The large, white room had been subdivided into three areas. The space closest the main doors was reserved for standing chit-chatters. Just to the left of the immense room was a dance floor complete with a thirty piece orchestra that played everything from 1920's swing band music to Klingon opera. To the right was a dining area decked out with padded seats and linens. At least a dozen open bar islands dotted the room. Of course, they were all serving synthohol.
Kirk looked around, trying to catch glimpses of his crew from the edge of the dance area, where he could see everything. He would, on occasion catch a few here and there. Overall, they seemed to be having a good time. His own friends had temporarily deserted him once he started conversing with the Andorian ambassador. Eventually, the Andorian ambassador was called away to another discussion, leaving Kirk free to look around more. Of greatest interest was the tight gathering of officials around a relatively small cluster of Romulans. It had been a surprise to most when a Romulan detachment appeared on stage during the award ceremony. Kirk recognized her immedately as the commander of the IRW Valdore, Donatra. She had led a group of warbirds to assist Enterprise against the Scimitar. In the end, the warbirds had proven no match for the gigantic Reman warship. Donatra and three others had been transported, with the Federation's approval, by the IRW Devoras. People were fawning over her as though she was the latest movie star.
Obviously, the Romulan presence was a PR move, hoping to minimize the damage Praetor Shinzon had done to the Romulan leadership. However, her mood was unusually light as she gave her presentation of gratitude. According to her speech, the Romulans were genuinely moved by the sacrifices made to save the lives of 'enemies'. By Commander Donatra's testimony, such a noble effort forced the Romulan leadership to reconsider who their enemies really were. In the end, Donatra gave each starship a memorial plaque and something even more useful; a special transponder. With the installation of these transponders, both the Enterprise and the Warlord would be allowed free passage through the Neutral Zone. Her speech concluded with the promise that once 'some minor infrastructure inconsistencies' have been dealt with, the Romulan Empire would be requesting formal diplomatic relations with the Federation. Her hope was that, one day, neither the transponders nor the Neutral Zone would be necessary. That, of course, was met with a standing ovation.
Even though their 'minor infrastructure inconsistencies' were much greater than she led on, it was reassuring to know that what they went through may have been worth it. Stephen allowed himself a few moments to be proud.
"Oh, Commander," came a familiar voice from behind him. The sound made his hair stand up. His muscles instinctively contracted and he winced, almost as in pain.
Stephen turned around to see the shorter-statured Admiral Jason Wellington coming towards him, a glass of champaign in his hands. Although, by appearances, he looked like a handsome man in his late sixties with full, wavy, silver-gray hair and neatly trimmed mustache, his personality was like an aging poison. Wellington had always been one of his greatest, and most vocal, critics. He had voiced opposition to virtually every aspect of his Starfleet career, from his entrance to the Academy to his most recent promotion. His good mood vanished in an instant. "Good afternoon, Admiral," was as much as he could stomach saying.
Admiral Wellington gave him a knowing grin from behind his glass. "I hear congratulations are in order."
Kirk dared to let his guard down for a minute. Was this an actual compliment? "Thank you, Admiral," he replied.
"Yes," the admiral's eyes turned somber. "I hear only eight people were killed under your command. I would have thought the number would have been higher. For you, that should come as a great achievement." His smile almost turned evil as he took a drink.
This had been the most frustrating aspect of Admiral Wellington. Proper chain of command forbid him to say anything back in rebuttal for fear of courtmartial. Instead, as Kirk balled his hand into a fist, he kept silent.
"What's the matter, Commander?" the admiral asked with an obvious look of disdain. "Can't you take a compliment? Is it because you receive so few of them?"
Stephen's eyes met the admiral's with icy calm. "No, Sir." He said quietly.
Admiral Wellington stepped in closer. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Commander." His eyes narrowed. "You and I both know you don't even deserve to be in Starfleet, let alone a commander. You may have ridden grandpa's coattails to get this far, but it's only a matter of time before your incompetance costs a lot more than eight lives. And I'll be watching you like a hawk, Kirk... and when you screw up, I'm gonna fry you like an egg. Are we clear?"
"Crystal." Kirk said through gritted teeth.
"Good." Wellington said with a smirk. He raised his glass. "Enjoy the party."
As Stephen watched the admiral walk away. His hands were physically shaking. He closed his eyes and heard all those demons confirming everything the admiral said. The war swelled in his mind once again; the admiral was wrong, the admiral was right. No, not this time...Admiral Leonard was right, Captain Velasquez was right... but the thought of eight dead crewmen caused him doubt. Until these past events, all Wellington could do was attack his school record or his personality. He didn't have tangible evidence of his claims. Now, he did... except... what was that ceremony for, if it wasn't to celebrate a great success?
Without a word to anyone, Stephen ducked out of the party and went home... but... he didn't leave unnoticed.
