30 June 2157. 0145 Hours Earth Standard Time.
His head was killing him, but Hannibal Black refused to let it show.
Tucker's call had awakened him from a light doze and, as he stepped out of the VIP guest quarters that he had been assigned, Hannibal wished he had thought to grab some water. He frowned at the security trooper waiting for him outside his quarters and briefly wondered how long the young woman had been standing there.
"Admiral," she said by way of greeting, and he gave her a noncommittal nod. "Captain Tucker sent me to show you the way to the command center." At Black's look, she offered a sheepish smile. "When they refitted Endeavour, they moved some stuff around, sir. If you're not here every day, it can get kind of confusing."
"Thank you for the escort, Petty Officer," Hannibal said with a tight smile of his own. He wondered briefly if this was Tucker's way of reminding him whose ship this was, but he discarded the notion the moment that it occurred to him; from what he'd seen of Charles Tucker III, Black was fairly confident that the man was aggressively honest.
It was a trait that Hannibal intended to use to his advantage when he crucified the man.
Fury still bubbled within Black's stomach as he reflected on the incident hours earlier. Never before in his twenty-plus years of service within Starfleet had he wanted to physically strike a junior officer, but the urge to do so had nearly been overpowering when Tucker stood in front of him.
"If I give the order for my people to ignore you, Admiral," the younger man had asked, an eerie intensity burning in his eyes and a complete lack of emotion in his voice, "who do you think they'll listen to?"
Hannibal knew exactly whom they would obey; and the humiliation that had come on the heels of that realization had been even more powerful than the anger. When he had been promoted to admiral and offered the job as COTEF, Black had seen it as the next step in his career. All of Starfleet's research and development fell under his auspices, and it was to him that Command looked for the next big discovery, the long hoped-for weapon that would reverse the fortunes of this war. And yet, all it had taken was a single comment from a combat commander to remind Hannibal what he really was.
A REMF.
It was an old acronym, one that had originated within the American military during the twentieth century, but had only recently entered the Starfleet lexicon after the MACO integration. A term of derision used by front line soldiers to describe those who held less dangerous jobs far from where combat actually took place, it stood for "rear-echelon mother fucker". For a man like Hannibal, who could trace his family line all the way back to the French-Indian War by the conflicts in which they had served, it was a sobering realization. He wasn't a special forces operator as his great-grandfather had been, or the commander of an infantry battalion like his great-great-great-grandfather, or even a ballistic submarine captain like the Hannibal Black whose name he now bore.
He was an administrator, a pencil pusher who wasn't trusted to serve on the front lines or to command a fleet. That job went to upstarts like Archer, or that damned Australian Burnside Clapp of the Second Fleet, or Admiral Wang of the Fourth. Until that moment in the captain's ready room aboard Endeavour, Hannibal had been perfectly content with that fact; he had been simply glad to be doing his job. The unspoken contempt he had sensed behind Tucker's comments, however, along with Commander Eisler's refusal to obey Black's orders, and even the master chief's decision to side with Eisler, had hammered the point home. The MACOs had a saying that Hannibal had heard: if you're not a MACO, you're not shit.
Apparently, the same held true for Starfleet combat crews.
Tucker had been witness to that moment of clarity, and Hannibal hated him for it even as he felt an unexpected sense of gratitude toward the man. Whether he had intended to or not, Captain Tucker had, with a single comment, forced Black to re-evaluate every career goal he had ever harbored.
Hannibal still intended to see Tucker stripped of his rank and dishonorably discharged from the service, though. Gratitude only went so far.
The lift from G Deck – flag country, as it was commonly called – did not go past F Deck, so they were forced to transfer to a second lift. Upon entering the second, Black was surprised that the female petty officer pressed the destination button for B Deck; according to the information that he had perused, the command center was on D Deck and had been a reconverted cargo bay. Seeing his confused expression, the petty officer spoke.
"One of the Cultural Anthropology labs was turned into the command center during the refit, sir. More room and we don't exactly need a CA lab right now." Black nodded in understanding and waited patiently for the ride to be over, desperately trying to ignore the pounding headache that raged at the back of his skull. The lift finally slowed and, following the petty officer without a word, Hannibal let himself be led through the corridors. As they rounded a corner, he frowned at the sight of Captain Tucker limping toward them.
"I'll take it from here, Pollock," the captain said to the young woman, and she gave him a crisp nod before turning away. "Hope I didn't wake you, Admiral," Tucker remarked as he gestured toward a door.
"You did," Hannibal responded irritably, and the captain hesitated before triggering the door release. He gave Black a measuring look.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Admiral," the younger man said softly, "but you did insist on being present at every one of the briefings." Once more, Black found himself gritting his teeth but, before he could respond, Tucker continued. "Lieutenant Commander Eisler told me that this was important, so I thought you might like to be here." They stood for a moment, eyes locked; Finally, Hannibal broke eye contact, annoyance and frustration once more swimming in his gut. There was nothing he hated more than having his own words used against him.
"You thought correctly, Captain." He nodded to the door. "Shall we?" Tucker triggered the door release and walked through the open hatch.
"Report," the captain demanded as he limped into the command center. A half step behind him, Hannibal studied the four officers at the master display with a critical eye as they turned toward the captain. Three of them he immediately recognized – the tactical officer, the chief engineer, and the helmsman – but the fourth was a young female lieutenant wearing the blue of Science that Black did not think he had seen before.
"The Orion ship has changed course, Captain," Lieutenant Commander Eisler said at once, gesturing to the large display before them. "They've also experienced a substantial increase in velocity."
"A warp highway?" the captain asked as he sank into the one chair present with a wince.
"An unmapped one, yes sir." Eisler almost glared at the display before continuing. "Based on their current trajectory and speed, we've also isolated the Orions' destination."
"They appeared originally to be heading for the Oolian system," the female lieutenant – Ricker, according to her nametag – declared at Tucker's questioning look, bringing up a regional star chart that was far more detailed than any Hannibal had seen for this sector before, "but in the last hour, they seem to have altered course for the Anoat system."
"Anoat system? Not much there," Hannibal muttered with another frown, and the lieutenant nodded in agreement as she brought up the system readout on the master display.
"Three rockballs, two gas giants and an asteroid field," she elaborated. "The Vulcan Science Directorate flagged it as 'Explored and Unsuitable.' Our theory is that the Orions plan to hide in either the asteroid belt or within the upper atmosphere of one of the gas giants."
"Or they're going to meet someone there," Hsiao added ominously.
"According to the information we have on this class of ship," Eisler abruptly declared, "Endeavour is faster and more heavily armed." He nodded to the science lieutenant and the display shifted to a tactical analysis of the Orion craft. "It's highly probable that their captain is aware of this fact and is attempting to maximize his chances of survival by hiding."
"How much faster?" Tucker asked, and Eisler glanced at the helmsman.
"Sir," Lieutenant Hsiao replied quickly, a trace of smug pride in his voice, "we can fly rings around that tub. It can't even top warp four." At the contempt in the young lieutenant's voice, Black nearly smiled despite his dark mood: he remembered a day when warp four had been just a pipe dream.
"Intelligence puts their offensive capability at slightly above the Enterprise at launch," the tactical officer elaborated with a sour glance at the junior officer. "Estimates place their weapon payload as low-yield torpedoes and Mark III disruptor cannons."
"It doesn't even have any shields," Hsiao added in an almost disgusted voice.
"However," the tactical officer continued over the helmsman, once more sending the younger officer a look that Hannibal interpreted as annoyed, "it is equipped with a very efficient hull polarization system and has remarkably heavy armor for a ship its size." Eisler drew a breath and looked Tucker in the eyes. "Sir, I'd like to have the Remoras rigged as Immobilizers." Black felt a flash of surprise wash through him.
Based on the Remora torpedo delivery system, the Immobilizer – officially the Remora Mark II – replaced the shaped explosive charges in each of the warheads with a micro-electromagnetic pulse generator. The brainchild of Commanders Eisler and Hess, the Immobilizer had been extensively field tested, but so far had been used only with limited success in actual combat operations. Synchronizing the detonation of the EMP generators remained the primary problem; too often, a premature triggering of the pulse would render the other generators inert and would barely affect the intended target.
Tucker's eyes shifted to the chief engineer and even Black could read the unspoken question there. Lieutenant Commander Hess straightened fractionally as she responded.
"I'm pretty sure we've got the detonation problem beaten, sir," she stated firmly, and the captain raised an eyebrow in a distinctly Vulcan mannerism.
"How sure?" he asked softly. "There are at least two lives at stake here, Anna."
"Eighty percent," Hess replied after a moment of consideration and Tucker gave her a long considering look.
"Immobilizers are a go," he declared to Eisler. The tactical officer nodded brusquely, his face as devoid of emotion as any Vulcan's. "Continue, Mister Eisler."
"Lieutenant Hsiao has calculated an intercept time of zero five thirty based on the Orions' velocity and the estimated adjustment of the warp conduit." Once more, the display was changed to the regional star chart, now with the two ships identified. "We should reach the conduit in two hours, at which time our own velocity will increase."
"Intercept point?" the captain asked, and Eisler grimaced.
"The Anoat system," he stated flatly. At the tactical officer's glance, Lieutenant Ricker changed the image to the system overview once more. "The Orions should reach the system at zero five twenty-five."
"That's cutting it pretty damned close," Tucker remarked grimly, and all four of his officers shared his dark expression.
"Yes sir." Silence filled the room for a moment before the captain nodded for them to continue.
Again, Lieutenant Commander Eisler looked to the science lieutenant manning the display console, and the viewscreen shifted to a deckplan layout of the Orion ship. Blinking in surprise, Black realized that he had never seen such detailed schematics.
"Do I want to know how you got these plans, Rick?" Captain Tucker asked wryly, vocalizing Hannibal's thoughts.
"These are the two beam-in points," Eisler announced, ignoring the captain's question as he pointed to two highlighted locations on the deckplans. "Once the Orion ship has been disabled, both STAB teams will deploy." Hannibal frowned at the unfamiliar acronym but said nothing as he studied the display. "Team Two will concentrate on capturing the bridge while Team One will move to secure Engineering. As soon as One has control of Engineering, Commander Hess and her team will transport over to neutralize any additional ... surprises in the master controls."
"If the situation on Endeavour requires my attention," Hess picked up the explanation without pause, "Lieutenant Riggs will replace me aboard the Orion ship. I've already briefed him and he's ready to go."
"Both SEAL teams will also be on alert status in the event that reinforcements are required," Eisler pointed out, once more using an unfamiliar acronym, and Black bit back his frustration. "My teams are already prepping for the assault and Chief Gray will replace me on Weps."
"You're planning to lead the assault?" Black asked in surprise. He knew about Eisler's background in MACO special ops, but the idea of a man of his rank volunteering to put himself in harm's way was surprising. The tactical officer fixed Hannibal with an unblinking look.
"I don't ask my troopers to do anything that I wouldn't do myself, Admiral." It was a simple statement, one that Black had heard dozens of times by fellow flag officers, but in Eisler's German-accented English, Hannibal sensed a stark honesty that he had never heard before. In the past, the phrase had seemed like meaningless words from senior officers who hadn't served in the field for ten or more years, but coming from the ex-MACO, it was ... humbling.
"Is Gray fully checked out?" Tucker inquired, acting as if it were a foregone conclusion that his 3IC would lead the assault. At Eisler's nod, the captain studied the display again, and Black found himself actually curious as to what the younger man was thinking. Finally, Tucker pushed himself to his feet with the cane. "All right. We have three and a half hours before intercept." He looked each of his officers in the eye before continuing. "Make sure your departments are ready for combat operations." Four quick nods were his response. "We have two officers on that ship, and they're relyin' on us to bring them home."
"And two bodies in the morgue demanding justice," Eisler said softly, his voice a menacing rumble. Tucker gave him a pointed look.
"Let's worry about bringin' our people home first," he replied. From his tone, it was clear that he wasn't making a request. The tactical officer nodded, with no hint that he had taken the unspoken rebuke personally.
"Aye, sir."
"I don't need to emphasize the importance of this operation," Tucker said after a moment, authority ringing in his voice. "Nor do I need to tell you how to do your jobs." He looked at each of his officers in turn. "You're the best in the Fleet, and now it's time to prove it."
"Semper Optima," Eisler growled, quoting the inscription on Endeavour's dedication plaque. Always the best, Hannibal translated from Latin. It was an audacious motto, one that Black had considered to be mildly arrogant when he had originally read the proposal. But judging by the looks in the eyes of these officers, it was a motto that they tried to live up to. Once again, Hannibal found himself re-evaluating his outlook; clearly, he had been among flag officers for too long. He mentally began planning how to rectify that situation.
"Let's go to work," Captain Tucker ordered, his tone brisk. Seconds later, the command center was silent.