Admiral Tomlinson strode with purpose to her office, her eyes locked tightly to the datapad she was reading. She knew her way around the starbase like the back of her hand, so she never had to look up to see where she was going. It was up to the people around her to get out of the way as she walked past. One officer, a gold-shirted lieutenant, had the bad luck of bumping into her arm in one of the corridors.

"Watch where you're going!" she barked.

"S-sorry, ma'am," the young lieutenant said. He put his head down and quickly scurried away.

Admiral Tomlinson huffed and continued walking to her office, no longer looking at the datapad. The frustration of losing one of her days off was clearly visible, though she had a reputation around the Federation of being quite hot-headed, even vicious at times. Some people thought it was her way of compensating for being short, others thought it came from being a redhead, even if only lightly. Whatever the underlying cause, today had its own reason, a reason with a name. Tomlinson reached the orange pneumatic door that marked her office and drew a breath, preparing for what she was about to deal with.

The door slid open and Tomlinson looked inside. Sitting at one end of her office table was the reason for her losing her day off: Captain Beaumont Winchester. He rose when he saw her in the doorway. He was about six feet tall, more than a full head above her. He carried himself well, though it was impossible to hide how virtually rail-thin he was. He stood straight with his shoulders spread outward, but he did not have a muscular build and as such he never seemed very imposing. He broke his posture momentarily to adjust part of his wavy brown hair.

"Sit down, Captain," Tomlinson said. Her voice was light, unlike when she yelled at the lieutenant in the corridor.

"Yes, ma'am," said Winchester. His voice was deep, but still carried a personable tone to it.

Tomlinson sat in her chair and placed the datapad on the table. She looked at Winchester but did not say anything right away. She folded her hands in her lap and raised her eyebrows. "I think you know why you're here," she said.

Winchester took a deep breath before speaking. "Well, to be honest, Admiral, I imagine I might be here for any number of reasons."

Tomlinson could already feel the tension running through her body, but she did her best to stay calm. "Starfleet Command has requested that I review your record of late," she said. She glanced up to the ceiling. "Computer, begin recording," she said. A small chirp signified a response. She began to dictate from the datapad: "Under orders of Starfleet Command, this recording is a formal inquiry into the activities of Captain Beaumont Winchester, presided over by Admiral Amelia Tomlinson at Starbase 419 on stardate 81007.8."

Winchester grinned. "This sounds serious," he said.

"Of course it's serious," said Tomlinson. "That's the whole point of this. Starfleet takes its duties as an organization very seriously. It expects – no, rather, it demands – that all of its officers treat their duties the same way. You, Captain Winchester, do not seem to understand the level of respect your duties demand."

Winchester sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I believe, Admiral, if you were to speak with my former crew members, they would tell you that I have been a fine captain."

"In terms of morale, yes," said Tomlinson. "Feedback on your personal performance has been quite good, there's no denying that. But Starfleet is concerned with the more technical matters. The way you carry out your orders is what has them upset."

"Oh please," said Winchester. "You mean I had to come all this way because I didn't format my reports properly?"

"Don't be trite, Winchester!" Tomlinson snapped. Her short fuse had betrayed her yet again. She held up the datapad. "Do you know how many infractions are on this list? It's practically as long as my arm!"

"Then it must be a short list," Winchester said with a chuckle.

Tomlinson's body began to quiver with anger. "Computer, pause recording!" she shouted. When she heard the accompanying chirp, she threw the datapad against the wall. "Damn it, Beaumont! I want to make this as painless as possible on the both of us, but I can't have you joking around. You've got to take this seriously."

Winchester paused for a moment and studied the angry admiral. Part of being a captain meant finding ways out of tough situations, and this was no exception. He knew he had to play it cool. "Perhaps we can find some happy medium between my body language and yours," he said with a smile. "Is that fair?"

Tomlinson was starting to relax. "Look," she said, "I need to go over your record with you. Starfleet has left it to me to make sure that you aren't going to cause an incident somewhere."

"What are they concerned about?" asked Winchester.

Tomlinson stood up and walked over to the spot where she had thrown the datapad. She picked it up and began scanning the list. "The list of infractions has a wide range," she said. "Some of it is relatively minor, such as not submitting reports to Starfleet in a timely manner."

Winchester shrugged. "Sometimes it just slips my mind," he said.

"Others are more serious, like failing to report to an assigned location and going somewhere else," Tomlinson continued.

"I like to explore," said Winchester.

"Then, perhaps most seriously, there is the incident on Motavia IV," said Tomlinson. Her hazel eyes narrowed at Winchester. He could feel them penetrating his body. This was one incident he knew not to joke about.

"That was an accident," he said flatly. "I underestimated the amount of damage we had already done to the Romulan warbird."

"Your carelessness nearly incited a war with the Romulan Empire." Tomlinson finally sat back down. "Listen, Starfleet doesn't care if you don't report in on time. Hell, they hardly even read most of those reports. They get a little more upset when you don't go where you're told, but as long as the mission gets done, they let it slide. But destroying a Romulan ship, when you know how much tension already exists between our governments..."

"Let the record show," said Winchester, his voice beginning to rise, "that the reason I was out there in the first place was because Starfleet had slipped an undercover agent on board that ship. For reasons that were not of my doing, that mission had to be aborted, so I was called upon to extract him. Yes, an act of war may have been committed in that event, but I certainly wasn't the catalyst for it." Now it was his turn to glare at Tomlinson.

The admiral shifted in her seat and fiddled with her uniform. "I'm aware of that," she said. "Everyone looks bad because of that mission. But you must understand that the Romulans are still very upset, and we need to do something to calm them down and hope this all blows over."

"Just tell them Starfleet is conducting an internal inquiry. That should do the trick," said Winchester.

"We've told them that already," said Tomlinson. "That's partly why you and I are here right now. But the Romulans want to see something substantial from all of this. If they think we're blowing smoke, it could make things worse."

Winchester pointed to the replicator, signaling his desire to get something to drink. Tomlinson nodded and Winchester walked over to the device on the wall. "Water, cold," he said. A small glass of water materialized in the service tray. Winchester picked it up and took a sip as he headed back to his seat. "So what do you plan to do?" he asked.

Tomlinson's face became very sullen. "I'm sorry to say this, Beaumont," she said, "but you're being reassigned."

Winchester recoiled a bit at the word reassigned. He tried to maintain composure, but the frown on his usually bright face showed he was hurt. "Where am I going?" he asked.

"We're presently fitting a ship for launch here at the starbase. Her name is the Silver Hawk," said Tomlinson.

"I heard about it when I arrived," Winchester said. "She's an Ambassador-class, if I'm not mistaken."

Tomlinson nodded. "Correct," she said. "Most of the crew has already been assembled. We just need a captain and a first officer."

Winchester cleared his throat. "Might I be able to request a first officer? I have one in mind."

Tomlinson cringed. "I was afraid you'd say that," she said as she exhaled deeply. "Truthfully, Beaumont, I think that officer of yours is just as responsible for the trouble you get into as much as you are. I'd need to convince Starfleet that I can trust the two of you together."

"I'm pretty sure you can trust us," said Winchester. "Kirby and I went through the academy together and have known each other for years now. His crew morale rating is just as high as mine. We value each other's ideas, and in many cases I'd say we think alike."

"That's what worries me," said Tomlinson. "Commander Steele is usually a good officer, but his carefree style is just as bad as yours, if not worse. I need to know that if you're forced into a difficult situation, you can lead the ship as captain and not give in to the whims of your buddy."

"Do you have plans on putting us in a difficult situation?" Winchester asked.

"You need to be prepared for anything. That's the point I'm trying to make." Tomlinson paused, then glanced at the ceiling again. "Computer, what's the time?"

The computer chirped. "The time is 1900 hours," replied a female voice, the same one Starfleet had been using for decades.

Tomlinson tapped on the datapad a few times, then handed it to Winchester. "The complete crew log is listed there, as well as all the information about the ship. Your first mission orders are also there. I suggest you read them very carefully. I'll talk to Starfleet about assigning Commander Steele to your ship. In the meantime, read that information and get some sleep. You'll be departing at 0800 hours tomorrow. Dismissed."

Winchester rose from the chair and adjusted his uniform. He turned to leave.

"One more thing, Winchester," said Tomlinson, just as he was approaching the doorway. "Please be on your best behavior for this mission. It's your first one on a new ship. I'd like to hear that everything went smoothly."

Winchester nodded. "Understood, ma'am," he said and exited. The pneumatic doors slid shut behind him.