Captain Tyeler flexed his hands in anticipation. Hours of the
grueling cat and mouse game were wearing on him, and he was glad for a
chance to finally act.
"Mr. Solon, do we have anything new on the Cardassians yet?" He hoped the Vulcan science officer took the edge in his voice as an indication to magically produce results. Because that was precisely what he expected.
"Telemetry from our probe indicates the Cardassian vessels have completed their scans of the planet's surface, and have decided there is nothing of consequence. Apparently your ruse was successful sir. My congratulations."
If Tyeler didn't know better, he would've sworn that the Vulcan had just nailed him with perfect deadpan sarcasm. Did he just raise his eyebrow at me? Damn Vulcans; no sense of humor my ass... He straightened his tunic in a practiced gesture and fixed his mind on the task at hand. "Mr. Stephenson, you may inform the shuttles to launch their payloads and then proceed to the magnetic north pole to await the outcome." The young woman at the comm console bent to her task, and relayed acknowledgment. Tyeler went to his science officer's station and watched as the previously deployed shuttles fired their torpedo payloads and retreated to the northern polar region to avoid detection, maneuvering at low altitude. His chief engineer's spur of the moment idea to refit all of their shuttles with exterior pylons was a stroke of brilliance. He and his senior staff had rigged the shuttles to hold three torpedoes so quickly, that Tyeler had recommended commendations for them in his log. Hope Command lets me keep this crew when the mission is over... sure would be a shame to break-up a winning team.
Lt. Commander Solon straightened at his post. "Torpedo arrival at pre-programmed coordinates in twenty-two point four six seconds, Captain. The Cardassians will have them on sensors three point one three seconds before that."
"Then I'd say it's time to get moving. Helm, bring us about. Plot a course that will take us to within five thousand kilometers of the enemy formation. Remember to keep us in line with the sun. Go to full impulse in twelve seconds." He pressed a toggle on his chair's armrest. "Red Alert! All hands prepare for combat maneuvering!" He looked at the viewscreen and the view of the lifeless planetoid below them as he mulled over the events of the past week. He had given Starfleet Command the idea of using a deep space comm relay as a beacon to lure the Cardassians to this system. Vigara 235 was a binary system with only one planet orbiting it, and a barren hunk of rock at that. It had the single important advantage of being right on top of the border with Cardassian territory. But the system's location being more than thirty light years above the galactic plane made it, for the most part, inaccessible. But the false signals he and his crew had been sending from the system were designed to convince the Cardassians that this was a possible staging area for a Starfleet operation. The signals had been a success. Timed with other intelligence operations to spread the Cardassians as thinly as possible, the beacon had drawn four Predator class frigates to investigate. They had spent the better part of a day bombarding the planet and the surrounding area with high intensity scans. Tyeler and his ship, the U.S.S Bonhomie Richard had hidden in the interference of the fortunate and ferocious solar flare activity that the twin suns were producing. The four vessels had converged over the section of the planet from which the signals had originated.
Precisely as Captain Zachary Tyeler had hoped they would.
The helm counted off the seconds until: "...3...2...1... Mark!" Lieutenant Robinson jammed his fingers over his control display, bringing the ship to full impulse and orienting it so that the bow was trained on the center of the Cardassian formation. The ships were beginning to scatter as they each had a group of torpedoes approaching at high speed from appeared to be a planet surface launch point.
"Lock weapons on the closest vessel and prepare a full salvo!" The nearest ship, with its distinctive oversized forward hull and raised sail structure, jerked wildly to starboard to meet the Richard, leaving its flank open to the approaching spread. "Fire torpedoes! Plot point of impact and fire phasers, pinpoint procedure!" The ship shuddered as half a dozen torpedoes leapt into space towards the enemy vessel, desperately trying to come to bear and return fire. A crackling halo of energy surrounded the Predator vessel as the shuttle's spread impacted towards its stern.
"Fire phasers!" Lances of glowing energy reached out into space connecting with Cardassian ship, 'dimpling' the shields right before the next group of torpedoes reached the vessel and... A blinding flash of white filled the viewscreen as the Cardassian's powerplant collapsed and its load of matter and antimatter reactants annihilated each other in a violent release of energy. Tyeler's hands jumped to the intership comm toggle: "All hands brace for impact!" The ship lurched as the blast wave washed over the Richard's defensive screens. "Shields holding, Captain!" Lt. Robinson's voice was tight with excitement. I can't believe I was ever that young, the captain thought. He snapped around to his science officer, instantly all business again. "The other ships, Mr. Solon?" The Vulcan leaned over his console, bringing up various sensor reports. /p "Captain, I have readings on two vessels only; the other two were apparently consumed by the detonation of the one's warp core. I read one vessel heavily damaged and dead in space, and the other moderately damaged and still maneuvering under power."
"Open hailing frequencies." Tyeler composed himself to face his adversary. Cardassians were a particularly proud race, and he had just handed them a blistering defeat. It was time to unclench, to a degree, the closed fist of war. "Attention Cardassian vessels. This is the U.S.S. Bonhomie Richard of the United Federation of Planets. I call upon you to surrender. In lieu of the condition of your ships, I am offering emergency evacuation of your crews to this vessel. Please respond."/p
The viewscreen wavered to life, and the image of a bedraggled and dazed (not to mention infuriated) Cardassian appeared. "This is Gul Mokar, of the Cardassian vessel Swift Victory He paused momentarily, as if hit by the sudden irony of his statement. "That is a very considerate offer, from someone who has just massacred hundreds of my fellows in an unprovoked attack, Captain. Tell me, do Starfleet rescue protocols require you to create a disaster before you can lend assistance?" He doubled over in a fit of coughing, which brought a stain of dark purple to his lips. He waved away the smoke of burning insulation and exploded consoles, as he tried to maintain an aura of righteous indignation.
But Tyeler would have none of it. He stood from his command chair and clenched his fists in tightly controlled anger. "Gul Mokar, if you want to discuss the moral high ground regarding acts taken in times of war, perhaps I'll invite the survivors of the Tuloska IV outpost or one of the other research stations you destroyed when you initiated hostilities to sit in and listen." He paused to let that sink in, if it could. The Tuloska outpost, and others like it, was a long-range sensor research facility and astronomical observation station designed to observe and catalogue regions beyond Federation territory. It was also in the first stages of terraforming and had been populated with several groups of civilian colonists. That it happened to be within a parsec of the Cardassian neutral zone was all the apparent provocation the first wave of Cardassian attack fleets needed to eliminate them. Several thousand settlers and scientists had been slaughtered. Some of Tyeler's crew had family or friends in that region. "I submit that now that your ships have been neutralized", Tyeler couldn't help but place that barb, "we evacuate your surviving crew and save the name-calling."/p
Gul Mokar sat tight lipped for a moment, no emotions evident on his face. Tyeler took the opportunity to press the issue. "The fight is over for today, Gul. Power down your engines before they overload, and let us save some of your people. I've seen enough death in the last two months to last a lifetime. Haven't you?" He realized he now held his hands palm-up in front of him in an imploring gesture. "I give you my word that no additional harm will come to you or your crew. Our sensors show your warp core and integrity fields are failing. There is no point in dying because of stubborn pride, Gul! No honor! Allow us to beam you and your crew to safety, and live to fight another day."/p
Gul Mokar let out a weary, resigned breath. "Very well, Captain. Commence transport in two of your minutes. I must alert my crew and bring them to order." And with that, the screen flickered back to a view of the damaged Cardassian vessel.
Tyeler turned to the Andorian at the tactical station and issued orders to prepare for the Cardassians arrival. "Use security screens to cordon of the crew lounges on deck six. We'll set up berths for them there till we figure out something else." He fingered the comm toggle on his chair. "Bridge to sickbay. Prepare for casualties to be beamed over form the Cardassian vessel. Activate Beta and Gamma shifts to deal with the wounded." He turned to communications. "Prepare a coded transmission tight-burst to Starfleet Command. Include all log entries from the last three days, including today's sensor and battle records. Request further-"
He was cut off by a shout from Commander Solon: "Captain, Romulan warbird, D'deridex class, decloaking off our port aft quarter! She's powering up weapons!"
"What?" Romulans...here? What the hell? "Helm, full about! Shields at full, as much power as you can give them!" He was about to yell for a hailing frequency when the bridge exploded around him, and he and his starship spiraled into hell.
Zachary Tyeler looked at the Golden Gate Bridge and was privately amazed. It was the most beautiful sight he could recall having seen in some time, the way the early evening sunlight glittered over its cables and trusses. It was archaic, yet majestically more grand than any of its modern peers. Such a wonderful piece of architecture, right here on his home planet, and it had been constructed using techniques and materials so primitive it nearly boggled the mind. No antigravs, no autonomic construction units... just a lot of guts and initiative. He smiled to himself. He was inspired by the fact that man, no matter how impossible the task, seemed bullheaded and inventive enough to pull it off. He himself had only a few short weeks ago had done something impossible. He had earned the command of another starship. And a big one, at that. The U.S.S. Aurora, a completely refitted and upgraded Galaxy class vessel, was his new ship. Arguably the most powerful ship in the fleet, and assigned to the Starfleet Intelligence Directorate; Tyeler allowed himself a small smile at the thought. She was an assignment that most captains and command-line officers dreamed of. And he, only thirty-seven years of age, was going to sit in her center chair. The events of the preceding few weeks, including the receipt of that command, were so baffling as to be surreal to him.
The court martial, the only logical procedure for a captain who had led his crew to be slaughtered had started as a contest for who could condemn him the most. His plan had been too brazen, too far-fetched. He hadn't waited for total clearance from headquarters. If it hadn't been for the quick-witted ensign on one of the poorly implemented shuttles, he and the three surviving members of his bridge crew wouldn't have been beamed to safety. He could literally feel the ice-cold glare from Admiral Nechayev as she read off the charges and presented what evidence there was, gathered from long-range sensor relays. She was like a woman possessed. You say you destroyed four Cardassian vessels, and were then attacked by Romulans?! If your ship or more of your crew had survived your bungling we could check the sensor logs to confirm your story. Or maybe if the three crewmen not killed weren't comatose?" For three and a half hours he had ignored the barrage of accusations and relived in his mind the six hellish weeks spent drifting in deep space in a wrecked shuttle. Drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling little other than pain and hunger. And overwhelming guilt. Before Stephenson had slipped away, she had told him that the last thing the viewscreen showed was shuttle four ramming into the warbird's port nacelle at warp one, demolishing it in a futile attempt to save their shipmates. The second salvo had rendered the Bonhomie Richard a burning wreck, overloading systems and shattering bulkheads. He felt his ship dying around him as he gave the order to abandon ship, not knowing how many would be able to respond... and live.
On the second day, where he learn what fate the outraged judiciary committee would lay upon him, he had stood in the center of the court chamber; an elliptical room, carved seemingly out of the most depressing shade of gray marble the contractor could find. There was room for the panel on one wall, and room for the officers to witness and accuse on the other... with the focus entirely on him. Back ramrod straight, chin held high, and eyes focused on an imaginary roster as in his mind he recited every name of his dead crew. I took out over three hundred and came back with three... oh God... A brief review was read, and the admirals rose as Nechayev banged her gavel and prepared to pronounce sentence. He distantly heard the doors whisk open behind him, and the startled expression on Nechayev's face seemed odd, didn't it? There was a barely perceptible brush on his mind, reassuring and awkward all at once. A hand laid gently on his arm brought him out of his reverie, and there before him was... "Valkyr?"/p
A friend from his days at the academy, and a shipmate on his first deep space cruise, Valkyr was something of an enigma. Half-Vulcan and half- Romulan, he had been raised on Vulcan by his paternal grandparents in the traditional Vulcan manner. Strictly disciplined and rigorously educated, he had excelled in all that he did, except for one thing. He could not master the logical mindset that his homeworld demanded of its citizens. He had fled his family's recriminations and joined Starfleet in an effort to find his place and escape. Shunned by the Vulcan cadets as an embarrassment to their culture, and everyone else because he was a Romulan, after all, and didn't everybody hate them anyway? He had taken to a life of solitude, which eventually suited the Intelligence Directorate just fine. Tyeler had been one of very few people to ever reach out to him and they had struck up a fast friendship that had produced, on occasion, some rather interesting results. But, as if having his old friend appear as suddenly as an emergency beam-out wasn't enough...
The admirals on the panel shot to their feet in attention. Tyeler turned to see if God himself had entered the room... and was rather surprised to find that he had. Captain Tyeler quickly and reflexively smoothed his uniform, trying not to let his jaw drop to the floor and possibly trip the man who had just entered the room. It wasn't every day that Admiral William J. Harrison, Commander in Chief of Starfleet, entered a room unannounced. His neutral expression covered everything but his eyes. His eyes held an energy that belied his seventy-four year old frame, and gentle grandfather demeanor. But they also held sympathy now for Tyeler, and an understanding of how it felt to know that all that you could've done wasn't enough. And when he turned to face the panel they held a cold fury that made Zachary Tyeler glad he wasn't on its receiving end. To have 'Lord God Almighty' of Starfleet look at you like that was as enjoyable as being the guest of honor during an Andorian bloodletting ritual, only without the benefit of sharp objects to end your life quickly.
The Admiral drew himself up, without so much as moving a muscle as far as Tyeler could tell. "Forgive the intrusion Admirals. I wanted to inform you that there are some circumstances regarding the events in question of which you may not be aware." He nodded at Valkyr, who proceeded up to the dais and gave each of the admirals a padd with an encrypted screen. "If you will review the information, I am sure the outcome of this court-martial will now be the correct one. Good day, everyone." He turned on his heel, and with a brief sympathetic glance at Tyeler, strode calmly from the room. And just that quickly, he had saved Tyeler's career. And arguably his sanity.
The admirals spent an agonizingly long minute reviewing the data on the padds. After he simply couldn't stand it anymore, Tyeler drew a breath and was about to demand to know (yes, from an admiral!) just what the hell was going on, but Valkyr laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Later, he mouthed. Admiral Nechayev then straightened, looking somewhat ashen. She spoke in a voice that, despite efforts to the contrary, sounded chastised and shaken. "I declare these proceedings top secret, by Starfleet Executive Order number one-one-zero-five-three. All charges against you Captain Tyeler are summarily dismissed. This court stands adjourned." And with that she and the other admirals rose and filed out to a rear antechamber.
Tyeler stood dumbfounded and stared at his colleague. "What in God's name is going?! If reality was taking the afternoon off, I wish to hell someone would've let me know."/p
Valkyr almost suppressed a smile. "There's more if you want to hear it. Come on, we'll go get lunch so I can buy you a drink. You're gonna need it."/p
"More? What, the tooth fairy showed up with my back pay? No, wait... I bet a Klingon won the Miss Federation contest!" Tyeler shook his head and washed his face with his hands. "When does this madness end?"/p
Valkyr couldn't help himself, and let out a bark of a laugh. "It's been too long, Zack. I'm sorry it's under these circumstances," and the look in his eyes and the presence in the back of Tyeler's mind confirmed that, "but it's good to see you again." He took a long look at his old friend before going on. "You've been granted eight weeks of 'unofficial' shore leave. It's not much given what you've been through, but that's all the time Command can spare you. After that it's a shakedown cruise of your new command." He paused to see how that would sink in. "I'm sorry, my what? You've got to be kidding me!" Tyeler reeled, and nearly sat down on the spot. He had a sudden and all-powerful longing for numbness, but a different one than that which had been his companion since the Bonhomie Richard had died around him. "Come on... I need that drink."
As a result of that hearing, he sat there in the park enjoying the simplicity of gorgeous weather, and the sounds of people enjoying themselves. He mourned his crew, his family. But he would honor their memories, by doing his duty and risking everything again as he was called to do; they expected no less from him, he was certain. He took a last look around him at San Francisco, at Earth, knowing he might not be back in the neighborhood for quite some time. He stood and squared himself, ready for the next unknowable chapter in his life. Tapping the comm badge on his chest, the Starfleet delta shining in the afternoon sun, he took a breath and called for his fate to come and claim him.
"Captain Tyeler to Earth Station McKinley. One to beam up." He offered up a prayer, as the transporter took him, that God would, just this once, put the gloves back on.
"Mr. Solon, do we have anything new on the Cardassians yet?" He hoped the Vulcan science officer took the edge in his voice as an indication to magically produce results. Because that was precisely what he expected.
"Telemetry from our probe indicates the Cardassian vessels have completed their scans of the planet's surface, and have decided there is nothing of consequence. Apparently your ruse was successful sir. My congratulations."
If Tyeler didn't know better, he would've sworn that the Vulcan had just nailed him with perfect deadpan sarcasm. Did he just raise his eyebrow at me? Damn Vulcans; no sense of humor my ass... He straightened his tunic in a practiced gesture and fixed his mind on the task at hand. "Mr. Stephenson, you may inform the shuttles to launch their payloads and then proceed to the magnetic north pole to await the outcome." The young woman at the comm console bent to her task, and relayed acknowledgment. Tyeler went to his science officer's station and watched as the previously deployed shuttles fired their torpedo payloads and retreated to the northern polar region to avoid detection, maneuvering at low altitude. His chief engineer's spur of the moment idea to refit all of their shuttles with exterior pylons was a stroke of brilliance. He and his senior staff had rigged the shuttles to hold three torpedoes so quickly, that Tyeler had recommended commendations for them in his log. Hope Command lets me keep this crew when the mission is over... sure would be a shame to break-up a winning team.
Lt. Commander Solon straightened at his post. "Torpedo arrival at pre-programmed coordinates in twenty-two point four six seconds, Captain. The Cardassians will have them on sensors three point one three seconds before that."
"Then I'd say it's time to get moving. Helm, bring us about. Plot a course that will take us to within five thousand kilometers of the enemy formation. Remember to keep us in line with the sun. Go to full impulse in twelve seconds." He pressed a toggle on his chair's armrest. "Red Alert! All hands prepare for combat maneuvering!" He looked at the viewscreen and the view of the lifeless planetoid below them as he mulled over the events of the past week. He had given Starfleet Command the idea of using a deep space comm relay as a beacon to lure the Cardassians to this system. Vigara 235 was a binary system with only one planet orbiting it, and a barren hunk of rock at that. It had the single important advantage of being right on top of the border with Cardassian territory. But the system's location being more than thirty light years above the galactic plane made it, for the most part, inaccessible. But the false signals he and his crew had been sending from the system were designed to convince the Cardassians that this was a possible staging area for a Starfleet operation. The signals had been a success. Timed with other intelligence operations to spread the Cardassians as thinly as possible, the beacon had drawn four Predator class frigates to investigate. They had spent the better part of a day bombarding the planet and the surrounding area with high intensity scans. Tyeler and his ship, the U.S.S Bonhomie Richard had hidden in the interference of the fortunate and ferocious solar flare activity that the twin suns were producing. The four vessels had converged over the section of the planet from which the signals had originated.
Precisely as Captain Zachary Tyeler had hoped they would.
The helm counted off the seconds until: "...3...2...1... Mark!" Lieutenant Robinson jammed his fingers over his control display, bringing the ship to full impulse and orienting it so that the bow was trained on the center of the Cardassian formation. The ships were beginning to scatter as they each had a group of torpedoes approaching at high speed from appeared to be a planet surface launch point.
"Lock weapons on the closest vessel and prepare a full salvo!" The nearest ship, with its distinctive oversized forward hull and raised sail structure, jerked wildly to starboard to meet the Richard, leaving its flank open to the approaching spread. "Fire torpedoes! Plot point of impact and fire phasers, pinpoint procedure!" The ship shuddered as half a dozen torpedoes leapt into space towards the enemy vessel, desperately trying to come to bear and return fire. A crackling halo of energy surrounded the Predator vessel as the shuttle's spread impacted towards its stern.
"Fire phasers!" Lances of glowing energy reached out into space connecting with Cardassian ship, 'dimpling' the shields right before the next group of torpedoes reached the vessel and... A blinding flash of white filled the viewscreen as the Cardassian's powerplant collapsed and its load of matter and antimatter reactants annihilated each other in a violent release of energy. Tyeler's hands jumped to the intership comm toggle: "All hands brace for impact!" The ship lurched as the blast wave washed over the Richard's defensive screens. "Shields holding, Captain!" Lt. Robinson's voice was tight with excitement. I can't believe I was ever that young, the captain thought. He snapped around to his science officer, instantly all business again. "The other ships, Mr. Solon?" The Vulcan leaned over his console, bringing up various sensor reports. /p "Captain, I have readings on two vessels only; the other two were apparently consumed by the detonation of the one's warp core. I read one vessel heavily damaged and dead in space, and the other moderately damaged and still maneuvering under power."
"Open hailing frequencies." Tyeler composed himself to face his adversary. Cardassians were a particularly proud race, and he had just handed them a blistering defeat. It was time to unclench, to a degree, the closed fist of war. "Attention Cardassian vessels. This is the U.S.S. Bonhomie Richard of the United Federation of Planets. I call upon you to surrender. In lieu of the condition of your ships, I am offering emergency evacuation of your crews to this vessel. Please respond."/p
The viewscreen wavered to life, and the image of a bedraggled and dazed (not to mention infuriated) Cardassian appeared. "This is Gul Mokar, of the Cardassian vessel Swift Victory He paused momentarily, as if hit by the sudden irony of his statement. "That is a very considerate offer, from someone who has just massacred hundreds of my fellows in an unprovoked attack, Captain. Tell me, do Starfleet rescue protocols require you to create a disaster before you can lend assistance?" He doubled over in a fit of coughing, which brought a stain of dark purple to his lips. He waved away the smoke of burning insulation and exploded consoles, as he tried to maintain an aura of righteous indignation.
But Tyeler would have none of it. He stood from his command chair and clenched his fists in tightly controlled anger. "Gul Mokar, if you want to discuss the moral high ground regarding acts taken in times of war, perhaps I'll invite the survivors of the Tuloska IV outpost or one of the other research stations you destroyed when you initiated hostilities to sit in and listen." He paused to let that sink in, if it could. The Tuloska outpost, and others like it, was a long-range sensor research facility and astronomical observation station designed to observe and catalogue regions beyond Federation territory. It was also in the first stages of terraforming and had been populated with several groups of civilian colonists. That it happened to be within a parsec of the Cardassian neutral zone was all the apparent provocation the first wave of Cardassian attack fleets needed to eliminate them. Several thousand settlers and scientists had been slaughtered. Some of Tyeler's crew had family or friends in that region. "I submit that now that your ships have been neutralized", Tyeler couldn't help but place that barb, "we evacuate your surviving crew and save the name-calling."/p
Gul Mokar sat tight lipped for a moment, no emotions evident on his face. Tyeler took the opportunity to press the issue. "The fight is over for today, Gul. Power down your engines before they overload, and let us save some of your people. I've seen enough death in the last two months to last a lifetime. Haven't you?" He realized he now held his hands palm-up in front of him in an imploring gesture. "I give you my word that no additional harm will come to you or your crew. Our sensors show your warp core and integrity fields are failing. There is no point in dying because of stubborn pride, Gul! No honor! Allow us to beam you and your crew to safety, and live to fight another day."/p
Gul Mokar let out a weary, resigned breath. "Very well, Captain. Commence transport in two of your minutes. I must alert my crew and bring them to order." And with that, the screen flickered back to a view of the damaged Cardassian vessel.
Tyeler turned to the Andorian at the tactical station and issued orders to prepare for the Cardassians arrival. "Use security screens to cordon of the crew lounges on deck six. We'll set up berths for them there till we figure out something else." He fingered the comm toggle on his chair. "Bridge to sickbay. Prepare for casualties to be beamed over form the Cardassian vessel. Activate Beta and Gamma shifts to deal with the wounded." He turned to communications. "Prepare a coded transmission tight-burst to Starfleet Command. Include all log entries from the last three days, including today's sensor and battle records. Request further-"
He was cut off by a shout from Commander Solon: "Captain, Romulan warbird, D'deridex class, decloaking off our port aft quarter! She's powering up weapons!"
"What?" Romulans...here? What the hell? "Helm, full about! Shields at full, as much power as you can give them!" He was about to yell for a hailing frequency when the bridge exploded around him, and he and his starship spiraled into hell.
Zachary Tyeler looked at the Golden Gate Bridge and was privately amazed. It was the most beautiful sight he could recall having seen in some time, the way the early evening sunlight glittered over its cables and trusses. It was archaic, yet majestically more grand than any of its modern peers. Such a wonderful piece of architecture, right here on his home planet, and it had been constructed using techniques and materials so primitive it nearly boggled the mind. No antigravs, no autonomic construction units... just a lot of guts and initiative. He smiled to himself. He was inspired by the fact that man, no matter how impossible the task, seemed bullheaded and inventive enough to pull it off. He himself had only a few short weeks ago had done something impossible. He had earned the command of another starship. And a big one, at that. The U.S.S. Aurora, a completely refitted and upgraded Galaxy class vessel, was his new ship. Arguably the most powerful ship in the fleet, and assigned to the Starfleet Intelligence Directorate; Tyeler allowed himself a small smile at the thought. She was an assignment that most captains and command-line officers dreamed of. And he, only thirty-seven years of age, was going to sit in her center chair. The events of the preceding few weeks, including the receipt of that command, were so baffling as to be surreal to him.
The court martial, the only logical procedure for a captain who had led his crew to be slaughtered had started as a contest for who could condemn him the most. His plan had been too brazen, too far-fetched. He hadn't waited for total clearance from headquarters. If it hadn't been for the quick-witted ensign on one of the poorly implemented shuttles, he and the three surviving members of his bridge crew wouldn't have been beamed to safety. He could literally feel the ice-cold glare from Admiral Nechayev as she read off the charges and presented what evidence there was, gathered from long-range sensor relays. She was like a woman possessed. You say you destroyed four Cardassian vessels, and were then attacked by Romulans?! If your ship or more of your crew had survived your bungling we could check the sensor logs to confirm your story. Or maybe if the three crewmen not killed weren't comatose?" For three and a half hours he had ignored the barrage of accusations and relived in his mind the six hellish weeks spent drifting in deep space in a wrecked shuttle. Drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling little other than pain and hunger. And overwhelming guilt. Before Stephenson had slipped away, she had told him that the last thing the viewscreen showed was shuttle four ramming into the warbird's port nacelle at warp one, demolishing it in a futile attempt to save their shipmates. The second salvo had rendered the Bonhomie Richard a burning wreck, overloading systems and shattering bulkheads. He felt his ship dying around him as he gave the order to abandon ship, not knowing how many would be able to respond... and live.
On the second day, where he learn what fate the outraged judiciary committee would lay upon him, he had stood in the center of the court chamber; an elliptical room, carved seemingly out of the most depressing shade of gray marble the contractor could find. There was room for the panel on one wall, and room for the officers to witness and accuse on the other... with the focus entirely on him. Back ramrod straight, chin held high, and eyes focused on an imaginary roster as in his mind he recited every name of his dead crew. I took out over three hundred and came back with three... oh God... A brief review was read, and the admirals rose as Nechayev banged her gavel and prepared to pronounce sentence. He distantly heard the doors whisk open behind him, and the startled expression on Nechayev's face seemed odd, didn't it? There was a barely perceptible brush on his mind, reassuring and awkward all at once. A hand laid gently on his arm brought him out of his reverie, and there before him was... "Valkyr?"/p
A friend from his days at the academy, and a shipmate on his first deep space cruise, Valkyr was something of an enigma. Half-Vulcan and half- Romulan, he had been raised on Vulcan by his paternal grandparents in the traditional Vulcan manner. Strictly disciplined and rigorously educated, he had excelled in all that he did, except for one thing. He could not master the logical mindset that his homeworld demanded of its citizens. He had fled his family's recriminations and joined Starfleet in an effort to find his place and escape. Shunned by the Vulcan cadets as an embarrassment to their culture, and everyone else because he was a Romulan, after all, and didn't everybody hate them anyway? He had taken to a life of solitude, which eventually suited the Intelligence Directorate just fine. Tyeler had been one of very few people to ever reach out to him and they had struck up a fast friendship that had produced, on occasion, some rather interesting results. But, as if having his old friend appear as suddenly as an emergency beam-out wasn't enough...
The admirals on the panel shot to their feet in attention. Tyeler turned to see if God himself had entered the room... and was rather surprised to find that he had. Captain Tyeler quickly and reflexively smoothed his uniform, trying not to let his jaw drop to the floor and possibly trip the man who had just entered the room. It wasn't every day that Admiral William J. Harrison, Commander in Chief of Starfleet, entered a room unannounced. His neutral expression covered everything but his eyes. His eyes held an energy that belied his seventy-four year old frame, and gentle grandfather demeanor. But they also held sympathy now for Tyeler, and an understanding of how it felt to know that all that you could've done wasn't enough. And when he turned to face the panel they held a cold fury that made Zachary Tyeler glad he wasn't on its receiving end. To have 'Lord God Almighty' of Starfleet look at you like that was as enjoyable as being the guest of honor during an Andorian bloodletting ritual, only without the benefit of sharp objects to end your life quickly.
The Admiral drew himself up, without so much as moving a muscle as far as Tyeler could tell. "Forgive the intrusion Admirals. I wanted to inform you that there are some circumstances regarding the events in question of which you may not be aware." He nodded at Valkyr, who proceeded up to the dais and gave each of the admirals a padd with an encrypted screen. "If you will review the information, I am sure the outcome of this court-martial will now be the correct one. Good day, everyone." He turned on his heel, and with a brief sympathetic glance at Tyeler, strode calmly from the room. And just that quickly, he had saved Tyeler's career. And arguably his sanity.
The admirals spent an agonizingly long minute reviewing the data on the padds. After he simply couldn't stand it anymore, Tyeler drew a breath and was about to demand to know (yes, from an admiral!) just what the hell was going on, but Valkyr laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Later, he mouthed. Admiral Nechayev then straightened, looking somewhat ashen. She spoke in a voice that, despite efforts to the contrary, sounded chastised and shaken. "I declare these proceedings top secret, by Starfleet Executive Order number one-one-zero-five-three. All charges against you Captain Tyeler are summarily dismissed. This court stands adjourned." And with that she and the other admirals rose and filed out to a rear antechamber.
Tyeler stood dumbfounded and stared at his colleague. "What in God's name is going?! If reality was taking the afternoon off, I wish to hell someone would've let me know."/p
Valkyr almost suppressed a smile. "There's more if you want to hear it. Come on, we'll go get lunch so I can buy you a drink. You're gonna need it."/p
"More? What, the tooth fairy showed up with my back pay? No, wait... I bet a Klingon won the Miss Federation contest!" Tyeler shook his head and washed his face with his hands. "When does this madness end?"/p
Valkyr couldn't help himself, and let out a bark of a laugh. "It's been too long, Zack. I'm sorry it's under these circumstances," and the look in his eyes and the presence in the back of Tyeler's mind confirmed that, "but it's good to see you again." He took a long look at his old friend before going on. "You've been granted eight weeks of 'unofficial' shore leave. It's not much given what you've been through, but that's all the time Command can spare you. After that it's a shakedown cruise of your new command." He paused to see how that would sink in. "I'm sorry, my what? You've got to be kidding me!" Tyeler reeled, and nearly sat down on the spot. He had a sudden and all-powerful longing for numbness, but a different one than that which had been his companion since the Bonhomie Richard had died around him. "Come on... I need that drink."
As a result of that hearing, he sat there in the park enjoying the simplicity of gorgeous weather, and the sounds of people enjoying themselves. He mourned his crew, his family. But he would honor their memories, by doing his duty and risking everything again as he was called to do; they expected no less from him, he was certain. He took a last look around him at San Francisco, at Earth, knowing he might not be back in the neighborhood for quite some time. He stood and squared himself, ready for the next unknowable chapter in his life. Tapping the comm badge on his chest, the Starfleet delta shining in the afternoon sun, he took a breath and called for his fate to come and claim him.
"Captain Tyeler to Earth Station McKinley. One to beam up." He offered up a prayer, as the transporter took him, that God would, just this once, put the gloves back on.