by KATHY OLTION
Lydia Littlejohn paced the carpeted floor of her office, remembering with crystal clarity the last time she had felt compelled to do so.
It was during the last push of the war, when Dan Hagedorn led the assault on the Romulan supply depot at Cheron. The president of Earth had paced well into the night, unable to lie down, unable even to sit . . . until she finally received a message from her communications specialist that the enemy’s depot had been destroyed.
And even then, she had been incapable of sleep. She had remained awake thinking about the brave men and women who had given their lives to see the Romulans defeated.
At the time, some people had predicted that Earth had seen the last of war. Littlejohn hadn’t been one of them. However, she had hoped for a respite, at least—a couple of years without an armed conflict.
Surely, her people had earned it.
But mere months after the creation of the Romulan Neutral Zone, Earth colonies were again being attacked by an unknown aggressor, and the Federation had been forced to send its fleet out to address the situation.
Officially, it wasn’t Earth’s problem. But the endangered colonies were Earth colonies, and the ships they sent out were Earth ships, and the largest part of their crews were Earth men and women . . . and Littlejohn couldn’t help feeling as if her world were at war all over again.
“President Littlejohn?” came a voice.
She looked up. “Yes, Mr. Stuckey?”
“We’ve received a communication from Starfleet Headquarters. Apparently, the mission to the Oreias system was a success. The fleet has made contact with the raiders and achieved a peaceful resolution.”
Littlejohn felt a wave of relief wash over her. Thank God, she thought. “Were there many casualties?” she asked.
“None, ma’am.”
She couldn’t believe it. “None at all?”
“I made sure of it, ma’am. I knew you would want to know.”
Littlejohn smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Stuckey.”
“Have a pleasant evening, ma’am.”
She glanced out her window, where she could see the first stars emerging in a darkening and more serene-looking sky. I’ll do that, she answered silently. I most definitely will do that.
Aaron Stiles was feeling pretty good about himself as he felt his ship go to warp speed and saw the stars on his viewscreen go from points of light to long streaks.
After all, Hagedorn and Shumar had patched things up with the aliens—a species who called themselves the Nisaaren— and engineered an agreement under which Earth’s colonists could remain in the system without fear of attack. It was a far better outcome than any Stiles would have predicted.
And he and his colleagues had secured it by working together—as a unified fleet, instead of two irreconcilable factions. Sure, they’d had their differences. No doubt, they always would. But they had made compromises on both sides, and found a way to construct a whole that was a little more than the sum of its parts.
Dane had surprised Stiles most of all. The Cochrane jockey had struck him as a misfit, a waste of time. But when push came to shove, he had shoved as hard as any of them. And though Stiles would never have admitted it in public, Dane had risked his life to save the Gibraltar.
That was the kind of action he would have expected from a wingmate in Earth Command, not a man whom he had shown nothing but hostility and disdain. Clearly, he had misjudged Connor Dane.
In fact, he conceded, he had misjudged all three of the butterfly catchers. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.
“Captain Stiles?” said his navigator, interrupting his thoughts.
He turned to Rosten. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“There’s a message coming in from Earth, sir. Eyes only.”
The captain smiled, believing he knew what the message was about. It was high time Abute had called to offer congratulations. But why had the man declined to address the crew as a whole?
“I’ll take it in my quarters,” said Stiles, and pushed himself up out of his center seat.
It wasn’t until he reached his anteroom and activated his terminal that he realized why Abute had chosen to be secretive. According to the director, the board of review had made its decision . . . and selected the captain of the spanking-new Daedalus.
Abute had spent a lot of time overseeing, discussing, and inspecting the construction of the Federation starship Daedalus. In fact, he probably knew the vessel as well as the men and women who had assembled her.
So it was a special thrill for the fleet director to be the first to beam aboard the new ship, bypassing her transporter room and appearing instead on her handsome, well-appointed bridge.
He took a look around, enjoying every last detail—down to the subtle hum of the Daedalus’s impulse engines and the smell of her newly installed blue carpeting. He even ran his hand over the silver rail that enclosed her spacious command center.
However, Abute wasn’t alone there for very long. He was soon joined by a host of dignitaries, human and otherwise, including Admiral Walker of Earth Command, Clarisse Dumont, and the highly regarded Sammak of Vulcan.
Both Walker and Dumont looked a little fidgety. But then, they had been campaigning for a long time to secure the Daedalus for their respective political factions—and to that very moment, neither of them knew who had been given command of the ship.
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. After all, 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, the director mused, 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 mus
ed, 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—”
Unfortunately, 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 his 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 mused, 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 Starfleet.”
“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 captains, who remained unmoved by the onlookers’ reaction 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.
Look for STAR TREK fiction from Pocket Books
Star Trek®: The Original Series
Enterprise: The First Adventure • Vonda N. McIntyre
Final Frontier • Diane Carey
Strangers from the Sky • Margaret Wander Bonanno
Spock’s World • Diane Duane
The Lost Years • J.M. Dillard
Probe • Margaret Wander Bonanno
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Best Destiny • Diane Carey
Shadows on the Sun • Michael Jan Friedman
Sarek • A.C. Crispin
Federation • Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens
Vulcan’s Forge • Josepha Sherman & Susan Shwartz
Mission to Horatius • Mack Reynolds
Vulcan’s Heart • Josepha Sherman & Susan Shwartz
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Star Trek: The Motion Picture • Gene Roddenberry
Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan • Vonda N. McIntyre
Star Trek III: The Search for Spock • Vonda N. McIntyre
Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home • Vonda N. McIntyre
Star Trek V: The Final Frontier • J.M. Dillard
Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country • J.M. Dillard
Star Trek Generations • J.M. Dillard
Starfleet Academy • Diane Carey
Star Trek books by William Shatner with Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens
The Ashes of Eden
The Return
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Star Trek: Odyssey (contains The Ashes of Eden, The Return, and Avenger)
Spectre
Dark Victory
Preserver
#1 • Star Trek: The Motion Picture • Gene Roddenberry
#2 • The Entropy Effect • Vo
nda N. McIntyre
#3 • The Klingon Gambit • Robert E. Vardeman
#4 • The Covenant of the Crown • Howard Weinstein
#5 • The Prometheus Design • Sondra Marshak & Myrna Culbreath
#6 • The Abode of Life • Lee Correy
#7 • Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan • Vonda N. McIntyre
#8 • Black Fire • Sonni Cooper
#9 • Triangle • Sondra Marshak & Myrna Culbreath
#10 • Web of the Romulans • M.S. Murdock
#11 • Yesterday’s Son • A.C. Crispin
#12 • Mutiny on the Enterprise • Robert E. Vardeman
#13 • The Wounded Sky • Diane Duane
#14 • The Trellisane Confrontation • David Dvorkin
#15 • Corona • Greg Bear
#16 • The Final Reflection • John M. Ford
#17 • Star Trek III: The Search for Spock • Vonda N. McIntyre
#18 • My Enemy, My Ally • Diane Duane
#19 • The Tears of the Singers • Melinda Snodgrass
#20 • The Vulcan Academy Murders • Jean Lorrah
#21 • Uhura’s Song • Janet Kagan
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#41 • The Three-Minute Universe • Barbara Paul