Starfleet Year One

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Starfleet Year One Page 23

by Michael Jan Friedman

Of course, Abute knew. And for that matter, so did the fleet’s six captains. But they had been ordered not to tell anyone else, so as to minimize the potential for injunctive protests and debates.

  Even so, the director had expected at least a little feedback...if only from the captains themselves. At least half of them couldn’t have been thrilled with the board’s decision, and Abute had expected them to tell him so.

  But they hadn’t. They hadn’t uttered a word. In fact, in view of what had gone before, their silence had begun to seem a little eerie to him.

  The director wished all six of them could have been given command of the Daedalus. Certainly, they deserved it. The job they did in the Oreias system, both collectively and as individuals, had exceeded everyone’s expectations—including his own.

  It was unfortunate that only one of them could win the prize.

  Just then, he heard the beep of his communicator. Withdrawing the device from its place inside his uniform, he said, “Abute here.”

  “Director,” said the transporter technician on a nearby Christopher, “we’re ready to begin transport.”

  “Do so,” the administrator told him. “Abute out.”

  He turned to the bridge’s sleek silver captain’s chair and waited. A moment later, Abute saw a vertical gleam of light grace the air in front of the center seat. As the gleam lengthened, the outline of a man in a blue Starfleet uniform began to form around it.

  After a few seconds, many people there would have a good idea of who the officer was. Nonetheless, they would have to wait until the fellow had completely solidified before any of them could be certain. Finally, the materialization process was complete. . . .

  And Hiro Matsura took a step forward.

  The man cut a gallant figure in his freshly laundered uniform, his bearing confident, his gaze steady and alert. If appearance meant anything, he was precisely what Starfleet had been looking for.

  But it wasn’t just Matsura’s appearance that had won him the Daedalus. It was the uncanny resourcefulness he had displayed in the encounter with the Nisaaren, which had saved the Oreias colonies from destruction and invited the possibility of peace.

  Of all the qualities the review board had considered, ingenuity was the one they had valued most—the one they believed would prove most critical to the fleet’s success as the Federation moved into the future.

  And Hiro Matsura had demonstrated that he had this quality in spades.

  The assembled officials exchanged glances and even a few muffled remarks—some of them tinged with disapproval. But then, the director mused, it was an understandable reaction. The research faction had been made to swallow a rather bitter pill.

  The military, on the other hand, had won a great victory. If anyone doubted that, he had but to observe the ear-to-ear grin of Admiral Walker, who was gazing at Matsura with unabashed pride.

  Of course, neither the admiral nor anyone else had any inkling how narrow Matsura’s victory had been. Right to the end, Abute had learned, the board had been vacillating between two and even three of the candidates—though no one had revealed to him the identity of the other choices.

  But that was all water under the bridge, the director told himself. Captain Matsura would sit in the Daedalus’ s center seat. The decision had been made and no one could change it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Abute, “I give you the commanding officer of the U.S.S. Daedalus ... Captain Hiro Matsura.”

  The announcement was met with applause from all present—with varying degrees of enthusiasm, naturally. In the director’s estimate, it was to the credit of the research people that they applauded at all.

  “Congratulations,” Walker told his protégé, stepping forward to offer the younger man his hand.

  Matsura shook it, a bit of a smile on his face. “Thank you, sir,” he responded in crisp military fashion.

  Clarisse Dumont came forward as well, albeit with a good deal more reluctance. She too extended her hand to the captain of the Daedalus.

  “I wish you all the luck in the world,” she told Matsura. “And despite the disdain some have displayed toward the advancement of science, I hope you will see fit to—”

  Dumont never got to finish her statement. Before she could accomplish that, another gleam of light appeared in front of the center seat. Abute looked wonderingly at the admiral and then at Dumont, but neither of them seemed to know what was going on.

  As the newcomer gained definition, the director could see that it was Captain Hagedorn. When he had finished coming together, the fellow moved forward to stand alongside Matsura.

  Abute shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  Neither Matsura nor Hagedorn provided an answer. However, another glint of light appeared in front of the captain’s chair.

  This time, it was Aaron Stiles who appeared there. Without looking at Admiral Walker or anyone else, he came forward and joined his colleagues.

  Walker’s eyes narrowed warily beneath thick gray brows. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded of his former officers.

  They didn’t respond. But the director noticed that there was yet another gleam of light in front of the center seat, and someone else taking shape around it.

  To his surprise, that someone turned out to be Bryce Shumar. And to his further surprise, Shumar took his place beside the others.

  Now Abute really didn’t get it. What did Shumar have to do with the military contingent? Hadn’t he been at odds with Matsura and the others right from the start?

  But Shumar wasn’t the last surprise. Thirty seconds later, Cobaryn appeared as well. And after him came Dane, completing the set.

  Starfleet’s captains stood shoulder to shoulder, enduring the stares of everyone present. And for the first time, the director reflected, the six of them looked as if they might be able to stand one another’s company.

  The admiral glowered at them. “Blast it,” he said, “exactly what are you men trying to pull?”

  “I’d like to know myself,” Dumont chimed in.

  Matsura turned to her. “It’s simple, really. You tried to make us your pawns. You tried to pit us against one another.”

  “But we had a little talk after Oreias,” Shumar continued, “and we realized this isn’t about individual agendas. It’s too important.”

  “Damned right,” said Stiles. “My fellow captains and I have come too far to let bureaucrats of any stripe tell us what to do.”

  Dane glanced at Walker. “Or whom we should respect. After all, we’re not just a bunch of space jockeys anymore.”

  “We’re a fleet,” Hagedorn noted. “A Star fleet.”

  “And in spirit, at least,” Cobaryn told them, “we are here to assume command of the Daedalus together.”

  The admiral went red in the face. “The hell you are! I’ll see the lot of you stripped of your ranks!”

  “Perhaps you would,” Abute told him, “if you were in charge of this fleet. But at the risk of being rude, I must remind you that I am the one in charge.” He glanced at the six captains. “And frankly, I am quite impressed by what I see in front of me.”

  Walker’s eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of their sockets. “Are you out of your mind?” he growled. “This is rank insubordination!”

  The director shrugged. “One might call it that, I suppose. But I prefer to think of it as courage, Admiral—and even you must admit that courage is a trait greatly to be admired.”

  Dumont sighed. “This is unexpected. But if that’s the way these men feel, I certainly won’t stand in their way.”

  Abute chuckled. “Spoken like someone who has nothing to lose and everything to gain, Ms. Dumont. I wonder . . .had it been Captain Shumar or Captain Cobaryn who was granted command of the Daedalus, would your reaction have been quite so forgiving?”

  Dumont stiffened, but didn’t seem to have an answer.

  The director nodded. “I thought not.”

  He glanced at his fleet c
aptains, who remained unmoved by the onlookers’ reactions to their decision. He had hoped the six of them might work together efficiently someday, maybe even learn to tolerate one another as people. But this . . .

  This was something Abute had never imagined in his wildest dreams.

  Turning to the officials who had been invited to this occasion, he assumed a more military posture—for the sake of those who cared about such things. “I hereby turn over command of this proud new vessel, the U.S.S. Daedalus . . . to the brave and capable captains of Starfleet. May they always bring glory to their ships and to their crews.”

  Everyone present nodded to show their approval. That is, with the notable exception of Big Ed Walker. But that, Abute reflected, was a battle they would fight another day.

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