Chapter Text
Ship's Log
USS Malinche NCC-38997
Stardate 44004.12
Executive Officer McKenna, recording.
According to the communications relays from Admiral Ross at Starbase Eleven, the Antares Shipyards fell to the Borg some forty minutes ago. Due to the close proximity of the Antares sector to the 40 Erandi and Proxima Centauri systems, the Admiral himself has ordered the complete evacuation and withdrawal of all Federation citizens to Betazed and Ferasa. The unfortunate bit of news is that even the fastest starship in the fleet would not make it to Vulcan in time to be of any use, though the Admiral did report that the Sabre-class USS Yeager would carry as many from Vulcan as it could.
The Malinche is on course to rendezvous with Captain Hastur, who has formed the Twelfth Tactical Fleet and setup a base of operations at Starbase 147. At our current speed of warp six, we will arrive within twenty-seven hours.
"Twenty-seven hours?" said Captain Hastur. His cold stare from the bridge's forward viewscreen made January's skin crawl. "Lieutenant, the fleet will form up in less than sixteen hours. By the time you arrive here, we will have already left for battle."
January stood in the center of the bridge, where the recently installed trunk for the captain's chair now stood. With her arms at her sides, in a somewhat respectful posture, she expressed her own disappointment. "Admiral, with all due respect, sir, the engineering section is doing what they can. Even the yardbirds we evacuated are lending a hand."
Hastur ran a hand through his light brown hair. For all intents and purposes, he was a "commodore" rather than a captain, as Admiral Ross charged him with command of a fleet of starships. The viewscreen showed a very tired and frustrated commodore on the bridge of the Galaxy-class starship Venture. "Do what you can, Lieutenant. I don't have time to deal with this right now. Venture, out." The viewscreen blinked, only to show the slowly moving strings of light.
Lieutenant McKenna brought both of her arms up to fold them over her chest, whilst blowing a frustrated stream of air at her bangs. Unable to do anything else, she decided to gingerly sit herself down on the bare stump. With almost a dozen people on the bridge, not a single one would dare speak aloud following the exchange they witnessed. Ten minutes, then thirty, until almost an hour passed before an interruption in her train of thought occurred.
"Lieutenant?" The petty officer seated at the communications station called out.
Glad for a distraction, she leaped from the stump to lean against the railing, "Yes?"
"Another text communications relay from Admiral Ross at Starbase Eleven, sir. It's eyes-only."
"Okay. May I borrow your padd?"
"Sure thing, sir."
Once the message was downloaded from the communications computer, January's eyes scanned over the lines of the message:
TO: LT J.A. McKenna
FR: RADM Daniel Ross
RE: Order to Assume Command of USS Malinche
Lieutenant:
You are requested and required to assume command of NCC-38997 (USS MALINCHE), effective immediately.
Signed,
Daniel Edward Ross,
Rear Admiral, Starfleet Command
Commanding Officer, Starbase 11
Personal from RADM Ross: It is my sad and unfortunate duty to inform you that LCDR Jetrul Dae was declared KIA on Stardate 44004.05, along with all hands aboard the Akagi in the attempt to assist the evacuation of Antares. Commander Dae was en route to assume command of the Malinche. Due to his death, I must ask you to rise to the challenge of starship command. End Personal Message.
January brought her hand up to her mouth in disbelief as she read the name of her intended commanding officer. The realization was brushed aside in light of her new orders, and it was then that she returned her attention to the petty officer and asked him to direct the bridge audio pickups to the first master circuit. She needed to address the crew.
Drawing up the courage to trust her own voice, she said in an uncharacteristic level tone, "All hands, this is Lieutenant McKenna, the executive officer. By the order of Rear Admiral Ross, Starbase Eleven, I am assuming command as of this time and date. Division heads, report to conference room one in one hour for a briefing on our current operational status. Thank you. McKenna, out." She nodded to the petty officer to close the circuit, ending her impromptu speech. In a voice barely above a whisper, she asked, "Will you copy the official order from this file into the ship's log and note the time I assumed command, please?"
"Aye, sir," came the reply.
She moved away from the railing, and surveyed the bridge. It was at that moment that she realized that most of them had their eyes on her. January hesitated, moving to speak to them, but she instead addressed her words to T'Sten. "Lieutenant, would you please accompany me?"
The Vulcan operations officer rose from her console dutifully and followed McKenna into the turbolift with only a nominal phrase of acknowledgement. Once inside the turbolift and away from the staring eyes, the new captain of the Malinche closed hers and leaned against the sides. She ordered the lift to take them to the observation deck, and then asked a single question.
"Do you have any objections to my naming you as the new executive officer?"
Lieutenant T'Sten did not hesitate to respond, "No, sir. It is a logical choice."
The lift came to a halt, arriving at the proper deck and parted the doors. January could not help but flinch at the statement her exec made. "You're lucky you're a Vulcan. If a human had said that, he would've sounded like an asshole."
T'Sten said nothing in response. Instead, she followed January's lead off of the turbolift and then through the doors to the observation deck. The O-Deck was an area typically used by members of the crew for recreational purposes, large enough for most ceremonies carried out aboard ship. Looking around, however, the deck was cluttered. In the evacuation of the Antares Shipyards, they had loaded as many of the cargo containers into whatever spaces they could find before leaving the drydocking facility.
January took up a seat upon one of the smaller containers and gestured for T'Sten to make herself as comfortable as possible. T'Sten made no effort to do so, waiting for her captain to begin explaining the reason behind this meeting.
"I'm not sure where to begin, but despite what you might think, I'm really very glad to have you as my first officer," McKenna began, her tone and her expression soft.
T'Sten replied, "I am here to serve, Captain McKenna."
"Of course." McKenna dropped her gaze to the deck, now wanting to meet T'Sten's eyes as her title was used for the first time. She felt like a fraud. "However, before we get down to the serving part, I just wanted to go over a few things with you. About me, that maybe I feel you should know," January said, trying very hard not to stammer. T'Sten was the very model of a Starfleet officer; her face was serene, her stance gave the appearance of being attentive and perceptive. "This is my first command."
"I am aware of that."
"You looked at my service record?"
"Yes, sir."
"Isn't that a little unethical?"
"I do not believe it was, sir. At the time, you were being posted as the executive officer."
January nodded. That meant that the service record was accessibly by the next in the chain of command, which was T'Sten. Now that January was made captain, the access to her record became restricted. "I'm sure, then, that perhaps it did not paint a pretty picture."
"Class of 2362, graduation rank twenty-seven," T'Sten immediately said, reciting the details from memory. "Specialty in command theory and Terran history with a minor in spacecraft navigation. First assignment to the starship..."
"I don't need a refresher course in my personal history, Lieutenant." January's blush was apparent, as was the sharpness of her tone. There was no need to relive the audacious nature of the first year of her career. Especially not with her executive officer so dispassionately reciting it back to her. She became suddenly uncomfortable and insecure, moreso than before. "You may have me at a disadvantage, but I will promise to even that score as soon as possible."
T'Sten gave only the slightest of inclinations of her head, "Of course, Captain."
The irritating nature of the Vulcan's calm exterior grated upon January's nerves, nearly causing an outburst of furious statements. The overriding sense of duty was what prevented that, along with a silent count to ten. She was no longer simply a helmsman anymore. She was now the commanding officer. "The first order of business is the..."
There was no longer any time for policies or mundane orders. The ship's alert status indicator turned crimson, as the Malinche sounded red alert. The wailing of the alert klaxon provided them with just enough warning before the officer of the deck on the bridge called down. "Captain, incoming message from the Venture. The fleet has gone to battlestations, and is advancing on the Erandi sector."
McKenna looked to T'Sten immediately, asking the question, "Vulcan is under attack?"
"That's what Captain Hastur is reporting, sir," came the reply from the ship's internal communications system.
T'Sten showed a brief flicker of concern before recomposing herself. "At our present speed, we would arrive at Vulcan in eighteen hours."
"That's a bit sooner than the rendezvous," January said. "Bridge, do we have any change in our orders?"
"No, sir. Captain Hastur advised us to continue on to Starbase 147 to deliver the evacuees and supplies."
"Understood," McKenna nodded to the intercom. "I'll be there shortly. Advise the starbase of our position and estimated time of arrival. Keep tabs on the fleet's status. McKenna, out." She did not wait for the acknowledgement of her orders, touching the communications panel to close the connection. Turning to T'Sten, she ordered, "Go down to engineering and lend Tom a hand. We've got to get this ship's engines to full operating capacity before we reach the starbase. At this point, we wouldn't be able to outrun a damn shuttlecraft."
"Aye, Captain. I will see you at the briefing in forty-five minutes. By your leave, sir," T'Sten said, heading for the doors leading back to the corridor.
"T'Sten," McKenna made a vain attempt at consolation, "I'm sure the fleet will prevent the Borg from taking Vulcan, too."
Her executive officer stopped in place, not bothering to turn around to address January. "I understand why you would feel it necessary to express your concern, sir. I believe the most proper response in this instance would be, thank you." Without further comment, she was gone.
The benefit of having evacuated from Antares Shipyards was the amount of engineering talent now residing aboard her ship. T'Sten's presence in engineering notwithstanding, the collective effort of so many minds on the problem brought the Malinche's engines to full power less than thirty minutes after the ship went to battlestations. Sailing toward Starbase 147 at warp nine was a welcome change to January; however, the news from the Erandi sector was less so.
Vulcan was falling quickly. Reports from the Yeager indicated that the little corvette was already filled to evacuation capacity and was meeting the main fleet. The single Borg cube made short work of the capital city, Shi'Kahr, assimilating millions of Vulcans within an hour of the first attack. Captain Hastur and the Twelfth Tactical would arrive in another hour, but his prognosis did not help the morale of the situation at all. Logically, it would be fruitless to risk more lives to save what could not be saved, said the remaining Vulcan authorities. January thought it somewhat morbid at how calm they could be when faced with the horrors of the Borg. They even calculated the rate of assimilation and placed the figure of seventy-one hours until the planet was assimilated entirely. Less so, if more were evacuated.
It was a difficult choice to make; she decided that she was glad it was not her call. Proceed on course and go in with your guns blazing as the cube shrugs off the hits and claims more Starfleet vessels, or retreat without having tried. She was reminded of her words on the bridge of the Akagi, with Commander Dae having to call security to throw her into the brig. Now seated in her recently installed chair, she understood now why discretion was the better part of valor.
Hastur's voice sounded over the tactical frequency, ordering the fleet to hold their current position to wait for the Yeager's arrival.
Vulcan would fall without interference from Starfleet.