Chapter Text
STAR TREK
“THE STORMS OF WAR”
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“Marcus, welcome back to Utopia Planitia!”
Marcus Francis Doyle smiled at the welcome, nodded acknowledgement to the elder human man, and warmly shook the extended hand, “It's my pleasure, Kieran.”
It was good to see his old mentor again. Normally the massive shipyard’s liaison with Starfleet’s Office Logistical Support, Admiral Kieran DeLuca had taken the time out of his schedule to escort Doyle to his new command.
It was the 54-year old Irishman's first visit to the shipyards in almost a decade. The last time he had been here was when he had taken command of the USS Sentry , an aged but venerable Excelsior -class cruiser. Now he was here to take command of a different, more sophisticated starship, one that represented Starfleet's mission of exploration, while equipped to handle any kind of hostile situation a starship could, and most probably would, encounter.
It had just been over four months since the latest Borg incursion into Federation territory had been beaten back. He had appreciated the chance to take out the metal bastards, after he had not been able to arrive in time to bolster the fleet at Wolf 359. All they’d been able to do was recover escape-pods.
However, the Sentry had been so badly damaged, that it had been decided that the old but feisty ship would be decommissioned. Many of the crew Doyle had come to know had perished, but none of the survivors regretted having a hand in destroying the cube-ship. The survivors had already been reassigned, but Doyle was pleased that he had been able to pull a few strings to make sure that some friends were assigned to his new command crew.
He thanked the Gods every day that not all of them had died.
But now the Federation faced the threat of the Dominion. Shortly after the Borg attack, it had been announced that the Cardassian Union had agreed to become part of the Dominion, giving the major power of the Gamma Quadrant a foothold into the Alpha Quadrant. The threat of war was the foremost thought on almost everyone's minds.
As Admiral DeLuca led the way, Doyle began to feel a sense of trepidation. Though he had two previous starship commands under his belt, having had the honor of captaining the Miranda -class Pioneer previous to his reassignment to the Sentry , it didn't change the fact that each change of command caused him the same feeling.
They stopped at an observation port, and Thompson smiled an knowing, secretive smile, as Doyle slowly walked up to the transparent aluminum viewing window, “There she is, Captain.”
Marcus Francis Doyle looked down and saw perfection. Though he had studied her schematics for the past week, and knew her from stem to stern, forward and backwards, this was the first time he had seen her in the 'flesh', so to speak. Compared to the Sentry , she was a hell of a lot greater in length and height, coming in just a little over 650 meters. This was one of Starfleet's most advanced and powerful vessels, and to Doyle, it represented the peak of his command career. Unless there was some kind of major advancement in starship technology in the next few years, he knew he would never command a finer vessel.
To some people, a ship was something to travel on from one place to another, but to Doyle, a starship was a living creature, a physical entity that deserved respect and loyalty. If it was possible to experience love at first sight with a starship, Doyle felt that way in the moment. With her grey-white tone illuminated by the dry-dock's lights, she was one of the most awe-inspiring sights he had ever seen.
Doyle was vaguely aware of DeLuca reciting statistics he already knew by heart, “ Galaxy-class , 42 decks, can comfortably hold a crew of around 1000, though she can handle almost 10 thousand extra in an extreme evacuation emergency, and she has a maximum speed of warp 9.975, with the many new advancements to her warp propulsion system. She's the latest to finish full construction, with the latest in bio-neural technology. She's just completed her final tests, and the majority of the crew have assembled for launching.”
Doyle looked up when the Admiral paused, and saw Kieran was grinning widely, “She's one of the best, and she's going to a much deserving captain.” He slapped the not-that-much-younger man on the shoulder, “Congratulations, Marcus.”
Doyle looked down at the name, and smiled. The name had some semblance of meaning, because just looking at this prime example of Federation workmanship made him realize that the Federation would survive anything the Dominion threw at them. Starfleet and its allies would weather any storm that came their way.
NCC-71986.
U.S.S. Tempest .
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