Paint and Powder

A Star Trek anthology by Andrew Joshua Talon

DISCLAIMER: This is a non-profit fan based work of prose. Star Trek: The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager et al are the property of CBS Television, and creation of Gene Roddenberry. Please support the official release.

2367

Earth Starbase 1

USS Degbaxis

Stefano Zocco had never really expected to go very far in command in Starfleet. Sure, he'd done the command school track, and was good at management-It's why he got promoted. He didn't hurt he was a tall, handsome Italian man: He'd grown up in Ivrea, in Piedmont, up near Turin, on his father's farm. They'd done things the old fashioned way, and so he had taken to athletics naturally which kept him fit and trim.

He also wasn't stupid. He had grown up reading about the campaigns of the Romans, his father's stories that they were direct descendants of King Arduin, and so many other stories had filled his head with martial valor. He'd grown up on stories of the Enterprise, which fueled his desire and determination to join Starfleet. Because of that, he had become an excellent tactical officer.

Which was the problem. He was in Starfleet during a time where there were calls for tactical and security officers to be retired, or at least sidelined. To be kept where they were until universal peace broke out. Nevermind that Zocco had seen just how "peaceful" things were: He'd been aboard the Degbaxis during the Cardassian Wars, and had been promoted to chief tactical officer when Cardassian destroyers had killed almost their entire security staff. He had managed the damage control and fire control teams on his own, until they'd taken out enough of the destroyers for the Cardassians to flee.

He had received the Citation for Conspicuous Gallantry for that action. Which meant... That as long as they had need for fighting men, he would be kept as a tactical officer, and not a commander. The politics of the situation were obvious.

Stefano didn't feel bitter about this, really. Well okay, he had at first. But he also remembered the men and women he had saved... And the people he could keep saving. So he made peace with his dreams of one day commanding a starship. He had been promoted to Lieutenant Commander, he had helped write war games and improve combat strategies when the Borg were discovered, and he served aboard the Degbaxis, the New Orleans-class starship feeling more and more like home as he served aboard her.

He was content to stay here. Really.

His surprise had come when he'd gotten a call from his Captain, a prim and fair Vulcan woman named Selli. She had asked him to come to her ready room while they were docked at Starbase 1. They had arrived too late to help with the Borg, but just in time to help reinforce the Core Worlds' defenses as the hysteria from the Borg attack died down.

It was an assignment that had lasted for six months so far.

He entered the ready room, and stood at attention. Selli looked to him from her desk. Sitting across from her... Was a legendary figure. His jaw dropped.

"Ah-Admiral Chekov-I-"

"At ease, Commander," Chekov chuckled, "please, sit. We have a lot to talk about."

"Aye sir," Zocco had managed, sitting down. He tried very hard not to look like he was about to start hero worshipping him, but... It was Chekov!

"Captain Selli has been your commanding officer for many years," Chekov said, "she was telling me about you."

"Fifteen years, six months, two days," Selli recited in her usual, efficient Vulcan way, "he started as an ensign and continued on. His service has been very satisfactory."

It had taken that long to read the expressions of his Vulcan captain. At first, he thought her cold and unfeeling. But over time, he had begun to detect subtle changes in her tone and body language. He realized she did consider him a friend and good officer, and he in turn had grown fond of her. He gave her a small nod of appreciation, as Chekov smiled.

"High praise from a Vulcan indeed," Chekov said with a nod, "you've applied for the command track a few times, I see?"

"Yes sir," Zocco replied, "but I've grown happy with my tactical duties."

"I see," Chekov said. He shook his head. "Could you be persuaded... To reconsider?"

Zocco blinked.

"Are... You offering me a command, sir?" He asked.

"Well... The command in question is a bit troublesome," Chekov admitted, "but with a heavy tactical focus. I've been looking around for officers who would fit the bill, since these vessels are meant to be more combat focused. Your name has shown up a lot in war games-Always with high praise and remarks. You'd be... A bit young, perhaps, but you offer a unique opportunity."

"I'm... Only a Lieutenant Commander-" Zocco began, but Selli shook her head.

"Your experience and decorations could allow you to be promoted to full Commander," she said, "and this assignment would include flag officers who would help train you."

"But be warned," Chekov said, "this ship's AI is... She's a firebrand. She's very proud... And she'll only accept a captain of Italian descent."

Zocco's eyes widened in recognition.

"Wait... You mean... Her?"

Chekov nodded.

"Yes. Her. She won't be easy... But you're the best fit," he said, "and let's face it: She's been in Memory Alpha for a while. She deserves a bit of pampering with what she had to go through. You're the best fit available. What do you say?"

Zocco looked over to Selli. His faithful captain. She nodded slowly.

"I would not have recommended you if I did not think you could handle this task," she stated.

From her, that may as well have been gushing. He turned to Chekov, and nodded.

"When do I start?"

Mars Orbit

Utopia Planitia Yards

It was a mark of how important the fleet rearmament was that the new ships were being constructed right at Utopia Planitia. They sat there in four lines of skeletal docks, being hurriedly constructed, while one of the infamous Woden-class starships was held nearby-Most likely for tech support during the construction.

The shuttle approached the fourth drydock berth, a hull that was probably around 90 percent complete. They soon docked, and now-Captain (well, Commander, but close enough) Zocco stepped onto the deck out of the airlock, his duffle bag over his shoulder.

Technicians were scurrying around, installing panels, working on EPS conduits, and everything else. Admiral Chekov led him through the chaos as easily as a mountain goat, and they headed down into the depths of the ship.

They reached the main Computer Core Room, where the blackbox was stored. The doors slid open, and both Chekov and Zocco stepped in.

Chekov cleared his throat.

"Littorio, online."

Lights flickered on... And a holographic woman appeared. She was tall, busty, with long legs encased in black stockings underneath her Starfleet uniform. Her hair was a light green, like fields of grass, and waved slightly as she looked Zocco over with amber colored eyes. She wore a cape, and golden-lined boots. She gave him a haughty expression.

"So, you're the whelp who would dare to command me after all these years, are you?" She snorted, in perfect Italian.

"That I am," Zocco replied, meeting her eyes with a confidence he didn't entirely feel, but projected anyway. Littorio looked him up and down, humming a bit.

"That accent-Pietmont?"

"Yes, though you could have just found that out by asking," he replied easily. Littorio raised a single brow.

"You would think a mountain peasant would show a great lady her due respect," she sniffed.

Zocco smiled, and bowed slightly.

"I certainly shall... When such a lady is present."

Chekov suddenly had a coughing fit, as Littorio's eyebrows shot right up her forehead. Zocco held her gaze, unwaveringly.

It was then... Littorio laughed.

"Finally! A proper man at last! You might be a decent commander, after all the mincing, cold blooded losers I've had to entertain!"

She turned to Chekov and nodded.

"He will do."

"Good luck," Chekov said softly, as he headed out the doors, "you're gonna need it."

Zocco saw the way Littorio was looking him up and down like a predator might fresh meat... And smiled, as his boyhood dreams returned-Albeit in a slightly different way than expected.

"I will manage, thank you sir."

Gotta have a hot blooded Italian battleship girl.