Chapter II
Admiral Ivan Ondrejovich Zhukov never understood his fellow Starfleet Officer's obsession with San Francisco. Earth was home to dozens of more beautiful cities, and Starfleet maintained bases or offices in nearly all of them, yet it was rare for a flag officer to select offices that weren't in the Golden Gate City.
Sure, he had some good times studying in the city as a cadet, but he had always had the best time at parties in cities where wearing a cadet's uniform was unusual. And sure, Starfleet Headquarters was there, but he couldn't remember the last time a flag officer walked between buildings instead of using a transporter, so what's the point of being in the same city?
Then again, he was Russian. Maybe all his reasoning was just a rationalization for selecting Starfleet's Moscow Red Square office as the base of operations for the Second Fleet. Although he wasn't born in the city, he felt drawn to it. He would long for the city when he was away from it, not unlike how he would long for his own wife. Those feelings only seemed to grow the years went by.
That was why, in his old age, he never strayed far from his wife – or his city.
He idly wondered how his wife was doing. She had a staff meeting with her faculty at the local gymnasium, and there was set to be a big fight over the curriculum. New revelations about the Great Patriotic War had caused the Ministry of Education to propose changes on what's taught. The faculty was going to fight those changes tooth and nail, and poor Anya was charged with forcing it on them. Personally, she didn't support the changes to the curriculum, but she was an administrator, so she had no choice.
But that was neither here nor there. Zhukov realized he had not responded to his guest's question and chided himself for letting his mind wander. He looked upon his companion, an attractive human woman in her mid-fifties with calming brown eyes. She wore the pips for a commodore – Rear Admiral, lower grade, Zhukov reminded himself – that he had given her only a month before when he promoted her.
Her name was Allison Meyer and she was replacing the retiring Rear Admiral Shu'Sang as Commander of the Second Fleet's 48th Operations Wing. Zhukov found her to be an intelligent officer with a surprisingly sharp wit. She had proven herself to be a solid tactician and strategist during the Dominion War, and her commitment to humanitarian aid and exploration had been proven during her tenure as captain of the USS Deliverance once the guns went silent.
She was here this day to help interview candidates to fill the two empty captain chairs in her wing. One was an Intrepid-class ship, the Surprise. Her captain had been selected to command the brand new Luna -class USS Ganymede and was taking most of the crew with him. The other was a brand new Prometheus-class USS Atlas.
The Surprise and the Atlas were both new additions to the 48th OW, and although Zhukov had the final say to the appointment of their captains, he allowed Meyer to make a short list of officers she'd like to see in the two vacant captain's chairs.
She had produced a list of seven candidates, three of them currently of the rank commander and only two of them had ever served under her in her chain of command. Zhukov respected that; they said patronage was dead, yet it seemed like a lot of captains before the Dominion War were promoted by their "old friends." He very privately believed it one of the key reasons why Starfleet had been whipped so badly in the first year of the war.
Still, Meyer had put on the top of her list her first executive officer of the Deliverance. Captain Felix Pavlik was a decorated war veteran and currently Director of Project Pathways. Zhukov was aware Pavlik was seeking a captain's chair – having put his name in the command pool four months ago – but he didn't seriously look into the man's dossier until Meyer had nominated him. From what he could tell, his position on the list was no act of cronyism.
The flag officer looked over at his junior. She was using the faded reflection of herself to aid her attempts to straighten her uniform and fix her hair. Ivan suppressed a grin – the vanity of a new admiral was about as sure as anything in the known universe.
Only a few minutes past before the first candidate arrived. Felix Pavlik was a tall, well built, if somewhat slender, man in his late thirties. He wore his chestnut brown hair somewhat long, overhanging his ears, and his beard was approaching a length where it would be considered untidy. This is not to say he looked unprofessional, just a man with more interesting things to worry about than exactness in appearance.
The interview began and Zhukov quickly found out that Pavlik had many of the qualities that befitted a Starfleet officer of his rank. They spoke on a variety of issues, from the prime directive to tactics – Pavlik's grasp of fleet-wide actions was first rate and his engineering background gave him access to unique strategies a classically trained Romulan or Klingon commander would never think of – to family and hobbies.
In the hour and a half conversation they had, there was only one thing that bothered Zhukov.
"You've been working three years planet-side. I'm sure you've made friends outside of the service and have just started to form some roots on Earth again. Why return to a starship? There aren't many commands that will keep you within spitting distance of Earth."
For the first time Pavlik's expression became guarded. After a moment, Zhukov amended that: his look was one of resolve. Minutely, yet instinctively, he leaned forward to listen to the captain's reply.
"War lurks on the horizon," Pavlik said gravely after a moment of thought. "And, respectfully sir, I know my place during one is on the bridge of a starship, not in a research laboratory in San Francisco."
Zhukov exchanged a look with Meyer, but could not fake the look of astonishment that he needed to feign ignorance as well as he'd like. Meyer, on the other hand, was a better actor than he.
"War? With who?" She asked, very convincingly looking surprised.
"The Klingon Empire," Pavlik supplied readily to answer Meyer. "Honestly, sir, I'd resign my commission and move to a neutral planet if Starfleet Intelligence wasn't warning you of the same thing."
Zhukov could tell Meyer was going to keep up the charade, so he raised a single hand to stop her.
"Alright, captain, tell us why you believe that," the admiral said, hoping sincerely that it wasn't because of an intelligence officer's loose lips.
"Ever since the Khitomer Accords were signed, there have been voices of dissent in the Federation, which oppose an alliance with the Klingons. On the basis, of course, that it's antithetical to our principles to ally with a brutal, oppressive, oligarchy like the Klingon High Council.
"That said, while most Federation citizens sympathized with this view, popular opinion has generally been in favour of a Federation-Klingon Alliance to maintain peace and a balance of power against Cardassia and Romulus.
"Now that those threats are effectively neutralized, the old opponents of Khitomer have re-opened the debate. The argument for ending the alliance has been resonating amongst the voters since the last presidential election, even with the defeat of Special Emissary Pagro.
"I figure that popular will of the people will shift from generally pro-alliance to against in two stages. First, people will wish the government put pressure on the Klingons to democratize and liberate subject worlds. Martok is as progressive a Klingon as you can reasonably hope for, but that's not saying much. Even if he did everything we asked of him, he would likely be assassinated or, at the very least challenged, before any substantive change could come from it and whoever replaced him would assuredly be anti-Federation.
"More realistically, Martok will make some compromise, making him unpopular with his people, but not enough to please critics here, making him unpopular in the Federation. At that point, it will only be a question of whether Martok is overthrown before or after the Federation public gets fed up with Klingon conservatism and pressures the government into abandoning the alliance.
"With the fall of the Federation-Klingon Alliance, there will inevitably be another cold war. One that won't end until the Empire attacks or collapses. Either way, it will likely mean an open conflict on a scale much greater than what we saw when we fought over Archanis."
Zhukov paused for a moment to ensure that Pavlik was finished speaking. He was careful not to give away what he was thinking.
"Starfleet Intelligence is predicting the same thing," Meyer said with something resembling awe in her voice. Apparently her former XO surprised her, which pleased Zhukov.
"Do you have a timeline in your head to fit this series of events?" Zhukov asked Pavlik, ignoring Rear Admiral Meyer and treating the captain as he did the intelligence officer who gave him a similar briefing six months ago.
"I'm sure Starfleet Intelligence has a more accurate projection," Pavlik admonished. He shrugged. "It's so hard to judge how fast these things can go, but my best guess is that the alliance will end anywhere from five to seven years from now. If the Klingons are prudent, they probably should spend five to ten years after the collapse of the alliance preparing for war against Starfleet, though once tensions are high a spark is liable to start the fire sooner than that."
Zhukov nodded. Pavlik's projections were more conservative than what Starfleet Intelligence believed. They pegged the alliance coming to an end three to five years from now and war breaking out only a year or two after that. Still, SI had a building full of analysts to come up with that number. Pavlik did a pretty good job on his own.
"Let's say you're right," Zhukov said, which Pavlik could tell meant that he was, more or less. "What makes you think that you'll do the Federation more good serving on a starship instead of in a laboratory?"
Pavlik stopped a minute to ponder the question. "There are literally millions of scientists working day and night on Earth and billions of scientists in the Federation. My skill as an engineer or scientist is just a drop in the proverbial bucket. But how many Starship Captains do we have with experience fighting Klingons, Cardassians, Borg and Jem'Hadar?
"With my experience, I can prepare officers not to just be first rate scientists or engineers, but soldiers. Sir, I can save lives by passing on the skills I've learned to others. I know I can make a difference if I get to be on a bridge. That's more than what I can say if I stay in a lab."
Zhukov nodded, but kept his face neutral. He looked at the chronometer on the wall. "We've kept you here long enough, captain. Dismissed."
All three officers stood up. Meyer offered her hand to Pavlik first, who took it and smiled graciously.
"Good to see you, captain," the rear admiral said warmly.
"Always a pleasure, ma'am," Pavlik replied.
Zhukov took his hand and Pavlik shook it firmly with a more guarded expression on his face. He nodded, turned and walked out of the office.
Once Pavlik left the room, Zhukov sat back down and looked at Rear Admiral Meyer. She sat down opposite him, in the chair Pavlik had used.
"So, what do you think, admiral?" Zhukov asked after a moment of silence.
"I want to give him the Atlas," Meyer said firmly, certain that her protégé had sufficiently impressed the full admiral of his command potential.
Zhukov surprised her when he shook his head.
"He's not experienced enough," he said and then raised his hand when he saw Meyer open her mouth to object. "And no, commanding Starfleet's equivalent of a gunboat" – he was referring somewhat derogatorily to the Defiant-class – "in a taskforce during the war doesn't count as commanding a real starship. He has next to no diplomatic experience, no first contact experience – two of the more important things required of a commander of a fast cruiser like the Atlas, which would be stationed on the frontier.
"That said, I like him and I think he'll be a valuable commander now and even more so in the future. Give him the Surprise, and put her near the old DMZ.
"He'll gain valuable experience dealing with Cardassians, Breen and those damned uppity Federation colonists out there. In time, he'll eventually be ready for a ship like the Atlas and if he lives up to his own promises, he'll have prepared a candidate in his mould for the Surprise."
Meyer nodded. She understood that Zhukov was mixing his orders – giving Pavlik the Surprise instead of Atlas – with his suggestions on how to build Pavlik's experience. She knew he would respect her decision either way, but she also knew that he was giving this advice for her benefit.
"Thank you, admiral," she said. Her eyes flicked to the chronometer and then to the door. "Shall we call in the next candidate?"