Chapter Text
Starbase 443, Altair III
The interior volume of this orbital facility was still under construction, with large gaps visible in the station’s superstructure through which stars and the planet below could be glimpsed.
Nandi Trujillo paused in the viewing bay just outside the gantry walkway to look back at Reykjavík’s graceful lines. Lost in thought, her eyes traced the contours of her command, its hull pocked and blackened in places with the evidence of recent battle.
Sharing the berth with Reykjavík was the Zelenskyy, both ships now festooned with portable drydock scaffolding and surrounded by repair craft and maintenance drones.
Trujillo was due for a meeting with Admiral Saavik in just under an hour, a precursor to the board-of-inquiry she had just been notified would be convened to investigate Operation Venatic and the events in the Qo’noS system.
“Commodore?” The question came from behind her and jolted her from her reverie. She turned to see Lt. Commander Eldred Withropp, commanding officer of Zelenskyy.
Trujillo offered him a half-smile. “It’s just captain now, Mister Withropp. Task Force Scythe has been dispersed.”
“Of course, sir, my apologies.” Withropp’s shoulder had healed weeks earlier and his uniform was free from the burns, tears and blood stains of their first meeting. His hair was cut shorter, and the early grey that had begun creeping up his temples was now more pronounced.
“I’ve been alerted to the board-of-inquiry, sir. I just hope you won’t be held to account for any mistakes on my part.”
“Thank you for saying so, Commander, but your actions were appropriate and my reports to Command stated that plainly. This is about my decisions and actions around Qo’noS.”
“In that case, sir, I’ll do whatever I can to support those decisions through my testimony.”
Trujillo shook her head. “No need to go out on limb to back me, though I appreciate the sentiment. Just tell the truth. I wouldn’t want you to damage your credibility with Command by blindly defending me, regardless of the circumstances.”
Withropp extended his hands, palms up, seemingly on the cusp of pleading. “You saved my ship and my crew. I owe you that, if nothing else.”
“You and your crew saved your ship, Mister Withropp.”
She reached out a hand and grasped the younger man above the elbow. “You’re a good captain, Eldred. You proved it that day against the Klingons, and every day since as part of Scythe. You’ve gained invaluable experience in the past few weeks, knowledge that will help inform your decisions and actions from here forward. Pass on what you’ve learned, as I did with you, and help mentor the next generation of leaders. They’ll need it now more than ever.”
Withropp relaxed fractionally. “Thank you, Captain. I will.”
“Have you located a candidate for your XO’s billet?” she asked.
Thrown off by the sudden change of topic, Withropp took a moment to answer. “Uh… no, no I haven’t. In fact, my next stop is the starbase’s Bureau of Personnel office. 443’s a major transfer hub for personnel moving out to assignments on the rim. If I’m lucky I might be able to poach a few people before their transfer orders are confirmed.”
“Well, if you’re not immediately able to find someone for XO, I might have someone who fits the bill.”
“Sir?”
Trujillo glanced at the chronometer display on the wall behind Withropp. “We’ll speak more, later. Can’t keep the admiral waiting.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for your time, Captain.”
“It was my privilege, Commander.”
* * *
Trujillo came to attention in front of Saavik’s desk as the admiral’s adjutant departed the office, prompting a raised eyebrow from the flag officer who had stood to welcome her.
Saavik extended a hand in a very un-Vulcan like gesture, saying, “Please, Captain, take a seat.”
Trujillo shook her hand, finding Saavik’s grip firm and dry. The older woman was not yet middle aged for one of her mixed heritage and exuded an aura of vigor. Trujillo sat delicately into the proffered chair, still displaying a stiff formality.
“I’ve just completed my review of your after-action reports, Captain,” Saavik noted.
Trujillo offered nothing in response.
Saavik sat back in her chair, scrutinizing her subordinate. “Why does this feel as if you’re prepared for a dressing-down?”
“One-hundred forty-eight personnel died on a mission under my command, sir. Due in part to my actions, we and the Klingon Empire came close to the brink of war. I’m fully aware that a board-of-inquiry is being convened to pursue a fact-finding in regards to Operation Venatic.”
“All true,” Saavik affirmed. “However, you were sent on that mission by Admiral Markopoulos with my approval, after having uncovered Klingon duplicity in the attacks on non-aligned colonies in the run up to the Empire’s full-fledged offensive.”
Trujillo inclined her head, tacitly confirming Saavik’s interpretation.
Saavik stood and made her way across the room, opening a cabinet. Glasses tinkled and the admiral turned around with two drink glasses and a bottle of blue liquid. “Rumor has it you’ve a taste for distilled spirits. I only rarely indulge.”
Trujillo looked from the bottle to Saavik, her expression dubious. “That’s not…?”
“Strictly legal?” Saavik finished for her, placing a glass in front of Trujillo. “I’m half Romulan, and I received this as a gift from the Romulan attaché to the Barzan delegation. I am… exploring my heritage.” She poured a measure for the captain, handing the glass over with the barest hint of a smirk gracing her lips. “Rank hath its privileges.”
Trujillo raised her glass, mirroring Saavik’s own gesture, before taking her first tentative sip. Her eyes widened and she held the glass up, staring appreciatively at it. “This is far superior to the swill the Orions peddle as Romulan Ale.”
“That bootleg grog they foist off on naïve ensigns on their first tours?”
“The very same, sir,” Trujillo chuckled.
Saavik motioned for Trujillo to join her in the office’s spacious seating area, a low coffee table separating a couch and two comfortable chairs. Trujillo settled into one of the chairs with Saavik seated across from her.
“The first thing the board of inquiry is going to want to know is what happened with the Klingons inside the PDD?”
Trujillo took a moment to collect her thoughts before answering. “I had a Klingon commander blockade my ship and tell me that he planned to destroy it. A commander who held a four-to-one ship advantage over me in a situation that precluded my calling for reinforcements. I struck first, halving the threat force, and then gave him the option to back off. He chose instead to pursue his attack. His ship was destroyed, the other three were crippled and presumably later recovered by the Imperial navy.”
Saavik sipped at her ale, mulling that over. “Your recorded exchange with Commander Verad might be considered problematic.”
Trujillo cocked her head, replying, “I disagree, sir. He’d just executed a Starfleet officer in cold blood and was threatening to do the same to myself and my crew. Under the circumstances, I felt I was being very diplomatic.”
“You don’t like the Klingons,” Saavik observed.
Trujillo was surprised at that, her dismay evident. “Not at all, Admiral. Actually, I consider myself something of a Kronophile. I’ve studied their culture and history since I was a child. I understand them in ways others might not. I realize the Vulcan Hello has been verboten since our last war with them, but I felt it was applicable under the circumstances.”
Saavik held up a hand in a gesture of forbearance while suppressing a wince at the historical reference. “I’m not suggesting Verad didn’t force your hand, but a Starfleet officer voicing a desire for vengeance doesn’t play well with the public or the brass, Captain.”
A sober nod presaged Trujillo’s reply. “I’m unconcerned with how it ‘plays’, sir. Verad and I achieved crystal clear communication in that moment. I let him know that I was spoiling for a fight, but I wouldn’t engage unless he pushed me to it. Verad’s final lesson was that choices have consequences.”
Saavik seemed to ponder this. “Are you concerned about the board-of-inquiry?”
“That depends, sir,” Trujillo hedged.
“On what?”
“On whether Admiral Markopoulos will be on it,” Trujillo said bluntly.
“Vice-Admiral Markopoulos has been transferred to Logistics Command and is not available to participate in the board-of-inquiry,” Saavik relayed coolly. “He’s been posted to Starbase 14, effective immediately.”
Trujillo paused mid-sip, coughing politely into her fist. “You don’t say? LOGCOM? That seems a step down for someone of his ambitions.”
Saavik said nothing for a long moment, weighing the costs and benefits of candor. “It’s a lateral move, and he really does have good instincts for that kind of work. Despite his failings, Starfleet’s ultimately stronger with him than without him. Eventually it will result in a promotion to full admiral, but he’s finished in Operations Command. He cut too many corners with this scheme and allowed us to be drawn further into Klingon politics than was advisable. That’s a dangerous enough gambit when the Empire is at relative peace. In wartime it’s practically Russian roulette.” Saavik gestured offhandedly to Trujillo. “It was obvious that you were to be his sacrificial lamb if everything went wrong.”
Trujillo pursed her lips. “I’m relieved I’m not the only one to see that.”
“You did well, Nandi. In all frankness, there were others besides Markopoulos who thought you’d make a useful scapegoat after what happened last year with the Cardassians. I am relieved you proved them wrong.”
Trujillo spent a moment savoring the peculiar burn of the ale on her tongue. “I’m always happy to be a pawn in someone else’s game of political brinksmanship, sir.”
Saavik held her gaze unflinchingly. “You helped create that unfortunate situation with the Union because you thought you knew better than Command. This time, however, you tread more carefully. You displayed restraint, even when your blood was up. You could have destroyed all four of those Klingon ships instead of just Verad’s. I’m not sure you realize what a rare gift that is to a flag officer, being able to dispatch a subordinate into a complex situation and trust in their abilities and instincts.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of Trujillo’s mouth, courtesy of the potent drink in her hand. “This is beginning to feel like a job interview.”
“Well spotted, Captain. As it happens, this situation and other recent events which have seen us flirting with catastrophe have helped me to convince Command that in addition to diplomats and explorers, Starfleet occasionally needs talented soldiers at the ready.”
“An argument I’ve been making for years,” Trujillo offered.
“I’m well aware.” Saavik set down her glass. “This latest exploratory push will see many of our best and brightest commanders sent far beyond the Federation’s borders. I’ve insisted that we keep some percentage of them home, specifically those with established combat experience.
“I’ve been tasked with assembling a network of regional response teams staffed by capable starship captains who will be stationed throughout Federation space nearest anticipated hot spots. When activated, these officers will lead rapid response task forces to interdict border incursions, piracy outbreaks, and those more nebulous ‘interstellar emergencies’ that crop up from time to time.”
“Ancient weapons, god-like aliens, genocidal AI’s, sentient pathogens…” Trujillo listed off.
“Precisely.”
Trujillo set her glass down. “Where do I sign up, Admiral?”
“You just did,” Saavik confirmed. “The board-of-inquiry will be pro-forma and will be completed in three days’ time. I’m to understand Reykjavík is due for some crew rotation and routine maintenance?”
“Yes, sir. I anticipate some senior staff posts to fill in the coming days.”
Saavik’s expression was guarded. “Is everything okay aboard ship, Captain?”
Trujillo hesitated. “Not entirely, sir. My XO has been considering retiring to pursue a career in politics on Tellar Prime. He assures me he’ll let me know one way or the other within the next forty-eight hours. Additionally… I’m likely going to need a new chief security-tactical officer.”
Saavik’s raised eyebrow begged elaboration.
“It’s a personal issue, Admiral. Lieutenant Jarrod and I are romantically involved, but the situation has become increasingly complicated. I fear this mission was the breaking point.”
“That is unfortunate,” Saavik offered. “Please let me know if I can be of assistance in securing candidates to fill your vacancies.”
“I will, sir. Thank you.”
Saavik stood and moved to her desk, withdrawing a small case identical to the one Trujillo had presented to Shukla the previous week.
“It will be necessary for these rapid response officers to have sufficient rank to coordinate the assembly of task forces, sometimes outside real-time communications with Command. Accordingly, it must be a flag-rank position.” Saavik handed the case over to Trujillo. “Congratulations, Commodore Trujillo.”
Trujillo opened the box to examine the commodore’s rank pins, identical to the brevetted ones she’d surrendered just days before.
“This won’t become official until after the board-of-inquiry’s findings are released, of course. That will take no longer than two weeks. In the meantime, you can affect repairs and see to your personnel issues.”
She looked up to Saavik as she snapped the case closed. “Thank you, sir. I— I don’t know quite what to say.”
“No need to say anything, Nandi.” Saavik extended her hand once again. “Welcome to the admiralty.”
* * *
Restaurant Haute Orbite, Starbase 443 - Altair III
The circular restaurant was built to rotate fully once an hour, affording the patrons views of both the cavernous, partially completed interior bays as well as the Class-M planet the starbase orbited.
Trujillo and Jarrod, clad in civilian attire, sat at a window table. The night-side of Altair III was visible through the viewport, with the eastern continent and the Asindri island chain outlined by a scattering of urban light pollution.
“So…” Jarrod broached the subject they’d both carefully avoided all night thus far, “…you’re not worried about the board-of-inquiry?”
He was wearing a buttoned dress shirt and slacks, practically the nicest thing in his civilian wardrobe. Trujillo wore a simple, black A-line dress that was accentuated by a black choker necklace.
“I wouldn’t say I’m not worried. There’s just nothing I can do except offer testimony and answer their questions. It’s largely out of my hands.”
“You’re not concerned this isn’t some kind of setup?” Jarrod fretted in his slightly nasal Oxonian lilt which Trujillo secretly adored.
“If it were that serious I’d have been afforded JAG representation,” she replied calmly.
Jarrod’s expression suggested he didn’t quite believe her, but he allowed his attention to be diverted to a passing waitstaff carrying a champagne bottle to a nearby table. “Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?” he asked.
“I’m fine with water,” she said, the response accentuating Jarrod’s dubious mien.
He set aside his fork and pushed his salad away. “Okay, what’s going on? You’ve hardly said a word all night, but you insist the BOI isn’t weighing on you. They’ve got three-dozen varieties of Altair spirits on the menu, and you’re drinking water. In my line of work, these are what we call ‘clues.’”
Trujillo exhaled slowly, then offered a hesitant nod. “Okay, fine. I told you during the mission that I had a lot to sort out in my head, and I need to let you know what conclusions I’ve come to.”
He swallowed and sat back slightly in his chair.
“When we first became… involved, I thought I could compartmentalize that aspect of our relationship and keep it separate from the chain-of-command. And for a time, I was able to. But after the Esau recovery mission where you were so badly hurt, things started to change. I found myself increasingly hesitant to send you into harms way, to the point where I’d have to remind myself that putting you in potential danger is part of my job.”
Jarrod nodded slowly but remained silent.
“When you, DeSilva and Garrett were attacked in that shop, I rode the turbolift down to Sickbay praying to gods I don’t actually believe in that you weren’t dead. Then, when I found out it was DeSilva who’d been killed, I felt relief… relief!”
Trujillo glanced away, something like self-loathing etched on her features. She swallowed, collecting herself before looking back to him. “I love you. I love you so much that it tears me apart every time I have to send you into some situation where you might not come back. My thinking that I could keep Nandi and Captain Trujillo separate somehow was completely naïve. Having you aboard is interfering with my ability to command.”
Jarrod’s face had become a mask set in a frozen expression of regret. “I understand,” he said simply. “I was afraid this might happen ever since—”
“Marry me,” she blurted.
He blinked, stunned to silence.
“Marry me,” she repeated. “We’ll find you another assignment where you can achieve promotion without it appearing like nepotism. If we’re married, Starfleet will have to post us within fifty light years of one another. With all the leave time we’ve accumulated, we can get together three or four times a year, more if our ships end up at the same port of call.”
“You… you want to get married,” Jarrod said slowly, as if trying to divine a riddle.
“Yes, absolutely,” she breathed, reaching out across the table to take his closest hand. “I love you, more than I’ve loved anyone else in my adult life. I can’t be with you aboard the same ship, but I can’t be without you, either.”
“I love you, too…” he echoed.
“I know you’ve sacrificed to remain in this relationship,” Trujillo continued. “You’d easily have made lieutenant commander by now if you hadn’t chosen to stay aboard Reykjavík. You have all your command qualifications—”
“Yes.”
She froze. “Yes… you have all your qualifications?”
He chuckled, so unused to seeing Nandi flustered. “Yes, I will marry you. It’s absolutely what I want, but I’d never thought in a million years that you’d ask, or that you’d say yes if I’d asked.” His eyes twinkled with mischief suddenly. “Captain Nandi Jarrod… that really does roll off the tongue, doesn’t it?”
She squeezed his hand, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. “As much as I adore you, Gael, I still won’t hesitate to blow you out a goddamn airlock.”
“There’s my girl,” he laughed again.
* * *