Convicted
Author: Transwarp
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Action/Drama
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.
Summary: The Romulan War enters its fourth year. T'Pol is tried in an Andorian court while Trip assumes command of Chosin. Fourth in a series (order of stories: 'Commissioning', 'Liaison', 'Command', then 'Convicted').
FOUR
TOP SECRET - - TOP SECRET - - TOP SECRET
PRECEDENCE: IMMEDIATE
FROM:
Headquarters, Joint Coalition Command
Personal from Fleet Admiral Gardner
TO:
Office of the President, United Earth
Eyes Only President Vandeusen
DTG: 15 0943Z MAR 59
Mr. President,
1. I am providing my private observations of conditions on the front lines, which I intend as a supplement to the official report prepared by my staff. I thought it would be appropriate, given how you supported my desire for a personal visit in spite of opposition from your advisors.
2. Commander T'Pol's decision to surrender to Andorian custody was entirely her own, as I'm sure you have suspected. I was deadly serious when I told you I would never willingly submit to Shalin's demands, even if he carried out his threat. I apologize once more for my heated words to you, but I will never apologize for my passionate support of those serving in harm's way. Please realize I intended no disrespect to you or your office. The Vulcans remain adamant that Shalin was not bluffing, even though Commander T'Pol's actions have now rendered the point moot. She has quite possibly saved the Coalition from military disaster, and the two of us from having to make some truly painful decisions. Mr. President, I hope you fully appreciate the magnitude of her personal sacrifice.
3. While at Lalande, I met at length with Admiral Chu and his staff. I reviewed his plans for Operation Drumhead and determined they are sound. I also met with the Starfleet Captains and crews of the ships that had not yet departed for the Rho Virginis sector, and was impressed by what I saw. They've been fighting a rearguard action against the Romulans for three years now. To a man, they are eager to take the fight to the Romulans. One look in their eyes was all I needed to see the enthusiasm and resolve with which they approach this great enterprise. I could not be more proud of them.
4. Similarly, I met with our Coalition allies, and found them to be equally resolute. The Andorians are true warriors, willing to engage their enemies any time and any place, heedless of the odds. Their aggressive swagger strikes us humans as mere braggadocio, but they have never failed to back up their bold words with equally bold deeds. The Vulcans, of course, are their normal impassive selves. It was as if we were discussing what they had for lunch, rather than an operation that could decide the fate of our quadrant for the next hundred years. The most I could get from them is that they find it to be an 'agreeable plan', with an 'acceptable probability for a successful outcome'. The Tellarites insulted my intelligence, my appearance, and my ancestry, but I found it telling that they made no disparaging remarks about human courage, or the courage of their other allies. Nor do we have any cause or reason to disparage theirs.
5. As I write this, the order has gone out and our fleets depart to strike at the Romulan installations in the Rho Virginis system. My role in this endeavor is now complete; from this point on I am nothing more than a spectator. It is now in the hands of those remarkable men and women who have stood between us and an overwhelming Romulan force for three years. If our forces are not victorious, the failure will be mine and mine alone. I dictated the order of battle and set the timetable for the attack. I personally approved every aspect of the operation. I will allow no fault to be found with the devotion, bravery, or skill of those who execute my plans and pay the price for my mistakes.
6. I will inform you immediately as updates are received. May God be with us.
Very Respectfully,
FADM David R. Gardner
HQJCC
TOP SECRET - - TOP SECRET - - TOP SECRET
#####
Chosin, en route to Eta Corvi, 15 Mar 2159
Trip poked his head into the ship's office and caught the eye of his First Officer. "Got a minute?" he asked, before stepping back into the passageway. He saw no sense in waiting for the answer to what was, after all, a rhetorical question.
Graham emerged seconds later, a quizzical expression on his face. "Sir?"
"Is everything okay?" Trip asked.
"Yes Captain, everything's fine," Graham replied, his expression turning to one of puzzlement.
Trip grinned. "Oh, good. It just seemed you were walking a little lop-sided. Probably those new Lieutenant Commander pips weighing you down."
Graham smiled sheepishly. "They do take some getting used to. Chief Verley called me 'Commander' yesterday, and I thought you were standing behind me."
"I have the same reaction when someone calls me Captain," Trip agreed.
"Yessir. So do you need me, Captain, or did you just want to yank my chain?"
"Drumhead is a go," Trip said. "Coalition fleets at Eta Corvi and Zeta Tri broke orbit twenty minutes ago."
Operation Drumhead was the official designation for the assault on the Rho Virginis system, so named because, in the words of an anonymous Second Fleet staff officer, "we're going to beat the Romulans like a drum."
Graham's expression grew somber. "That's gonna be a hell of a fight, sir. Part of me wants to be there, but another part is glad we're missing it."
"That would be the sane part of you," Trip observed. "But we may not be missing it entirely. Get Lieutenant Koussa and meet me on the bridge in ten minutes. I'll explain then."
"Aye, sir."
#####
"Captain's on the bridge."
That's me, Trip thought, resisting the urge to look behind him. Lieutenant Walder had the watch, and she jumped from the command chair, but Trip waved her back down. "We just need to borrow the view screen," he told her.
Chief Verley was already on the bridge waiting for him, and Commander Graham and Lieutenant Koussa (newly appointed as Chosin's Operations Officer) arrived right behind him. Since the bridge's two weapons stations were only manned during general quarters, Trip pulled them over to that side, out of the way of the watch-standers. Too bad Chosin doesn't have a situation room like Enterprise. It would come in handy for times like this when I need a large tactical display.
"Kate, would you slave the view screen over to the main weapons console?" Trip asked Walder. "It's just for a few minutes, then we'll be out of your hair."
"Done sir. Take your time, it won't hurt us to fly from our consoles for a while."
Trip nodded absently, already calling up a high-level view of Operation Drumhead. The star field along Chosin's flight path blanked out, replaced by the region of space around Rho Virginis. "This is the current situation," Trip explained. He highlighted Eta Corvi on the display "This is Fleet Group One."
Koussa scratched his head. "Fleet Group?"
Graham answered him. "Yeah, Fleet Group. They needed a name for something bigger than a fleet, and that's what they came up with."
"Right," Trip confirmed. "Fleet Group One left Eta Corvi less than an hour ago, composed of Starfleet's Second and Third Fleets, Tellar's Third and Fourth Fleets, the Romulan Expeditionary Fleet from Vulcan, and Jalan's Fleet, Shareb's Fleet and Endareth's Fleet from Andoria. Fleet Group Two warped out of Zeta Tri with Starfleet's First and Fifth Fleets, Tellar's Fifth Fleet, and Tyvya's Fleet, Ghaniri's Fleet, and... and Hraioth's Fleet." Trip stumbled over the last Andorian name, and wished-not for the first time- that the Imperial Guard would adopt a more sensible naming convention for military units, rather than using their Commander's name. "That's a total of fourteen fleets, by far the most powerful Coalition force yet assembled."
"And it's still only even odds," Koussa murmured.
"It's a little better than that," Trip pointed out. "For the first time in the war, the supply of mark two torpedoes exceeds the demand. Not only is every Starfleet vessel carrying a full combat load with all the latest mods, but half of the Vulcan and Andie ships have been retrofitted with mark two launchers, and about a third of the Tellarites. The Rommies are gonna think it's raining mark twos."
Graham chuckled, "It must really bug the Andies that a piece of human ordnance is superior to their home-grown version."
"There was some initial resistance to the idea of switching, but they couldn't argue with the results. And what Captain is not going to do whatever he can to stack the odds in his favor? Even if it means using Starfleet torpedoes?"
"No Captain that I'd want to serve under."
"Nor I," Trip agreed.
"Captain, you said we might not be missing all the action," Graham said. "What did you mean?"
Trip turned his attention back to the display. "Any time now, the Rommies are going to detect our Fleets converging on Rho Virg. When that happens, what's the first thing they'll do?"
"Shit their pants?" Koussa asked.
Trip grinned. "After they shit their pants."
Chief Verley was staring intently at the screen. "If I were the Romulan Commander, I'd evacuate all my non-combat assets. And anything too valuable or too important to lose..."
"Bingo," Trip said. "But look-the direct route to Romulus takes them right between our two Fleet Groups. If I were them, I'd send my ships THIS way, out the Coalition side of the system. I've computed the shortest route back to Romulus that avoids our attacking fleets." Trip pressed a key and a red line appeared on the display, arcing up over Rho Virginis, and curving back toward Romulus. "It adds four to six days of travel time, but it keeps them beyond the reach of our fleets."
"But not beyond our reach," Verley concluded. "If we change course now, we'll be in position to intercept them right about... here."
"Exactly."
"You know, Captain, whatever ships the Rommies evacuate are going to be escorted," Graham pointed out. "We could find ourselves facing a sizable force."
"You're right, we could. But we won't be alone." Trip bent over the weapons console and zoomed the display to show the space between Lalande and Eta Corvi. "There are sixteen ships in transit to Eta Corvi, including Chosin. Five of them are close enough or fast enough to reach the intercept point in time." Trip highlighted the icons of all five ships. "That's a total of six ships. A respectable force; plus we'll have the element of surprise."
Graham and Koussa both nodded. They knew very well how powerful that could be, when properly exploited.
Koussa stepped closer to the view screen, pulling on his lip as he studied the display. "Looks like four frigates and two corvettes," he said. He read the names below their icons: "Frigates Yorktown, Verdun, and Chicamauga. Corvettes Galloway and Armstrong. Huh. I'm surprised to see Galloway. She took a hell of a pounding in the Teneebian sector."
"The starbase repair shops are getting pretty damn good at fixing battle damage," Graham said. "Lord knows they get enough practice."
"They turned us around pretty quick," Trip agreed. "So, what do you think of the plan. Comments? Suggestions?"
"I like it," Graham said.
Koussa continued studying the display. "Have you run this by Khart-lan?" he asked.
Trip and Verley exchanged amused glances. He doesn't realize that half of T'Pol's more brilliant tactical concepts originated with Verley or me, Trip thought, and I'm not going to disabuse him of the notion.
"She's reviewed and approved it," Trip answered truthfully.
"Then I like it too," Koussa said.
"Okay. Commander Graham, please draft a summary of the concept; I'd like something I can send to Admiral Chu within the hour. We'll meet again after we receive his response."
"Aye, sir."
#####
Lieutenant Commander Saracco bit her lip and stared intently at the log file scrolling across the terminal in the ChEng's office. Her office now, and wasn't that a kick in the pants? "There! See?" She paused the listing and pointed at the offending line. "Compare this to the same readings from last month. Warp coils are drawing five percent more power for the same field density, but everything else is the same: intermix ratios, plasma flow, containment field. Temperature and pressure are up, but they're dependent on power draw, so they should be up. I dunno Captain, I'm stumped."
"Have you checked the power feeds from the converter?" Captain Tucker asked, giving the data on her screen a closer look.
"Yes sir. They're also up five percent."
"Then we know it's something real and not a measurement error. E times I never lies, not in direct-current circuits."
"It's real, alright. If it was less than two percent, I'd chalk it up to changes in the space-time gradient, but no one's ever seen a gradient shift this big."
"Well... not outside the expanse, anyway," the Captain said, an indecipherable look on his face.
Sounds like a story worth hearing, Saracco thought. She waited several beats for him to elaborate, and was mildly disappointed when he didn't. "So, what could be causing this?"
He shrugged. "What do you think?"
"Your going to make me figure this out myself, aren't you."
"Think of it as a learning experience," he said, and there was a decidedly impish quality to his grin.
Saracco stuck her tongue out at him. "It could only be a couple of things then, and I've already ruled one of them out-nothing is wrong with the dilithium matrix, no cracks or impurities, and no changes to it's resonant properties. The only other thing it could be is a change in the physical alignment of the warp coils. And I think we would have noticed if the warp nacelles had shifted relative to each other..."
"Yeah," Captain Tucker agreed, "we definitely would've noticed that."
Saracco fidgeted under his calm gaze. Damn, I feel like a kid who forgot to do her homework. "So if it's not a change in warp-field geometry, what is it..?" she asked.
His answer was preempted by the comm panel. "Bridge to Captain Tucker."
"Tucker."
"Captain, we've received new orders from Second Fleet."
"Thanks, Kate. Send them to my- uh, send them to ChEng's office. I'll read them here."
"Aye, sir. Bridge out."
"Got 'em," Saracco said as an indicator on her terminal flashed. She called them up and swiveled her display to allow Captain Tucker a better view.
He leaned forward and began to read. "I'll be damned," he muttered after he had paged through a couple of screens of text.
"Problem, Captain?"
"Admiral Chu approved my plan to interdict any Rommies trying to escaping from Rho Virg. Our six ships will form Task Force 2.1."
"That's great," Saracco said. "Isn't it?"
"He's putting ME in command."
"Wow, Task Force Commander. That's even better."
Captain Tucker shook his head. "At least two of the other Captains have seniority on me. And all six of them have more command time."
Saracco grinned at her Captain's discomfort. "Maybe so, but it is your plan. Plus you're commanding Chosin. How many Rommie kills do the other ships have, hmmm? I'll bet not as many as us even if you lumped them all together."
"Nowhere near as many," he admitted, "but that's not the point. I've never commanded a task force before."
"And I've never been the ChEng before," Saracco replied, "So quit your bellyaching and do your job. Sir." She delighted in throwing his own words back at him, the words he had used on her when she balked at taking the Chief Engineer's position. She made no effort to contain the smug look on her face.
"Sage advice, Luisa," Captain Tucker said. "How'd you get to be so smart?"
"I learned at the feet of the master."
He chuckled as he stood, "Gotta go. Seems I have a Task Force to run."
"Captain, wait. What about the excess power draw?"
"Oh, that. Have Green check the hull for leaks. A slow air leak can throw out enough mass to alter field geometry. I saw the same thing in the expanse from a bad patch job after Azati Prime." He clapped her on the shoulder as he left.
Of course. An air leak would certainly do it. Saracco pressed the comm to page Ensign Green.
#####
The Callium, Romulus, 16 Mar 2159
"Krotash, what am I to make of this report that two large Coalition fleets are converging on Rho Virginis? I desire your thoughts on the matter." The Praetor's words were bland, his voice even, but there was an undertone of displeasure that Grand Marshal Krotash had no trouble detecting.
Krotash took a moment to compose himself. He had not been surprised at the Praetor's summons-it was only to be expected, given the alarming nature of the report-but that did nothing to relieve him of his nervousness. When the Praetor is displeased, everyone nearby is at risk.
Since receiving the summons, he had done nothing but ponder the best way to interpret the report's data for the Praetor. He had felt confident coming into the meeting, but that confidence was not holding up under the Praetor's piercing gaze.
Swallowing his unease, he crossed the room to the holographic terminal, where the data from the report in question was on prominent display. He had made this same journey many times since replacing Vokalus as Grand Marshal, but this was the first time he'd felt no exhilaration at being in the Praetor's presence, or having the Praetor's undivided attention.
He cleared his throat. "Your Magnificence, you must realize that these are preliminary reports from long-range sensor scans. They are inconclusive. I have dispatched scouts to collect better intelligence and will have their reports in a matter of days. In the meantime, any speculation is premature."
"Such as the speculation that an attack on Rho Virginis is imminent?"
"Yes, Magnificance. Such as that."
"What else am I to conclude? What else could it be but an attack on Rho Virginis?"
Krotash's nervousness increased by several notches. "Perhaps more Coalition trickery. This may be nothing more than a small force, augmented by those despicable decoy drones the Coalition is so fond of."
The Praetor fixed him with a hard stare. "I am reminded of our last meeting, Krotash. You assured me that the main Coalition fleet had not slipped away from Lalande. If the Coalition fleet is still at Lalande, then it can not also be on its way to attack Rho Virginis."
"Ah... Yes, Magnificence."
The Praetor continued his analysis. "So I should believe that the Coalition, with their history of attacking our logistic bases and supply lines, would not slip away to attack our facilities at Rho Virginis? That they would instead choose to meet our offensive head-on?"
"Ah..." A sick feeling began growing in the pit of his stomach.
"Speak, Krotash."
"Magnificence... I... I assure you that the situation is in hand. This is simply a trick. A desperate attempt to get us to pull our forces back so they can buy themselves a little more time..."
"Perhaps you are correct," the Praetor remarked. His tone was mild, his words reasonable, and Krotash began to relax-until the Praetor's next utterance. "There is one more thing you should know, Krotash. Consul Galtan is currently at Rho Virginis on my behalf. If any harm befalls her, it will not go well for you."
Krotash blanched. Prime Consul Galtan was a high-ranking official in the Praetor's cabinet. She was also the Praetor's consort and closest confident. The Praetor's own wife-from a marriage of political expediency-held less of his affection and esteem. Considerably less, if the whispered rumors were true.
"Her safety will be my highest priority, Magnificence. If you will excuse me, I have much to do," Krotash said, desperate to be away from the Praetor's presence.
The Praetor dismissed him with a casual flick of his hand and watched as he scurried from the room. He turned a thoughtful look toward his Chief Minister, who stood a respectful twelve paces behind him, as custom dictated. "Pyral, refresh my memory. Was Vokalus executed following his conviction for treason?"
"No, Magnificence."
"In that case, have him brought here. I would have words with him."
"Yes, Magnificence."
#####
Chosin, en route to Rho Virginis, 16 Mar 2159
T'Pol's contented sigh as she snuggled against Trip's chest was barely audible, but it brought a half-smile to his face. Yeah, me too, darling, he thought. Me too.
He pulled her in tighter, using his left arm because his right was occupied with the important task of caressing her hair and the tips of her ears. He was continually amazed at how realistic, how physical, these encounters in T'Pol's meditative space could be. The warmth of her body against his skin, the texture of her hair beneath his fingers, the soft touch of her breath on his chest, even the subtle fragrance of her skin-it required an effort on his part to remember that his true body was lying on the bunk in his quarters, deep in a meditative state.
Yes, he realized his wife and soul-mate was really on an Andorian warship light years away. He knew it, but refused to dwell on it. This may not be real, but it's still pretty damned good. In fact, in some ways it was better; in the real world, he could not have held T'Pol on his lap this long without one or both of his feet going numb from restricted circulation.
Trip's eyes shifted to the featureless white fog that surrounded them. At one time they had experimented with different surroundings-his favorite being the Florida beach, stunning in its detail-but the mental effort required to maintain those settings had been too taxing on T'Pol. She had not been able to relax and enjoy them, which defeated their purpose. He'd insisted she return to her neutral white background. After all, the scenery that matters is right here in my arms.
"Are you still eating in the Captain's mess every night?"
T'Pol barely stirred as she answered his question. "Mm-hmm."
Her state of total relaxation reminded Trip of a cat lying in a sunbeam. "You know, we don't have to talk now if you don't want to."
"I do not mind," she replied, after a barely discernible pause. "What do you wish to discuss?"
"Anything. Everything. I don't care, I just like hearing your voice."
She considered his request. It was clear to her that Trip wanted to engage in what humans called 'small talk.' This was not a problem; she had long since developed logical procedures for such. "I visited Amarith's comm center today and placed a subspace call to Chosin. But you already know that."
"Yeah," Trip agreed. "Just so you know, your call was a real boost to the crew's morale. They worry about you and they miss you a lot. Maybe more than I do, since they don't have this." He bent down and kissed the top of her head for emphasis.
"I will continue to call as long as I am able. Once I reach Andoria, I doubt it will be permitted."
Trip did not answer. T'Pol on Andoria was high on the list of things he preferred not to think about right now.
T'Pol continued with her 'small talk' protocol. "While I was in the comm center, I saw an autographed picture of the human singer Mandy Knight taped to the bulkhead."
This caught Trip's interest. "Really? Andorians listen to Mandy Knight?"
"They were introduced to human music through USO shows. The younger Guardsmen have grown quite fond of it. I hear many familiar tunes as I move about the ship, although I believe a great deal of the appeal is the revealing show costumes your female singers wear."
"Nah, not that. It's the catchy rhythms. Beats those Andorian ice ballads all hollow."
Trip couldn't see it, but he knew T'Pol's eyebrow had arched into a delicate expression of Vulcan skepticism. "I might have believed that, were I not aware of your own attraction to Mandy Knight's physical attributes."
"Sorry, darling. I know it's different for Vulcan males, but us Earth guys can't help our instinctive biological responses."
"It is who you are Trip, and you need not apologize for it. It means everything to me that in spite of your strong attraction to the women of your own race, I am the one you chose. You know this is so."
Trip gave her an affectionate squeeze. "Yeah, I know. And how many of them could spot-check my warp field calculations? I want more in a partner than just a pretty face."
T'Pol couldn't help it. A thrill of pleasure ran through her at his use of the word 'partner' and its connotation that she was more to him-much more-than just a lover. "Then I need not be concerned until I hear that Mandy Knight has obtained her degree in warp engineering."
"Her advanced degree," Trip corrected. "She'd also need degrees in physics, astrophysics, astronomy, and xeno-biology. I'd have to say your position is fairly safe."
"I am gratified to hear that." T'Pol shifted into a sitting position, turning to look at him, and there was a gleam of mischief in her eyes. "It is your turn for small talk," she stated. "About anything. I too like hearing your voice."
"Hmmm... Well, I've been running combat simulations with the bridge crew. Seems to be going well, although Verley had a recommendation for me."
"I suggest you heed it."
"Don't you want to hear what he said?"
"Very well. Tell me what he said, then heed it."
Trip snorted. "He said I'm a little too lackadaisical. A little too laid back. At one point in a simulation, I ordered a salvo of torpedoes by saying 'let's hit 'em with a dozen mark twos and see what happens.' Verley said I should try not to suggest that I don't know exactly what's going to happen next."
"Chief Verley is correct. The crew derives confidence from your certainty. Even if you are not certain, you must appear to be."
"Yeah, I knew he was right as soon as I heard it. I just figured with all the combat experience under their belts, I didn't have to exhibit the same rock-like presence as you."
T'Pol let the reference slide. She knew in this context, being compared to a rock was a positive thing. "They will still have moments of nervousness," she said. "It might be helpful for you to recognize the different ways they manifest their unease."
"Such as?"
"When Ensign Bowman is frightened, he will tap his foot repeatedly on the deck. A hand on the shoulder and a calm word are enough to settle him. Ensign Litke's mannerisms are different. He will glance repeatedly at the command chair. I am uncertain why; perhaps to reassure himself that I have not abandoned my post?"
"Anyone else?" Trip asked. He was fascinated by T'Pol's insights, not just because they were useful, but because of what they revealed of the depth of her familiarity with humans.
"Yes. Lieutenant Walder grips the edge of her console, very tightly. Lieutenant Koussa talks louder and faster than normal. Commander Graham leans in closer to his console I can also hear him swallowing over the bridge comm circuit."
"How do you know it's Graham swallowing?"
T'Pol gave Trip a reproving look. "I have ears."
"Sorry," he chuckled. "Dumb question. Please, continue..."
"When I give them their orders, I make it a point to provide them with my assessment of the tactical situation and how it will unfold. This removes the fear of the unknown, and helps them feel that the situation is under control."
Trip nodded. It was actually sound advice. "What about me," he joked, "What do I do when I'm scared?"
"Your accent becomes more pronounced."
Trip blinked in surprise. He had imagined himself calm and collected under fire, and was chagrined to learn that he exhibited any signs of stress. He vowed in that moment that he would never, under any circumstances, play poker with a Vulcan. At least not for money.
"And Trinh?" he asked, trying to turn the spotlight of T'Pol's entirely-to-keen perception onto somebody else.
She considered his question before answering. "Nothing seems to frighten him. Or Chief Verley."
"Hmmph. That just means you haven't noticed anything."
"As you say."
"So what about you, T'Pol? What scares you?" he teased, expecting one of her reflexive 'Vulcans do not' responses.
"Romulan vessels on the tactical display."
He grinned at the way she had neatly sidestepped his expectations. "C'mere, you," he said, pulling her back into the crook of his arm. "Do you know what I love about you?"
She favored him with her 'Vulcan eyes'. "No, for it is different every time you tell me."
"Oh. Then I suppose it must be everything."
"And I suppose this once I will not take issue with your typical lack of discernment."
"Lack of discernment? Whatever do you mean? I picked you-"
"Bridge to Captain Tucker."
"-didn't I?" Trip's good nature evaporated at the interruption from the comm unit. "Now what?" he muttered.
"Go, my love. I will be here when you return." T'Pol kissed him once and the background fog closed around them, thickening into blackness. When Trip opened his eyes, he was back in his quarters on Chosin.
Alone.
He rose from his bunk and stepped to the comm panel, not bothering to turn up the lights in the darkened room. He stabbed the reply button, "Tucker."
"Captain, we've received a sitrep from Second Fleet. A convoy of Romulan vessels has been detected leaving Rho Virginis. Twenty noncombatants, with an escort of two foxtrot-class warbirds, one delta-class, and six alphas."
"What course?"
"Along the predicted route. They're heading toward the intercept point."
A slow smile spread across Trip's face. "Have Commander Graham, Lieutenant Koussa, and Chief Verley meet me on the bridge in fifteen minutes. We've got a Romulan ass-kicking to plan."
"Aye, sir."
#####
Chosin, en route to Rho Virginis, 17 Mar 2159
"Sorry I'm late," Trinh said as he entered Chosin's tiny workout room. With one treadmill, a single universal weight machine, and a three-meter by two-meter section of padding on the deck, it was more of a workout closet than a room, but it was all they had.
Moose looked up from the stretching exercise she was engaged in, and Trinh studied her face for signs of irritation. He felt relief when her face brightened into a smile, and he marveled once more at the contrast with his former girlfriends back in Atlanta. They would've been pissed, and made damn sure everyone around them knew it. "Captain's last combat simulation ran a little long," he explained.
"Sounds like maybe we've got a Captain who'll make you slackers on the bridge do some real work for a change," she replied in the most innocent of tones.
Trinh chuckled at the slam, and at the memory of the many times earlier in the war when Commander Tucker had drifted onto the bridge and gently reminded an oblivious Khart-lan that she needed to give her bridge team a break. "Yeah, maybe. But don't you want to know why the simulation ran so long?"
Moose shifted position to stretch her other leg. "Okay, I'll bite. Why did the simulation run so long?"
"Captain Tucker had to brief the other task force Captains on his op plan. He did it from the bridge so we could listen. He said since we'd have to implement the plan, we might as well hear the briefing, too."
Moose stopped her stretching, her attention fully on Trinh. "You know the plan? Spill it!"
"Yes ma'am," Trinh said, smiling. "It's really pretty simple. Chosin's gonna do an end-run on the Rommies. We'll use our speed to position ourselves ahead of them. The rest of the task force will come in behind them."
Moose frowned as she considered his words. "Um, we're going to be directly in the Rommie's path? Just us?"
"Yep," Trinh confirmed. "None of the other ships in the task force have the legs to get there."
"And how many Rommie ships are we talking about?"
"Twenty-nine."
Moose allowed herself an expression of mild surprise. "How many are warbirds?"
"Nine. Two foxtrots, one delta, and six alphas."
"Hmm. So we're putting ourselves in the way of nine warbirds. What's to keep them from steamrolling right over us?"
Trinh grinned. "We've got twelve decoy drones. The Rommies will see thirteen frigates in front of them but only three frigates and two corvettes behind them. What would you do?"
Moose nodded in understanding. "I'd turn toward the smaller force."
"Right. Then at the proper moment we put on a burst of speed and catch them in a crossfire. With all the six-packs we have staged in the launch bay AND the cargo hold, we can launch thirty photonic torpedoes simultaneously. The Rommies will have to split their fire between torpedoes from Chosin and the rest of the task force. We'll swamp their defenses. Once we've taken out the warbirds, the noncombatants will be politely asked to surrender or we'll disable their engines."
"What if the warbirds don't take the bait and keep coming at us?"
Trinh shrugged. "Then we run away. They can't catch us; we're too fast."
"It sounds okay," Moose said, "but you're the tactician here; what do you think?"
"It's a good plan," Trinh replied, "the kind of plan Khart-lan would've come up with."
Moose interpreted that to mean Trinh thought it was a VERY good plan.
Trinh tossed his towel in the corner and began rotating his shoulders to loosen them. "So who gets first crack at the treadmill tonight?" he asked.
"Wellll..."
Trinh turned his full attention to his workout partner, alerted by the mischievous lilt in her voice. "What?" he asked, regarding her suspiciously.
Moose gave him that little half-smile that never failed to make his heart leap. "I was thinking you could show me some wrestling moves..."
Trinh had little doubt that any 'wrestling' lesson would quickly devolve into a more intimate style of grappling, and although the idea had a great deal of appeal to him, it caused him to hesitate.
Growing up, Trinh had been the envy of his friends. The best wrestler in his weight class in the state of Georgia for two years straight, he was heavily recruited by the wrestling programs at colleges and universities throughout North America and Europe... until they saw his grades. Academics had been low on his list of priorities, and his grades reflected it.
Not that he cared. Why should he? He had it made. Highly popular with the students that mattered, he'd always had the best-looking girls hanging on his arms, gazing at him with adoring eyes. Eyes vacant of anything real.
He'd quickly learned not to bring his girlfriends home-not unless his mother was away. It was how he avoided that look she'd give him, that look of disapproval and disappointment. He pretended not to care, pretended it didn't bother him, but it did.
Moose was different from those girls, different in every way that mattered. Moose was someone he'd be proud to have his mother meet: Hey mom, this is Linda Froehner. Her friends call her Moose. During the fighting in the Teneebian sector, she was set adrift and had less than two minutes of air left when we found her, but she was laughing and joking like she'd just been on a tourist excursion. She's got guts, mom.
Of course, back then a girl like Moose would never have gotten the time of day from him. If he had noticed her at all, it would only have been to ridicule her plain looks or laugh at her large size. That realization now shamed him deeply. He wasn't sure exactly when he changed, but he had. Giggling, empty-headed beauty no longer appealed to him. He needed something more. Someone more. Someone like Moose.
But he was terrified of losing her.
He had treated his previous girlfriends with a casual disdain that bordered on contempt. They would just giggle and cling to him even tighter. Moose expected more-deserved more-but he had no experience dealing with such women. What if he lapsed into his old, familiar patterns? What if he said or did something to offend her?
Moose noticed his hesitation. "Dat? Is something wrong?"
"Well, yeah. Much as I'd like to um... 'wrestle' with you, this is not exactly the most private of places," Trinh said, glancing at the door.
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You're afraid someone will catch us making out? I thought you were proud of your bad-boy image."
"I was thinking more of your image," he admitted.
Moose stood and placed a hand on Trinh's arm. "Aww, that's sweet. But I think I can take care of my own reputation." She stepped in close, and Trinh's breath caught in his throat at the suggestive look she gave him. Her hand lightly stroked his arm, and she leaned in to kiss him awkwardly on the cheek.
She was much less experience at the art of seduction than any of his old girlfriends but Trinh found her clumsiness quite endearing-now. The old Trinh would have found it laughable. He cringed at the thought of the scorn and ridicule she would have received at his hands and the hands of his friends.
Friends? He nearly snorted his disgust. They were anything but. They would have turned on me the instant I no longer fit in. No. Jason Ruck is a friend. Glen Hodges. Rick McCourtney. Lieutenant Koussa. Moose. I'd trust them all with my life. Hell, I HAVE trusted them with my life and they've never let me down.
Moose leaned in kiss him again, and he stopped her with a gentle hand against her cheek. She raised her eyebrows inquiringly. She exuded an openness and honesty that had been completely absent from his previous conquests. Yes, conquests. That's all they were. Nothing more. It brought an ache to his heart.
She deserves to know the truth about me, Trinh decided. Better I tell her now than she find out on her own.
He swallowed his discomfort. "There's a lot about me you don't know," he said. "I'm not the man you think I am."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I've done some things I'm not proud of." He would not meet her gaze, afraid of what he might see.
"We've all done things we're not proud of, Dat. We just have to learn from them and move on."
He shook his head. "It's not that easy..."
"These things you've done. If you could go back, would you do them differently?"
"Yes!"
"Then you are the man I think you are."
He was silent for a long time. "You still need to know," he said. "You might change your mind about me."
"What do I need to know?" Moose asked in a firm voice. "That you were an arrogant and obnoxious jerk? That you used crude and vulgar language? That you were disrespectful to your teachers and disruptive in class? That you were always in trouble for fighting? That you had sex with a different girl every week? That you treated them like dirt? Used them, then discarded them when the novelty wore off? Is that what I need to know?"
Trinh was shocked speechless by Moose's brutally accurate assessment of his past behavior. He had never told her-never told anyone on Chosin. He could only nod his head in stunned agreement. How does she know?
Moose managed to contain the self-satisfied smile that threatened to erupt. "I knew guys like that back in school. I steered clear of them and they pretty much ignored me, other than a few casual insults. So. Is there anything else from your sordid past you want to tell me?"
He shook his head.
"Good. Case closed." She leaned in to kiss him again.
Once again Trinh stopped her. "I can't," he said, his voice not entirely steady, "not now."
Moose pulled back, her eyes searching his face. "Why not?"
"I was... well, you know how I was." He paused, smiling wryly. "I had my pick of girls. I've, uh... I've done it, uh..."
"Had sex," Moose provided, surprising him with her frankness.
"Yeah. I've had sex I-don't-know how many times, just about anywhere you can imagine." He glanced around the workout room and shook his head. "I've done it in the gym. In the locker room. In the parking lot. Even on the roof of the library. I... I want our first time to be different. Better."
This time Moose made no effort to contain her smile. "Oh, Dat, we weren't going to make love; just snuggle a bit. But I'm delighted to hear you intend for our first time to be something special. I can hardly wait!"
Trinh's previous girlfriends had said many things to him, both crude and sensual, but none of them had ever made him blush. He was blushing now. Moose was clearly taking charge of this relationship, and he could only hang on, enjoy the ride, and marvel at the good fortune that gave him another chance. This time, he vowed, I'm gonna do it right.
#####
Galloway, en route to intercept point, Rho Virginis sector, 17 Mar 2159
Lieutenant Commander Hermann Mancusa, CO of the Starfleet corvette Galloway, tried not to look too guilty as his Chief Engineer seated himself in the visitor's chair of his office. Of course, a little guilt was entirely appropriate-after all, he'd rescheduled this meeting several times since they'd departed Lalande III five days ago.
He could not in good conscience delay it any longer. Despite the amazing job the Starbase Seven repair crews had done, some of Galloway's extensive battle damage from the recent action in the Teneebian sector remained. As Captain, he wanted to be involved in prioritizing repairs and assigning resources. The excuse that he had been incredibly busy with other tasks and priorities, especially since Galloway's assignment to Task Force 2.1, was wearing a little thin.
"Here's the list, sir." ChEng extended a PADD, which Mancusa accepted wordlessly. A glance was all he needed to confirm that much work remained before Galloway would be one hundred percent operational. But then, the last time she'd been at one hundred percent was shortly before the war. It's all about the trade-offs, he mused.
"Bridge to Captain Mancusa."
He reached over to the comm panel and and acknowledged the call, "Go ahead, bridge."
"Captain, We have a ship-to-ship from Verdun actual."
"Put it through," he said. He mouthed the word 'sorry' to his ChEng, who shrugged and sat patiently.
The display on his terminal lit to reveal the head and shoulders of Verdun's CO, Commander Wexler. He was frowning as if displeased, but Mancusa knew that to be his normal expression, having served as his Comms Officer before the war.
Wexler began speaking immediately, preempting Mancusa's greeting, "Hermann, is it just me or is Tucker's plan insane?"
Uh-oh, Mancusa thought, this is not the kind of dirty laundry I want aired in front of subordinates. He muted the call, giving his ChEng an apologetic look. "Wait outside, Josh. I'll try to keep this short."
Once he was alone, he turned his attention back to the terminal and Wexler's deepening scowl. "Yes sir?" he asked.
"I've been going over Tucker's plan and I have some problems with it. I wanted to get your opinion."
"Well..." he began, speaking slowly while his racing brain tried to make sense of the conversation. Since when did MY opinion ever matter to you? he wondered.
Wexler spoke again, buying Mancusa more time, "If the Romulans take the offered bait, we'll have a force of nine of warbirds heading directly toward us. Nine! If Chosin's timing is off by just a little, we'll be overrun."
"Well..."
"Don't you find it disturbing that our survival depends on the judgment and timing of an inexperienced Captain like Tucker?"
This time Wexler paused long enough for Mancusa to complete a sentence. "Timing is critical for this operation, but I have every confidence Chosin can pull it off. After all, in the Teneebian sector-"
"That was Captain T'Pol," Wexler said, interrupting again. "You may have noticed she is no longer in command."
Mancusa ignored his sarcasm. "Still, Chosin's record is exemplary, and the plan is sound..." his voice trailed off, betraying his uncertainty regarding Wexler's motives.
"Chosin's record under Captain T'Pol was exemplary, but Tucker is an unknown quantity," Wexler said. "As for the plan being sound, do you realize it requires Chosin to maintain a speed of at least warp 6.5 to get into position? And if she doesn't, WE'LL be left holding the bag. It's too risky!"
"Chosin sustained warp 6.8 for over thirty minutes in her last engagement," Mancusa pointed out. "If she hadn't, Galloway and everyone on her-me included-would now be a cloud of radioactive dust."
"Different circumstances and a different Captain," Wexler countered. "I am concerned that Tucker's inexperience will lead to disaster. A disaster that could have been prevented if wiser heads had been involved in the initial planning. I can certainly understand the gratitude you feel for Chosin, but you should not allow that to cloud your judgment. Surely you can see the problems inherent in this operation?"
If you're looking for an ally, you've come to the wrong place. "Sorry, sir. I don't share your misgivings. If you're concerned about the plan, I suggest you take it up with Captain Tucker. There's nothing I can do."
Much to Mancusa's surprise, Wexler nodded in agreement. "Yes, of course. I'll do just that." He paused briefly before speaking again, "But if I am correct about the plan's shortcomings, I expect you will remember this discussion at the board of inquiry that is sure to follow." Then he signed off.
A look of disgust crossed Mancusa's face. So THAT'S it. He didn't want an ally. He wanted a witness. He took a moment to compose himself, then called his ChEng back into the office before immersing himself in the minutia of starship maintenance and repair schedules. The incident was quickly forgotten.
#####
Continued in Chapter Five
A/N: I had originally intended for this chapter to include the intercept of the Romulan convoy and subsequent combat action, but the word count had already reached 7800 just to put all the players and pieces in their respective places. Also, it's been so long since my last update that I'm afraid everyone will look at this and say, "Who the hell is Transwarp?"