Chapter IV
Author's Note: This chapter may seem cheesy, but I felt something was needed. I hope you'll all forgive me for it!
"Admiral on the bridge."
Picard stepped off the turbolift onto the bridge of the Enterprise. Striding to his chair, he sat down, and watched the viewscreen intently, waiting for the inevitable compression of the starlines, and the reversion to realspace.
He had never, in all the years he had served aboard starships, gotten tired of watching stars fly past, their light elongated by the warp effect. It had filled him with a sense of wonder the first time he had experienced it, and that wonder had never subsided.
"Time of arrival in the Utari system, Captain?"
"Eight minutes, twenty-two seconds, Admiral."
"Very good."
The bridge was active, but not bustling like it usually was. The night watch was always quieter, the lowered lights lending themselves to the atmosphere of peace. That peace, however, was only an illusion. Picard knew that, in a day, or two days, or a week, the Enterprise and its crew would be, once again, fighting for their lives. The more times Picard went into battle, the more he dreaded the prospect. He had never been one to believe in fate, but even he sometimes believed that the numbers were slowly stacking against him every time he survived.
Behind him stood Bellia Korax and Rachel Yerla. That morning, they had exhaustively briefed him on protocol regarding one admiral joining up with another, and the procedures and conventions in place to deal with that eventuality. He hadn't even thought it to be a big deal – a thousand years of naval history, however, disagreed strongly with him.
Picard had never met Erod of Vulcan personally, but the Admiral's gained a reputation for cunning and boldness during the Dominion War, leading his ships to victory, often against superior numbers. Picard was looking forward to working with the man, and had no compunction about acknowledging his authority in his own sector. He was, after all, sending the Enterprise to help, not command.
"Sir, for the reception, do you believe that the menu should be entirely vegetarian, or should meat be included as a choice. I believe it should be-"
"Admiral, Erod is Vulcan, and is a vegetarian-"
"So he can choose not to have meat. I don't understand why the whole menu should be vegetarian for one man."
"That man happens to be a vice-admiral-"
"So he can order no meat. He isn't a stranger to giving orders."
Picard smiled at the two young officers with fondness. They had been instrumental to him making his transition to flag rank. Without them, he'd have been lost in a mountain of reports and paperwork for the rest of his life. As it was, the two young women did most of the work, allowing him to spend most of his time twiddling his thumbs. He often wondered how much of Starfleet policy was made by the lieutenants rather than the Admirals.
The women stared at him patiently, waiting for a reply.
"I do not believe that the Admiral would be offended by seeing meat on the menu. On the other hand, I believe he would see it as a sign of respect if there was not. Why not, instead, simply serve Vulcan cuisine. It is vegetarian, but no one would see it as excluding meat for the sake of excluding it. I could do with a good plomeek soup, anyhow." He could see his poor attempt at humour failed.
They both recorded the suggestion on the PADD, ignoring his last comment. They went back to quietly arguing about what Vulcan dishes to put on the menu, and what order to serve them in. Picard rolled his eyes. He was quite sure that he could not show up one day, send Data's cat Spot in his place, and no one would notice a difference in the way business was conducted.
"Coming out of warp in forty-five seconds, sir."
The Enterprise glided gracefully out of warp, and Picard instinctively ducked in his chair at what splayed on the viewscreen, debris littering the system.
"Receiving a hail, Captain. It is Admiral Erod."
"On screen."
The stern face of the Vulcan filled the screen.
"It is well that you are here, Enterprise. Many in the fleet will see your arrival as a heartening sign." His voice, carefully measured, could not completely hide a hint of weariness, a tone of distress.
"We come to serve, Admiral." Picard bowed his head slightly.
The face on the screen betrayed its surprise by the raising of the right eyebrow, ever so subtly.
"Your service honours us, as does your respect."
"We have planned a reception aboard the Enterprise, Admiral. Would you, in turn, do us the honour of attending?"
The Vulcan, for his part, inclined his own head. "It shall be so. Erod out."
Picard let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. He had always held a great respect for the Vulcans ever since his first real encounter with them, as a young lieutenant, at Ambassador Spock's betrothal to Saavik many years ago. Later, he had the opportunity to be of service to Sarek of Vulcan, lending him his mental strength when the venerable man's own had flagged.
The joining of his mind with two of the most famed Vulcans to ever have served the Federation had changed him in ways he still could not comprehend, experiences which still reverberated within him.
"Captain, please have a signal sent to all the ships in the fleet. Inform them of the time."
"Aye, sir." Data nodded to the Tactical Officer, and the order was carried out.
Picard had hated putting on his captain's dress uniform. The Admiral's version was, if such a thing was even possible, even worse. His collar, which he obstinately maintained had not changed in size since his academy days, was always too tight around his neck, giving him the impression of being garrotted by whomever was unlucky enough to aid him in the task of putting it on. Beverly had been that person for many years, and she took it as her sacred duty to make it fit, no matter what.
"If you stopped squirming like a little boy, it might not hurt as much."
"If you stopped tightening it like a damned hangman, it might not hurt as much, either."
She smiled at his mood, purposely sour to maintain his tradition of hating formal events. The collar finally in place, she smoothed the material of his uniform with her hands, making sure it fit as it should.
And does it ever.
She had opted, instead of her formal uniform, to wear simply a dress instead. Of pale green silk it was made and set off her blue eyes and red hair as well as anything she had ever worn.
Walking into his quarters to assist him with his collar, she had offhandedly remarked, in answer to his statement of wonder at how she looked, that she had just 'thrown herself together.' In truth, she had taken time and care to look like this, for him as well as for herself. As a Starfleet officer, opportunities to take more than a perfunctory interest in her looks were rare, and therefore to be treasured. She would not consider herself overly absorbed in her physical appearance, but, on occasion, she enjoyed pampering herself with manicures and pedicures. She had gone to the holodeck that afternoon to get both done.
And, without boasting, she knew she cleaned up well.
"Ready, Beverly?"
"Ready, Jean-Luc."
Walking arm in arm towards Ten-Forward, they made for a very attractive couple.
"On behalf of the 132nd Fleet, I would like to thank Admiral Picard and Captain Data of the Enterprise for hosting this reception. Too often is the psychological need for diversion and relaxation neglected during times of crisis or war, and I am reminded of Surak's teachings: 'A mind on a dark road will often lose its way.' Few paths are darker than war, but it is through the sharing of a meal amongst companions, or a simple act of camaraderie between friends that we may light our way during these troubled times. Therefore, I offer a toast, to the valiant crew of the starship Enterprise: May the light you carry with you always be carried to where it is needed most."
The room was silent as the toast was drunk, the sincerity of the words almost painful to the officers to whom it was directed. Officers looked to one another and to the old Vulcan, silent in their thanks for the kind words gladly received. It was easy to forget that the Vulcans, often so coldly logical, were also some of the most accomplished poets and playwrights in the galaxy.
Everyone was looking to Picard for a response, and he had to clear his throat before he was able to find his voice.
"On behalf of the Enterprise and her crew, I thank you, all of you, for your dedication to the ideals and peoples of this great Federation to which we all belong. We have been tested many times by those who wished to see the spark of our truth extinguished by fear, the flame of our reason smothered by hatred. But that flame cannot, and will not, be put out by the hatred of those who are jealous, nor the spark die through fear of those who do not understand us. Each of us pledged to guard them with our lives, and we here are not alone. Billions stand, indefatigable and implacable in resolve, as a bulwark against that calamity. The words of the Earth poet Longfellow ring as true today as they did five centuries ago:
'thus at the flaming forge of life,
our fortunes must be wrought;
thus on its sounding anvil shaped
each burning deed and thought.'
We forge a future free from that fear and hatred. May its consummation be sooner rather than later."
The response made, a rumble arose in the room, as officers of all ranks and ages raised their voices together in agreement and affirmation of all that had been said by the two admirals. Picard crossed to Erod, and the Vulcan surprised him by offering his hand. Picard shook it warmly, honoured by the action.
"Admiral Picard, you are a gifted orator. Your words were well chosen, and well received by those here, myself included."
"You do me a great honour, sir. Your own humbled us."
The rest of the reception was a pleasant affair; Picard delighted at having the chance to meet with so many distinguished officers, many of whom he was with at the academy. He spied Beverly moving amongst the assembled officer, who were largely command officers rather than science or medical. She was, by his estimation, making herself highly agreeable to those with whom she spoke, and not for the first time did he feel a sense of wonder at how so beautiful and accomplished a woman as she could find him the least bit interesting.
Beverly moved her way through the crowd, laughing freely with men and women whom she had never met. Sneaking furtive glances at Jean-Luc Picard, she espied him amongst a large gaggle of younger officers, all listening attentively to what he was saying. As a group, they laughed at what she assumed to be a humorous anecdote, and wryly wondered whether or not the joke was actually funny, or they were simply trying to brown-nose the Admiral. Either way, Jean-Luc looked to be having a marvellous time, and that only served to widen her smile.
Bellia Korax and Rachel Yerla, standing close by their Admiral, took to observing those around them, and making mental connections between faces and names. They noticed a small ensign making his way through the room, painfully aware of his lowly rank. Watching as he moved to the side of Admiral Erod, and hand him a PADD, he stole nervous glances at those around him, relieved that few seem to have even noticed him. The Admiral quickly read the contents of the screen, and began searching the room, and spoke to the young officer, who promptly started making his way toward Picard. Rachel moved to meet him halfway.
"Is that for Admiral Picard?"
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"I'll take it from here." Accepting the slate from him, she turned back, and forced her way through the wall of red.
Running an eye over the contents, her face blanched. She handed it to Bellia, who expression did much the same.
"Admiral, you need to see this."
"What? Right." He took the information from her hands, and read it. His expression hardened, but that was the only visible sign of distress. He excused himself politely from his admirers, and strode towards Erod. Bellia and Rachel caught Beverly's eyes, and she knew something was wrong.
The two men dropped into quiet conversation, and an agreement was reached to which Picard nodded his head.
Erod stood up to the podium, and addressed Stafleet's finest.
"Ladies and gentlemen. The sigma-five-five sensor net has detected a fleet of forty seven M'loi ships en route to the Utari system. They will arrive within six hours. Please return to your ships, and more detailed orders will be transmitted to you before 1930 hours. Dismissed."
There was a general buzz in the room as captains were marshalling the officers from their own ship together for the return. Men and women were offering each other final shows of solidarity and strength before filing out of the reception room. Picard asked Data if he would call together a meeting of his senior staff, and the android nodded, tapping his combadge while he walked back to the bridge, signalling those heads of departments that had not attended the gathering.
"Jean-Luc?" Beverly's voice was quiet.
"Yes, Beverly? There will be a staff briefing shortly after 1930. Hopefully we will be able-"
"Jean-Luc, I only say thirty two officers of captain's rank here tonight. Were there some that could not make it?"
"No? I don't believe anyone missed this." Picard smiled at her. "I doubt if their doctors and ships counsellors would let them get away with missing this opportunity to relax a bit. I know neither of mine would have..."
Her eyes did not smile at his joke. "Jean-Luc, thirty two captains means thirty two ships."
Picard nodded sombrely. "Yes, it does. The odds do seemed stack against us, don't they? I suspect that at least some of those sensor contacts were ghosts. The sigma-five-five sensor net has been having troubles lately, so the actual number might be much lower."
"Or higher?"
Picard frowned and nodded, no saying a word.
She squeezed his arm silently, sharing the last final measure of strength left to them.
Tearing her eyes from his, she moved away.
Preparations needed to be made in sickbay to make the inevitable deluge of wounded and dying heroes feel some last, final comforts. The thought made her stomach churn.