Learning from my mistakes is something I do try to do. My Mother would argue here, but I stand my ground. Inevitably, like being caught in a time-loop, there are things I am doomed to repeat. This is why friends and beta readers were invented – to periodically yank people like me out of these loops, show us the error of our ways, then facepalm as we slip right back into the deep dark depths of typos, AWOL commas and the exhausting mine field that is the English language.
To this end, I would like to thank Sophia DeLuna, Agota, and Lizzi Shepherd. I hope I kept the forehead bruising to a minimum.
Warning: This story depicts scenes of a sexual relationship between two women. If this is not your liking I suggest you go find a more palatable story.
Copyright: While all the main characters and plot are the product of my imagination, pretty much nothing else belongs to me. Star Trek and everything therein are owned by Paramount. I'm just making sure the dust does not accumulate too deeply by maintaining its use.
Star Trek: Phoenix
Season 1 Episode 1
"Shakedown"
Chapter 1
Three weeks previously …
"You promised me this would be a formality!"
"Paula, calm down," came the calm voice from the small view screen.
"I did everything you asked of me. Everything. At great personal cost to myself. You owed me that ship!"
"Stand down! Remember your place, Captain," ordered the terse reply.
Captain Paula Hoffman stared at the COMM screen on her desk a few moments before sitting back in her chair, "My apologies, Admiral." Trying hard to swallow her anger she continued, "You told me the vetting of other candidates for the command of Phoenix was just protocol; that the others on the Review Board had already agreed to select me."
The flag officer nodded, "There were unforeseen complications. Another candidate was raised by a member of the board at the last minute. She proved too popular for me to talk them down. I'm sorry, Paula."
"So that's it?"
"It will be three weeks before they announce the new captain. I will continue to press your case, and see if there's something I can do to make their choice less … appealing."
Hoffman nodded, "Thank you, Admiral."
"In the meantime, keep your head down and do your job."
The screen went blank before Hoffman could even reply, triggering her to bring her fist down onto the desk angrily.
=/\=
Captain Samantha Taggart sat on the edge of the heavy wooden table, her legs swinging slightly beneath her as she slowly wrapped the white leather straps around her wrists. Routine was something in which she could lose herself. It was one of the few things she cherished and now used to calm her nerves and her raging emotions. Securing the wrist straps, she picked up two more strips that were on her lap and massaged the soft, supple leather between her fingertips. Familiar emotions welled inside her as she carefully wrapped each strip in turn around her knuckles, crossing the material over the palm of her hands, around her wrist, and back up over the hardened bony bases of her fingers. Fury. Excitement. Fear. Power.
In the darkened corner of the sub-basement, she was in her own world as she prepared for her encounter. The spotlights were directed towards the middle of the large space leaving the edges in shadows. It was also blissfully cooler than the hot centre where dozens of spectators were gathered. The light-generated heat was combining with the body heat, sweat and passion of the crowd to create a mini heat island effect in what was otherwise a normally frigid concrete hole. The noise was deafening as those attending shouted their support or condemnation for those in the rough circular arena they surrounded. The hard-packed sand floor did nothing to lessen the din.
Her world was silent: her attention entirely focused on the task at hand.
She moved herself back as she swung her right leg up, her heel dropping onto the edge of the table with a dull thud. The heel was wide and solid, and just high enough to keep her weight towards her steel-capped toes. The dark brown leather was stiff around her ankle, restricting her movements slightly but in turn providing needed protection and support. While the boot around the back of her calf stopped halfway up, a more solid piece ran the length of the front of her shin, culminating in a small oval shield meant as basic protection for her knee.
She was no fool though. The shield, and to a certain extent the leather 'spine' over her shin, would do little to protect her against a full assault. However, it added to her feeling of power even if it was more for show than for anything else. Regardless, she made sure the laces up the back of her boot were tight and that the straps holding the spine on were fastened securely before going through the same procedure with her other boot. In time, she pushed herself off the table and slowly started stretching her limbs.
She was nervous.
She felt a presence approaching at her back, the perfume identifying the arrival as the Ring Mistress, despite the overpowering scents of sweat and body fluids hanging oppressively in the air. Without conscious thought her back straightened, her broad shoulders moved back and her chin rose.
Before she could turn she felt a feminine hand press onto her naked thigh. She remained still as the hand moved up onto her right hip, her dark low-slung leather briefs dulling the sensation momentarily before she felt the caress fully again across her bare muscled abdomen. Stopping just below her sleeveless crop top, the hand's owner pressed bodily into her back, making her shiver with desire. The smooth deep chuckle that vibrated through her shoulder blades resulted in another shiver, the voice soon following obviously amused through the faint Germanic accent.
"I see your libido does not succumb to anything." A knowing chuckle accompanied the statement before turning more serious, "The question is, Samantha, what about the rest of you?"
The use of her full name startled her somewhat, unusual as the occurrence was. Feeling the Ring Mistress back away slightly she turned around, her emerald green eyes meeting the light blue. The older woman raised her hand slowly, threading her fingers through the vivid golden strands of Sam's short wavy hair, her eyes softening around the corners slightly. The Mistress was worried, and she was even showing it.
Sam started to respond when the Mistress continued her train of thought, almost wistful in her tone.
"You have been with us a while now. Six years ..." she paused, before adding, "longer than most. You're a survivor in everything you do, but I hope, that despite your sudden arrival in my household, you have made it your home." The two women held each other's gaze for a few moments, the boundaries between them gone briefly enough to convey what was required.
The Mistress smiled wryly, her hand rising to her full cleavage from where her manicured fingers pulled a long white handkerchief. Holding the ends in both hands she regarded it before appearing to come to a decision within herself.
"You know Gisele is different to the rest of you. You say you have no choice in your existence. She chooses this life. She enjoys destroying women like you." The Mistress narrowed her eyebrows in a frown at her subordinate, "but you know that already," she spat almost angrily, before composing herself once more. "It is a miracle you recovered so well."
"For which I have you to thank for, Mistress," returned the blonde quietly, her British lilt contrasting the German's guttural tone.
"Yes. You do," the Mistress replied flatly, before sighing. "I just hope it is not me you'll have to thank if ..." she left the rest unsaid before raising the handkerchief to tie around her chosen champion's well developed right bicep. Standing on her toes she gently kissed her fighter's pale cheek before stepping away, her voice now strong and commanding, "You fight wearing my Favour tonight. Do not dishonour me."
Sam watched the Ring Mistress retreat into the crowd gracefully, her long black dress accentuating her slender curves. It was true; Gisele had almost killed her the only other time they had met. She had been very naïve as to the reality of free style fighting. The rules were simple: defeat your opponent by any means short of death. Most managed to walk away, if unsteadily. Some had to be dragged from the arena and have their wounds treated.
Some were less fortunate.
She fell into the former category, for the most part. Her defeat and humiliation to Gisele had taught her to be ruthless though, and while the power that came with it excited her deeply, she refused to lower herself to the level of the other woman. She did not understand her, nor did she particularly want to. Right now she had no room in her life for moral debate or sympathies.
Her hand rose to touch the handkerchief around her bicep. Despite the Mistress' voiced doubts, the sheer presence of the Favour was enough to show the confidence she had in her champion. Everyone would see the Favour and their level of expectation would rise as a result. Gisele would also see it, and Sam honestly had no idea what the response would be – no House to her knowledge had dared to show favour to an opponent of hers.
Despite the new pressure, Sam smiled. It was a slow self-satisfied smirk that was born from the knowledge that she was ready for this. She was not undefeated since her fall to Gisele, but she wanted to set that little record straight once and for all.
And face her nightmares.
Still looking at the crowd she slowly started letting the world back in. Every sight, sound, and scent around was absorbed and processed, allowed to flow through her body as she started psyching herself up for what was to come. The assembled crowd was roaring at the current contestants in the arena, the fight prior to hers having just started. She could hear the grunts and cries of the two men, could almost feel the pounding in the ground as they fell in turn, only to get back up and carry on. The chanting was almost musical, the deep rumbling of the mainly male crowd urging on their wager to bloodier and brutal acts. Her turn would come soon.
She continued the stretching and limbering exercises that had been interrupted earlier, feeling the power she was capable of generating coursing through every muscle as she warmed up. Clenching her fists she bounced easily on the balls of her feet, quickly moving through swift jabs, uppercuts and kicks to get the blood moving through her veins.
Meanwhile, at the far side and left of the basement, a small entourage arrived down the steep steps as she let loose with a flurry of punches, the white leather flashing rapidly through the air. She already knew who the newcomer was, but in case there was any doubt in her mind the bold red flashes of leather adorning the tall muscular woman at the centre of the group confirmed it for her: Gisele had arrived.
Gisele's body was similarly clad to Sam's, the white leather replaced by red to denote the primary colour of the House she represented. Sam was not short by any means at 5 feet 10 inches, but Gisele still stood a good two inches taller. Outside the Ring, they led very different lives with Gisele's tanned skin a testament to this when compared to her own paler shade. Like Sam, she maintained her body meticulously while managing not to look overly muscular. Vanity was something they probably shared, and neither of them was shabby in that department.
Suddenly the crowd parted to the right as two male bouncers dragged a bloody brunette bundle through the throng to the back wall where an on-duty doctor started work on him immediately. At a glance, his injuries did not appear too bad: a few minor broken bones and some deep bruising at the most. Through the gap Sam could see the victorious fighter being treated by another doctor in the middle of the arena, the sandy floor a mottled yellow-red with the night's activities.
Soon. It would not take long for the Events Master to announce the next and final match of the night. Eyes at the back of the crowd were already turning in her general direction trying to make her out through the relative gloom. People she knew to be supporters of her looked concerned. Others were grinning, some lecherously. No prizes for what they were hoping for. Gisele was an event favourite.
Sam shrugged mentally as she automatically started pulling at her hand straps, making sure they were secure for a final time, the Favour a stark reality on her arm. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet again, part nervous energy, and part keeping the cold from settling in her muscles. She could do this. She would do this.
The gathered mob went quiet, the Events Master standing in the centre as two opposite corridors appeared automatically to allow the combatants access.
"Lieutenant Dailey to Captain Taggart."
Sam released an almost feral growl of frustration as the disembodied male voice cut through the air before automatically saying, "Computer, freeze program." Everything instantly froze, the holodeck now as still as the silence that had proceeded the interruption.
Taking a few breaths to compose herself she subconsciously raised her chin to reply, "Taggart here. Go ahead, Lieutenant," her British accent adding a non-existent 'f' to the rank.
"The admiral sends his regards, and asks that you please meet him in his office at 1600 hours." Though she was getting used to the no-nonsense monotone of Vice Admiral Jordan's adjutant, she could not help but feel he should have been born a Vulcan, and not the Human he was.
"Understood. Is there anything else, Lieutenant?"
"No, Captain. Dailey out."
Slowly blowing her frustration out though her nose, Taggart was not sure what was irritating her more right now: the interruption of the final running of her program, or the fact that the lower ranked officer had ended the conversation in a subtle breach of etiquette that was not lost on her.
She was young for a captain, nearly 32 years of age, but that was hardly unusual in the post-war Federation she was a part of. Rapid promotion had been a stark reality for too many during the Dominion War, herself included. She had excelled though, eventually being promoted to captain a year ago. The unfortunate fact of her promotion was that it was a battlefield promotion during the most recent Borg invasion, which had left some with lingering questions as to whether it was too soon.
"Computer, end program."
The myriad of characters surrounding her melted away seamlessly, quickly followed by the actual environment itself to leave her standing in the middle of the characteristic large black and gold cube of an empty holodeck. The leather she had been wearing also vanished, which left her standing barefoot in her Starfleet-issue gym shorts and top.
As she padded over to the corner to retrieve her trainers and track suit from where she had left them, she wondered whether the admiral's summons meant they had finally decided on an assignment for her. The past few months had seen her commanding the U.S.S. Hercules as part of the relief efforts that were still ongoing after the devastation the Borg had wrought. Three weeks ago, she had been inexplicably removed from what she thought had been a smooth command. Deposited at Starfleet Headquarters she had been told to await fresh orders, but these had been slow in coming.
She could only surmise that she was being punished, but for what she had no idea. Yet.
Pulling her sweater over her head, she lightly moved to exit the holodeck, the doors opening with an obedient hiss at her approach. Pausing at the exit, Taggart turned to a command panel and tapped a few keys, saving her program to the inserted isolinear chip. Retrieving the chip, she raised her voice to address the empty grid.
"Computer, reengage safety protocols. Authorisation: Taggart Delta Four Six Three."
"Safety protocols engaged."
With a nod, Captain Taggart turned on her heel and strode out onto the pristine concourse that formed just a small part of the vast complex that was Starfleet Headquarters.
=/\=
"The admiral will see you now, Captain," intoned Lieutenant Dailey as he emerged from Vice Admiral Nickolas Jordan's office.
Captain Taggart rose smartly from the plush sofa, subconsciously tugging down her black and grey uniform tunic. After straightening her command-red collar, she nodded to the lieutenant and entered Jordan's office at a relaxed march, halting smoothly a respectable distance from his desk.
"At ease, Captain," responded the greying but still vibrant admiral, "and please, let me introduce you." At that last comment, he had gestured over to a conference table that stretched down the side of the room. Already seated along one side were two other admirals and a captain. Controlling her surprise, Taggart moved to the empty length of the table as Vice Admiral Jordan identified those present. Gesturing towards the slender blonde woman seated centrally at the table he intoned, "May I introduce Fleet Admiral Alynna Nechayev." Having already been told to stand at ease, Taggart had to resist the immediate urge to snap back to attention at being introduced to one of the most senior officers in Starfleet. Instead, she nodded briskly and acknowledged the admiral traditionally with, "Sir." Indicating the white haired man to Nechayev's right, Jordan stated, "This is Admiral Theo Paterson." Taggart again replied with, "Sir," though this time she added the barest hint of a smile to her eyes for the man who had taught her fractal calculus at the Academy 11 years ago. Finally, the athletic brunette sitting next to Paterson's right was introduced, "And this is Captain Paula Hoffman." Being of equal rank, Taggart acknowledged the other woman simply with, "Captain," receiving a nod in reply.
Jordan moved round the table and took a seat on Nechayev's left, indicating that Taggart should also sit. Taggart was aware of the lieutenant closing the doors behind her as she sat opposite Admiral Nechayev. Crossing her legs, she leant back and hoped to appear calm as her gaze settled on the flag officer now contemplating her keenly. After a few more beats of mutual regard, Nechayev picked up a PADD and started scrolling through it, eventually addressing Taggart as she read the data.
"According to your record you have served aboard the Budapest, Ark Royal, Achilles, and most recently the Hercules. A scout ship, a warship, a heavy cruiser and a frigate. Frontline ground action on various planetary bodies during the Dominion War. Started within Starfleet Security and then promoted over to the auspices of the Command division. Twice awarded the Starfleet Medal of Honour and a recipient of the Christopher Pike Medal of Valour and the Starfleet Medal of Valour. Further commendations for valour, leadership, and the exceptional creation and application of imaginative tactics."
After a brief pause, the Admiral put the PADD down, entwined her slim fingers on the table in front of her and stared directly into Taggart's eyes as she said, "We are lucky to have such a hero and leader in you, Captain."
Knowing she was not expected to respond, Taggart swallowed her response as her superior continued to watch her. She knew by the slightly far-away look in the admiral's eyes that she was not trying to intimidate her but rather work something out. Despite this, the wait still grated on her nerves, especially as it was not just Nechayev studying her but everyone present at the table.
Eventually, she was told why.
"How are you with peace, Captain?" Nechayev suddenly asked.
Blinking a moment she finally asked, "Sir?" This was unexpected.
"Peace. Where we seek out new life, new civilisations, forge new boundaries in the frontiers of science and understanding. Where the drive for technology comes not from being battered to near extinction by hostile forces, but because someone was curious enough to see what would happen." Admiral Nechayev smiled wryly at that point, "This state of affairs that has been demonstratively lacking for almost your entire Starfleet career."
Taggart did not know what to say, so she remained silent. She knew exactly what was being pointed out, but not knowing the underlying reason for the line of questioning left Taggart feeling vulnerable to saying the wrong thing. She also thought that Captain Hoffman had smirked at the last remark, though it might have been a trick of her imagination.
Seeing Taggart's internal battle, Vice Admiral Jordan was personally pleased that the young captain, his protégé, had not blurted out something just to sate the indomitable Nechayev. He knew Nechayev could abide many personalities, but people who 'sucked up' to superiors just to further themselves were a breed she despised deeply and she had absolutely no time for them.
Finally, the admiral leant back in her chair and picked up another PADD. "In the aftermath of the Borg Invasion last year, President Bacco recommitted Starfleet towards its founding principles. Namely, exploration." Raising her eyebrows, she peered over the top of the PADD to see if Taggart was following her.
Taggart frowned slightly as she dredged up a forgotten memory, "If I recall, the Luna-class starships were re-tasked for long-range missions, and the Vesta-class starships fitted with slipstream technology for a similar purpose," she stated tentatively.
The admiral nodded, "Correct. However, that was not the end of it. Or even the beginning." Placing the PADD on the desk she slid it over to Taggart, indicating that she should pick it up, which the captain did dutifully.
It was immediately evident that the PADD contained the schematics for a large starship, but before she could read further the admiral continued her dialogue, "When the U.S.S. Voyager returned from the Delta Quadrant four years ago, Project Full Circle was created. While the initial goal was to strip Voyager of her Borg technology and refit her for modern service, it then became a mission to return to the Delta Quadrant. To this end, the quantum slipstream technology that Voyager had encountered was fully realised and installed on various starships."
Again, the admiral paused to see if Taggart was following what she was saying. Taggart was aware of the drive technology and knew that a fleet, with Voyager at its head, had been launched back to the Delta Quadrant recently. She said as much to the admiral who seemed pleased with her knowledge.
"Precisely. However, there have been drawbacks."
Why was she not surprised?
At this point, Admiral Paterson leant forward to explain, "The stresses that slipstream travel places on a ship are extreme, and the energy required to travel in such a manner varies greatly between the designs of each starship. Some starships are completely incompatible with the drive as a result." He gestured towards the PADD she was holding. "This was realised early on, and what you now hold are the schematics for the first, and currently only, purpose-built quantum slipstream propelled starship, the U.S.S. Phoenix."
Taking her cue, Taggart started reading the general specifications laid out in front of her, completely aware that her eyebrows were slowly crawling up her forehead as the picture grew in her head. The Phoenix was designed for a normal operational crew compliment of just over 900 souls, including civilians and family, with an emergency maximum of 4,000. She measured 752.4 meters long, 218.1 meters wide, and 104.7 meters high, and compromised of 32 decks. Both a warp core and slipstream core had been integrated, along with no fewer than 16 phaser arrays, 8 phaser canons and 12 quantum torpedo launchers. Quickly doing the maths in her head, this ship was as large as a Sovereign-class starship, although longer and narrower. And a hell of a lot more deadly.
"Sir …" she started tentatively, trying to think back to Academy quantum mechanics classes, "This ship is huge. Wouldn't the energy requirements be too great to propel it through a slipstream corridor?"
Admiral Paterson smiled, "You would think wouldn't you? However, it is not the size of the vessel that determines how it travels through a corridor but rather its aerodynamics. Theoretically, a shuttle and a starship could make similar energy demands if their designs were not streamlined enough." Using his hands to visualise the point, he continued his explanation, "Whereas a warp core creates a 'bubble' around a vessel which then travels through subspace, a ship utilising quantum slipstream technology quite literally forces its way through."
Grasping the concept quickly, Taggart shifted uneasily in her seat as she tentatively asked her next question, "What does this have to do with me, sir?"
"Peace, Captain. It has to do with peace," chimed in Nechayev.
Jordan almost laughed at the expression on the confused captain's face but managed to quell the urge. Instead, he explained, "I am sure you noticed that the Phoenix is armed like a predator, but she is primarily a ship of exploration. Her sensors are the best Starfleet has to offer, as are her various science labs. The civilian compliment will comprise of some of the best and brightest minds in the Federation, and the new drive will allow the ship to travel far greater distances than even the Vesta-class starships are assigned, and at greater speeds, but still be within striking distance of home."
Taggart was now reading through the rest of the extensive technology that the Phoenix boasted; quickly realising her mentor was right. While the starship could conceivably hold her own against a small armada, it was the more peaceful technologies that showed just how state of the art Phoenix was. Starfleet had poured all of its knowledge into this starship.
"So, Captain. Do you want her?" Nechayev asked.
She wanted her. Badly. But, she could not help but realise that others had more seniority over her to claim such a prize, and were also perhaps more deserving of it.
Running her fingers slowly through her hair she carefully asked the question on her mind, "Surely, sir, there are others more qualified? More … senior?" Taggart was quite sure Hoffman straightened her back at the admission.
"So why you?" Nechayev held Taggart's uncertain gaze a few moments. She had expected the question as it was a natural one in Taggart's position. However, she knew it was vital that the younger woman took her reply on board seriously, because a captain who lacked confidence was a great liability.
Nechayev picked up the PADD with Taggart's service record on it and held it in both hands before placing it before Taggart. "Because everything on this PADD says if Phoenix unexpectedly encountered trouble, which is highly possible in unknown space, there would be a better chance of surviving it with you in command." She watched as her words gradually sank into the young captain's too experienced psyche and knew before she spoke what the reply would be.
Taggart's first nod was almost imperceptible, but it slowly grew into an obvious gesture.
"So when do I start?" Taggart thought Captain Hoffman looked slightly ill during the last few moments, though she did not have the time to dwell on it.
It was Paterson who replied with, "Immediately!" The admiral swung to his right and wrapped his large hands around a stack of PADDs that Captain Hoffman had supplied him with, depositing them before Taggart. Tapping the top one he continued, "Your schedule for the next few days is here. Your Executive Officer, Commander Tesar, has been recruiting the main bulk of the staff for a couple of weeks now, but I told him to hold off with regards to the Senior Staff until a CO was appointed. The one exception to this is your Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Ford. He is one of Starfleet's rising specialists in quantum slipstream technology and has been part of the crew that built Phoenix. So you'll need him." Gesturing to his right, he continued, "Hoffman here has been overseeing the final construction of Phoenix at the Utopia Planetia yards, and will be able to assist with any issues pertaining to supplies and final outfitting."
Admiral Nechayev excused herself from the rest of the meeting, and the next hour or so passed at an almost dizzying speed as the two remaining admirals and captain brought Taggart up to date with what needed to be done before Phoenix launched in a week's time. Amongst other things, she knew she was going to spend most of it buried in Phoenix's considerable specifications just to even begin familiarising herself with her new command.
Eventually, all the officers sat back in their respective chairs.
"So, that should keep you busy," noted Admiral Paterson.
Taggart chuckled softly, the only sane reaction to the understatement in his words.
"Oh, there is one more thing," threw in the admiral as he rose from his chair to mark an end to the meeting, "There is currently an edict in place whereby all new commanding officers are to be psychologically assessed for their fitness to command."
This time, Admiral Jordan could not contain his mirth, grinning widely as the undoubtedly courageous captain in front of him groaned at the prospect of what was in store for her. Put Starfleet officers in front of a firing squad and they would generally meet their fate with dignity. Send them to a counsellor and most will hide behind the nearest bulkhead. He certainly could not blame her for the reaction: the Admiralty were also under the mental spotlight and he had managed to avoid his own particular appointment for two months now.
Paterson continued, a sombre tone to his voice, "While it may just be a formality for you, the recent horrors have taken their toll on many. We have a duty of care to ensure that you're not sent to a distant quadrant as a quivering wreck, now don't we."
It was not a question, and she knew it. Obediently, Taggart agreed.
"Excellent. Your appointment with Counsellor Haines is in your schedule. Be sure not to miss it as it is a condition of your officially accepting command at the launch."
Stepping around the conference table, Paterson held his hand out to Taggart, who accepted it gratefully. "Congratulations, Captain. Admiral Jordan and I look forward to reading your future mission reports."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now, if you don't mind, my wife hates it when I get home late." Smiling, the admiral turned on his heel and strode out of the office. Captain Hoffman also made her excuses and left, without offering any congratulations, leaving Taggart alone with Admiral Jordan.
Turning back to the admiral, she observed, "Captain Hoffman doesn't seem to like me very much."
Jordan waved after Hoffman dismissively, "Don't let it worry you. I should not be telling you this, but she was one of the names put forward for the command of Phoenix alongside yours. She will get over it. Just try not to rub it in, eh?" Then, quite suddenly, Taggart found herself wrapped up in a tight fatherly embrace. He finally let her go and held her at arms-length, smiling fondly, "Congratulations, Sam. Your parents would have been so proud." He then chuckled, "I've wanted to say that for four weeks."
Dropping the professional mask she had worn the last couple of hours, a large smile split her face as she replied, "Thanks." She then frowned slightly and asked, "Four weeks?"
"Ah, yes," said the slightly abashed admiral, "It was decided four weeks ago to offer you the command. We let you finish your current refugee run, and then brought you home."
"But that was three weeks ago. Why am I only finding out about this now, Nick?"
"You needed a break," he matter-of-factly replied.
"A break?"
"A vacation," he added. She scowled at him for that response, and he smiled back affectionately, "Come now, Sam, you hadn't taken any leave in almost a year. We wanted you rested before you took up your new command."
"You still could have told me," she said, wounded.
"And what would you have done? Buried yourself in schematics, crew lists and probably would have pestered the hell out of Hoffman with questions as she tried to finish your ship. What kind of break is that?"
He folded his arms, daring her to challenge his logic. They had had many battles of wills over the years. Secretly, he enjoyed them immensely. She had a startling mind and he was happy to encourage it any way he could, even if it was exhausting at times. He also knew that she had a tendency to overwork, and he was endlessly finding ways to get her to relax more. It was almost a game now.
Taggart glared at him for a few moments before allowing a smile back onto her face, "You win this one. I suppose it was nice to have the down time, even if it was accompanied by a nagging worry I was being punished."
"Ah, yes, sorry about that." He smiled apologetically before moving on to the last order of business for the day, "So young lady, I have strict orders from She Who Must Be Obeyed to bring you home for a celebratory dinner."
Taggart laughed at Jordan's referral to his wife and teasingly replied, "Well now, far be it for me to decline and get you into trouble for insubordination."
Jordan beamed, "I knew you'd not let me down."
Jordan stood by the door and watched as Taggart collected the PADDS on the table. He had attended the Academy with her father, and as young officers, they had made a pact that if either of them should die in the line of duty the other would watch over their family. When she was 15, Sam had tragically lost both her parents in the same incident. He had honoured the pact with his best friend and had taken her into his family for the next couple of years until she left for Starfleet Academy on an early admission.
He had watched her develop into an exceptional officer, like her parents had been, and he had made it his business to make sure she was not interfered with by those who would deliberately impede her success. The naked talent and skill that Taggart had displayed in her decade long career had raised many eyebrows, and some saw her as a threat to their own personal objectives. The raw ambition of some officers still shocked and amazed him, especially when they would step on, or destroy, others in their attempts to rise up through the ranks. He was careful not to show undue favour, especially as it was generally known amongst the admiralty that she was practically his family, but he certainly did his best to keep the political animals away from her. It was not an unusual practice; most admirals had their protégés and protected them as best they could, but it could certainly get complicated at times, especially since Taggart was completely unaware of his machinations.
Presently, Taggart returned with an armful of PADDs and he smiled at the almost child-like glee in her eyes, "Right then, let's get going before you get it into your head to look at those before dinner." With that, both officers left the building for the nearest transporter hub to make their way to the admiral's home.