A/N: This is, in some ways, related to 'Personal Logs.' It is an prologue, epilogue, and somewhat parallel to it, but things will be changed. It is set after Nemesis, but that is where the story diverges from and goes A/U.
Disclaimer: Paramount is just that.
Chapter 1
Data thought himself to be a competent Starfleet officer, and his citations for everything from superlative bravery to diplomatic ability were, in his view, a fitting testament to that. Therefore, he did not understand why Major Richard Wellesley, of the 361st Battalion of the MACO, behaved the way he did towards the android. After all, Data's primary concern was with the well-being of the ship and it's crew, just as Major Wellesley's concern should be the well-being of the men and women who served under him. Data did not understand the propensity of Major Wellesley to interfere with Data's command of the Enterprise. He was always giving him ideas and solutions to problems that had not arisen yet. Not all of the ideas were bad by any means, and Data had stored them in his positronic brain for the time when they might be of some use to him. However, the majority of them seem to want to turn the Enterprise into Mr. Wellesley's personal battleship.
The Enterprise, while being an immensely powerful ship, was not Mr. Wellesley's, Data concluded. And a good thing, too.
"Commander Data to Major Wellesley. We have encountered a M'loi squadron and are engaging. I will be unable to brief you personally. Commander Harl will do so, instead." Data nodded to his temporary first officer, who began towards the turbo lift. "Please inform Major Wellesley that he is to prepare for boarders."
"Aye, sir"
"Red Alert. All hands to battlestations." The calm voice of Data juxtaposed with the klaxons blaring their dirge.
Crusher hated hearing that. Weren't we supposed to be explorers? She tried to jolt herself awake, willing herself to move from her office chair to set up sickbay for triage.
Ever since this damned war started, all she recalled ever doing in the morning is hoping that the day would hold something other than wars and casualties and lists. Every evening, however, the doctor ended up falling asleep, utterly disgusted with the day. She could hear the stomping of boots on the decks outside of sickbay – heavy boots. Military boots. The one thing she hated above anything in this war was having to play host to the MACOs – the Military Assault Command Operations. Legionaries, they thought themselves, she thought with a roll of her blue eyes, a bit full of themselves, aren't they? Caesar would be so proud. She smiled to herself when thinking of that last comment. Jean-Luc would have been pleased by her adding that classical touch. Jean-Luc... He'd been gone for 2 months now. "Special assignment" was the way he described where he was going that last night when they had enjoyed a romantic dinner. Throughout dinner she couldn't keep her eyes off him, and noted gleefully that he couldn't keep his eyes off her. After dinner they had taken to dancing. He's a wonderful dancer, she thought, but I knew that already. Why was I so stubborn? Why didn't I tell him about my love? Why didn't I take that night, and use it the way my body wanted me to? Nechayev had come personally to the Enterprise that next morning, and brought with her six people, dressed in black. None of them ever said anything, and none of them ever seemed to smile. It was quite disconcerting, but not nearly as disconcerting as when Deanna had told Beverly that two of them were Betazoids, and powerfully telepathic to boot. Rumours aboard the Enterprise NCC-1701-E were abound, and the one that seemed to hold the most water, at least to Beverly's over active imagination was that these were operatives of Section 31. Section 31, Beverly drew in a shuddering breath, what could they possibly want with Jean-Luc? My Jean-Luc... She bit back the warm tears that were welling in her eyes at the thought of him, and the two months since she had been in contact with him, since she had been able to tell herself that he was still alive.
He had taken the battle with Shinzon, and the loss of Lieutenant Commander Data hard, very hard, and the reports of that encounter had been frighteningly clinical in the wording used when describing the dramatic, and for Jean-Lu himself, undeniably personal, events that unfolded: unstable elements...thaleron device...skirmish...acceptable risks...casualty report. She asked him about what had really happened aboard the Scimitar, and he had, once, after one of their dinners, talked to her about it. He feels guilty, she thought to herself at the time, guilty that Data had died to save him. Save us all. He wanted to be the one at the centre of that memorial service, not being one of the ones to say goodbye. She saw the anguish in his eyes when he recounted, in his verbal report to the senior staff, having the emergency transporter beacon attached to his arm, and how, in the final moments of the transport, Data had simply said 'goodbye', and destroyed the thaleron matrix, detonating both it, the Scimitar, and the redoubtable android. Her heart had gone out to Jean-Luc, but all he had done is retreated within himself, and shielded himself with preoccupation and duty. When this war had started, she thought she may have seen a bitter gleam of savage thrill in his eyes, so cold at the time, their hazel depths murky with the great internal struggle. That chilled her to the bone, and made her heart race with thrill at the same time. Humanity is dumb, she thought to herself, we think we've come so far, and then war makes children of us all. This conflict had brought out the worst in everyone, but she had seen the stoic Captain, the man she dearly loved, come alive again. She hoped he would remain that way. When b4 had 'become' Data earlier this year, right before the war had started, Picard had made him the first officer of the Enterprise, bumping Commander Madden to commanding his own ship. An Intrepid-class, if she recalled correctly. How many of his favours owed he had been forced to call in, no one knew, but many were certain that it would not have been an inconsequential amount.
The ship rocked as the inertial dampeners struggled to keep up with the manoeuvres that Data had ordered. We aren't all androids, Data. WE actually get nauseous. But it had had the desired effect of knocking her out of her daydreaming.
Crusher had delighted when she had learned that Starfleet believed that Data, lately having completed the Starfleet tests to judge whether or not b4 was capable of 'being' Data, would be the best suited to take over the Enterprise in Jean-Luc's absence. Immediately upon taking Command, Data had ordered Battle Preparedness Reports. Enterprise was being sent to the front line, and Beverly would be going with it. War is the only proper school for a surgeon, Crusher snorted, Hippocrates, you got so much right, and still got so much wrong.
"'Ten-hut!"
"At ease, ladies and gentlemen. Commander Data will be unable to come down to give the briefing himself, as you can no doubt guess by the state of the ship."
Major Richard Wellesley was of the old school. The very old school. He was brought up under the discipline and doctrine of the armed sevices, his father having been a military man, and his father's father, all the way back to his noble ancestor, Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington and victor of Waterloo. He carried the given name of his great forebearer's brother, but felt a closer kinship with Wellington himself. He would make his family proud of him, dammit.
The assembled group of officers made up the senior staff of his battalion. He bunked alone, but due to space constraints aboard this damned ship, he was the only senior officer in his group to get that privilege. Damned disgrace, he thought to himself, damned disgrace. He had never liked starships, always being a man of the soil and solid ground. Commander Data, hmph, he remarked to himself, jumped up little turd. Thinks himself a leader of men, does he? Data had not ingratiated himself with Wellesley one bit during the latter's stay on the Enterprise. High handed ideals of what the Federation ought to be, rather than what it was – a mutual defence pact. One that got into a lot more wars than it would prefer to admit. Mutual defence required the ability to defend oneself, and Data just didn't get that. Oh well, as long as I get to do the fighting, we should be alright. Richard smirked. MACO efficiency and MACO resourcefulness would bring about victory in the ground wars. Ground wars had always been the deciding factor in conflicts – Richard didn't see why that had to change.
"Sir, Commander Data has asked me to inform you that he is expecting boarders, and to ask that you prepare to repel them."
"I know my job, thank you, ensign." Wellesley turned and ignore the snotty little ensign, "ladies and gentlemen, this is where we earn our keep. Deploy troops throughout the ship, double detachments to engineering and decks 2 and 3. Set phasers to 'kill', and shoot on sight, try not to hit any of our spaceyies. Let's Move!"
