"Travis Mayweather, Commander, MISBS, you have stood accused of abandoning a superior officer in the line of duty, and of disobeying direct orders." Intoned the large, imposing Starfleet court judge. "You have given evidence defending your actions, and we have come to the conclusion... that you are not guilty, and under the circumstances your actions were understandable."
Amongst the cheering from his assembled crewmates, Travis pondered over these last words, getting the distinct impression, and not for the first time, that he wasn't being told the whole story. As the courtroom cleared, he made for the door, then winced as the distinct, piercing voice of Admiral Craven assailed his ears from across the room.
"And WHERE do you think you are going, Mr Mayweather?"
I knew it, he thought as he reluctantly turned around and began his slow plod back across the room. I'm not getting off that easily. He reached the imposing piece of Admiralty in a tight-fitting uniform- the new style, he noted, sleeveless grey jacket over coloured jumper. He suddenly felt very subconscious in his older, fraying uniform. "Admiral?" he inquired wearily.
"Oh yes, Commander. You don't get out of it that easily." Travis wondered vaguely if the aging admiral could read minds. Stranger things had happened.
"Now what?" respect be damned, he thought. He hadn't served ten years on the Enterprise without one promotion to be ordered around by a woman who probably hadn't been further than Saturn.
The old Admiral suddenly looked very tired. "Please sit down, Mr Mayweather," she said, taking a seat herself. "You may leave us now." she added, calmly dismissing the other Starfleet councillors, who quickly left.
"I notice Admiral Archer wasn't amongst the councillors today." Interrupted Mayweather, determined to get some answers at last. "Why are you so determined to shunt the enterprise crew off to the graveyard now our glory days are over? It is some trick to-" Craven held up a hand to interrupt the excitable commander.
"We clearly have not managed to quiet you so easily, Commander, as you have managed to create a disturbance yet again."
"In case you weren't listening, Admiral, that wasn't me, that happened to be a bunch of homicidal maniacs who we haven't even heard of before!"
"You have a real problem with authority, mister! Nevertheless, you're the best we have. You know the exact region of space where you were attacked, and that is why you're needed for this mission."
Something in the Admiral's voice captivated Mayweather. He leaned in towards her. "Tell me more."
"You know that Captain Stein was held in the highest trust by the council."
"Yes." replied Mayweather. Though I can't see why, he thought.
"And perhaps you know that he was carrying secret orders direct from the Council."
"Er- well-" Travis looked embarrassed. "You know how rumours travel, and on a spaceship it can be about ten times worse. I doubt anyone except the Captain knew the whole truth."
The Admiral did not smile. "How much do you know about the regular attacks, every month over the past year, made by these aliens?"
This was one of the last things Travis had been expecting, as he was under the impression that this was the first attack by the mysterious terrorists. "WHAT?!?!?!?" was the best answer he could come up with.
"Am I to take it that this is the first you have heard of them?" remarked the Admiral dryly. "You see, your Captain Stein was in possession of sealed instructions carrying everything we knew about our mysterious attackers, data from the ships lucky enough to survive, that sort of thing. That was practically our last chance at stopping the attacks and keeping them hushed up.
You see, the Federation is in a precarious position. Barely four years old, if our fellow powers found that we were attracting terrorism, our young Federation would fall apart. And that is why we need YOU."
"I could pretend to be flattered if I wasn't aware that you still haven't told me WHAT IT IS you want me to do."
"Simple. Just go back to the borderlands, get back Captain Stein if you can, but above all, find out some weakness, some scientific fact, anything, anything at all about these beings. The people of the Federation need you." The desperation was really evident in her voice by now. Mayweather sighed, knowing his career in Starfleet would be over if he did not head this mission- and the Federation itself, something his mentor, Admiral Archer, had put his whole life into creating, would collapse. He wiped sweat from his brow.
"Alright. But I get to choose my senior crew."
Mayweather marched into the briefing room aboard the newly built "Starbase A" in orbit of Earth. So far, he had got as far as wrangling two crewmembers away from their new postings. Neither Ensign Troy nor Ensign Ragaan seemed too resentful about this. On one hand, this could mean Mayweather was a better First Officer than he first thought, but on the other hand, it may have something to do with the fact that both the Challenger's communications officer and her Tellarite colleague had found themselves somehow with jobs as shuttlebay monitors, not quite sure just how they came to be in that position. Travis smiled wryly. Admiral Craven certainly had a habit of making her presence felt during reassignments.
He clapped his hands together, drawing their attention. Troy nodded to him, Ragaan acknowledging him with "Captain."
Mayweather ran his fingers over his four pips one the breast of his grey jacket, as if to reassure himself that Ragaan was referring to him with the use of Mayweather's new rank. "Alright, Ensigns. I've been interviewing possible Tactical Officers, and I've come to the conclusion that we need to go for plan B."
Ragaan snuffled. "We have a plan B?" He inquired.
"You two don't know about it yet. I only thought it up last night."
"Ah, one of THOSE plans." Put in Troy in a sarcastic voice. Before she could go any further, the door chimed.
"Good," said Mayweather, folding his arms. "That'll be plan B now. Enter."
The door slid open, to reveal two Starfleet security officers flanking a slightly greying man in civilian clothes. The civilian was wearing electronic handcuffs and looking extremely grumpy. Troy sidled up to Mayweather and whispered "What's HE doing here?"
"I had him brought out of retirement and re-commissioned." he muttered back, then louder, "Release him."
One of the guards moved to the electronic handcuff controls, but the man in civilian clothing swept his hands apart, the handcuffs useless. "Don't waste your breath." The man said as the guard opened his mouth. "I disabled these ages ago."
Mayweather refused to be surprised. "Hello Malcolm."
Malcolm Reed looked up, raising an eyebrow "Travis? They got you too?" He walked forward, clasping Travis' shoulders in a gesture of greeting. "When I find the moron who called me out of retirement, I'm gonna-"
Travis whistled innocently. Reed glared at him, a glint in his eye. "You'd better have a good story."
Reed listened patiently enough, but at the mention of Stein, he gave a long low whistle. "Harold Stein, eh? He applied to be on the Enterprise crew, you know."
"No, I didn't know that," muttered Mayweather. "I would certainly explain a lot."
"Then, of course, he got a place on the Columbia, but in his eyes it was only second best. Very bitter about it, as I recall," went on Reed.
Mayweather went on with his tale, now seeing Stein's jealousy and vindictiveness in a different light. When he had finished, the two old friends sat in silence. The door chimed, and Troy and Ragaan re-entered the room, having left to get refreshments. Travis introduced them: ""Malcolm Reed, Julia Troy and Ragaan." Reed shook hands with the two Ensigns. All four starfleeters sat down around the table. Mayweather leaned in, his fingertips together. "So, I've got a communications officer, a helm officer, and a weapons officer. Hmm. That leaves science, medical and engineering."
"Simple." said Reed, a faint smile on his face. "When do we set off?"
However, word seemed to get around very quickly on the new Starbase, and unfortunately, many otherwise promising engineers, medics and scientists seemed to suffer from a natural aversion to dangerous missions. At the end of another afternoon of fruitless interviews, Travis and Malcolm collapsed back into their chairs. Malcolm sighed. "You know whose charm and beauty we could do with now?" he said to the room in general.
Travis instantly knew who he was referring to. "Not to mention diplomatic skills. But she's not here, and besides, we've already got a communications officer."
"Lucky for you two," said Hoshi Sato, walking through the open door, "I've just been transferred here, and I completed my Science Officer's degree last year."
Travis rose, walked slowly over to Hoshi, then swept her up in a hug, grinning broadly. "Lieutenant Commander Sato." He announced to no-one in general, since all three of them were old friends.
"Excuse me, did I hear that right? Lieutenant Commander?" interrupted Reed, confused.
"You've been out of the loop too long, Malcolm." answered Hoshi, crossing over and kissing him on the cheek. "New rank in Starfleet." Malcolm grumbled to himself, though he was obviously pleased to see his old friend.
"And if Hoshi can't complete the senior crew for us, nobody can." Added Travis with a satisfied smile.
And, sure enough, within two hours, Hoshi had found them a chief Engineer and a Medical Officer.
A bit of a talky chapter, that one. Next time: New characters and a new ship.