Chapter Text
Lieutenant (jg) Thomas J. Donner often thought of the engineering section as his home. After all, with his birthplace being Earth, and Earth being a part of the Collective, there was nowhere else for him to go. He didn't much care for the bridge, or the observation deck, not even the ship's lounge. The engineering staff under his command believed that he slept in the adjacent office, not in his quarters on deck five. In the months following the fall of Vulcan and Andor, the Malinche was used as a patrol ship run along the Ferasa side of what was now known as the "Borg Hot Zone" (BHZ). A large cube of space was designated as a no-fly zone, for both military and civilian traffic.
In those five months, Tom and the Malinche seemed to get to know one another to a large degree. The briefings with Captain McKenna and Lieutenant T'Sten always seemed to indicate his protectiveness over the ship's propulsion systems. When the bridge would call down for emergency speeds to intercept a wayward freighter or a smuggler, who believed he could get away with slipping in and out of the BHZ, the chief engineer would not hesitate to sound off about the strain on the old ship. Though one would not hear any such audible strain, it was Tom's eyes that saw the monitors to show the stress levels at traveling beyond the intended design of the Excelsior-class battlecruiser.
Under any other circumstances, Donner was a pleasant man to deal with; all of his peers agreed on that point. Engaging him in conversation above and beyond engineering was a delight, a characteristic that earned him a great many friends among the officers and enlisted personnel alike. Down to business, it was like watching a transformation between Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde. Tom Donner would become cold and distant, working problems out in his mind, issuing terse orders to those around him and showing his frustration if he felt they were lacking in their enthusiasm to carry them out.
To maintain the ship's engineering efficiency, Tom held a monthly maintenance party across the board. The Malinche being over fifty years old made those get-togethers a necessity from his perspective. Captain McKenna supported and even encouraged his intuition, as it paid off more often than not. Despite the complaints from the rest of the crew when certain subsystems would not be available, he continued on in his quest to keep the ship from further deterioration.
"Chief Engineer's Log," said Donner in a casual and tired tone, seated at his desk within the partitioned office near main engineering. "Stardate Four-Four-Four-Nine-Seven-Point-Five. This is Tom Donner, speaking. We have just completed our monthly maintenance cycle, and the results are not exactly up to what I consider to be acceptable. We did make the Starfleet specifications, however, at the current rate of usage, I suspect that the ship will have to put in for a warp coil replacement in less than forty days. This would put us ahead of our intended docking date by three weeks. I am attaching a copy of the maintenance result to this log entry, and marking it for the exec's attention. Thank you." It was his habit to begin and end his log entries with all the pleasantries he would use in conversation. Tom knew that sooner or later, someone was going to read or listen to his logs. He felt it important that whoever that person was, at least left with the impression that he was a real person with real feelings.
Tom leaned back in his chair, running both of his hands over the carrot-colored hair on the top of his head in a gesture of fatigue. He trained both of his blue eyes upon the chronometer on his desktop terminal, noticing that he had only slept three hours out of the past seventy-two, spending most of his time personally overseeing the propulsion maintenance routine. The captain did not like having to drop out of warp for fifteen minutes to perform quick adjustments while on patrol, but it was a necessary evil. While his best assistants and chief petty officers lended their support, he was the one in the gold working jumpsuit directly accessing the control computers and the power transfer conduits to insure against disrepair. His personal touch did not imply that he held little trust within those under his direct authority; it was simply the only way to assure the captain that the task would be done as quickly as possible. It was almost an appeasement to her anger. Serving aboard the Malinche for five months gave the entire crew, if not a great majority of it, a true understanding of the nature of January McKenna's temper.
The foil to the captain's temper was the executive officer's Vulcan serenity. Lieutenant T'Sten carried out her duties and responsibilities with a near-perfect efficiency that Tom came to appreciate and even adore. His adoration of T'Sten fell into the area of his heart, and though he was sure no one knew, the engineering crew often gossiped amongst themselves whenever T'Sten would enter the engineering compartment of the ship to hold a technical discussion with Tom. He would blush and stammer from time to time, but when the human pleasantries were pushed aside, he became more confident in his ability to speak once the topic changed to his department. Afterwards, though, Tom was always left with her departure from his general area. She was a beautiful Vulcan woman; anyone with eyes could see that. She held her jet-black hair in a tight bun atop her head when she was on duty and in uniform, but there have been occasions where he had the fortune of seeing her with her long hair down. Along with her coffee-colored complexion, he finally understood the phrase, "Love at first sight."
When the captain announced T'Sten's promotion to full lieutenant over two months ago, they held a small informal gathering in her honor on the observation deck. Though she was stoic, he could tell she was pleased by the promotion. Glimpses of her face at certain times during the party, and he always seemed distracted for the time she was present.
Of course, Tom knew he was not alone in his quiet attraction to T'Sten. In fact, there were many men and women aboard who found T'Sten irresistible. At the same time, she was also very intimidating, and coupled with her position provided a large buffer around her that most people felt was inappropriate to try and penetrate. Though Tom just did not feel his self-confidence was at a point to even begin to think about acting on his feelings.
No, things were fine the way they were.
First Lieutenant Norman Eikichi Yamaguchi, Starfleet Marine Corps, entered into the security operations center at one minute before oh-seven-hundred, as he did every morning without fail. His Gunnery Sergeant, a stocky woman by the name of Ferrer, had a mug of coffee and the shift logs from the evening prior until his entrance for his review. She always greeted him in true marine fashion: a respectful salute and an announcement of his arrival on deck.
As the chief of security, and a member of the Marine Corps, he preferred his unit to be run as efficient as militarily possible. Encompassing many areas of naval and marine discipline, he accepted only the most rigorous of marine discipline from those under his command, naval and marine alike. The fleet enlisteds enjoyed the strict discipline the lieutenant offered as much as the marines did. In that alone, he was successful in smoothing out any branch rivalry that either side might've burdened themselves with arriving aboard the Malinche. To him, it did not matter whether or not they attended the security school or boot camp. They were just cousins in the same family.
"Carry on," Yamaguchi said. "Thank you, Gunny." He accepted the mug from Sergeant Ferrer and she accompanied him into his private office. The morning briefing was always as short as possible. Yamaguchi preferred brevity above all else, and had no penchant for dramatics or those that would employ them.
Ferrer sat herself at Yamaguchi's nod, and began, "Another quiet night at the edge of the BHZ, Lieutenant. Nothing new to report, everything was pretty quiet." She paused, watching him read through the padd while listening.
He gave another nod, without saying anything else. He continued to read every line, and made no move to dismiss her from his office. She remained seated, waiting for him to finish. When he reached the final log entry, he said casually, keeping his eyes upon the padd as he spoke, "I got a message this morning from a friend of mine when I was at the Academy. She made captain, and she's been assigned to the Iwo Jima as a company commander. We graduated the same year."
She winced inwardly. This meant that he was passed over during the last promotion review. In this age it was a sign of the times. Despite the fact that Admirals Ross and Keogh were doing everything within their power to maintain the chain of command, because of the lack of flag manpower, a lot of the mundane operational activities often found themselves reorganized behind issues of more pressing or immediate concern. The promotion review board consisted of whatever captains and rear admirals were available, and in some cases, commanders and lieutenant commanders. For the enlisteds, it was senior and master chief petty officers along with lieutenants. Regardless, the oversight did not make one feel any better in spite of the circumstances. She started, "Lieutenant, I'm certain..."
"Spare me, Ferrer. It's of no concern, really," Yamaguchi interrupted her with an open hand and a very sharp tone of voice. Sharper than he had intended. He realized right then and there she was only making an attempt to cheer him up. His reaction was to put a stop to any talk of pity. "When it's my time, it's my time."
"Aye, aye, sir," Ferrer rose from her seat, coming to attention before his desk. "Will there be anything else, then, Lieutenant?"
"No, Gunny. You are dismissed," Lieutenant Yamaguchi replied, waving her off and ending their morning meeting. Once she left, he turned to his desktop terminal and made his brief morning log entry, going over the official portions of his duties and documenting them for posterity and review by the executive officer.
When the official log entry was completed, he leaned back into his chair and opened a new entry into his personal log.
"Personal Log, Stardate Four-Four-Four-Nine-Eight-Point-One," he began. "This morning, I received a mail from my childhood friend, Nancy Kotobuki. She and I went through Starfleet Academy together, we graduated in the same class. We even dated some through all the years we've known each other. She wrote to inform me that she received an appointment as Captain aboard the marine troop carrier Iwo Jima. The other bit of news was a small note about her recent engagement to a fellow marine officer.
"It's... well, reading that made me realize how truly far apart we had grown. As teenagers, our families practically all but betrothed us to each other. Don't get me wrong; it was never a forced association. We were friends from the beginning. She was always there for me, and I tried so hard to return that support to her as much as possible." He leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows upon his desk as spoke into the audio pickups. "Maybe my feelings for her back then were above and beyond a close friendship. Maybe I was in love with her in high school. Maybe she loved me; it was just something that I kept buried down deep inside me, for fear of saying anything. Things were fine just as they were. She and I were good friends, and that was a nice place to be."
As he reminisced, he began to wear a little smile upon his lips and began speaking in a wistful tone, "In our senior year, we dated off and on. Never in any of those outings did I ever feel as though we were any more intimate than we had been before. It wasn't so much of a date as it was just hanging out with your best friend. Spending quality time with that person, just enjoying their company. I always waited for her to say something, or maybe admit that she held me a higher esteem than I thought. It never got said, and it was never even discussed. So, I continued to harbor it.
"Academy regulations were pretty strict on fraternizing between the officer cadets and midshipmen. Even at the trainee level, the instructors often discouraged that kind of activity. Nancy and I didn't have that problem. The status of our friendship was hardly ever brought into doubt. We were as close as we had always been. Of course, we were the subjects of many rumors, but these were all kids growing up into adults at the Academy. They teased us, said we were very sly about our affairs. Truth told, right now, I would give anything to have had those rumors be true."
Looking at the door leading out to the operations center, he sighed, "Gayle Ferrer probably thinks I'm upset over her promotion. That's fine. I would rather her believe that than have to listen to this sob story from the beginning. That's the last thing I need. I know she means well, but the one thing they teach you at the command college is that command is a lonely duty. Personal boundaries are to be maintained in order to be an effective commanding officer. If it were possible, if I had a close friend besides Nancy with whom I could speak to candidly about this, I would. Since I don't, this personal log is all I have, now."
"I wish you the very best of luck, Nancy," Yamaguchi ended the log entry. He did not move from his desk, frozen in that thought. Then, as an afterthought, he reopened the file and appended three words to his entry.
"And my love."
"It is fortunate that you and your family were off planet when the Borg attacked. Both of my parents found themselves without any means of escaping," T'Sten said to the viewscreen. "I must admit to some surprise at receiving your communication from Betazed. I was not aware you had knowledge of my whereabouts." While her tone was calm and even, inwardly she detested this man.
Setik replied matter-of-factly, "It was not a task without challenge. Federation communications not being at their former glory, Starfleet channels are even more difficult to use. It was a fortunate circumstance that the Vulcan Embassy was able to provide me with assistance in locating and making contact with you."
T'Sten nodded. "As you say. What is the purpose of this communication?" It was a tactic to stall the truth. She, of course, knew exactly why he had come calling upon her. She felt it, within her mind.
"I should think my purpose clear, T'Sten. It is time for the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee. My family has made all of the necessary arrangements with regard to the ceremony. You must proceed immediately to Betazed," her fiancé said.
Lieutenant T'Sten again nodded. "That is unfortunate, Setik. The Malinche will not be rotated out of the patrol cycle for seven-point-one months. As her executive officer, I cannot abandon my post."
"Your post and position are irrelevant."
"My oath to Starfleet-"
"Does not supercede your betrothal to me, T'Sten," Setik interrupted, a characteristic not shared by Vulcans in the general sense.
She allowed the act of disrespect to pass, making her decision easier. "Very well. I will then inform you that I shall be severing the bond." His slight apprehension to that alternative played out exactly as it had in her mind. The bond being severed would release her from any obligation to become Setik's wife. Becoming Setik's wife would mean she would need to abandon her career in Starfleet and assume the responsibility of maintaining his house, bearing his children and raising them according to his policies. In essence, she would cease being the executive officer of the Malinche and become executive officer of the house of Setik.
"I see no reason to act in such haste. I would be willing to discuss a postponement of the ceremony."
"I would not."
A long pause followed that statement. It was T'Sten who spoke first.
"There is no other option than to find another suitable Vulcan woman to suit your needs," she said.
"T'Sten..."
"That is no longer my name," she countered, her tone turning cold. "As I am no longer a betrothed female, by tradition, I must drop the appropriate prefix. You will address me as Sten." Before he could get in another word, she continued on, "I will be severing the bond, and I suggest you do the same."
Again, Setik remained speechless. It was apparent that he had not expected this outcome prior to having this conversation. Sten realized he had no reason to. They had simply grown apart, and she desired to remain in Starfleet. Not leaving all that she had accomplished to suddenly be a subservient and dutiful wife. With her family dead, there was no one left to reproach her for her decision to abandon her engagement. Right now, as Setik realized in that moment, Sten was living for Sten and Sten alone.
He acquiesced, "As you wish, Sten." Raising a hand on screen, and parting his fingers in the Vulcan sign, he said his goodbye. "Peace and long life."
She returned the farewell, "Live long and prosper."
The screen shifted from Setik's face to the Starfleet insignia, with the words, "End Communication," and "Stardate 44500.54" along the bottom half.
January held a wide grin upon her face, seated in the center seat on the bridge. As usual, she had her steaming mug of coffee upon the edge of the arm, with her legs crossed at the knee while reading her padd. Every so often, she would giggle out loud, and even chortle from time to time. No one knew what she was reading, but one thing was clear; she was in a good mood.
The captain's good moods were as rare as a Tribble on a Klingon ship. It was not that she often expressed the opposite very often, either, but in that she seemed to maintain a tight hold upon her moods very well, since her assumption of command. Prior to that, she was a kaleidoscope of moods and mood swings, often expressing joy in the same minute as upbraiding an officer on the bridge for a detail or duty overlooked.
Lieutenant January Andrea McKenna, holding the title of master and commander of the Malinche for over six months, found herself the command style that suited her ship and her crew. While not all agreed with that style, it did not matter to her. It was she who held the position, and she who dictated policy. Lieutenant Sten saw to the execution of those policies and did so with a kind of efficiency that made January feel so confident that she believed she would be lost without it. Having heard a part of the story with her fiancé, she realized how close she came to facing that possibility.
In this morning, however, after she had finished reading the very amusing text sent over by the captain of the Shrike, another patrol vessel assigned to the same side of the BHZ. She replied with a personal communication, and handed her padd to the communications NCO manning it for immediate transmission. In the middle of his duties, however, he turned and announced that there was a multifrequency transmission emanating from Qo'noS, addressed for every Federation, Romulan, and Cardassian citizen.
Her curiosity was shared by every officer and enlisted on the bridge. Qo'noS had been silent since the Borg arrived. Even though they had promised ships, they did not transfer enough to make a difference. It was an expected move, however, as they were no doubt concerned for their territory. "On screen, if you please."
The main viewscreen flickered and then showed the Chancellor of the Klingon High Council, K'mpec. K'mpec was an old man, but he was a very respected old man. His awards and decorations lined his ceremonial robe, as he sat down on his throne in the council chambers on his home world and addressed the quadrant.
"The remnants of the Federation and the brilliant military minds at Starfleet have come to an agreement with the Klingon Empire. Today is a glorious day, for us all. The Klingon Empire and the United Federation of Planets have agreed to a full political and military alliance that shall work together for the honor of us all. We will beat back the honorless Borg from the Alpha Quadrant. We will be victorious. Not as the United Federation of Planets, nor as the Klingon Empire. We will be known to all as the Galaxy Alliance." K'mpec wore a threatening smile, though all Klingon smiles has a tendancy to look rather threatening, even when they were not.
"We also invite the governments of the Rihannsu and the Cardassians, to join this alliance with open arms. This galaxy alliance will be your only line of defense against an encroachment upon your territories. It would be in your best interests to sign this alliance immediately and join the fight!"
There was a large amount of open discussion on the bridge while January listened. The volume got to be too much for her, until a single word silenced every voice quickly. "Quiet!"
"The approval of the remaining Federation members makes this a unanimous decision. I am now the Chancellor of the Galaxy Alliance High Council. We shall maintain a Starfleet, in honor of those brave warriors who gave their lives in glorious combat against the Borg at Wolf 359. Klingon Defense Force personnel will report in immediately, as will Starfleet personnel. Let us begin this fight. Qapla'!"
The viewscreen returned to show the streaking stars of warpflight. McKenna turned around, looking at her chair and opening up the shipwide circuit to address the crew. She recounted the message and made it available to anyone who wished to view it firsthand themselves, then requested another meeting of the senior staff in the conference room thirty minutes from then. After a moment, she settled into her chair with a quiet slump.
"Contact the Venture, tell them we're standing by for new orders."