Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

Chapter Text

* * *

Twenty-three flag-draped photon torpedo tubes rested atop support platforms at equidistant intervals throughout Reykjavík’s shuttle bay. The makeshift caskets were arrayed behind the captain’s lectern, each one illuminated by a cone of light projected from overhead. Flags and ship’s standards were carried by the members of honor guard; the flag of the Federation, that of Starfleet Command, and Reykjavík’s sigil all held aloft.

A call on the bosun’s whistle brought the crew to attention.

The service began, as they nearly always did, with the traditional words.

“We are gathered here today to pay final respects to our honored dead,” Trujillo said, her voice carefully controlled. “We have lost twenty-three members of our crew in addition to the seventy-two souls aboard the stalwart Border Service cutter Greyhound.

“The sacrifices of our fallen brethren are not in vain, as our efforts saved the lives of hundreds of civilians, perhaps more, placed in mortal danger by the depredations of a merciless enemy. Each of those who lay down their lives in defense of their fellow sentients did so knowing full well what was being asked of them.”

Trujillo had given this kind of eulogy more times than she cared to remember, but never for so many. She was justifiably proud of the fact that despite Reykjavík’s typical high-risk mission profile, the numbers of personnel lost under her command were surprisingly few. Not this time. This battle had cost them dearly, and Reykjavík’s sacrifice was nothing compared with that of Greyhound, whose entire crew had given their last full measure.

She gave each of their fallen comrades from Reykjavík their due, and then gave a more general testament to the captain and crew of Greyhound, none of whom she had known.

The service concluded with Chief Petty Officer Fraser playing the funerary dirge Going Home on the bagpipes to the accompaniment of Lt. Commander Kura-Ka playing the harp-like Zaranite ketuska. The pairing shouldn’t have worked, but somehow the harmonic dissonance between the instruments made the song even more stirring, a haunting lament.

Glal called the crew to attention, and then dismissed them so that the personnel could say their goodbyes individually.

He glanced up as Trujillo was deactivating her data-slate and collecting herself. “Nicely done, sir.”

Trujillo stepped down off the dais, nodding to Glal. “Thank you, Commander.”

The pair walked over to where the senior officers had gathered, joined by Chester and J’etris. Chester had her hands tightly clasped behind her, grim lines around her mouth and grief in her eyes. J’etris, next to her, was looking with equal grimness at the line of caskets.

“This shouldn’t have been their war,” said Chester quietly. “But this may have been one of its most important battles–even if we don’t get to tell anyone what really happened.”

“They came here looking to kill and to destroy,” Trujillo answered, “and it was our duty to stop them. This isn’t on you, either. This was a freak accident, a bizarre confluence of events that brought all of you here. Without your help it would have been impossible to stop them without far greater loss of life than we ultimately suffered.”

Chester’s look turned a little wry. “That could describe this whole war–a series of ugly freak events. I’m glad we were able to rescue something from it, and that we could be of assistance. That doesn’t make me regret it any less.”

Trujillo appeared thoughtful. “Nor I, Commander. Nonetheless, I’m grateful that it was your ship that survived the battle and the cross-temporal event, and that your captain selected you and Lieutenant J’etris to accompany us. Seeing that fifty years hence Starfleet is turning out officers of your caliber gives me hope for the future.”

That made Chester flush pink from chin to hairline. “Thank you, sir. That means a great deal.” She glanced at J’etris, whose reaction was limited to an expression of contained satisfaction. “To both of us.”

Glal addressed Trujillo. “We’re about fifteen minutes out from Bedivere and the debris field, sir.”

The captain favored their guests with a small smile. “Here’s hoping they’ve been able to repair much of the damage in your absence so that Captain Steenburg can get you home.” Her expression tightened with the realization of what they would be sent back to. “Not that we’re in any hurry to see you go, of course.”

“Tempting,” said J’etris, a little wistfully, “but we do have a job to get back to.”

“That you do,” Trujillo agreed soberly. She looked to Glal. “Commander, please make arrangements with Bedivere to retrieve their personnel and to collect the Jem’Hadar wreckage we managed to take aboard.”

“Aye, sir,” the XO affirmed smartly.

* * *

The Bedivere was indeed mostly repaired and moving under her own power, holding a safe distance out from the debris field. Captain Steenburg even looked as if she might have slept sometime in the last twenty-six hours. “Captain Trujillo,” she said, evidently relieved, “I take it from your return you were able to hunt down our stray. Though perhaps I should be offering you our repair crews now?”

Trujillo inclined her head from her seat on the bridge, the command center still showing visible signs of damage from the battle. “We’re patched up for the time being, Captain, though I’m certain there’s a dry-dock berth in our near future. The offer is appreciated, nonetheless.” She checked some figures on her armrest interface before adding, “We have wreckage from the Jem’Hadar fighter aboard, awaiting transport to your cargo bay. All the Jem’Hadar bodies and biological tissue were annihilated in the final explosion of their ship, so there are no remains to transfer over.”

“Happy to help any way we can,” Steenburg said, “and thank you–we’re standing by to receive them. I’d like to extend an invitation to you and your senior staff to join us for a drink or three. I suspect we’re in enough trouble with DTI that one after-battle party more or less won’t make much of a difference.”

Chester passed a hand over her face, clearly torn between horror and amusement.

Glal lowered his head, courting defeat at the hands of his captain’s taste for post-battle revels.

“Come now, Glal. You can’t object to a wake for those lost aboard our ships, can you? We fight and we drink. This is what we do,” Trujillo chided him.

“We are going to be in so much trouble,” muttered Chester.

A crewman stepped forward, handing two small wooden boxes to Trujillo, who thanked the young petty officer before turning to Chester and J’etris. “But first, a little memento of your time with us aboard Reykjavík.”

* * *

The Bedivere’s lounge had not fared well in the fight, but the wreckage had been cleared away, at least one of the replicators was working, and if there were still scorched patches on the floor, everyone present was pretty accustomed to the smell of burnt carpet by now. The drinks cabinet had indeed survived the attack, including some of Steenburg’s younger brother’s home-brewed mead. “Special occasions only,” she said, opening a bottle and offering it around. “He’s been sending it with me my entire career–at least he’s gotten better at making it.”

“It packs a punch,” Chester said by way of warning.

“Duly noted, Commander,” Glal said, pouring a round for the assembled officers.

Trujillo held up her glass in a toast. “To absent friends and comrades, fallen in the line of duty. May we always hold their honor sacred, and make them proud in the land of the living until we are reunited in Valhalla…” she shot a pointed look to J’etris, “...or Sto-vo-kor.”

J’etris returned the look with a grin.

Steenburg held up her glass as well. “May we remember and uphold that for which they gave their all, and defend it with similar courage.”

“Here, here!” Trujillo agreed. “Salud.”

They drank, and the toasts continued in multiple tongues from many worlds.

Then the stories began, the kind that became bigger with each retelling.

Trujillo poured the potent mead from the decanter into the glass with unsteady hands. “So, I told them that I’d informed their House of what they’d done, and unbeknownst to me, his father was only a figurehead. The Lord’s wife apparently held all the real political power in the family, wielded through her husband’s voice on the High Council.” Trujillo paused to take a sip of the bracing golden liquid, savoring its sweetness. “So, this Klingon warrior drops his blade, sinks to his knees and wails, “You told my mother?”

J’etris cackled. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time we have a run-in with my extended family. I usually have to settle for breaking something over my cousins’ heads.”

Steenburg, mid-sip, made a face that illustrated how well previous encounters had gone.

“Nothing like family,” Trujillo chuckled.

“California hippies and traditionalist Klingons.” It was J’etris’s turn to make a face. “It’s a match made in hell.”

Trujillo shook her head, almost drunk enough to titter. “Birkenstocks and bat’leths, who would have guessed?”

“Oh yes. My mothers were very serious about making sure I stayed connected to my culture.”

Glal nodded sagely, raising his glass to emphasize the point. “Traditions are important. I’m not calling the Federation a Homo Sapiens-only-club by any stretch, but it would be quite easy to become subsumed by the all-pervasive human mega-culture. Your food, your holidays, even your music… it’s everywhere.”

Trujillo gave her XO an exaggerated side-eye. “My goodness but you’re cranky all of the sudden. Do it. Tell me to get off your lawn.”

“Bah!” Glal waved her away drunkenly, prompting laughter from the others. He sat down next to Chester, fixing a squinty, watery gaze on her.

“Be careful when you get home,” he told her. “I can’t imagine fighting a fleet of those things, let alone whatever they use for capital ships.”

“Believe me,” said Chester, with feeling, “you don’t want to see them. The fleet or the capital ships.” She took another swallow of her drink, glancing around the room. “We’ll be careful. As much as one can, in war.”

He nodded slowly. “I almost wish we were going in your place. We old soldiers are built for this, molded by decades of conflict. You were explorers, scientists, and diplomats thrown into a grist mill.” He glanced down into his now empty glass. “I guess we’re all old soldiers now.”

Chester huffed a laugh. “I’d try to tell you it’s not as bad as all that, but I’m not that good a liar. It’s not that we haven’t had horrors lurking around our borders in the past–it’s just they haven’t been the whole job before. Any advice from an experienced XO to a much less experienced one?”

“Help your captain see what she’s not apt to. All of us have blind spots, and an exec's job is to help the captain see what they might not otherwise. Be the Yin to her Yang, to use a human aphorism. And always be ready to step into her shoes at a moment’s notice, because you’ll never know when that moment’s going to arrive.”

He stared at Trujillo, who was now sitting at a table near the bar in quiet discussion with Captain Steenburg. “I’ll retire long before she promotes, I think. I don’t know what she’ll do without me…”

Chester looked down at her drink, swirling it gently. “Retirement isn’t a bad way to lose an XO,” she said quietly. “It’ll be all right. Though as I’m only three months into the position, I might not be the best one to talk–I remain unendingly grateful that Commander Faisal left notes. He’d been working with the Captain for more than ten years.”

Glal smiled a fatherly smile. “You’ll be great at it. You already are.”

* * *

By the bar, Steenburg eyed the conversation between their respective executive officers and said, “I suspect I’m going to be saying thank you very frequently to you, Captain. You saved our bacon, finished the job we couldn’t, and I think working with you has done my XO a world of good.”

Trujillo sipped at her drink and nodded. “You fought them so hard you got thrown back in time, Captain. That’s a burden I’ve not experienced. You also gave us everything we needed to stop the threat by entrusting me with two of your officers.” She nodded towards Chester. “Diane’s good, better than she knows. Still inexperienced, but war has a way of accelerating that learning curve. She’ll make a formidable commanding officer one day. She’s certainly got a wider range of skills than I do to call upon. Chester’s going to be the kind of captain you can send on any mission profile, not just chasing pirates around and bopping them on the head.”

Steenburg nodded her vehement agreement. “She’s good at that, too. The trouble is keeping her from going and doing it personally–but I don’t know a single good captain without that problem. That’s why the universe gave us XOs.”

“I’ll drink to that, Captain,” Trujillo acknowledged with a laugh, raising her glass.

* * *