Chapter Text
Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 54115.1
“Gibraltar is on route to Point Station Alpha, following our third uneventful convoy escort mission in as many weeks. The new year has been merciful to us so far. Insurgent attacks in occupied Cardassian space have dropped off significantly, and the neo-Maquis movement seems to have taken the opportunity to lay low and lick its collective wounds. I know it won’t last, but I’m determined to enjoy the lull for as long as it continues.
On the down side, Starfleet Command’s repealing of the Fleet wide stop-loss orders has led to a significant reduction in available personnel at nearly every level. Dozens of my crew have been reassigned in recent weeks, and we’re back down to a compliment of one-hundred and eight from a high of one-hundred forty-three just two months ago. This means most departments are pulling double-shifts to compensate, but overall we’re making do with less. Fortunately, I’ve been able to hold on to my bridge officers and senior-most NCO’s. This, of course, is going to make finding a new first officer that much more difficult.
At 1600 hours, I’m meeting with Commander Ramirez to sort through executive officer applications in order to select both her replacement aboard Gibraltar as well as her own first officer when she assumes command of the Yassim next month. It’s going to prove an interesting collaborative effort, and as the time for her departure gets closer, she’s actually becoming more relaxed and significantly easier to work with. I have to admit that I’m going to miss having as capable and formidable an exec at my side. I can only hope to find someone as accomplished, but I’ve a feeling anyone I might end up with will only pale in comparison.
As one might guess, Ojana and I are the talk of the ship. Her quarters go practically unused, and she’s already begun changing the arrangement of furniture in my… our cabin. I don’t want to push things too quickly, but propriety is nudging me towards making an honest woman of her. Well… propriety, and the fact that I’m as madly in love with her as I’ve ever been. I’m still trying to figure how she might react to an actual marriage proposal; the memory of Soyam still haunts her deeply. On second thought, as we’re quickly coming up on the anniversary of her husband’s death, maybe marriage is a discussion to reserve for another time.
End log.”
Captain Donald Sandhurst closed the personal log entry, turning back to his ready room desk from where he had sat gazing out the circular viewport situated immediately behind his chair. A half dozen ungainly civilian cargo ships polluted his usually unobstructed view of the stars. The freighters were his charges on this latest mission in what seemed like an endless string of escort assignments.
He caught sight of his reflection in the transparent aluminum. Sandhurst had been noticeably heavy as little as six months ago, but a traumatic episode from Sandhurst’s recent past had resulted in substantial weight loss that he had since maintained. Now lean but still of average height, his once prodigious mane of hair was shaved close to his scalp, giving him a crest of white stubble. Sandhurst thought his hazel eyes still gave away too much, hinted too compellingly at some of the horrors he’d endured since taking command of his ship just eleven months earlier.
He rose and moved for the door. Sandhurst stepped out onto the bridge of the Constitution-class USS Gibraltar. The aging starship had been resurrected from the Starfleet boneyards in the waning days of the Dominion War. An eight month refurbishment had updated many of the ninety-year old ship’s systems with 24th century technology, but she was still noticeably slower and less well defended than her more modern counterparts. Thus, the once heavy-cruiser was now classed as an escort, spending the majority of her days guarding humanitarian relief convoys to the beleaguered Cardassian colonies now under Federation and Klingon supervision.
Sandhurst moved for the command chair, prompting Lt. Commander Pell Ojana to stand and relinquish the seat to him. Sandhurst smiled and beckoned her to resume her place. “I’m just checking in, Commander.” The auburn-haired Bajoran woman, the ship’s second officer and diplomatic specialist, nodded in response and settled back into the chair.
“ETA to Point Station Alpha is seven hours, five minutes, sir.” She offered a padd to him, meeting his smile with one of her own. “I was just about to send this in to you, Captain. We’ve received new orders.”
He gave the padd a brief glance and tucked it under one arm without reading it. “And where’s the next convoy off to?”
She replied with a smirk, “The Gamma Quadrant, actually. It’s less a convoy than it is a diplomatic honor guard.”
Sandhurst raised an eyebrow at the unexpected news. He retrieved the padd and scrolled through its contents. “Well, I’ll be damned. This’ll be a welcome break from convoy duty.” A wary frown suddenly found him. “But why us? I can think of a dozen ships in this theater better suited to an intra-galactic diplomatic mission.”
“Continuity,” Pell answered. “There will be a half dozen starships involved, and Command wants a vessel representative of the Federation’s 23rd century exploratory campaigns. The idea is to display the Federation’s longevity and commitment to exploration to our new friends, the Velk.”
“Velk?” Sandhurst looked puzzled. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“A Gamma Quadrant species that we’d only had fleeting contact with prior to the war. Their delegation is just completing preliminary talks on Earth, and we’ll be rendezvousing with their diplomatic party at DS9 to escort them back to their homeworld on the other side of the wormhole.”
Sandhurst looked wary and posited, “And how does the Dominion feel about this?”
“Apparently, they have no opinion one way or the other. They’ve been allowing Federation starships to operate in the GQ again, so long as we’re careful to avoid their established territory.”
Sandhurst held up the padd. “Sounds good. I’ll look this over in a bit. I’m almost late for my meeting with Ramirez.”
Pell nodded. “Dinner tonight?” she asked discretely.
The captain leaned in, his voice just above a whisper. “Of course. Any chance you could make your hasperat soufflé?”
She made a sour face and Pell remarked, “You know the replicator doesn’t do my recipe justice.”
He smiled shrewdly as he noted, “I guess it’s a good thing I picked up the ingredients for the genuine article from that Bajoran trade ship last week at Sheva II.”
She laughed lightly, drawing a few knowing smiles from the nearer officers manning their duty posts. Pell blushed fiercely in response as she said for public edification, “That’s all I have to report, sir.”
His eyes twinkled and Sandhurst moved for the turbolift. “Understood. Carry on, Commander.”
*****
The briefing room table was littered with padds and the large viewer set into the interior bulkhead displayed service file headshots of sixteen applicants who had made the final cut.
Commander Liana Ramirez sifted through the assortment of data tablets and picked one up, scanning it for a moment. “Okay, I’ve got Khilnani. She’s neck and neck with Curbeam, with Robards coming in third.” The diminutive woman had undone her customary utilitarian bun that usually confined her long black hair, and the onyx tresses now cascaded down over one shoulder. Though physically unimposing, she was undeniably beautiful. However, her physical attractiveness played a distant second to the aura of strength and calm she radiated and upon which her subordinates had come to rely. Because of her stature, more than one opponent had made the error of underestimating Ramirez, to their immediate regret. She had a reputation for being both tenacious and ferocious, and the captain could attest that it was well earned. She glanced up at him to ask, “And you?”
A former engineer, Sandhurst’s padds were arrayed in front of him with linear precision. “I’ve narrowed it down to two. T'Shanir from the Soval, and Atoa of the Sutherland. T’Shanir’s an engineer, and Atoa was chief of security for Captain Shelby.”
Ramirez considered that. “I’m not sure having another engineer as XO is going to be particularly helpful, Captain. I think we’ve worked together well, with my strategic and tactical knowledge supplementing your technical expertise. With Atoa, you’d have a similar setup to what we presently enjoy.” She leaned back in her chair, wincing at a knotted back muscle. “Now, I’m not accusing all Vulcans of being slavishly linear in their reasoning, but especially coming from a ship like the Soval with an all Vulcan crew I can foresee T’Shanir having some difficulties with as eclectic a crew as we’ve assembled here.”
“That’s a very diplomatic way of phrasing it, Exec,” Sandhurst chuckled. As he read over Atoa’s padd he noted, “Manuele’s just completed his stint at Command Officers’ Training, and it sounds like he’s ready to sink his teeth into his first XO’s billet.” He shook his head in disbelief, “I’ll admit to being a bit astonished that he’s pursuing a posting with us.”
Ramirez frowned as she asked, “Why is that, sir? Perhaps you haven’t been paying attention, but Gibraltar’s begun to develop a reputation for taking on difficult assignments and getting results. Not to mention that we’ve seen more than our fair share of action.”
Sandhurst shrugged. “Fine, you’ve sold me. I suppose I’m just pleasantly surprised by the caliber of applicants seeking to sign on with an old escort.”
She grinned broadly. “Well, you are replacing the best…”
As he raised his half empty cup of Rigellian spice coffee in a toast, Sandhurst beamed. “Of that I have no doubt.”
*****
The pre-mission briefing at DS9 had been refreshingly short. As Sandhurst and his crew were latecomers to the diplomatic escort mission, they had avoided the most tedious phases of convoy preparation. Four of the six ships participating in the diplomatic escort to the Velk home system had escorted alien delegates from DS9 to Earth and back again. The Velk ambassadorial party had traveled in the incomparable safety that only a Sovereign-class starship like Nagasaki could provide.
Captain Braener, DS9’s current strategic operations officer, had been tasked with briefing the captains and first officers from the task force in DS9’s wardroom. With practiced efficiency, Braener recited the requisite navigational, tactical and logistical briefs on the region of the Gamma Quadrant the task force would be transiting.
He opened up the briefing to questions and nodded to Sandhurst as the Gibraltar’s captain indicated he had a query. “I’d like some clarification as to the political situation on the other side of the wormhole at present,” Sandhurst asked, arms crossed in an unconsciously defensive posture. “Do we have anything in writing from the Dominion that promises they won’t be descending upon our group like a plague of locusts?”
This brought some muted chuckles from others with a similarly grim mindset. Braener smiled patiently. “Negotiations with the Dominion are on a hiatus right now, but the terms of the armistice allow us unhindered access to those areas in the Gamma Quadrant not presently claimed by the Founders. And as we’ve just covered, the nearest Dominion holdings are some twenty lightyears from the wormhole’s exit point into the GQ. Though it’s true the Dominion once controlled the Velk’s home system, currently, the Dominion has relinquished its territorial claims to anything within twenty lightyears of the Velk homeworld.”
“And if they change their minds without sending us a memo?” posited Captain Entenbe of the Suleiman.
Braener’s tolerant smile faltered. “The Diplomatic Corps assured Starfleet Command that the Dominion won’t present a problem on this mission. The Dominion and the Velk enjoy good relations.”
“Good for the Diplomatic Corps. They won’t be the ones getting shot at if they’re wrong,” Entenbe murmured sotto vocce to her fellows within earshot.
Captain Zorek referenced the padd in his hand and spoke in a resonant yet precisely modulated tone. “I would request further information on this navigational hazard listed on the star charts as, ‘the Bog.’” The senior Vulcan captain and accomplished negotiator would serve as task force commander from aboard the Nagasaki, leading his all Vulcan crew on a mission certain to earn another feather in his already substantial diplomatic cap.
Pleased at the sudden change of topic, Braener replied crisply, “The Bog is something of a dead zone in space, approximately five lightyears from the Velkamis system. It’s comprised of sixteen separate star systems, most notable for their complete lack of Class-M planets. The Bog has been traditionally recognized as an important acquisition for a succession of conquering powers, as the numerous planetary bodies contain large amounts of heavy metals and dilithium deposits.”
“And who is presently in control of the Bog?” Zorek asked, his bearded visage as stoic as that of a statue.
As he glanced down at a padd of his own, Braener looked momentarily uncertain. “We don’t seem to have much information about that. The Velk made some veiled references to organized crime syndicates and piracy when the Diplomatic Corps asked them about the Bog, but we have no confirmed information regarding territorial claims over that region.”
Zorek raised an eyebrow only slightly, the gesture analogous to a derisive eye roll from a human. “And this does not concern you?”
“Not overly much, no,” Braener said with more conviction than he felt. “The ecological and infrastructure damage to the Velk homeworld is similar to what the Cardassians left behind on Bajor when they pulled out. The Federation’s cooperation in helping them rebuild their economy will invariably lead to the re-establishing of rule of law over local sectors as the Velk begin policing neighboring systems.”
“So, as the Velk stand up… we’ll stand down, is that it?” Commander Ramirez asked incredulously.
“That’s an over-simplification,” Braener replied, looking ready for a verbal jousting match. “But the premise is accurate.”
“Pulled any patrols in occupied Cardie space recently, Captain?” Ramirez asked, the hint of challenge in her tone unmistakable. Once upon a time, Sandhurst would have admonished her for such an outburst, but no longer. They had both seen too much to hold their tongues. “The Cardassians aren’t doing such a good job of living up to our expectations in that regard. What makes us think the Velk will be any more reliable?”
Braener stiffened and his voice was tinged with indignation. “The Federation Council and Starfleet Command have deemed this an important diplomatic gesture to the peoples of the Gamma Quadrant, Commander. If you object to the assignment, I suggest you take it up with them.” He looked to the assembled group and said, “Now, are there any further pertinent questions?”
None were voiced, and despite the other captains’ subdued reservations, the meeting concluded and the various officers rose from their seats and moved for the exits.
Captain Fendro of the Leeds, a regal looking Andorian officer, approached Sandhurst with a wry smile. “You can thank Captain Aubrey of the Intrepid later, Sandhurst.”
Sandhurst appeared confused. “How so?”
“Intrepid was originally supposed to represent the 23rd century in our little piece of historical pageantry. Unfortunately for you, Aubrey got caught up in some classified mission or other, and you and your crew were tapped to replace him.”
“Remind me to send him a fruit basket,” muttered Ramirez from beside Sandhurst.
Fendro laughed. “After all the fun you had with Picard in the Briar Patch last year, this should be old hat to you.”
Sandhurst was in no mood to joke. “You’ve got a Nebula, Captain. You can fight if need be, and run if you’re forced to.” He took a sidelong glance at his exec as he fumed, “Our options are more limited.”
Suddenly serious, Fendro grasped Sandhurst’s upper arm lightly. “That may be so, Captain, but I can promise you one thing. So long as the Leeds is intact, you need not fear on that account. Like you, I don’t leave our people behind.”
Taken aback slightly by Fendro’s gesture, Sandhurst smiled gratefully. “And the same in return, Captain. Let’s pray we never have to put that to the test.”
*****
15 hours later…
USS Nagasaki
Gamma Quadrant, Sector 7800913-G
Diplomatic Reception Lounge
Pell grabbed Sandhurst’s arm, smiling beatifically up at him as he sipped at a glass of champagne. “Care to dance, Captain?”
Sandhurst examined the glass closely as he demurred, “Maybe later.” He reached up to tug in annoyance at the stiff collar of his dress-whites jacket. “Sorry, Ojana, I’ve never been much fun at these diplomatic soirees.”
Forgoing her own dress uniform, Ojana was clad in a low cut, emerald green gown that the tailor Garak had assured her was all the rage in the Federation’s core systems. Sandhurst thought it flattered her slim figure, and amused himself for a moment by imagining removing it later that night.
“I have been apprised of your engineering difficulties, Captain.” Captain Zorek’s confident timbre jarred Sandhurst from his illicit reverie. Sandhurst blinked and turned to address the task force commander as the esteemed Vulcan added, “Is there anything my engineering staff can do to assist?’
Sandhurst cleared his throat, “Ah… no, thank you, Captain. It appears that transiting the wormhole induced a minor fluctuation in Gibraltar’s intermix ratio. It’s a problem that crops up from time to time with the older classes of starships passing through the phenomenon. We’re attenuating the injectors to compensate and trying to correct the issue without having to drop out of warp.” He finished his champagne in a single quaff and smiled weakly. “We wouldn’t want to interrupt the mission, after all.”
Zorek examined him with a dispassionate élan. “There is sufficient leeway in our current timetable for the task force to drop to impulse and allow you to effect repairs.”
Sandhurst waved away the suggestion dismissively as he replied, “Thank you, Captain, but that won’t be necessary. My chief engineer has the situation well in hand.”
“Very well,” Zorek intoned, inclining his head in acceptance. The Vulcan turned, his sensitive ears alerting him to the approach of the Velk ambassador, Envoy Jivin Sharm. “Envoy, may I introduce you Captain Donald Sandhurst, commanding the starship Gibraltar, and his diplomatic officer, Lieutenant Commander Pell Ojana.”
Sandhurst had paid sufficient attention at the briefing to know the Velk eschewed physical contact with outworlders who had not yet undergone a religious cleansing ritual. Instead, the captain bowed at the waist. “A pleasure, Envoy.”
The squat reptilian, his face mottled with thorny protrusions, generated his people’s approximation of a smile, which looked more like a painful rictus to the other humanoids present. “The honor is mine, Captain. Your people’s assistance in stabilizing our ecosphere and restoring our economy engenders a gratitude that defies your universal translator’s ability to express.”
Pell turned on the diplomatic charm as she acknowledged the ambassador with a bow of her own. “Your world and mine have much in common, Envoy. Only a decade ago, the Cardassians left Bajor a devastated planet after a half-century of occupation. The Federation has helped us to restore our world, heal our sick and injured, and rebuild our society. Your people are in good hands.”
Sharm’s toothy smile widened, the gesture somewhat unsettling due to his species’ similarity to the ferocious Jem’Hadar. It had been obvious from the Federation’s first contact with them that it had been Velk stock the Founders had genetically altered to create their cloned army. “I’m pleased to hear the Federation’s generosity has born such welcome fruits among your people, Commander, as I hope it does among my own.”
As Pell and Sharm continued talking, Sandhurst took the opportunity to excuse himself and wandered in the direction of the beverage tables. He claimed another flute of champagne and turned to find himself face to face with Captain Altwell of the Hornet. Altwell wore a mischievous grin and cleared his throat before directing a smarmy jibe at his fellow captain. “Having trouble keeping up, Sandhurst?”
Sandhurst sipped at the bubbling liquid. “Beg pardon?”
“Keeping up...” Altwell seemed to be enjoying the moment a bit too much. “Rumor has it your engines are having trouble and here we’re only limping along at Warp 6.”
Sandhurst forced a weak, humorless smile onto his features as he replied dryly, “Verteron particles within the wormhole have been known to play havoc with the nacelle field balance of older classes of starships.”
“Really?” Altwell feigned surprise. “Hornet is nearly fifty years old herself, and we seemed to have weathered the wormhole just fine.”
“How nice for you,” Sandhurst turned to leave.
“If you like…” Altwell offered quickly, “I’d be more than happy to take Gibraltar under tow and see you safely back to DS9.”
Sandhurst turned back towards the unctuous captain, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”
Altwell stepped forward, speaking in low tones. “Oh, it would be no problem at all, Captain. After all, we wouldn’t want anything untoward happening to such an important diplomatic conference.”
Sandhurst leaned in, feeling a tightness in his temples as his blood pressure began to rise. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that you and your ship have gained… how shall I put this… a reputation for being present when unpleasantness erupts. More than a few people are convinced you’re something of a bad luck charm.” The self-satisfied smirk on Altwell’s face might have set Sandhurst off some months before, but he had been learning the value of reining in his more impulsive responses.
As he took a long sip from his glass, Sandhurst appeared to give Altwell’s statement some thought. “You’re mistaken, Captain. You see, unlike you, I’m confident enough in my ship and crew to take them into harm’s way when it proves necessary. In the past year we’ve fought Cardassian insurgents, Orion raiders, the Alshain Starforce, the Son’a, the Maquis, and even a band of Bajoran religious extremists. It’s very apparent that you, on the other hand, have gone out of your way to keep the Hornet deep within the Federation’s core sectors while other captains and crews are manning the ramparts and helping to ensure the survival of our civilization and way of life.”
Altwell’s face colored, and Sandhurst cut him off as the man began to reply. “So, if I must decide between cantankerous engines or a sturdy backbone, I’ll take the backbone.” Sandhurst thrust his now empty glass into Altwell’s hand as the man’s mouth hung open in lieu of forming a cogent comeback. “Take care of this for me, won’t you?” Sandhurst patted him on the shoulder, "There’s a good man,” before abruptly turning and walking back towards Pell.
She had just finished her conversation with Envoy Sharm, and glanced up as Sandhurst approached. Pell gave him an appraising look as she asked, "Something wrong, Donald? You look a bit irritated.”
“No, nothing,” he said as he jerked a thumb back over his shoulder towards where Altwell stood glaring at Sandhurst’s back. “Just having a lovely little chat with the welcoming committee.”
“There’s a committee?”
Sandhurst grinned. “Always is.”
*****