Star Trek: Wings of the Renaissance
A Star Trek fanfiction by Andrew Joshua Talon
DISCLAIMER: This is a non-profit fan-based work of prose. Star Trek is the property of CBS and Paramount. Please support the official release.
USS Bradbury, NX-72307
Return Trip to Federation Space
The Bradbury was an experimental heavy cruiser design, a double hulled vessel with a large, oval-shaped saucer to mate them together. The nacelles were integrated into the two hulls, presenting a small, tight profile yet with plenty of hangar and cargo space. Andross was frankly shocked they'd managed to get a ship this big allowed into the Demilitarized Zone: Usually that paperwork took months, yet here she was, an angel of mercy. Their tractor beam brought them in to the large, well lit and busy aft shuttlebay, and the antigravs managed to bring them in softly onto the deck. The real turbulence greeted them the moment the canopy opened and Andross had helped Keiko out of the backseat.
"Officers, put Mister Gottschalk and Miss Matsunaga under arrest!"
Andross turned around, greeted by goldshirts flanking Amati. Trailing behind the irate Frenchman was little Mychol, looking awkward. Amati glared and pointed his finger like a phaser, hitting between his eyes.
"Oh what is this bullshit?" Keiko asked quite loudly.
"You disobeyed my orders, and you fitted my ship with defective equipment!" Amati bellowed. "You might have gotten us all killed!"
Andross took a deep breath. He tried to count to ten. He saw Suref, Hajar, Ro'ad and Zohnuld coming up from their own fighters. Hajar in particular looked livid.
"You and your stupid, primitive twenty-first century nonsense! You're no better than a cavewoman!" Amati continued. Andross instinctively gripped Keiko's arm, keeping her from lunging at Amati.
"Sir, I think this is the kind of thing to talk about in private, without security, with a senior officer," Suref tried attempted. Hajar, a young human woman with brunette hair, was less calm.
"He saved our butts and you try to blame him for your own incompetence?!" Hajar asked in outrage. "How dare you-!"
"Shut it Hajar! You'll get yours too for being useless!" Amati snarled. He turned back to Andross, who was mentally counting to ten. He had a defense, he was going to try to reason with him-
"And you, Gottschalk! You're lucky you didn't kill more civilians! Like last time-!"
And with Amati's last shout, he was already balling his fists. Andross glared right back into Amati's eyes, angry enough that even Amati took a step back. He took another step forward, ready to throw a punch and knock out every tooth in that smug, sanctimonious mouth even as he began his rant.
"You stupid, lying, incompetent sack of-!"
"STAND DOWN!" Shouted a commanding voice, and Andross pulled his fist back. The other people on the deck scattered or stood at attention, as Commander Shran strode down the deck like as avenging god. He was furious, his eyes filled with thunder. Andross found himself standing at attention, like a first year cadet again.
"Sirs," Amati began, "these two-They disobeyed my orders and fitted my ship with defective equipment-"
"He's a lying stupid son of a-!" Andross erupted, but at Shran's glare he shut up. That glare was turned onto Amati, but Andross still kept his lip buttoned.
"First rule of good command, Mister Amati," Shran practically growled, "is that you don't humiliate your subordinates when they've just returned from grueling combat saving your life."
Amati gaped. "S-Sir, but-!"
"Mister Amati," Shran resumed, "I reviewed the sensor and communications logs myself. Would you like to know what I saw?" He asked. Amati shook his head.
"Ah, s-sir, I-"
"I saw you immediately threaten the opposing forces, without even attempting to talk them down," Shran thundered, "despite someone who personally knew their leader with you! You never considered letting him talk to try and defuse the situation!"
"But I-"
"Then," Shran continued, as though Amati had not even spoken, "you charged ahead and failed to properly execute the Cochrane Deceleration Maneuver. You utilized prototype equipment, that had barely finished testing." He turned his eyes onto Keiko. "Chief Warrant Officer Matsunaga, did you provide Mister Amati with instructions on the operation of the pods?"
"Yes sir, I did," Keiko replied, "and I gave Mychol over there instructions on how to operate things properly!"
"Ensign Jin," Shran said, his gaze turning to the little Tullian, "did Chief Matsunaga provide you with instructions for safe operation of the equipment?"
Mychol looked like a nervous wreck. Still, he steeled himself, even with Amati's glare on him.
"Y-Yes sir," Mychol immediately replied. "She even talked me through the powerup sequence. Then the commander ordered me to skip it, and power it up to full."
"Ah! You can't do that!" Keiko interjected. "It overloaded the pods!"
Amati sputtered.
"W-Well then it-I mean he must have done it wrong!" The lieutenant commander cried, even as Mychol winced. "It was defective, he was defective-!"
"Mister Amati," Shran stated, cold as ice and heavy as a glacier. "You are the one who initiated hostilities. You are the one who charged ahead, alone, without telling your squadron your intentions. You are the one who ordered these pods fitted to your ship and did not operate them properly according to instructions by their creator. You are the one who put yourself out of commission with a stupid stunt and it was Lieutenant Gottschalk who took command and not only kept the squadron intact, he also prevented the massacre of over fifteen thousand Cardassian civilians. The only one disputing these facts is you."
Amati probably did the smartest thing he had in his entire life, and kept silent, his lips as thin as a nanofiber. Shran shook his head.
"Two centuries ago, had you been a member of the Andorian Guard I would have been well within my rights to toss you right through that forcefield into hard vaccuum," Shran stated, slow and hard as he pointed at the stars beyond. Amati winced. "A century ago, in Starfleet, you'd have been clapped in irons and locked in the brig. Now?"
"Now, sir?" Amati managed. Shran sighed.
"This is my responsibility," he stated. "You were clearly not ready for this responsibility, or for this command. So I'll make it simple." He reached out and grasped a pip on Amati's collar. He pulled it off, ignoring Amati's wince. "You are demoted to Lieutenant, and restricted to select duties until the outcome of the inquiry. Hopefully, what I've done will be enough, no further punishment required." Shran grasped Amati's shoulders and glared at him right in the eyes. "In the meantime, I suggest you accept the fact that the only one to blame for this is you. That makes the solution easy: You have to fix you." Shran let him go, and stepped back. "Now go to the guest quarters and stay there. And these gentlemen will accompany you. Dismissed!"
Amati nodded slowly, turned away, and headed for the hangar bay exit looking like a whipped puppy. The goldshirts followed, looking bemused.
Then Shran turned his glare onto Andross, who found he couldn't stand up any straighter. Though Lord knows he tried.
"Mister Gottschalk," Shran said, "the communications logs reveal that you tried to talk down Chakotay repeatedly. Is that true?"
"Yes sir," Andross replied.
"That he offered membership in the Maquis to you?" Shran further inquired. Andross stiffened, and Suref stepped forward.
"Sir, may I point out-" The Vulcan began.
"You may not," Shran stated curtly, and Suref fell silent. "Well Gottschalk?"
"Yes sir, he did," Andross said.
"And you refused?" Shran further inquired.
"Yes sir," Andross replied. Shran raised his pale brows.
"You didn't attempt pursuit after disabling his vessels. Or order pursuit. Why?" Shran asked. Andross steeled himself.
"I had two combat capable fighters left. Two of my ships were disabled. The mission was accomplished: Their heavy ordnance had been intercepted and the colony was safe. To pursue them at this stage would risk my squadron's lives."
Shran nodded. "I see." He sighed, long and hard. "Well. Since I'm down one squadron lead already, looks like I'll need a new one. And seeing as you can do the job under the most stressful circumstances, I guess it'll have to be you." He reached up, the pip he'd taken from Amati in his fingers. He pinned it onto Andross' collar. Andross blinked, and reached up to touch the pips. Making sure they were real. Keiko whistled and grinned.
"I… Thank you sir," Andross managed. Shran snorted.
"Don't thank me. The more pips you have, the more paperwork, the more headaches, and the more shavit you have to put up with. Pray to whatever gods you believe in you never get three pips. Or God forbid, four. You'll wish you'd gone into botany." Shran looked over at Keiko, who held up her hands.
"Hey, don't look at me. I don't want a promotion! But more lab space, if you could manage it?"
"As much as I know I'm probably going to regret it, yes," Shran stated dryly, and Keiko whooped. The big Andorian turned around to the rest of the flight section members. "You're all dismissed. Get acquainted with your new squadron lead: You're going to need it."
Shran turned and headed off. The rest of the squadron closed in on Andross, Suref leading. He extended his hand, and Andross took it.
"Congratulations, Lieutenant," he stated. "I am sure you will perform your role adequately."
"Thanks Suref," he replied. Hajar was next, patting him on the shoulder with a smile.
"Thanks for the assist," she said.
Ro'Ad gave a big, toothy grin, which was a bit unsettling to humans but Andross knew the Gallamite was pleased.
"Couldn't wait for that blowhard to get what was coming to him," Ro'Ad said. Zira Zohnuld, a pretty green Orion woman, gave him a sensuous grin and wink.
"Well congrats, you just became interesting," she purred. At Hajar's elbow jab, she pouted. "I mean, good on you, sir."
"Thanks," Andross said. He looked over at Mychol, the little Tullian awkward. Keiko soon walked up to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
"You did great!" She said happily. "Tell me, what do you know about a show called 'Macross'?"
"Nothing," the Tullian admitted. Keiko practically squealed.
"Then there's no time to lose! We must binge watch it immediately! Come on!" She grabbed his hand and dragged him off. Andross shook his head, glancing over at Suref as the rest of the squadron grinned or snickered.
"I'm kind of glad to have her attention off me," he said. Suref raised an eyebrow.
"I find that unlikely," he stated. Andross blinked, still smirking.
"Was… That a joke?" He asked. Suref raised both eyebrows and made a slight shrug.
"After a fashion, sir," he said.
Andross sighed, chuckling a bit. "I think we're going to get on fine, you and I. I say we get some drinks and help out poor Mychol. Do you agree?"
"You are squadron lead, after all," Suref said. Andross nodded to the rest of the pilots and officers, who turned and followed the energetic Japanese woman and the hapless Tullian. Suref paused a moment.
"I am sorry you were unsuccessful in your negotiations with Chakotay, sir."
Andross's smile faded. He looked out at the stars. He took a deep breath.
"So am I," he said.
I made my choice… So did he.
He turned back to the Vulcan. "Well… Let's not keep them waiting."
"Yes sir," Suref replied.
"You know, you don't have to call me that," Andross pointed out as they made for the hangar bay doors. "We're off duty."
"Of course sir," Suref replied. Andross sighed, his fingers reaching up to his pips.
That damn Andorian: Did he always have to be right?
Maquis Base, The Badlands
2370
Mining equipment allowed you to make an asteroid livable, but not much more than that. The empty caves and tunnels were kept breathable by force fields, duracrete sealing, and hydroponics bays. The heat from the generators was moved through radiators and warming systems to keep the temperature above freezing. Ice was melted and filtered for water, for drinking or bathing and almost got the metallic flavor out of it. And artificial gravity nets made it possible to walk or float around as needed.
It was possible to live here, yes, Chakotay reflected. He had to admit though, it was a mean, barebones and desperate kind of life. Even the modest decor he'd added felt out of place in the drab surroundings, as he sat in his quarters and contemplated his medicine bundle.
It was the only thing he'd found intact among the ruins of his father's home on Trebus. His father Kolopak, the community shaman, sometimes leader, and teacher. The guide to so many, the intermediary between the living and spirit world and in navigating the tricky pitfalls of morality. A role Chakotay was expected to take, had been brought up to take. Yet Starfleet had called too strongly, and so he'd gone out among the stars. His father had never approved, and so they hadn't spoken. Hadn't reconciled, until the Cardassians had sent Kolopak off to the other side.
Chakotay wondered what his father would think of him now. Drawing on what he had rejected for strength, following his own path and rejecting the Starfleet and Federation he'd run away to.
Being a father and teacher to a young man he now had to call his enemy.
"You wanted to see me?" A proud female voice announced herself at the door. Chakotay looked up.
Seska was a Bajoran, but unlike many of the curvy members of the female half of that species she was skinny and slight. Ramrod straight, all angles, with cold, hard eyes. Yet this was a side she presented to everyone else: At times, she could be quite warm. He stood up, eyes locked on hers. A regenerative bandage pack was on her left arm, and another small one on her forehead.
"Who fired off the torpedoes?" He asked. "I explicitly ordered not to fire until my command."
Seska shrugged. "Maybe Paris panicked. The rest of the crew was killed when that plasma conduit blew."
"B'Elanna told me that conduit was secure," Chakotay stated evenly. Seska sighed, shaking her head.
"She's a decent engineer, Chakotay, and my friend… But let's be honest. Some days she couldn't identify shit with a tricorder," she stated bluntly. Chakotay scowled, but nodded. For all of her talent, the half-Klingon girl was very short tempered and easily frustrated. Things that easily led to mistakes.
"All right. After the conduit blew, what happened?"
Seska tensed mildly.
"I was separated from the cockpit," Seska said smoothly, her hands clasped tight behind her back. "I tried to raise Paris but he must have been knocked out at some point after he launched the torpedos: We got shook up so much I nearly broke an arm. I couldn't get past the plasma leak, and I don't think you'd have wanted me to risk the transporters."
"No," Chakotay admitted, and Seska nodded in affirmation. "But we lost Paris. They captured him. He was a good pilot."
"He was also an idiot, just in it to escape or to get back at his dear old dad," Seska snorted. "We can afford to lose someone with untrustworthy motives. And he didn't know anything important, so the Federation won't get anything out of him."
"I guess we'll have to see, won't we?" Chakotay sighed. He fixed Seska with a phasers beam thin look. "That said, if those torpedoes had hit-"
"If they did, that's thousands of fewer Cardassians around to rape, murder and pillage innocent worlds," Seska practically growled, her voice hard and bitter. Chakotay held back a sigh. He hated the Cardassian military for murdering his father. Seska had to live with their occupation murdering and destroying her homeworld for sixty years.
It was hard to have an argument on morality with that much pain. So he approached it differently.
"If they had, we'd lose any possible support we might have in the Federation," Chakotay pointed out. Seska snorted. "And we need that."
"You can't expect to fight this war without getting your hands dirty," Seska stated emphatically, her eyes locked onto his. Chakotay allowed himself a nod.
"Maybe. But there are lines I'm not willing to cross," he stated. Seska arched her brow.
"And if it comes down to us, or that boy you taught? Will you cross that line?"
Chakotay bit down an angry retort. He took a deep breath.
"It won't come to that," Chakotay said slowly. Seska huffed, walking up close to Chakotay.
"Are you sure?" She asked. Chakotay shook his head, that old protective feeling rising in him again.
"He's young and inexperienced. I taught him everything he knows-"
"And he managed to ruin our entire plan and disable most of our ships," Seska pointed out.
"He was holding back," Chakotay argued. "He was sentimental."
Seska glared.
"And you weren't?" She shot, striking true. Chakotay raised his hackles.
"The more people we kill, the harder it is to get support-!"
"Hang your support!" Seska growled back. "We're not running a public relations firm, Chakotay! He's a good pilot, and he's getting better all the time! Good enough that he might outclass you eventually." She took a deep breath. "Unless you nip him in the bud."
"I can't kill one of my own students, Seska," Chakotay retorted, the truth coming out at last. Seska glared back.
"He's not your student now, Chakotay! He's your enemy! We're your allies! Your friends!" She looked aside, and pressed her slim body against him. "Maybe… More than that," she said, her voice becoming warmer and less hostile. Chakotay hesitated a moment, before holding her back.
"Yes, you are," Chakotay said. "Do you trust me?"
Seska snorted. "What sort of question is-"
"Do. You. Trust me?" Chakotay asked. Seska sighed, nuzzling his broad chest.
"Of course I do," she said softly. "But this is bothering you. And it is a risk. And you appreciate honesty."
"I do," Chakotay admitted, his hands roaming her body. "So trust me when I say: It won't come to that. I can deal with him."
Seska sighed softly, nuzzling him back. "Then I suppose I have no choice but to take your word, hm?"
"That's all any of us have to go on," Chakotay admitted, leading her to the bed. Time to think about things other than their desperate circumstances.
Time to think about things other than the young man who'd tried so hard to reach out to him.
In the end, that was the only thing they had.
Outpost 444, Valo II, Bajoran Sector
2370
The full debriefing and report had only taken a few hours when they'd arrived back on Valo II: A bit rough but ultimately not as terrible as Andross thought it would be. A few hours of boredom was almost pleasant after the nerve wracking combat he'd been in. He was still exhausted, but no more than he'd been at the beginning.
Watching some of that Macross show had actually been pretty good, too. Though Keiko's excitement often gave away important plot twists and events. It hadn't been too bad of an experience.
One, maybe, that he could get used to.
So naturally, when he laid down to sleep, his communicator had to beep. He groaned softly, and reached out of his bed to tap the commbadge on his night table.
"Gotsschalk here."
"Lieutenant, Zira here," the pretty Orion spoke, sounding excited and nervous. "Sir, would you mind coming out to the hanger bay for a few minutes?"
Andross smothered a groan into his pillow. "Can't it wait until morning?"
"Ah, well, maybe sir… But um, since it's kind of important, could you please just come? It'll be really quick, I promise!" Zira insisted. Andross sighed, and rubbed his face. He took a deep breath.
"...Fine. Give me a few minutes," he acquiesced. He got up, pulled on a uniform, and headed out into the hallway. He took the stairs down to the lobby, and walked out onto the base proper. It was night, one of the planet's large moons glowing brightly overhead. Naturally, people were still at work: moving cargo in trucks, doing maintenance, or prepping shuttles and fighters. People who hadn't spent all day fighting their former friends and mentors in pitched battle.
Andross wondered if he would now envy them. The people who didn't have the same excitement in his life. Despite everything Andross had gone through, he didn't feel that. He didn't know what it meant.
He kept walking during this brooding, finally ending up at the large main hangar across from the living and administration annexes. He scanned the hangar and spotted a hint of bright green. There she was, Zira Zohnuld, proudly standing on the cradle gantry of his Peregrine. Master Chief Petty Officer Bein "Pops" Heucke was standing by her, the old Tellarite looking amused through his long white beard.
"Flight Officer, Pops," Andross said politely, as he walked up to the edge of the cradle his fighter was nestled in, "what's up?"
Zira spread her arms and posed like a gameshow girl, smile glinting in the light of the hanger lamps. "What do you think?" She chirped.
Andross walked around and up the ladder to the gantry, his eyes following Zira's arms. The bent part of the fighter's wing slowly came into view, but for a moment his sleep addled brain saw just darkness and a weird white scribble. He got up onto the gantry, looked down and his mind put it together.
Two large white femur bones, common to humanoids, were crossed underneath a rather plain looking humanoid skull. The fighter's ID number was printed underneath the bones on a bright yellow band across the wingtip, along with the squadron number and name:
477th Tactical Starfighter Squadron, the Jolly Rogers.
"... I'd almost forgotten," he admitted. Zira made a face.
"Yeah, can you believe it? They give us this cool name and cool symbol but we're not allowed to paint it onto our ships? Well, Amati didn't allow it."
"It's not technically against the regulations, thank the gods," Pops intoned. "The idiots running Starfleet didn't erase everything good about it."
Andross nodded. "And Macross…"
"That weird show reminded me," Zira admitted. "I looked through the database: Apparently the original squadron had livery like this from before the Romulan Wars. All our fighters did!"
Andross allowed himself a grin. "And you want to put it onto every ship in our squadron?" He asked.
"Yes!" Zira said cheerfully, bouncing in interesting ways. Ways he was too tried to appreciate, if he was honest.
"Without my permission," Andross pointed out. Zira paused, and her smile became awkward. Pops laughed hard, making the pretty Orion scowl at him.
"W-Well, I just assumed he'd be all right with it!" She insisted. "Especially this late at night-"
"You're kind of shit at this manipulating thing, for an Orion girl," Pops laughed. She flushed a darker green and scowled at him. She waved her hand, expressing her irritation.
"Usually it's not this hard!"
Andross was laughing too. It felt good.
"It's okay, it's okay!" He said. "I like it." He glanced over at Pops. "And I take it there's nothing to stop us from doing it to the rest of our fighters?"
Pops chuckled. "No. Shran's not going to object. And after this Maquis shavit, we need something to boost morale."
Yeah. Even though everyone had been tired, it was clear tensions were running high. Especially when Shran had to answer any questions about what he'd been up to during the mission. Apparently he'd been involved at something at the Bryma Colony, but nothing had come out. He couldn't imagine it was much better than his experience.
The prisoner they'd taken, Tom Paris, the disgraced son of the great Starfleet Admiral Paris, hadn't helped things either.
Andross nodded. "Then by all means, Zira: Get painting."
Zira beamed. "Yes sir!"
"After," he stated, making her pause, "you get some sleep."
Zira pouted. "I do my best work at night," she huffed.
"Not a surprise," Pops grunted. Zira threw a paintbrush at him, but the big Tellarite just laughed harder even as the paint spilled down the front of his uniform. He scooped up some and threw it back, splatting Zira's chest. She cried out in indignation. As Pops kept laughing though, she soon joined in. Andross went along because maybe he was damn tired… But he needed this. So did the squadron, if he was honest.
For a first order as a squadron leader? It wasn't too bad at all, in his opinion.
That's it for Andross's mission. Next time? Keiko.
