he gave the captain a look like he was a curious new specimen. “I don’t follow.”
“I know you helped get me the Aldebaran,” Awokou said, recalling the scuttlebutt he had heard from some of his friends in the Fleet. “Not everyone thought I was ready for such a prestigious assignment.” He was one of those doubters, but only Rozi knew that.
“It was…a logical choice,” Glover shrugged, coming off even colder than many Vulcans Banti knew. “Your service record was exemplary before your accident.” Banti tensed at how sterile and antiseptic his old friend made it sound. “And with the dearth of skilled senior officers currently in the Fleet, and in light of your previous history restoring the reputation of Phoenix, it made sense to move Aldebaran past the incident.”
“I see,” Awokou nodded slowly, wondering if these were the same arguments Terrence had made to secure the post for Banti. There was a part of him that hoped that Terrence hadn’t been so dry when making those arguments though.
The captain chided himself. He had no right to criticize the man who had just helped him get a prestige command. Further, Awokou wasn’t taking into account how rough the last several years had been for Terrence, the emotional buffeting the man had received.
He had lost his father and his marriage; and before that his ship. That fifth pip must seem like cold comfort, and something that can’t replace what had been torn away from him.
“Admiral, Aldebaran doesn’t push off for another several days, if you would like to…tour her, that can be arranged, and then afterwards we could have dinner. Rozi would love to see you.” Banti was a laying it on a little thickly. Actually Rozi was a little peeved at Glover for not showing up while Banti was convalescing after reawakening.
But Awokou had cut the man some slack. Terrence was dealing with his own emotional turmoil and the demands of a new and possibly crushing responsibility. However, Banti also knew that his wife would smother any sharp words she had for the younger man and treat him with the respect he deserved.
The thought of his wife, her graciousness and compassion, made him smile again. “Am I wearing my uniform inside out or something?” Terrence asked, a glimpse of the man’s old mirth breaking through.
Laughing, Banti couldn’t help but give the man a quick once-over. The man looked resplendent in his long black jacket and matching trousers. Glover’s hair hadn’t been touched by gray while Banti’s had become snow-white. Terrence looked nearly the same as when he had commanded the Aegis, though he seemed even sadder now, with bags around his eyes. The major difference was the man’s neatly trimmed mustache and beard, perhaps a sign of his new office.
The man’s visage was still stern, but he had unfolded his arms at least. Now they awkwardly rested at his side. Awokou had never seen Glover anxious, even when they served on the Cardassian front.
“We’ll have to reschedule I’m afraid,” the admiral replied. “I have business to attend to at Starbase 27.”
“Along the Romulan Neutral Zone,” Awokou pointed out. “Don’t tell me the Star Empire is acting up again? Trying to take advantage of this whole refugee situation?”
“Let’s hope that isn’t the case,” Glover said, without adding more. Normally Terrence would add something, he would drop a hint, but that was the past, and Awokou had woken up to a much different future. Glover nodded respectfully before he turned to make his exit.
The man tried one more stab at it. “Lt. Rojas will also be at the dinner.” Glover stopped, but didn’t turn around.
Banti sought to reel him in. “She was gushing about seeing you again, well, not in so many words, but I could read the excitement on her face when she heard you would be here to review Intercept Group Four.”
Terrence turned around slowly. I think I’ve got the fish on the line, Awokou thought. “I appreciate you also recommending her for flight control officer,” the captain added. “We’re going to need someone with her skills navigating us through the Delta Quadrant.”
“Please send my regards to Lt. Rojas,” Glover said, “But I will have to get reacquainted upon your return.”
“Excuse me sir,” Awokou’s forcefulness erupted from him, “I know you’re grieving Terrence, but that doesn’t give you the right or excuse to turn your back on your friends!”
“I think you need to watch your tone Captain,” Glover’s nostrils flared and his eyes lit with fire. Banti knew that he was risking losing his ship even before he had made himself at home, but there were some things that needed to be said.
“I understand that your schedule is busy, but I really wish you could comprehend how much it would mean to all of us if you stopped by,” Awokou softened his tone, but not his stance.
“There’s no time,” Glover said.
“We could be gone for years,” Awokou rejoined. It was predicted that the mission would last at least five years, unless circumstances demanded otherwise.
“I’m sorry,” Terrence said, his neutral expression not giving a hint to his true feelings.
“It’s almost as if you want to get rid of us, shorn us off like dead skin or something,” Awokou felt his emotions springing forth and the words escaped before he could stop them. Since his awakening from the coma, his emotions had been harder to control.
“I’m an admiral now, things are different,” Terrence offered.
“No, the biggest difference is you,” Banti shot back. “Lt. Rojas had thought you were going to put her on your staff. She did all that extra training at Starfleet Academy to build up her resume and then you pass her off to me. I’m pleased, but it’s not what she wanted.”
“Is this what she told you?” Glover’s expression became hooded.
“No,” the captain admitted, “but sitting in that captain’s chair, you learn something about sapient nature.”
“Perhaps you are mistaken,” Terrence replied.
“Maybe,” Banti confessed, “But my gut tells me otherwise. You don’t have to push us away. You don’t have to do this alone. I can tell you from personal experience that you can’t do this alone.”
“Thank you…Banti,” Glover said. The captain’s voice caught in his throat. Awokou reached out, to grab the man’s shoulder, to pat it for reassurance, but the rear admiral fell back. “It’s going to take time,” Terrence offered.
“Fair enough,” Awokou reined in his emotions.
“Please relay that message to your wife and Juanita,” Glover said.
“I will do,” the captain promised.
“Now sir, am I dismissed?” Terrence asked with the heartening sliver of a smile.
“Yes sir,” Awokou smiled in return.
*****************************************************************
The Watering Hole
Starbase Bastion
Lt. Kenule Dryer leaned half-way over the table to hear what the other man was saying even though he was practically shouting. If the music, pounding from archaic audio speakers lined along the bulkheads, wasn’t loud enough, the raucous crowd was.
There was dancing, singing, a lot of swaying, furious games of dom-jot and billiards among others. And the maddening clanging of glass and metal steins; often against rough wooden tables and bar tops as the patrons ordered more rounds. The scantily clad Farian and Orion waitresses were only happy to accommodate them. The gruff Nausicaan tending the bar looked tougher than any of the drinkers-including the Klingon ones, or the aggressive décor.
“Say again?” Dryer asked.
“This is great isn’t it?” Lt. Yori Shibata grinned.
“Huh?” Now Kenule was yelling.
Shibata got halfway out of his chair, and leaned over the table. His lips nearly brushed against Dryer’s ear. Still, the man cupped the sides of his mouth, “This is great,” he repeated.
Kenule winced at the shouted words bouncing directly against his eardrum. “If you say so.”
“Ah come on, don’t be such a buzz kill,” Shibata good-naturedly chided. Kenule had just met the man on the shuttle ride to Bastion. Both were late replacements. Despite Dryer’s desire to be left alone, Shibata had attached himself to Kenule like an Aldebaran mud leech. “This is great, a to the letter recreation of an Old Earth establishment called a biker bar,” Shibata said, clearly impressed.
The words were lost on Kenule and not just because he could still barely hear them. Against his better judgment, which had been happening far more frequently since Shibata had warped into his life, Dryer asked, “What is a ‘biker bar’?”
Shibata’s smile faltered, “Are you serious?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t,” Kenule rejoined.
“Oh, of course,” Shibata’s smile returned. “I forgot who I was talking to here for a moment. Mr. Uptight.”
“Uptight?”
“Never mind,” Shibata waved the query away. “I bet you never even went to your ship’s recreation lounge.”
“My last posting was at the Daystrom Annex on Galor IV,” Kenule huffed; miffed that Shibata had forgotten that already. “And no I didn’t frequent the recreation establishment there. I…was too busy. I often just ate in the lab.”
“Like I said, buzz kill,” Shibata’s words were belied by his smile. “Got to live a little Ken.”
“Kenule,” Dryer pointed out, now really peeved. He hated being called Ken.
“What?” Shibata asked.
“Kenule,” he repeated. “That is my name. Not Ken.”
“Like I said, way too uptight,” Shibata replied. “Anyway a biker bar is a made for bikers,” he paused, seeing if that would register. It didn’t. Shibata continued, “Bikers were people on Old Earth who rode motorcycles.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Kenule pointed out, a bit too proudly.
“Ah…good,” Shibata said, “Anyway, these bikers would sometimes form clubs and bars like these catered to them.”
“Oh, I get that,” Dryer said, “It’s like a themed-establishment, often like starship lounges.”
“Yes,” Shibata said, “Something like that.”
“Who would want to spend their time or their money in a place like this?” Kenule wondered, looking around again. He held up his golden Tenarian Schnapps, “The drinks are too potent, the food is subpar, and I sense a fight is about to break out any moment.”
Shibata laughed, “That’s the whole point. It’s the spirit of adventure, the unknown, and I mean, that’s what Starfleet is all about, is it not?”
“I suppose,” Kenule offered, starting to regret his decision to leave the comfortable environs of his lab. But Admiral Haftel had literally pushed him out. He said it would be good for Dryer’s career, and that he couldn’t hide forever. “If you wanted some real adventure you should try that Alshain restaurant on the promenade. I would go in there, except I don’t eat meat.”
“Damn, you’re a vegan and you barely drink,” Shibata shook his head, “What do you do for fun?”
“Well, I,” Kenule began, but paused as he struggled to formulate an answer.
“You know, hold that thought,” Shibata said as his head nearly cranked 360 degrees on his neck. Kenule followed his gaze. He saw an attractive blonde, dressed in low cut green blouse with matching skintight pants, making her way to the bar. Shibata wasn’t the only one paying attention.
“Hey, Ken, I’ve already paid for the drinks, so I’ll catch you around,” Shibata said, as he got out of his seat.
“My name is,” Dryer started, but Shibata was already gone. Kenule was both happy and sad that he was alone again.
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