Disclaimers: No infringement intended. I obviously don't own Star Trek or any of its properties
Acknowledgments: This story was written by request for Audabee who generously contributed to the Queensland Flood Relief Fund. Audabee wanted action Janeway. I sure hope this fit the bill. And thanks to QS for once again donning the beta hat for me.
Notes: Triskaidekaphobia is fear of the number 13. There are four ranks of admiral with Vice Admiral being one rank lower than Admiral. The story is complete and will be posted in three parts.
Shuttle Full O'Trouble by Cheshire
The strap of her carry-all bag was biting into her shoulder and she tried adjusting it for the umpteenth time to a more comfortable position, but there didn't seem to be one. Vice Admiral Kathryn Janeway glanced down once again at the PADD in her hand, unnecessarily checking that it was indeed the USS Mississippi she was looking for. Naturally, all of the runabouts had to be at the very end of the shuttle bay. She was quite sure though, given the guest list for this trip, that she was the only one who had chosen to actually walk to the ship.
Reviewing the guest list in her head, Kathryn suppressed the urge to suddenly come down with a case of Tarkalean flu. Vice Admiral Melong, a Bolian and commanding officer of Starbase 13; Admiral Ketek, a Vulcan in charge of interplanetary agricultural reform; Vice Admiral Tulud, an Andorian weapons and tactics master; Admiral Mason, a human and head of the flight training school at the academy for as long as anyone could possibly remember; Vice Admiral Baird, a human female doctor specializing in cosmetic surgery and the only person besides Kathryn that was under sixty years old; and last but not least one of Kathryn's personal nemeses – Admiral Robert T. Brown.
While his official title was something along the lines of Chief Litigator for Infractions Regarding the Space Time Continuum, he was also something of a subject matter expert on the Prime Directive and all of its codicils. Two factors which had come up repeatedly during Kathryn's debriefings upon returning home, and ultimately two factors which Kathryn had vehemently disagreed with him about while dissecting some of the more controversial orders she'd given over seven years in the Delta Quadrant. It wasn't that she thought she'd made the perfect choice in any given situation; it was more his condescending manner and attitude when he spoke to her as if he were scolding a misbehaving child that had gotten on her last nerve. Needless to say, the discussions between them had been contentious.
And now they'd get to spend two days on a runabout together. Kathryn wasn't entirely sure who she had pissed off this time to be assigned to this particular conference, but the only thing that was keeping her sanity in check was the idea that she didn't have to catch a ride back to Earth on the shuttle with listed company. Chakotay was also going to be in attendance, and they'd both taken several days of leave after the conference. Kathryn was anticipating that her travel back to Earth would be a much more pleasant trip.
Finally arriving at the USS Mississippi, the very last shuttle in line, Kathryn steeled herself and walked up the extended ramp. A lieutenant and an ensign were already at the helm, conducting what she assumed were the pre-flight checks under the watchful eye of Admiral Mason. She immediately pitied the two young officers and made a mental note to give them both some encouragement whenever she could. If the way Admiral Mason was shaking his head was any indication, they were going to need whatever support they could get.
"Nice of you to join us, Janeway. Maybe now we can finally get underway."
At the irritatingly familiar voice, Kathryn plastered a polite smile on her face before turning to address Admiral Brown. "My apologies, Admiral. I wasn't aware that you'd wanted to leave thirty minutes early."
"The sooner we leave, the sooner we get there," he retorted as he walked past her. "Lieutenant, everyone is on board. We can leave now."
"Not until they finish the pre-flight warm-up," Mason replied, leaning over and tapping the pilot's console.
Kathryn took a deep breath and held it. It was going to be a long flight.
"So you see Kathryn, this human capacity to continually perpetuate triskaidekaphobia is completely and utterly archaic. It's also strictly a Terran superstition, and yet because the makeup of Starfleet has such a high ratio of humans to other species in its ranks, this pesky fear of a simple designation does impact, although only to a slight degree I assure you, the operations of my space station. Another problem arising from the statistically high number of Terrans in Starfleet is that they also influence the other cultures around them. I have personally encountered triskaidekaphobia in alien species now that have absolutely no historical background on which to even blame their fears. Granted, the human basis for fear of this prime number is questionable at best, but at least you humans can articulate some sort of basis to indicate why you fear a number. But, I ask you, why should a Ferengi be afraid of coming to my starbase simply because of its designation? It's absurd."
I wholeheartedly agree," Kathryn managed to interject. "Would you excuse–"
"Thank you!" Admiral Melong exclaimed, oblivious to Janeway's attempt to rise from her chair. "That's exactly the kind of support I need. Despite the fear being archaic and recognized as such, my space station is still stuck with this unfortunate moniker, but I think with persons such as yourself backing my proposal it will finally get passed through the Senate."
Kathryn's head was spinning, but she managed to stop the Bolian admiral before he could go any further. "Wait. What proposal?"
"Changing the designation of my space station," he supplied. "You just agreed with me that it should be done. Now, unfortunately, there's already a space station 14 so I simply can't take the next number in sequence, and really giving my space station, which is so close to Sector 001, the highest designation wouldn't be right either. I propose we have a completely new naming convention for all the space stations, only this time we can skip right over the number 13. Sort of like how you Terrans used to do with those airplane things you used to fly. Refusing to number any row of seats as 13. Are you familiar with that custom, Kathryn? Simply skipping over the number 13 as though it didn't exist? Humans used to do it in all sorts of places. Buildings would skip from floor 12 to floor 14. As if that really changed anything at all. Ridiculous I tell you. However, we could run into the same problem with renaming the space stations. We can't simply skip over 13 because we would still be the thirteenth one."
Kathryn felt like crying. Seven years in the Delta Quadrant had rarely reduced her to tears, but only twelve hours into this trip she was ready to throw in the towel and call it quits. She had permanent half-moon indentures where she'd been digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand whenever she'd been forced to interact with Admiral Brown. Baird, the only other female on the runabout, had barely spoken two words to her. It seemed that whatever section of the ship Kathryn was in Baird made it a point to not be there. She'd even neglected to finish her lunch earlier, choosing instead to get up and leave as soon as Kathryn had sat down to the table in the aft section.
Admiral Mason had barely left the pilots alone for more than a minute, choosing to sit at the tactical station situated behind them, where he could supervise their every action. And as far as she could tell, Tulud had yet to speak to a single person on the ship, choosing instead to focus entirely on a PADD which Kathryn had only managed to catch a glimpse of but which seemed to have some sort of weapon design on it. Ketek had disappeared into the cargo area at the beginning of their trip, and she assumed entered a Vulcan meditative state. She envied him.
But Melong was only too happy to speak with her. His incessant chattering was doing absolutely nothing for the headache she'd been nursing since about the fifth hour into the trip, but even as she considered that, she realized Melong had fallen silent. She sighed as it could only mean one thing. Baird had entered the aft section of the runabout.
Kathryn looked up and to no surprise saw the female admiral standing at the replicator. It should've bothered her, she supposed, that in this day and age, men of any species would still stop and gawk at a woman just because she was attractive. On some level, it should probably bother her that this woman, who was actually listed as being older than she was, garnered more attention by simply entering a room than Kathryn did. Even Tulud had looked up from his PADD. But honestly, Janeway simply took advantage of the opportunity and got up from the table, grabbing her PADD and quickly making an exit before Melong realized he'd lost his captive audience.
The ensign seated in the co-pilot's chair looked up when she entered the forward area, but she just held up her hands. "I'm just looking for a quiet place to review some reports. Please, carry on." Mason looked like he was about to object to her presence so she preempted him. "That is, of course, if it's all right with you, Admiral? I'm sure my piloting skills could only be improved if I'm allowed to sit here and pick up some tidbits."
The significantly older man seemed mollified and only grumbled something about her just staying out of the way. Janeway tipped her head to him and gratefully sank into the seat, thumbing on her PADD, and for once happily sinking into a status report that had arrived at her desk the day prior.
An hour had passed when she finally heard Mason say something to the pilots that she found interesting. Something about being off course. She looked up from the report she had been annotating. The absolute last thing she wanted was for this trip to take longer than it needed to.
"Lieutenant, this trip is supposed to be on a heading of 127 mark four," Mason stated, pulling up a chart at the station where he was seated. "You have us moving at 283 mark seven. Explain yourself."
That was a significant difference in heading and Kathryn looked to the pilots, assuming they had a reasonable explanation.
But both pilots ignored the older admiral.
For a second, she could hardly blame them. He'd been harping on them for the entire trip. She could even accept a delayed response on their part, considering they'd probably started to tune him out, but still, he was an admiral. No Starfleet officer simply ignored an admiral.
Mason got to his feet. "Lieutenant, I expect an answer when I ask a question. Now tell me why you've deviated from the flight plan."
"Shut up, old man."
Kathryn could not believe it and was on her feet in an instant, about to demand an explanation when the ensign sitting in the co-pilot's chair spun to face her. "Sit down, Admiral."
She almost snapped back at him, but noticed he was pointing a phaser at her. Janeway's chin came up as she assessed the two men seated in front of her. There was a definite edge in her voice when she demanded, "Who are you?"
Mason wasn't quite as quick to catch on. "Put that weapon down, Ensign. That's an order."
In a single fluid movement, the lieutenant got to his feet and cold-cocked Mason across the face, dropping the older man to the deck. Kathryn instinctively lunged forward to assist him only to find a phaser pointed in her face. Careful not to make any further hasty movements, she pulled back.
The man posing as a lieutenant smirked at her. "Smart move."
"That wasn't necessary," she said coldly, her eyes straying to Mason's unmoving form.
"After twelve hours of listening to his mouth, he's lucky I didn't kill him," the pilot sneered.
"Fine. You're in charge. Now what?"
The ensign snorted but remained quiet. The lieutenant smirked again and shook his head. "We're not the ones in charge."
Janeway looked at them carefully, feeling the knot of fear in her belly grow exponentially. "Then who is?"
Pain exploded in the back of her head and she fell forwards, trying to catch herself on the pilot's chair, but felt her hands slide helplessly over the contours of the chair as she collapsed to the deck. Clutching at her head, she tried desperately to fight off the blackness that was crowding her vision. The toe of a boot slammed into her abdomen, knocking her over on her side, her back hitting the base of the helm. She managed to hold onto consciousness a moment longer and see the three faces of her attackers standing over her. The lieutenant. The ensign.
And Admiral Robert T. Brown.