-= The Bobcat, somewhere near Ferengi space =-
Originally named the Alamo, the Captain’s Yacht of the USS Lone
Star had been rechristened moments before becoming the travelling home
of the Captain’s Sabbatical. Repainted and renamed, its transponder code
adjusted and its interior gutted in favour of comfort, Felix had
pointed the vessel at the nearest dive planet and set off at warp nine.
Three hundred days later and the Bobcat was speeding between
Volchok and Maxia Zeta, on the outskirts of Ferengi territory. Felix had
awoken after a rare evening of respite from his enjoyment, replicated
coffee and set Lester’s food down when the comm chime sounded. On
another day he’d have called ‘yeah?’ to the machine and carried on
obliviously. The addition of the magic words – ‘incoming transmission
from Starfleet Command’ – changed that rapidly.
His 18-year-old wire-haired fox terrier knew the tone. Felix exchanged a knowing look with his pet.
“I think this means shore leave's over,” Felix said. Lester seemed to understand and commiserate.
Walking unhurriedly to the closet, he pulled out his uniform for the
first time in almost a year. As a former flyboy he was used to jumping
into it quickly but this time he took his time to clamber in and
straighten, in his habitual way. However diverting his sabbatical had
been, Felix felt the other side of his life reassert itself as he
checked his reflection.
The chirrup had become insistent by the time he’d reached the front of
the ship. As he sat to greet his correspondent Felix was instantly
relieved that he’d chosen to get dressed properly.
“Fleet Admiral Kreik.”
“Relax, Captain. I can see you have been already.” The imposing
half-Klingon nodded to a number of last night’s beer bottles in her line
of sight. He chose not to follow it. “You’ve only got me today because
my deputies are away at conference. A conference on Vulcan covering the
technicalities of civilian governance. I decided to deputise for my
deputies.”
Felix snickered sympathetically. “You must have a packed schedule, then, Admiral.”
She cut him off before he could cut to the chase. “It would appear that
they sit around drinking a lot of raktajino. But yes. And as you may
have guessed, this is that call. You’re to report to Utopia Planitia at
your earliest convenience.”
“Aye, sir.” He replied with deference while his mind longed for news of
his ship. His mad, old ship. But it was the Admiral’s call what order
she did this in.
“You’ll pick up the Lone Star and travel by warp to Kincardine Station,
the new HQ of Omega Fleet. The Lone Star will still be taking its
orders directly from Starfleet Command but they’ll be coming through
Admiral Stanton, unless she has operational reasons to put you
elsewhere. You’re going to be based out of there for the time being.”
Felix let a chink of a smile break through. Stanton had advocated his
becoming a CO ten years before; had signed off on more opportunities
than that, even. It wouldn’t be a hardship to work alongside her, or the
Artemis.
“Understood. How do our orders stand at present, sir?”
At her end the Admiral stalled the conversation, striking a keypad
beside her to encrypt the channel with a quadratic frequency. Felix
didn’t recognise it. He had a sudden premonition of the amount of
catching up he’d need to do after a year on the piss.
Lester, intrigued, moved onto the co-pilot’s seat beside him and watched
as a holographic map appeared above the ops console. Kreik clocked the
dog. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, having input her access
code seconds before, but then she wasn’t head of strategic operations at
Starfleet Command for nothing.
“You’ll take the Lone Star from Utopia Planitia to Kincardine and
complete its final warp tests on the way. Then slipstream tests. Then
we’ll get you to push her as far as you can go.”
As Kreik spoke, navigational charts, tactical and scientific data
appeared in front of him. “Broadly speaking, you’re on the same beat as
before. You’re to take the Lone Star to the furthest and most unlikely
places you can get to. Safely,” she added, knowing that de l’Isle’s
penchant for disregarding boundaries was practically unlimited.
“Of course,” Felix lied, avoiding her gaze by scanning the latest batch
of classified files. The locations and mission profiles flashed
correspondingly on the holomap: deep space cartography, anomalies, a few
‘last known coordinates’ investigations, excluded areas; the galactic
core. The flag officer interrupted before he became distracted by his
lust for the unknown.
“We want to put some exciting opportunities your way before too long. But you must bring your house to order first.”
Kreik’s look contained too much intrigue for Felix’s liking at this
point in the call. “Who’s done what,” he half-asked, fully expecting the
answer to be him. He liked less how the look began to brew.
A file appeared on his screen. Rather than looking for individual names,
he had learned to look at the head-count of reprimands at the bottom.
Over two hundred. Felix whistled. It was a record, even by the Lone
Star’s standards.
“You’re about the only member of your senior and junior staff not to
have received a complaint, reprimand or reassignment order.”
This time Felix interrupted her – something Kreik clearly was not
accustomed to. “Respectfully, Admiral, there is a reason they’re
assigned to the Lone Star.”
Kreik grunted a grudging agreement past her rows of teeth. Felix
exhaled, like a Ferengi after the funds had cleared. It could have gone
very badly.
“Discipline will be top of your agenda. You’re going to have to fight
for a couple of them, Captain. A couple of these were hanging on by the
skin of their teeth.” She seemed to be looking at specific names. Felix
gulped.
“I hear the chief of operations at Utopia Planitia has locked himself in
his study until your chief engineer has left the premises. She – she
talks to her machinery. It distresses him.”
“Edie’s worked more starship engines than the rest of the engineering
corps put together.” Mathematically it wasn’t far from the truth. “I’ll
deal with the rest of them, Admiral. They behave when they’re where I
can see them.”
Lester cast him a regard that seemed to say sure, sometimes but Felix
overlooked it. There was one name in particular that rankled him. He
winced, but Kreik was on a different track.
“They had better. The Lone Star is an asset, Captain."
Felix experienced an oh, fuck drop. Some kind of pre-emptive
bollocking was in order. It was imperative that he look sincere. It was
time for The Talk. Sincere.
“It is time you showed us what she can do. The Lone Star is the fleet’s…
darling.” Kreik had clear discomfort with this word, facially.
“Starfleet requires positive examples and your ship is for some reason
an emblem. Third-generation slipstream drive. Quantum cartography. First
contact ready. Evacuation and warship capable. She’s a jewel of the
fleet and we want to see results.”
Every feature sounded like a threat. Lester willed Felix not to smirk
and it didn’t, quite, work. Felix’s best and worst feature – his mouth –
began to move into motion before he, the dog or anyone else could do
anything about it. Kreik was still talking. Then she wasn’t, but her
face wanted an answer. She was about to get it.
“Thing is, Admiral.”
What he’d tried to explain went along the lines of the deep reverence he
held for his motley crew and their unique ability to solve the
universe’s problems; that he, Felix de l’Isle, was for some reason good
at channelling that and making it work.
“The Lone Star’s a weird one. All these minds that people can’t cope
with. We’re all an inconvenience but we’re too good to throw away. The
fact is that Starfleet doesn’t know what to do with us, so it puts us on
a ship and tells us to go as far as we can.”
“What’s your point, Captain?”
Felix could see Kreik’s patience thinning and didn’t care. The chink of
grin turned to a shard of sunlight. He spun the 3D map like caramel
beneath his fingers.
“Funny how the exceptionally abled are seen so differently, Admiral. But
this list tells me they’re all functioning as they should,” he said,
pointing decisively at an irrelevant console beyond her perspective.
“They’ve been out pushing boundaries. Testing people’s differences.
Making their presence felt. Saving the world.”
Felix shrugged something invisible off his shoulder. “And given half a
chance they make the best damned team you could find. We’ve completed
two five-year tours in the strangest parts of space and come back to
tell the tale. The Lone Star is a weird one, Admiral. But we can do
something else no other starship can.”
Here it came. “We can do the job and then some, sir. Don’t tell me how to lead my pack.”
Kreik's face imploded. Felix watched as his career disappeared in her
gnashing Klingon maw. Then it broke into a laugh; the kind that hadn’t
been used in a while.
“You are either very clever or very brave, Captain de l’Isle,” she
fizzed. It had worked but she had had enough. “Go to your ship, warp
eight. Collect your crew. And fill your words with worth.”
He could tell she’d said the last phrase in Klingon.
“Qapla’!” Felix said, enthusiastically.
“Qapla’,” Kreik replied cynically, her eyebrow quirking as the transmission ended.
-=-=-=-
Fleet Admiral Kreik, Chief of Strategic Operations, Starfleet Command
and Captain Felix de l'Isle, CO, USS Lone Star