Chapter Text

III – Recuperation

The Jem’Hadar were superior to the Vorta in almost every way. They were obviously stronger, they were faster with better reflexes and even their tactical reasoning was sharper. True, there were Vorta who possessed special telekinetic abilities but those were few and far between.

            Telaka’clan perfectly understood the reason for the existence of the Vorta. After all, like the Jem’Hadar, they had been created by the gods, the Founders. And gods did not err. And the Vorta did have their uses. They were skilled administrators, diplomats, and scientists. They were also in charge of the Jem’Hadar and usually, First Telaka’clan would not have entertained a single objectionable thought about that fact. The Vorta gave orders and the Jem’Hadar obeyed. It was the order of things.

            But Wegnour, the Vorta who had been put in charge of his unit, did not seem to appreciate the delicacies of covert warfare. At least that was what he assumed they were doing as Wegnour had not been very forthcoming since they had set out from their base in Cardassian territory.

            They had been given a decently sized unit, coordinates far removed from any strategically important targets, and no conclusive explanation that would hint at their ultimate mission objectives.

The secrecy was near unbearable and as far as Telaka’clan was concerned, entirely unnecessary. They were Jem’Hadar after all, soldiers loyal to the end. If the Vorta ordered him to die for the Founders, then that was exactly what he would do. And gladly.

Instead, the secrecy would only endanger the successful outcome of this mission. The less he knew about what he and his men were to do, the less they could prepare. All this led Telaka’clan to assume that Wegnour was incompetent. He didn’t know much about him, Jem’Hadar were not required to know about their leaders, but it was obvious that he was a new and inexperienced model, perhaps even an original series, one that hadn’t even been cloned yet, or at least not very often.

            Clan stepped onto the command bridge of their vessel and immediately found the pale-skinned Vorta waiting for him. “You asked to see me.”

            Wegnour nodded absently. “Are your men ready?”

            “They are.”

            “Good,” he said and turned away from the first.

            For a moment Telaka’clan simply stood there, staring at the Vorta’s back.

            Wegnour noticed. “Is there something else you wish to report?” he said without facing the soldier.

            “I have prepared the men as you have instructed. However, you have not revealed our target or given me any instructions as to how to proceed.”

            The Vorta nodded slowly. “Indeed.”

            There was silence again. The three other Jem’Hadar who were working on the bridge turned their heads toward their commanders. The tension between the two of them was impossible to miss.

            “At which time do you think will you disclose that information?” There was the slightest hint of defiance in the Jem’Hadar’s tone. So slight, a non-Jem’Hadar may have missed it.

            Wegnour sighed dramatically before he turned to face the first. “My orders come directly from the Founders themselves. This assignment is of the absolute highest importance to them. Seeing how sensitive this mission is, you will only be told what is absolutely necessary and only when I feel the time is appropriate.”

            The Jem’Hadar threw a quick look at his men on the bridge who took the hint and promptly turned back to their respective stations. “Have the Founders ordered you to keep the details of this mission hidden from me?” he said when he faced the Vorta again. This time the defiance much more obvious.

            Wegnour’s facial expression distorted in anger and he took a quick step closer. Clan held his ground. “We already had this discussion and your continued questions are beginning to try my patience. I am the Vorta, I make the decisions. All you have to do is follow my orders and have your men ready to strike at my command. If you are unable to do this, tell me now and I will find somebody else who can.”

            Telaka’clan didn’t move, not even a facial muscle. Instead, he remained perfectly still not unlike a stone statue.

            When it became clear that the Jem’Hadar was not going to speak, Wegnour took a small breath and turned away again. “I hope for your sake that you are better at fighting than you are at taking my orders.”

            “I will follow every order you give me,” he said in a tone of voice more befitting a machine than a sentient being.

            The Vorta nodded slowly. “Yes, you will,” he said and then turned around again. “Because you know what will happen if you do not,” he added with a sinister grin. He took another step toward the First and reached for the small, clear tube that was affixed to the Jem’Hadar’s jugular and fed him with the indispensable ketracel-white drug he required to live.

            Telaka’clan continued to remain perfectly still even when the Vorta began to squeeze the tube slightly. It made him uncomfortable; he couldn’t deny that. The drug was the only weakness he admitted to and he didn’t like to be reminded of his dependence. Like all Jem’Hadar he had come to accept it as part of who they were. But Wegnour was the first Vorta he had ever met who seemed to enjoy his power over him and his fellow soldiers. He could see it in his clear blue eyes. This man could not be trusted.

            “I can sense that you understand,” the Vorta said and quickly withdrew his hand as if he had been caught playing with a forbidden toy. “Just remember that all I do, all that we do, is for the good of the Dominion and the greater glory of the Founders. Now,” he said as he turned again. “Have your first unit ready for a landing assignment; you will get further instructions later.”

            Telaka’clan did not move. For the first time in his short life, he had concerns. If Wegnour was truly incompetent then it would put at risk the entire mission. But Wegnour had the trust of the Founders and the Founders did not make mistakes. Therefore Wegnour simply could not be incompetent.

            The Vorta had a look of irritation on his face when he realized that Telaka’clan was still present. “Go.”

            The First decided that for now, his only option was to assume that Wegnour knew exactly what he was doing. That he was perfectly able to deal with whatever this mission demanded of them. Because to assume otherwise would mean to bring into question not only Wegnour but the Founders as well. It was a thought he could not allow himself to have.

            He gave the Vorta a quick nod and left the command bridge.

*        *        *

“Don’t tell him I said this but Captain Renik’s dinner parties are not nearly as much fun as yours.”

            Owens laughed at Donners’ joke about the Vulcan commanding officer of the Syracuse which had arrived only a few minutes earlier. He leaned back in his chair on the bridge, enjoying the wide smile on her larger-than-life face on the view screen.

            “They’ll have to do for now, I’m afraid. Trust me, this wasn’t my idea.”

            Donners took on a more serious expression. “Just be careful out there, you never know what you’re going to run into.”

            “From everything I’ve been told so far, this isn’t much more than a glorified cargo mission. To be honest, I’m more worried about you,” he said and quickly cited himself for the comment. He didn’t want to appear too protective of her. He was still not entirely sure about his feelings toward Amaya. Or the fact that whatever feelings she had for him might change in an instant once he could get himself to tell her the truth about what had happened to them in an alternate timeline. But he couldn’t help but be worried. After all Captain Renik’s cold logic would not ensure her and Agamemnon’s safety the way he had been able to. In times of war, it might have been a mistake to become emotionally attached to those who could lose their lives within a moment’s notice but he was only human after all and to be emotional came with the species.

            “Don’t be,” she said, sounding like her joyful self again. “My ship is faster, more powerful, and much prettier than yours.”

            “I might give you prettier,” he said with a smirk.

            Culsten turned from his chair to give the captain a concerned look. Clearly, he did not agree.

            She chuckled. “Well, I don’t want to keep you,” she said. “And I’m sorry that I will miss Gene’s grand performance.”

            Owens nodded slowly. “I’ll let him know you said that. See you soon.”

            “Count on it. Agamemnon out.”

            And with that Amaya Donners’ face disappeared from the view screen to be replaced by the image of her ship, positioned closely to the newly arrived USS Syracuse.

            Repairs on Agamemnon were due to be completed within two hours. After that both ships would continue where Eagle and Amaya’s ship had left off, locating and engaging hostiles, or a more likely scenario, being attacked by them. The idea had been to discourage the Dominion from using the Romulan border as a staging platform against Federation targets. The tactic was flawed, however. Two ships were not nearly enough to scare the Jem’Hadar but it was all that Starfleet could currently afford. So far encounters with the enemy had been tipped slightly in their favor and Owens could only hope that the trend would continue once Eagle had left.

            “Mister Culsten, set heading one-seven-one mark two-eight-four,” he said, trying hard to focus on the mission at hand instead.

            “New course set.”

            “Best speed, Lieutenant.”

            “Aye sir, engaging at warp four point seven,” he said and activated the necessary controls.

            Moments later the ship jumped to faster-than-light speeds.

            Owens stood. “I think there’s a concert waiting for us.”

            Culsten left his station and was quickly replaced by Ensign Srena, Eagle’s new Andorian beta shift flight operator. The short, white-haired, and blue-skinned young woman took the station wordlessly.

            “I cannot wait,” the Krellonian said as he joined the captain on his way to the turbo-lift.

            “We’ll be seeing a whole new side of our first officer. Who would’ve thought we had a musical prodigy in our midst?” he said with a smirk. “Mister Trinik, you have the bridge.”

            The lanky Vulcan junior lieutenant at tactical nodded. “I have the bridge, aye sir,” he said duly and stepped down to the command area.

            “Can I ask you a question, sir?” Culsten said as he and they stepped into the turbo-lift.

            “What’s on your mind?”

            “Do you really think the Agamemnon is a better-looking ship?”

            Owens chuckled and gave the young helmsman a jovial clap on his back just before the lift doors closed and the car sped away.

*        *        *

The illumination levels in the Nest had been dimmed significantly, the main source of light now being provided by the stars streaking past the large panorama windows at the very front.

            Several unidentifiable shapes stood or sat near the panes, waiting patiently for their cue. Many of the chairs and tables had been removed to create the makeshift stage on which they were positioned.

            At the opposite end of the room, near the bar counter, a large audience sat in semi-darkness, quietly talking amongst themselves. All senior officers had joined the event and a large number of the crew as well. The demand to see the concert had been much greater than the available space in the Nest would have allowed therefore, the internal sensors had been reconfigured to transmit both video and audio signals to computer screens throughout the ship.

            A single figure stepped into the middle of the room and the voices quickly died down when a spotlight revealed Bensu to the audience.

            The alien bartender dramatically cleared his throat and smiled widely. “And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” he said and then paused dramatically. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Gene Edison and the Star Eagles!”

            A loud cheer came from the audience as the stage was finally revealed. Edison sat on the very right in front of a black Steinway & Sons grand piano. He shared the stage with the Efrosian nurse Leela Adams and assistant counselor Alex Clancy who both had violins braced against their necks. Next to the violinists stood security officer T’Nerr. The tall, fur-covered Catian held an instrument similar in style to a saxophone except that his featured three bells instead of just one. The last member of the band was Sergeant Shin-Ja Moon and the Marine’s instrument of choice was a drum kit. All the musicians wore white and black dress uniforms except for Moon whose outfit slightly differed from that of his Starfleet colleagues.

            The room became dead silent as a spotlight focused on Edison at the piano. He looked calm and focused as he stretched his fingers and then without any hesitation jumped right into playing the last movement of the Piano Sonata Number Eleven by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, better known as the Turkish March.

            He didn’t get far. He hit a wrong note just a few moments into the movement and stopped, a look of embarrassment crossing his face.

            The audience began to mumble at the unexpected false start and the other musicians looked toward their leader.

            “That’s not right,” he said and then started again.

            He missed the right note again, getting stuck at exactly the same spot as before.

            The crowd became slightly more anxious this time.

            The pianist shook his head and turned to the audience. A smile replaced his nervous frown. “Don’t worry we’re going to get through this,” he said and adjusted the sheet music in front of him. “If it takes us all night.”

            Some of the audience members laughed but quickly went silent again when Edison began anew.

The third time proved to be the charm. A collective sigh of relief escaped from the audience when he found the right note and this time continued without interruption.

His rendition of the fast and upbeat classical tune turned out to be otherwise flawless and near the end of the composition, the rest of the band unexpectedly joined in and the piece transformed into a jazzy, up-tempo performance.

            If the five musicians had had only very little time to rehearse, nobody seemed to notice as they continued to play a variety of musical pieces, one of the highlights being a solo by T’Nerr and his unusually shaped instrument, which produced melodies that seemed irreproducible by human-designed devices. Some shrill, some extraordinarily low but all uniquely harmonic.

            Nora Laas paid close attention to all of the concert.

She had been surprised to find D’Karr sitting next to her. She had not thought the Klingon would have had any interest in this kind of music. But a short conversation before the recital had begun had revealed that he was an avid enthusiast of Klingon opera and therefore very curious about music popular in the Federation.

The few times she had spied his way she had been unable to tell if he enjoyed or disliked the performance. She knew that she found it all delightful. And she delighted in watching Edison play. She had never seen him like this. It seemed as if he was putting all his soul into his music, playing the piano almost as if he were possessed. It was obvious that he felt very passionately about music. Or at least had once.

            The concert was nearing its end and Edison had elected to finish things with Ludwig van Beethoven’s Für Elise.

Nora had never heard that particular piece of music before but she immediately fell in love with it. She also noticed that he was looking straight at the audience while tickling the ivories of his grand piano.

No, not the audience.

He was looking at her. Feeling a sudden rush of embarrassment, she turned away, hoping that he would focus on somebody else instead. But when she turned back – and she couldn’t help herself but to do so – he was still looking in her direction. She quickly checked those around her but nobody seemed to notice that he had decided to isolate her.

            Edison finished the piece, took a breath, and stood away from the piano.

            The crowd erupted with applause. Captain Owens was the first to stand and soon everybody followed.

            Edison and the other musicians bowed numerous times but the applause did not die down. Instead, several audience members demanded an encore. The first officer seemed quite flattered by the gesture but he was clearly exhausted. He quickly consulted with the others before he turned to address the crowd. It took a few moments before they let him speak.

            “We are deeply thankful for your enthusiasm,” he said, wiping his brow and taking a breath before continuing. “While we are delighted that you enjoyed our performance and elated by your wish for more, some of us really do need a break.”

            The audience showed their disappointment vocally.

            “But our gifted violinists have agreed to continue to entertain us through the evening.”

            With that Adams and Clancy began to play anew choosing a light-hearted piece.

            The audience was mostly appeased by the gesture.

            The lights came back on slowly and most of the audience members began to leave their chairs to mix with the rest of the crowd or moved toward the bar in search of refreshments.

            Michael Owens relocated to a table near the stage, watching the musicians play and sipping at his drink in the company of DeMara Deen, Xylion, and Louise Hopkins.

            “This event was certainly a stroke of genius,” he announced and his officers quickly agreed. He stood when he spotted his first officer approaching the table. “And here comes our very own superstar.”

            He shook his head slightly. “You are prone to exaggeration, sir.”

            “Gene, I’m the captain. On this ship what I say is the law. And if I say you were brilliant then you are in no position to argue with me,” he said and shook his hand.

            “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a smile.

            The others quickly joined in congratulating the first officer. “How come you’ve never told us you were this good?” Deen said.

            “Music was my first love, but that was a long time ago. I was not sure I still felt about it the same way I once did.”

            “You certainly played it with true emotion,” she said.

            “I agree that the aesthetic qualities of your musical performance were quite fascinating. Your rendition of the Vulcan Moon Serenade was noteworthy. It is a challenging composition to master for a non-Vulcan performer,” Xylion said.

            “Why thank you, Xylion,” he said with a smile. “I think.”

            “Join us for a drink?” Hopkins asked. “You certainly deserve one.”

            Owens nodded and pointed at an empty chair.

            But Edison shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather return to my quarters. It’s been a long time since I’ve played this hard for this long. I think it took everything out of me.”

            “Of course,” said Owens. “But I don’t think you’re going to be able to just slip out of here unnoticed,” he added, gesturing toward the throng of people waiting to congratulate him.

            Edison uttered a small sigh. “The price of fame,” he said, giving a quick nod to the captain and the others before throwing himself into the crowd blocking his way to the exit.

            “It must be difficult to be a celebrity,” Hopkins said and sat down again, rubbing her temples.

            Deen nodded absently. She was no stranger to garnering a great deal of attention herself.

            “Lieutenant, are you not feeling well?” said Xylion once he had also sat down. “I have noticed that you have given much attention to your head this evening.”

            Hopkins offered him a wide grin, seemingly pleased with having his attention.

            Xylion gave her an asking expression when she failed to bring forth any words.

            “It’s nothing, just a headache I haven’t been able to shake all day,” she said to break the silence that was threatening to turn awkward and then stood. “But I think I better turn in early tonight. Please excuse me,” she said a little too hurriedly. She was out of the door before anyone could offer her a good night.

            “Maybe the concert didn’t quite agree with her,” Owens said.

            But Deen shook her head. “I don’t think it was the music.”

            Xylion’s expression remained neutral, not showing the slightest hint that he was aware of her insinuation.

Moments after Hopkins’ sudden departure Bensu approached the table. “I hope everybody here enjoyed the show.”

“Very much so,” Ownes said.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

 Owens considered the bartender for a moment. He was certain he had as many questions about Bensu as most others on board. And it was not because he was suspicious of the man. After all, he was well aware that Starfleet had cleared him to be on Eagle as it had any other civilian on board and he knew that Command was usually reluctant to allow non-Starfleet servicemembers on starships during times of war. In fact, this strange exception only added to the mystery surrounding the barkeeper.

“Why don’t you join us,” he said.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said and took the chair Hopkins had vacated.

“I understand you have known Mister Xylion for quite some time,” Owens said.

Bensu nodded. “Yes, we’ve been close for...”

“Many decades,” Xylion said,  completing the sentence.

Owens was surprised by the Vulcan’s uncharacteristically imprecise response. “That would make you quite seasoned, Mister Bensu.”

“Please, plain Bensu will do,” he said. “And yes, I have been around for a while, you could say that,” he added with a wide smile.

“I suppose it would be rude of me to try and pry a number out of you.”

“I know humans do not like to be reminded of their age. I do share that sentiment,” Bensu said with no sign of irritation in his voice. His upbeat demeanor not perturbed in the slightest.

Owens decided to give up on his line of questioning. He had only recently started to become concerned with his own age. He had felt older than he had in a long time and that realization had come very sudden to him. Something in Bensu’s eyes told him that the bartender knew exactly how he was feeling.

“Somebody once said that we are only as old as we feel. I like to think that is true,” said Bensu and looked at Xylion. “Of course, my Vulcan friend here would disagree. He counts his years as precisely as a warp field theorist counts cochrane levels.”

“Age is a reality of life. It is not logical to delude oneself about reality.”

Bensu laughed and Owens couldn’t help but join in. Deen barely smiled.

“See what I mean? Oh…,” he stopped when he noticed a line forming by the bar. “I better return to my duties before you have a mutiny on your hands,” he said and stood.

            owens nodded. “A pleasure talking to you.”

            “I assure you, the pleasure was all mine, Captain,” he said and looked at Deen. “Speaking my mind is my preferred cure to most perturbations.”

            She glanced at him with a surprised look on her face.

            But Bensu had already moved on to Xylion instead. “Come on, I’ll let you jump the line, old boy,” he said pointing at his empty class.

            Xylion nodded and followed him to the bar.

            “What do you think he meant by that?” Owens said.

            She slowly shook her head. “I have no idea.”

            “You know for some reason I don’t think I believe you. You’ve been acting rather strange over the last few days. I feel as if half my crew is going crazy.”

             “Just half?” she said with a minuscule smile gracing her lips. But her attempted humor failed to convince on this occasion.

            Owens took another sip from his drink, sensing that her recent worries were of a more personal nature. And it was also quite clear that she did not wish to talk to him about them. It was an unusual choice for her, he realized, but he respected it nevertheless. They both remained in silence as they continued to enjoy the rendition of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, deftly played by the pair of violinists on stage.

*        *        *

“Captain, we’re approaching the Tarsas system,” said the helmsman. “Starbase 74 is located in orbit around the third planet.”

            “Take us out of warp, Lieutenant. Set an approach vector for the starbase.”

            “Aye, sir”

            Eagle slowed down until she dropped to sub-light speed. She slightly turned so that her bow was pointed at the massive facility in orbit around the blue planet. The starbase was shaped very much like a mushroom with a wide, umbrella-like upper part and a long shaft protruding downward. Thousands of brightly illuminated windows lit up the structure like a Christmas tree.  Eagle headed for the upper part of the base.

            Owens got up from his chair and turned to the young Vulcan officer who was currently manning the tactical station behind him. “Lieutenant Trinik, hail the starbase and request permission to dock.”

            He nodded curtly and pressed a couple of control panels on his console. After a few seconds a sound chimed from his station. The lieutenant looked up. “Permission granted, sir.”

            Owens turned to face the helm. “Take us in, Mister Culsten. Cut impulse engines, maneuvering thrusters half power, you know the drill.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            The space doors were fully opened when Eagle passed through them. The starship entered a spacious docking area that would have easily allowed harboring dozens of starships Eagle’s size. Currently, there were only four other ships docked there, a telltale sign of the ship shortage that had plagued the fleet since the war had begun. And the ships anchored here didn’t look anywhere near battle-ready. The two older Excelsior-class vessels seemed to be undergoing a major refit and one of Eagle’s sister ships, a Nebula-class cruiser, was quite noticeably missing both its warp nacelles.

            The only exception and the real looker of the bunch was the fourth vessel perched in its berth. Cleary much newer and more advanced than any of the other ships, it was also slightly smaller than Eagle, making it look bulky in comparison. It looked as if it had been designed for speed with a narrow and elongated saucer section and an aerodynamically shaped hull. The design was all style and the ship possessed a presence that demanded to be noticed.

            Culsten uttered a low whistle. “Now that’s a beauty,” he said, his eyes glued on the screen.

            “The USS Sovereign,” Trinik said as the bridge crew gobbled up the view. “The first ship of her class. Six hundred-eighty-five meters long, two hundred-forty meters wide, twenty-four decks, maximum cruising speed; warp nine point nine seven five.”

            Owens carefully inspected the Sovereign as Eagle slid past her. She was a beauty all right. But he had long given up on comparing starships. Eagle was his ship and as far as he was concerned, it would be the best ship in the fleet until the day it went out of commission.

            “Impressive,” Culsten said. “But if she’s so great, how come she’s hiding in here instead of fighting in the big battles?”

            Owens smiled. He didn’t have an answer but he appreciated the lieutenant’s loyalty.

            Eagle slipped into its assigned berth and came to a complete standstill. Umbilical connectors and a gangway were attached to the outer hull to connect it to the starbase.

            “Docking procedure completed,” Deen reported from ops. “Warp core is idle and we’re on ground power.”

            “Repair crews stand ready to board,” added the Vulcan tactical officer.

            Owens nodded. “Good job, everybody. Have the starbase teams coordinate with Lieutenant Hopkins,” he said and then tapped his badge to open a comlink. The ship’s computer was perfectly capable of opening a channel by identifying his voice commands but some habits were hard to break. “Owens to Commander Xylion.”

            It took the Vulcan less than a second to reply over the intercom. “This is Lieutenant Commander Xylion speaking.”

            “Commander, we just docked at the starbase. Could you please tend to the cargo we are supposed to bring on board? Make sure it all gets squared away as soon as possible?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Let me know when everything is on board. Owens out,” he said and headed for the adjacent ready room. “Dee, bridge is yours,” he said just before he reached the doors and disappeared.

            Deen got up from her station and took the command chair.

            Culsten turned around to look at her. “How does it feel to be in charge in a space dock?” he said with a grin.

            “Better than sitting at the helm and wisecracking all day,” she said with the tiniest smile on her face.

            He clearly wasn’t sure if she was joking or not and decided against a rebuttal, refocusing his attention on securing his station instead.

*        *        *

Louise Hopkins found sickbay busier than she had anticipated. Their most recent battle was three days old and yet most of the beds were still filled with recovering patients. She felt uneasy. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

            “Do you need assistance, sir?”

            The question was posed by Nurse Leela Adams who had approached the chief engineer without her even noticing.

            “You were in the concert yesterday, weren’t you?”

            Adams smiled. “Proud member of the Star Eagles.”

            “You were very good, really.”

            “Thank you. Do you require medical assistance?”

            Hopkins seemed surprised by the question and looked at the nurse as if she had just asked an absurd question. “Me? No, not really.”

            Adams nodded and moved on. She was clearly too busy with the other patients to have time for idle chitchat.

            Hopkins observed the young half-Efrosian nurse for a moment before she turned back toward the exit. She hadn’t made one step when the doors slid open and Wenera walked in, nearly running right into the chief engineer.

            “I’m sorry,” Wenera apologized quickly.

            “My mistake, I didn’t pay attention.”

            Wenera smiled. “Listen, while you’re here, perhaps you could help me with something.”

            “Sure,” Hopkins said and followed Wenera into her office, adjacent to the main ward.

            “I’m afraid I’m just completely useless when it comes to machines,” she said as she stepped to a large medical device situated near her desk. “This darn thing simply stopped accepting any tissue samples.”

            “I’ll have a look for you,” Hopkins said and began operating the control console on the device.

            Wenera watched her with curiosity.

            “By the way,” Hopkins said. “Congratulations on the concert yesterday. I think it was a resounding success.”

            Wenera nodded. “I think you’re right. Who would have known we had such talented musicians on board?”

            “It didn’t take you long to find them all. Ah,” she said and opened a side panel. “Here’s the problem.”

            Wenera moved closer to look over her shoulder.

            “The primary EPS converter seems eroded.”

            Wenera returned the chief engineer's look with an empty gaze.

            “It’s like a blocked artery.”

            The doctor smiled. “My tissue sampler has high blood pressure?”

            “I guess you could say that. I’ll get somebody up here with the right tools to fix this.”

            “Thanks, Louise. I guess we work in similar fields, don’t we?”

            “You mean we both fix things?”

            The doctor laughed. “Yeah.” She stopped when she noticed Hopkins rubbing her temple. “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing serious Just a little headache.”

            “Sit down and let me have a look,” she said, pointed at her chair, and picked up a medical tricorder.

            She complied only hesitantly. “I really don’t think this is worth your time.”

            “Oh really?” she said as she began to pass the tricorder by her forehead. “I bet this has been bothering you for a while. And no wonder,” she said and gave her a stern look. “You have a mild concussion.”

            “Oh.”

            “How did this happen?”

            “I hit my head.”

            Wenera nodded. “You must have been in quite some pain,” she said and began loading a hypo. “Why didn’t you come by sooner?”

            “You’ve all been quite busy with a lot of patients lately. And I’m sure they were in a much worse condition. I didn’t want to –“

            “You know what happens if you don’t take your own health seriously?” Wenera interrupted and then continued without waiting for a reply. “You become sloppy and make mistakes. You might pass out while working on a delicate ship system and suddenly you’re not only endangering yourself but the people you work with as well. Maybe the entire crew.”

            Hopkins nodded slowly, like a school kid getting lectured. “I know that but –“

            “No buts,” Wenera said and administered the hypo. “The next time you feel unwell you come here right away. We might be too busy to take care of you but we will take note and perhaps give you something for temporary relief. It makes no sense for you to try and be a hero by thinking you can deal with your pain by yourself.”

            “That does feel a lot better,” Hopkins said with a smile and slightly stretched her neck.

            “Of course, it does,” Wenera placed the tricorder back onto the table and sat down behind her desk. “But you better take it easy for the next few days and if you feel any more pain –“

            “I’ll come see you. Yes, I know.”

            Wenera nodded. “Listen, I’m sorry if I came across a bit preachy –“

            “A bit,” she said with a sly smirk.

            “A lot of people on this ship think that they are somehow immune to being sick. I think it’s a prevailing attitude among starship crews. Sometimes I wonder why I’m even here,” she said as her thoughts seemed to drift off.

            “I know how you feel.”

            “You?” Wenera said with surprise. “You’re the chief engineer. You keep the ship running. Without you, it would surely fall apart.”

            Hopkins sighed. “Don’t get me wrong I love my job. It’s just that I never signed up for all this. The war, the deaths, the destruction …”

            The doctor nodded slowly. “Nobody signed up for that, Louise.”

            “I know. But sometimes it seems that everybody seems to be dealing with it a whole lot better than I do. I haven’t told this to anybody but sometimes I feel scared just getting up in the morning, worrying whose funeral I’ll have to attend to in the evening.”

            “We all feel like that. Every single one of us. It’s just a matter of hiding it in a way that won’t distract us from doing our work. You do it too, Louise. How else would you find the strength to keep this ship in one piece?”

            She considered the doctor’s words for a moment. “How do you hide it? Your fears, I mean.”

            Wenera leaned back in her chair, a small sigh escaping her lips. “If there is one thing we haven’t had a shortage of since this war has started, it’s injured crewmembers. When the fighting starts and those doors begin to open,” she said, pointing at the main entrance to sickbay, “they don’t stay closed for long. I cannot afford to think about my fears. I stay focused on how to treat my patients. And I remain thankful that that’s all I have to do.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Think about it. We’re the lucky ones. We simply do our jobs, fix things, as you put it. We’re not up there making the decision that will affect hundreds of lives. Deciding who might live and who might not.”

            Hopkins found herself agreeing with the doctor. “I’ve never looked at it that way.”

            They both sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating their respective places in life.

            Then she stood again. “Well, I better get back to engineering before the starbase crew makes a mess of everything.”

            Wenera smiled at her. “You’ll remember my sick tissue sampler if you find the time?”

            “I’ll have a tech doc up here before the end of the day,” she said with a smile of her own. When she reached the door to the office she turned back around. “Thanks for the talk.”

            “Any time, Louise,” the raven-haired doctor said as she looked up from her desk.

            She offered the other woman a curt nod and made a quick beeline for the exit.

*        *        *

‘He that shall live this day, and see old age, will yearly on the vigil feast with his neighbors, and say 'tomorrow is Saint Crispian. Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, and say ‘These wounds I had on Crispian's day.' Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, but he'll remember, with advantages, what feats he did that day. Then shall our names, familiar in his mouth as household words – Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester – be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. This story shall the good man teach his son; and Crispian shall never go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered – We few, we happy few, we band of brothers –‘

The intercom signaled an incoming call. “Lieutenant Hopkins to Captain Owens.”

Owens sighed as he placed the thick leather-bound volume he held in his hands down onto his chest. Only a few minutes earlier he had finally finished with the seemingly insurmountable heap of paperwork and as a reward he had made himself comfortable on his couch in his ready room, laying on his back with his feet up, and returned to a classic favorite of his. A story over seven hundred years old and yet still strangely relevant. It was a story of war, of sacrifice, and of bravery. It was a story that gave him a small amount of comfort in these dark times.

            “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

            “Sir, I just thought I’d inform you that the repairs are nearly completed. The starbase maintenance crew just finished replacing our main deflector dish and installed a brand-new warp coil in the port nacelle.”

            “Very good.”

            “Warp drive is now fully functional and weapons will be completed within three hours,” the chief engineer continued, unaware of the captain’s lackadaisical attitude.

            “Carry on, Lieutenant,” he said and picked up his book again.

            “Uh, sir?”

            Owens froze and looked up at the ceiling as if Hopkins could somehow spot the growing frown on his face.

            “This puts our repairs two hours ahead of schedule. With your permission, I’d like to run a level two diagnostic of our –“

            “How long?”

            “Two hours. Two and a half at the most.”

            “Very good, proceed. Owens out.”

            With the comms link terminated, he returned to his book. Hopkins was young but she was a more than competent engineer. He knew that she didn’t need to be held by the hand to do what she thought was right for the ship. He had no concerns when he continued reading where he had left off.

‘This story shall the good man teach his son; and Crispian shall never go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered – We few, we happy few, we band of brothers – for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he never so vile, this day shall gentle his condition; and gentlemen in-’

            “Edison to the Captain.”

            Owens was beginning to wonder if his crew was actively conspiring to keep him from enjoying his scarce free time. He put the book down again. “Commander.”

            “Sir, Hopkins just informed me that our repairs are two hours –“

            “Ahead of schedule,” Owens said. “Yes, I’m aware, Gene. She already told me and I gave her the go-ahead for her diagnostic of…” he stopped himself, suddenly painfully aware that he had no idea what the chief engineer had wanted to diagnose.

            “I apologize, sir, I did not realize that she had spoken to you already. In that case, I would like to meet with you to discuss the crew evaluations. We have some spare time while we are parked in the starbase which would give us an excellent opportunity to get those out of the way.”

            While Hopkins was competent, Edison certainly was efficient. Too efficient at the moment. He was right, of course. For the first time in a few weeks, the crew had some downtime on their hands and this was exactly why he had decided to catch up on some reading. He had no desire to spoil that opportunity.

            He reached for a padd that lay on the floor next to the couch and glanced at it. “Commander, didn’t we decide to have the ship run on a skeleton crew for the duration of this mission to increase free time and morale? Why don’t you take a day off yourself? I’m sure you could use it after your energetic performance yesterday.”

            “Sir, I think the ship would be better served if I caught up on some work.”

            “The ship would be best served for you to be relaxed and at the top of your game once we return to the fight.”

            “If that’s how you feel.”

            “I do,” he said, harshly. “Take a day off, Gene,” he added in a softer tone. “Relax, go use the holodeck, visit Tarsas, just try not to think of work.”

            Owens could practically see his first officer’s smirk as he spoke again. “Relaxation? I hear you loud and clear, sir. Edison out.”

He dropped the padd and returned to the book.

‘For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he never so vile, this day shall gentle his condition; and gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not—’

This time it was the door chime that forced him to stop.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Come,” he nearly shouted.

The doors to the ready room parted and Eagle’s Vulcan science officer entered. He seemed surprised for less than a second when he did not find Owens sitting in his chair where he had expected him.

Owens realized that he was not going to get a chance to finish his book. He removed a large red bookmark, placed it into the open tome, and then closed it. “Commander Xylion,” he said as he stood and walked over to his desk, placed the book on his table, and sat in his chair. He was about to invite the science officer to take a seat but he knew that the Vulcan would prefer to stand.

Xylion noticed the leather-bound book. “William Shakespeare,” he said with curiosity and raised one of his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Owens said, pleased at his interest in his favorite dramatist. “Henry the Fifth. Are you familiar with it?”

Xylion nodded slightly. “I have studied all of William Shakespeare’s works but I could not fully determine the reason for his popularity on Earth.”

He was surprised by his answer. “You don’t like Shakespeare, Mister Xylion?”

“I do not have any feelings toward the author either way. However, I have found many of his works exceedingly verbose, historically inaccurate, exaggerated and either glorifying militaristic aspects of your culture or nationalistic in tone.”

“Well, I guess you have to account for the time and cultural context these works were written. Besides Shakespeare is not about historic accuracy,” Owens said, trying not to sound too defensive.

“In that case what would you consider the purpose of his writings?”

“It’s about …” Owens couldn’t think of a fitting reply. “Entertainment. And many of his works are about basic human nature. Some of which remain relevant to this day. And it’s about art and poetry. The emotions his words invoke,” he said, quickly realizing that he had likely already lost the Vulcan.

Xylion didn’t reply, instead, he gave his commanding officer an empty look as if he expected him to say something more meaningful.

Owens gave up with a sigh. “Commander, am right in assuming you didn’t come here to discuss Earth literature?”

“You are correct,” he said and handed him a padd. “I have reviewed the cargo manifest and I believe you will find it very deficient.”

Owens took the padd and glanced over it. Xylion had not exaggerated. In fact, the list didn’t seem to be forthcoming at all about what Eagle was to take on board. The long list consisted mainly of numbers with no descriptions or indications as to what the cargo consisted of. Owens knew enough about freight transportation that this manifest did not correspond with any regulations. “This is unusual. Did you contact the starbase personnel?”

“The responsible officer insisted that the starbase received the cargo in the exact same manner.”

He nodded and looked up from the padd. “Well, I don’t see what we can do about it then. I’m sure Starfleet is not having us transport a ticking time bomb without telling us,” he said and forced a small smile on his lips.

“You might find the last entries on the list particularly interesting,” Xylion said, either ignoring or missing the captain’s attempted humor.

He scrolled down to the bottom of the list. “Four type-nine shuttle craft with special configuration, ten type-twelve phaser batteries, and three hundred mission specialists?”

“I assume that particular part of the cargo was too obvious as not to be referred to in the manifest,” Xylion said.

“No kidding. The shuttles and the batteries I can understand but three hundred people? Throl could’ve warned me about that. Last time I checked we weren’t a troop transport.”

“Do you wish me to postpone the embarkation proceedings?”

He shook his head. “No. The admiral made it quite clear that we’re working on a tight schedule. Just try to make enough room on the crew decks to accommodate our guests,” he said and handed the padd back to Xylion.

“Understood,” he said. “I have been informed of an additional person to come aboard not mentioned in the manifest.”

 “Who is it?”

“A Federation special agent to supervise this mission. Her name is Jana Tren. She is scheduled to board Eagle at twenty-two hundred hours.”

Jana Tren.

Owens was like petrified upon hearing the name. He knew it well and yet it had been a long time since he had heard it. His mind was immediately flooded by long-forgotten memories.

 “Sir?”

“Yes,” he said and slowly looked up to meet the Vulcan’s gaze. “Are you absolutely certain her name is Jana Tren? No mistake?” He didn’t even consider how little sense his question made considering that Xylion was notorious for not making such obvious mistakes.

“There is no mistake,” he said showing no signs of being insulted. “Is there a problem, sir?”

 “No, no problem. You can go now.”

If Xylion was still irritated by the captain’s behavior he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply gave him a curt nod and left the ready room.

Owens had lied to Xylion. There was a problem. There was a big problem and it was called Jana Tren.

Tren had been his first serious relationship. He had met the strong-willed Betazoid during his freshman year at the Academy and he had fallen in love with her dark, powerful eyes the first time he had seen them.

It had taken him four months to muster up the confidence to even speak to her. Back then he had been a shy and introverted young man and an average cadet at best.

He still partially credited her for his eventual transformation into a self-confident individual, no longer scared of taking calculated risks. It was she who had helped to make him the man he was today. They had started out as friends but it had quickly become a whole of a lot more. They had loved each other passionately. He could hardly think back to his time as a cadet without her at his side.

But their relationship had fallen apart by the end of their time at the Academy. It had ended like many of those relationships had. He graduated before her and was assigned to a ship exploring the opposite side of the galaxy. They lost touch soon after and sometimes he deeply regretted that fact. Did he still have feelings for her? Honestly, he wasn’t sure.

It had been eighteen years since he had last seen her and he had no idea what she had been up to. He had no idea how she felt about him now and, for that matter, what it would feel like to see her again after all this time.

He didn’t even know what he was supposed to feel like.

All he knew was that he suddenly dreaded this unexpected reunion. Jana could have easily changed the course of his life back then. And perhaps he feared that she could do so again. Perhaps he feared that he would like her to.

The galaxy had a funny way of playing with their fates, he wondered as he tried to prepare himself to come face-to-face with the first woman he had ever truly loved.