Captain Peña stood on DS9's promenade before one of the many large windows, looking out to the endless number of stars. Ah, the stars. He could not remember ever being bored with this sight. He had nearly continuously dwelt in space for almost forty years, and he had obviously not always gazed in wonderment at those specks of light, but often he had and still did. He could not imagine a life limited to one planet's experiences.
This command tour would be his last, willingly – he needed another two years on active duty before he would join the faculty at Starfleet Academy. Many officers clung to the Captain's seat, and although he did not, Miguel understood them. It was a great task, a great joy and a great adventure to captain a starship. Nothing in his life had been as rewarding – except perhaps to see his children flourish and succeed in building a life for themselves. Command of a starship had been his life's ambition, and he had achieved it. He had no intention of commanding fleets or „flying a desk", and hadn't distinguished himself as a Staff officer as much as he would have had to to go beyond Captain's rank. Heading 2nd Fleet's Science Staff had been sort of fun, but returning to active duty had been a blessing. Now, he was looking for new and different adventures beyond an uncomfortable bridge seat.
Maybe half his life, the more vigorous and active part of it, was almost over. He would savour his last command, enjoy every moment of it, enjoy seeing another collection of young officers grow into a team. That was his strength as a commander – he could bring people together and make them into more than the sum of their parts. Over the years (decades, he reminded himself), Peña had learned how he did that, turning intuition and theoretical insight into a blend of both with a wealth of experience. He had learned to trust his abilities, and he would actively exercise them one last time before retiring to a quieter, steadier life. Most of his grandchildren lived on Earth, and he looked forward to spoiling them with his wife, as his own grandparents had spoiled him all those years ago. In a way, he felt old. Physically, certainly. His last CMO had had to fix a heart condition which, less than 200 years ago, would have killed him by his age. Every now and then, headaches, a result of his injury sustained at Wolf 359, would plague him, but a focused painkiller took them away easily enough. In another way, Miguel Peña did not feel old at all. He had much to see and much to do, and long decades left to do and see it in. But now, it was time to go to work.
Peña walked past the famous Ferengi Casino and Bar and several other businesses on this oddest of Starfleet installations and finally found a turbolift, which took him to the docking ring. He smiled as he stepped aboard the last ship he'd ever „own". From this docking port, the famous class ship of Petrov's type had set out to hunt for Dominion, Cardassian and Breen troops, under the station's legendary erstwhile commander, Benjamin Sisko. Peña knew Ben Sisko from barely remembered Academy days. He had personally put the younger man through some of the symbolic initiation rites ... His smile faded, however, as he remembered the mission he had now. He might well encounter some of the old foes again – not the Dominion, but Cardassians, Breen and even the Borg were not that far from Asalooq, the sector he was headed for. That was another thing he reportedly shared with Ben Sisko – the deep-seated horror left from that dark, dark day at Wolf 359. So many friends lost, so many lives broken … maybe that had been the day that Starfleet lost its innocence. The fleet in which he was a Captain was a different one from that he had joined as a teenager. It was much larger, much tougher – and so much less scientifically minded that young Miguel, his degree in Comparative Anthropology burning in his pocket, might not have recognised it at all. Peña knew he would quietly lobby for a slow change of direction once he was an Academy professor, but for now, he would have to live with it, and maybe see to it that his little corner of the fleet didn't lose its spirit.
U.S.S. Petrov and her Defiant class shape were a symbol of all that. Named after an Earth officer who had truly, single-handedly saved his species, she was a warship. A super-heavy fighter, like the highly bred destrier warhorses of old. For this mission, to be the Station Ship on Starfleet's first post on its newest member planet, it was not the right type. Peña would have lobbied for a Nova class, perfectly suited, but he knew those were hard to come by. He had learned to pick his battles, bureaucratically as well as tactically.
The Defiant class had no amenities to speak of, quite a change from U.S.S. Herero, a comfortable Intrepid class vessel. It also didn't have a lot of room, so another ship, the prosaically named transport ship „SAV-332", essentially an ugly old hull outfitted with four warp nacelles, would carry most of the mission's Starfleet and civilian personnel to Asalooq, where an advance team was even now setting up Asalooq Starfleet Facility. The mission in which Peña and Petrov would be integrated was manifold, but it could be summed up easily enough: it was the typical Initial Civilian-Starfleet Mission to a new member planet, and its objective was to bring Asalooq into the Federation in every conceivable way, from agricultural technology to flags to fly before its government buildings. If they had flags on Asalooq, and government buildings of the sort he imagined. It was six days' flight to Asalooq, and he would have a lot of reading to do.
Peña had managed to arrive aboard quietly, something of a tradition in his career. From his quarters, he quietly set a full staff meeting for 2000, and a private one with his XO, whom he knew only by her file so far, at 1900. That way, everyone would have time to unpack and look around. He would keep things relaxed, get to know the bright young faces. To get off on the right foot with all of them, as he had always managed to do so far.
Peña had used the afternoon to read - about the Defiant class, about his crew, the mission, about their route and Asalooq. The political situation in the sector seemed calm, but potentially complicated, with numerous actors in play. He had planned his briefing to the wardroom; it would mostly have to be an order to inform themselves, because ultimately, Peña could not prescribe how well they had to know what aspect of their mission and its place. Now, he had enough of reading, and he had timed that quite well. It was soon to be 1900 and time for the meeting with the XO. He rose, took two steps and stood before the small, narrow window slit. The ship's warp reactor was already active, because Engineering had to check it thoroughly before undocking. Captain Peña intended to leave DS9 after the meeting was concluded. His senior officers could do the undocking and maneuver the ship through the relatively thick traffic around the station, and then, chiefs and (even more) junior officers could stand the night watch. He expected to travel calmly, because they would follow a route never far from the next Federation world for the first four days of their journey. Maybe he would even give one of the fresh Ensigns a chance to take a shift in the Captain's chair. They usually loved that, and it was a good opportunity to try them out a little bit without risking anything. Those plans came to Peña as if of their own accord, from experience and routine. How hard the job (any job, really) seemed when one first started it, and how much of it was easily handled with enough time on the job. He looked towards his workstation on the desk and didn't quite know what to expect. Lieutenant Commander Velna's attitude was hard to discern from her file - would she come early, eagerly? Or would she be late? It wouldn't tell him all that much, but it was still interesting, one tidbit in a sea of information.
Velna happened to do neither. She arrived right at 1900, the doorbuzzer sounding just as 1859 became 1900. Miguel had met a few officers with this degree of precision, but it might just have been coincidence. He rose to meet his XO. She was of medium height for a Bajoran, toned muscles filling out her uniform. She had rather big blue eyes, but their gaze was restrained. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a strict, even prim bun, revealing a right ear whose lower half was almost missing. The skin and cartilage were clean and pink, but the mutilation was more than evident. She could be striking, thought Miguel, who had been quite sensual in his early Starfleet years, which proclivity had mellowed to a quiet appreciation of beauty and charisma. Why wasn't she, then? He couldn't quite say yet. But it was immaterial anyway. "Commander Velna. Welcome aboard, I'm Captain Peña. Do take a seat." "Thank you, Captain." She had a curious voice, Peña thought, as if unnaturally roughened. He guessed the voice was in a usual pitch range, but its owner used it in a peculiar way. She sat down and accepted green tea, but her posture seemed rather rigid, sitting at attention. "I have prepared the duty roster, sir," she announced, unbidden. "It's already on file, but not yet distributed."
The Captain nodded and gave himself a second to consider his answer. There was an awkwardness between them he had not anticipated. "You could of course make revisions, Captain, but it should go out tonight so people know when to go to bed." Peña smiled, having decided on his reply. "Nevermind, Commander. Distribute it." She looked at him without returning his smile. "Aye aye, sir," she said dispassionately. Miguel waited until she had typed in the order on her pad. "So…"
He had not found himself using that interjection in this way for a long, long time. There was so little response from her, her expression unreadable. She exuded strength, but also a strange sense of - nothing. He regretted not having an empath aboard. "What do you think of the crew, Commander?" She replied immediately, as if she had rehearsed the answer. "Two fresh Ensigns at CONN and OPS are something to look out for. Our tactical capabilities may be impeded while they learn. Lieutenant Kristiansen is capable, but has a reputation for rashness. Commander Roosevelt is our mainstay, a very reliable officer. Emeryx is an excellent physicist, but that does not necessarily mean he is a good science officer. Dr Eniyan is unremarkable, but supposedly a good doctor." Miguel blinked. That was information he could get (or rather, had in fact got) from their service records. "We both know their records, Ms Velna," he replied gently. "The question was a little imprecise - I meant to ask your opinion of them. Your evaluation from experience, perhaps." "We'll have to train the Ensigns hard. Issor did not do very well as a tactician and Dhawan has trouble organizing herself. Eniyan needs to learn to keep deadlines and to hand in reports in time. Roosevelt will especially be a challenge for me, veterans of his standing often think they have nothing left to prove. Emeryx is known to be difficult. We need to reinforce the idea that he is here for Starfleet, not the other way around." Velna reeled off, her voice unemotional but still somehow strained.
"Do you have anything positive to say about them all?" Miguel half-joked, a bit taken aback. "Except for Kristiansen and Eniyan, they're all diligent. We need to work on them, but they'll turn out well." The Captain found himself lost for words. She spoke of them like machines, or perhaps trained dogs. That style of leadership was discouraged in Starfleet, and where it wasn't, Peña thought it should be. The problem with that was this: he had to address it right away or Velna would run around with a notion that her attitude was acceptable, or worst, accepted by him. But how could he best do that? It would take some time to convince her. A forceful approach didn't seem to make much sense, because it would accentuate the friction between them and probably just push her into stubbornness. "Commander, let's not zero in on one idea of leadership at this point. There is no indication we're dealing with an incapable or unruly bunch here. We'll see how things develop and react accordingly." "I'd rather we had a clear plan, sir, a strategy on how to turn this into a functioning crew," Velna blurted out. Peña had to push back some impatience. "They aren't machine parts, Ms Velna, they're sentient beings. And that's how we need to deal with them - as people, being people ourselves," he said slowly, studiously keeping his tone calm and friendly. She shrugged, infuriating Peña much more than he liked. "I like to keep my distance from those under my command. It works better that way." "I did not say you should not do that, Ms Velna," said the Captain, barely keeping the exasperation out of his voice. "But a command relationship is ultimately just that, a relationship between people, and in those, we fare best by allowing ourselves to be people, even as leaders. Professional distance is good, but it should not be a reason to try and take our personality out of our work, because that is ultimately impossible and quite imprudent." And if you knew that, you would have your own ship by now, Peña found himself thinking. "Please consider what I've said, Commander. A lot of people stand to benefit from that."
They turned to a number of administrative issues. Velna turned out to be a good administrator, and the Captain saw no reason to take away those duties from her. She clearly needed an ego boost, and trusting her was the best one he had to offer. When he had dismissed her to finalize her materiel for the briefing, the Captain did his best to dismiss the thought of his XO and her questionable leadership abilities. It was time to get to know the crew, and get off on the right foot with them.
