Chapter Twelve
The squadron returned to port, the captured warship in tow, and there they were greeted as heroes, their triumph over the Klingon force loudly celebrated by the people of Starbase Seventy and the New Manchester planet around which the base orbited. The ships' officers and crew were saluted, paraded, wined and dined, and forced to endure long and boding speeches complimenting their bravery and unheard of success. Every admiral who could find an excuse paid a visit to the station to give his or her personal view on the victory, and the men and women involved were obliged to hear them all; not that they minded all that much.
None were more greatly honoured than the crew of the Endeavour, whose accomplishments became legendary. To board and capture a Klingon ship of the line, and in the middle of a pitched battle! It was incredible, almost beyond belief, but the fact of it lay in the starbase's docking bay, being picked apart by Starfleet engineers in an effort to learn its every secret. Add to that the destruction of a Klingon cruiser, and the crippling of another, and the Endeavours quickly became the stuff of local legend.
It wasn't entirely a pleasant time, however. In the end, thirty-two members of the ship's crew had perished in the fighting, and Captain Drake was required to contact each of their families in turn and let them know the bad news. It was the part of his job that he had always hated, because there was no easy or right way to tell a parent that their child was dead, and their tears never failed to affect him. Alix had volunteered to handle it for him, knowing how much he hated making the calls, but Drake had refused; it was his responsibility, and he owed it to their parents. Those mothers and fathers deserved to hear from their child's commanding officer the reason why they wouldn't be coming home. He could oblige them with no less.
Particularly difficult was breaking the news to the Lewis family. They were quite exceedingly poor, and their sons had entered Starfleet to try and scrape together some money to help out back home. In addition to the terrible, heart-crushing blow of Martin's death, they had to face losing the money that their son had been providing them with; and without his monthly check it was questionable how they were going to survive. They were terribly in debt already, and the creditors on the mining outpost where they lived were not at all merciful.
"In that at least I can be of some very small comfort, sir," Drake said to Marty's father, his mother having broken down completely at the news and having had to be led away by their young daughter. "The Klingon ship we took is a legal prize, and we will be paid its value for the capture. Every member of the crew takes a share in the prize-money, and for such a valuable ship as this that will come to a substantial amount of money. I will see that Marty's share is forwarded directly."
"Thank you, Captain. Thank you."
"There's no need to thank me, sir. I wish that I could do more."
The dead were buried with full Starfleet honours, and when the prize-money came through Drake made sure that the families of the deceased received their share. He was right in guessing that the capture would bring in a great deal of money for the crew, and he hoped that it would be of some kind of comfort to those who had lost a loved one. Nothing would make the pain go away, but he hoped that it would at least be eased slightly.
This was not the only piece of misery. The damaged ships had to be repaired and made ready for service again, those captains that could be called tyrants harassing their crews torturously to get the work done in double quick time. It was enough to push the Cunnings over the edge, and the long-feared mutiny finally took place. Lieutenant Cole's officers might have survived the fight with the Klingons, but they did not survive a furious uprising from within their own ship. True to their word, the mutineers didn't harm their commander, and after killing the first and second officers, they put the rest off the ship and fled into the night, the cutter Panther giving chase until the mutineers were far outside the solar system and she had to turn back.
Then there was Fox's court-martial, a sordid ordeal for everyone involved. Fox had lost his ship, and so a court martial necessarily had to take place. Of course, the Thunderer had fallen to a superior enemy vessel (just how superior anyone on the court martial panel could learn by simply visiting the craft in question). The ship's logs, the testimony of the Thunderer's officers, and that of the other ships in the squadron, all attested that Fox had done everything in his power to subdue his foe and save his vessel. Under other circumstances the court-martial would have been merely a formality, acquittal guaranteed.
However, there existed the fact that Captain Drake, in the smaller, older, weaker Endeavour had attacked exactly the same Klingon warship and had taken her, at the loss of just over thirty men. Fox had lost six hundred twenty, as well as his ship. This put the court in a very difficult position indeed, for no matter what ruling they reached it would seem ridiculous to someone: find Fox innocent and to some it would look like Starfleet accepted incompetence, find him guilty and they would seem to be setting impossibly high standards, expecting their cruiser captains to be able to defeat battleships.
Drake himself appeared at Fox's court-martial, testifying in the captain's favour. He said that the court's only choice was to find Fox innocent of all charges of neglect and incompetence – impossible to expect an Excelsior-class to defeat a battleship – Fox's valiant attack no doubt made it easier for Endeavour to take the ship – it would be a great shame on the service, a great waste, if Captain Fox was to be broken over this.
It was while the court was in recess and deliberating that Vice-Admiral Granger proposed a solution. "We can't fault Fox's handling of the situation. We have no choice but to dismiss the charges against him. Anything else and there will be an outcry, a travesty of justice."
"He lost his ship," protested Admiral Applegate, who was all for ruining Fox over this.
"To a greatly superior enemy," Granger reminded patiently. "The public aren't stupid; if we drag Fox over the coals they won't stand for it. We have to acquit him."
"And then what? Even then we look foolish."
Admiral Hamilton threw in: "It's that damned Endeavour. If she hadn't taken the ship this would be easy. Drake went and made Fox look like a fool, and he's stuck us all in an impossible position."
"What do you propose to do, Admiral Granger?" That was McCaffrey, of course. The one man who could be counted on to keep his temper and ask right questions.
"Captain Fox must be found innocent, and Captain Drake must be rewarded handsomely for his victory."
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Drake was entirely unaware of this conversation, and when Vice-Admiral Granger called him to his office the next day he didn't have any idea what might be going on. If he had talked to Alix he might have got a clue, as the helmsman was as good at finding out other people's secrets as she was at keeping her own, but since returning to starbase he had seen very little of his friend; Alix having met a nice Orion girl at that first party, and since then she had been difficult to track down.
"Will, come in, sit down. Would you like something to drink? Allow me to congratulate you personally on your great victory."
"Thank you, Admiral," said Drake, accepting the small glass of a spirit that he couldn't identify. Nothing from Earth. Tasted a bit like raspberries. "Tell me, how are things going for Captain Fox?"
"The court-martial has reached its decision. We give our verdict tomorrow, so it can't hurt in telling you: Captain Fox is going to be acquitted. He'll probably spend some time ashore, but he'll get another ship."
"I'm glad to hear it. He's not a bad captain." Drake had no love for the man, but he had fought bravely, done his best, and that counted for something.
Admiral Granger had no great interest in Fox; however he did have an interest in Drake, and more specifically in Drake's career. He had great respect for the captain, and had done everything in his power to assist his progression, pushing his name forward even after Drake's unfortunate support for Nain – a move on the captain's part that had utterly alienated him in the Admiralty. What he had to say now gave him great joy. "Will, I'm pleased to be the first to congratulate you on your promotion."
"Sir?"
"In recognition of your capture of the Klingon warship, and your unfailing commitment to your duty, Starfleet is promoting you to the rank of rear-admiral, effective immediately. Congratulations."
Drake was stunned, nearly speechless. Not so long ago he had been evaluating his career, apparently stalled, and wondering if he had killed himself so long ago when he'd brought Nain into the service. Since then he had advanced nowhere, being passed over again and again for a fleet-captain's rank, never receiving even a short-lived commodore's post. But now…all of a sudden his career had leapt forward. He should have been thrilled, elated, and he kept waiting for the joy to flood him, but it didn't. Maybe he was in shock.
That didn't explain the cold sense of loss that was gripping his heart, and a second later Drake had found its cause. An image of his old but beautiful starship came into his mind, and he felt a tear in his eye. As an admiral, she would be his ship no longer.
"I'm very grateful, sir, but I'm a starship commander; an admiral's post comes with it a sector command. I'm not ready to leave the bridge just yet."
Granger offered a conciliatory smile. "As for that, I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you. All of our sectors already have a commander. You'll have to remain on ships for the time being. As an admiral, you're free to choose your own flagship. The Indomitable is in dry dockhere, and she could be pushed into service before the end of the month," it was a necessary but pointless offer; Granger knew that it would never be accepted.
A wave of relief hit Drake. He felt like laughing. "With your permission, sir, I'll hoist my flag aboard Endeavour."
The old man smiled. "You don't need my permission, Will. It's your right. Now, as I've said there are currently no vacant sector or starbase commands. Until one becomes available, Starfleet would very much appreciate it if you were to continue to patrol this sector in your flagship; our presence cannot be reduced. Essentially, you'll have an admiral's power and pay, but a captain's responsibilities."
"The best of both worlds."
"I thought you'd approve," said Granger. "The order has been confirmed; your name has been added to the admirals' list, with seniority from today. Congratulations, Admiral Drake."
"Thank you, sir. Thank you very much."
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'My dearest Annabelle,
'Unexpected (but wonderful!) news, my dear! I have been promoted! I am, as of today, Rear-Admiral William L. Drake. I'm a flag-officer! You cannot believe how happy this makes me; my ambition ever since I first enrolled in Starfleet Academy, now fulfilled! Admiral Drake! I wish you could see me now – grinning and leaping around like a schoolboy. This is the best thing that ever happened to me (service-wise, that is, of course).
'Alix is organising a little informal ceremony to mark my promotion. She's threatened speeches (how I am dreading it already). Sadly, there is no way for you to be here to for the party. However, Horris has volunteered to record the proceedings for us, so at least you'll be able to watch and laugh at how ridiculous it all is from the comfort of the living room. No doubt Alix is going to make my life hell with all sorts of jokes until the end of the commission, but I think I'll be able to take it – if I ever need a pick-me-up I'll just need to look down at my new uniform.
'With promotion, of course, comes an increase in responsibility, and in pay. Fortunately, I have been able to keep the old Endeavour as my flagship, and for the time being I'm to stay in ships (a starbase assignment would drive me mad). My new salary, coupled with the prize-money I'm due to receive should finally cover the cost of that little gazebo in the Andorian style that I've been wanting to build since we first moved in. Assuming I'm correct in my calculations, could you organize for the builders to start work as soon as possible? With the situation still delicate around here I probably won't be back on Earth for some months, and if it could be standing by the time I return, how happy I would be.
'Admiral McCaffrey's secretary is to visit me shortly to discuss some matters of office with me – in fact, that's him now. I have to run, my dear. My best love to you, and I hope to see you soon."
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A spontaneous roar of applause thundered throughout the hall, as Drake entered wearing his splendid new admiral's uniform, and there in the front of the crowd he saw Alix, cheering at the top of her lungs, with no regards to decorum. Around her stood the Endeavour's officers, a little more restrained in their cheering, but just as genuine, none of them anything short of delighted at this great honour that had been bestowed upon their commanding officer. Their respect and admiration warmed him to the heart. He felt just a little self-conscious walking around in this gold-laced coat, a part of him felt like he was dressing up, playing at being admiral, but his officers and crew appreciated seeing it; they were savouring reflected glory. That made it worthwhile.
There was a buffet laid on, obviously organised by someone with more class than Alix. McDonald, he speculated. Various admirals, captains, friends, and anyone else who had found their way to the party loitered around in the great hall, eating, drinking, and talking merrily in groups. Rear-Admiral Drake was obliged to take a walk through the crowds, to shake hands with everyone in turn and receive their personal congratulations – most of them delivered by strangers and utterly meaningless to him, those that came from friends delightful and unforgettable.
Alix hung away in a corner, unseen by all but the man whom she wanted to see her. The girl's smooth oval face lit up in a broad, beaming grin as he came near her, as warm and bright as the summer sun, and Drake basked in the heat of it. She stepped up to him, gave a tiny tug on his jacket to adjust its position, and suddenly it no longer felt at all awkward on him.
"Congratulations, Will. No one deserves it more." She dusted down his shoulders and gave him a cheeky smile. "But if you think for one moment I'm going to start calling you 'sir' or 'admiral', you've got another thing coming."
"I'm quite fond of 'master'."
His friend laughed heartily and he joined her, feeling more comfortable than he had since he had first stepped into Granger's office. He looked down at his new jacket, the unfamiliar emblem on his shoulder, the line of gold around the chest, the little things that distinguished him as a flag-officer. Technically, he had held the rank of rear-admiral ever since he had spoken to Granger, but until he had put on this jacket it hadn't seemed real to him. Now it was official, now it was definite – he was Captain Drake no longer.
"You look good."
"You too. I see you had a dress uniform after all."
She fingered the fabric of the long burgundy coat, decorated with her few service ribbons. Smiled. "Actually, no. Bought specially for the occasion."
"I'm flattered."
"So you should be," Alix told him, and he laughed again.
His mirth was short lived, however, as a painful thought came through his mind. He looked into Alix's deep, mysterious red eyes, trying to see if anything had changed about the way she looked at him; a hopeless task, Alix's mind was never on display. Tentatively he tried, "I hope this doesn't affect anything? Change us in any way?"
She laughed boisterously at the very notion. "Hell no! You might one day be the Chief in Command of the fleet, Will, you might be the President of the Federation, but I'm still never going to salute you, or treat you as anything other than my friend. Don't let that badge go to your head."
He was relieved to hear it, but all the same he felt like teasing. "You know, as an admiral, I can have you locked up in a penal ship for that kind of talk."
"Try it," she warned. "See what I do."
"No thanks. I like my legs the way they are."
"Yeah. So do I, actually. And I'm going to like saying that my best friend is an admiral, too."
This caused a bitter huff from Kana. "I thought I was your best friend?"
"All right, so one of my best friends is an admiral and the other is a goddess. I sure know how to pick friends!"
