BALANCE OF POWER

A Starfleet Patrol Fleet Parable

Stardate Unknown (2162).

The freshly laid metalwork gleamed softly in the dulcet blue shadows of the massive planet. Ice crystals skipped gently across the surface of the multilimbed space station, each impact sending a thousand more tiny shards of frozen water spinning off into a dozen different directions- some of which would simply spin off into the endless void, while the rest would join trillions of others of their kind in the massive rings that encircled the planet. Each one, each seemingly insignificant ice crystal, that floated by the windows, represented something much larger to the human who watched them.

In her mind, each impact, each change in drift and direction, represented a soul lost during the disastrous Earth-Romulan War.

Regardless of whether she could or could not place a name or a ship to every single one, she repeated the process day after day. Spending precious minutes of each day was not something she did for lack of other things to do, there was never any shortage of things to attend to on a station that functioned as the quadrant's primary shipyard of course, but it was something that, each time she saw it, the human felt compelled to do. Her reverie, her trance, always remained unbroken by the crew around her, who seemed content to let their commanding officer wile away her days at the viewports. After all, she had been the station commander for four years, surely she had earned the right to choose how she spent her free time.

Yet, as she continued to stare at the crystals and their fragmented debris, Commander Monika Paige couldn't help but wish that someone, anyone, would physically break her away from the scene. It was not a trance she entered by choice, not entirely at least. Part of this was unarguably out of habit now, but that was only symptomatic to the larger problem that had plagued her since The Battle of Sol System.

The visions.

The nightmares.

The flashbacks.

No matter how many counselors or psychiatrists she had seen in the intervening years, she had somehow never managed to shake the past completely. The trauma, to her mind, was too much, and it had seared itself across her neurological pathways for eternity, sealing her to the fate of reliving the horrors of the war at every moment, especially when she was alone and undisturbed.

True, it had been an unavoidable incident, but then again, the same could have been said for the entire Earth-Romulan War itself.

When Admiral Johnathan Archer, then just Captain Archer, had stumbled upon a Romulan minefield almost ten years ago, it should have been seen as an inevitability that the two races would come into conflict. Instead, it was taken as a mere peculiarity, and was hidden under thousands of other reports from spacers making their way through the widening universe. When the Romulans finally did begin to probe the defenses of Earth and her allies, it was almost too late. Were it not for the bravery and dogged determination of living legends like Admiral Archer, the Andorian commander Shran, and the Vulcan science officer T'Pol, the Romulans may well have spelled the end of Earth's expansion before it could truly begin- especially when they had drone ships capable of disguising themselves as any ship in the galaxy. Earth and her allies, such as Andoria and Vulcan, had weathered crises before, such as that of the highly xenophobic Xindi, but the Romulans were not set merely on attacking Earth- with their drone ships they intended to divide the fragile alliances among the greatest powers in the region, and they very nearly succeeded at that. The Tellarites and Andorians were at each other's throats, and the last minute intervention of Earth to salvage the alliance was just about all that saved them all from flying the flag of Romulus over their planets.

The war had spanned many hard years, and thousands of members of Starfleet gave their lives in desperate defense after desperate defense to slow the Romulans down. Perhaps that sacrifice is all that saved the fledging alliance of Earth, Andoria, Tellar, Denobula, and Vulcan- the noble deaths of humans, only to save others, seemed inspiring enough to force the usually antagonistic races to cooperate until victory had been won. Yet, perhaps most inspiring, if such a word could be used to describe it, was the Battle of Sol System.

The mere words sent an involuntary flinch throughout Monika's entire nervous system.

While the gallant efforts of the S.S. Intrepid, Enterprise, and others helped stave off invasion, there were the greater sacrifices of Starfleet Academy's scrambled defenses that halted the worst of the damage from coming to Earth directly. Sacrifices made by unwitting crews who were no more than students at worst, and who had just polished their first promotional bars at best.

Monika Paige had only been freshly promoted to lieutenant, junior grade, when the first call to arms was broadcast across the campus.

Assigned to the thirty year old Nightseeker, a lunar schooner that could barely make warp three point five, Monika Paige and a dozen others were sent off into the stars to halt a breakaway portion of the Romulan invasion force that was heading straight for Earth. Alongside her was one of the MACO instructors who doubled as a professor of strategy at the Academy, Sergeant James Esoth, a fellow classmate, Ensign Arthur Tegai, a cadet she had never met before, Cadet Patricia Wallace, and a deck technician, Lieutenant Dineé Imrie, who had briefly served aboard the Columbia during its shakedown cruise. It was a jumbled bunch, one that was certainly not enough to fly the Nightseeker even as skeleton crew, but it was all they had.

A dozen other civilian and decommissioned Starfleet ships joined in the defense, all hastily reconfigured for combat, or relying on weaponry so outdated that it may not have even phased the Romulan shields. It was all they had- and, after all, they were only there to buy time for the Poseidon and Atlantis to sweep back and curtail the Romulan raiders.

Before she could blink, three of the ships were incinerated.

An ice crystal outside shattered against the window, its debris splattering off into other crystals and shattering them in turn.

Two more starships collapsed in on themselves as they overloaded their warp engines, and the Nightseeker plowed through the debris, its hastily added phase cannons still warming up.

The Romulan raiders swept away a pair of shuttlepods, then destroyed what was meant to be the command ship of the Academy's defense; the ancient, ringed long-range exploration ship never stood a chance. Finally, the Nightseeker and the few other compatriots who survived engaged the Romulans, and hell came to life somewhere between the Earth and the Moon.

The memories were jagged, daggers in her mind, but fractured into pieces that were impossible to put together in any coherent manner. Still, that had never stopped her subconscious from doing its best to try.

Fire and sparks screamed from every possible corner of the small bridge, showering Monika in pain and overloading her body's internal temperature regulation. Sergeant Esoth was slumped somewhere… The turbolift? Strange, but certainly no stranger than the fact that his chair was embedded in the ceiling. Ensign Tegai was shaking, his hands burned so severely that they would never feel again. Little matter, of course, given that he was buried under a pile of debris that collapsed from the ceiling soon after. In the engine room, Lieutenant Imrie was working all sorts of magic to keep the power from going out completely.

For her part, Monika worked on adrenaline and instinct, taking command of the Nightseeker from the helm and swinging the ship about. Barking orders with a voice that still sounded foreign in her memories, she had gathered the Cadet's wits and mounted a defense that involved repeatedly pounding the Romulans' rear shields with repeated phaser fire. The shots came in such quick succession that, even if they were horrendously outdated, they managed to break through, nonetheless.

Green flares sprang to the heavens. The engines of the raider failed and were backfiring on themselves as the shields recovered- but their modulation was off, for all the shields did was trap the flames inside a static bubble that quickly ensconced the entire ship.

Without sparing a moment to savour the small victory, Monika quickly patched herself through to the other defending ships, those few that were left, and hammered home her point to the remaining raiders, driving them far enough away that, by the time the Romulans began to turn about for another pass, the Poseidon and Atlantis made short work of them.

As she sat there in the derelict, flaming Nightseeker, Monika could only fear terror and fear, gripping her soul and dragging it out down through her stomach. Even as Lieutenant Imrie complimented the gallant bravery that Monika had displayed, all the young human could see was a field of bodies among the stars. Floating, drifting, and occasionally gently tapping into the desecrated hulls of destroyed ships.

The ice crystals of Andoria's rings drifted by the viewport, unceasing, unending, and with their numbers reaching the trillions, they were altogether insignificant. Each time they impacted with the station they would send a thousand different shards spinning off into space.

But they were not so insignificant, not to Commander Monika Paige.

For each one represented a life, a memory, and a sacrifice made for the greater good.

Gathering herself, easing her ragged breathing, and allowing the cold, cold recirculated air of the station to wash over her, Monika Paige, commander of the Andorian-Earth shipyard, turned away from the viewport and returned to her duties, forcing the past from her mind.

But the memories, the nightmares, they followed her all the way nonetheless.


"Commander, I must warn you that the levels of toxins in your systems have risen by twenty-three point eight percent in the past twelve hours," The unfeeling, deadpan voice of the Vulcan doctor droned on, "I must, again, implore you to return to the medical lab at once for treatment."

However, despite the unimpassioned pleas of the insufferable doctor, the Andorian commander continued working.

Honoured Commander Lesmila zh'Gryph, despite the official rank and title that the Andorian Imperial Guard had bestowed upon zhar, felt neither honoured nor commanding as zha ground zhar teeth together and forced the stem-bolt tightly into place against the bulkhead. Despite the reality of the situation, Lesmila knew that if zha didn't at least respond to the doctor's requests that he'd simply continue repeating himself until zha threw zhar spanner at him.

"Doctor Selokra," Lesmila began with barely disguised contempt, "Of those who are aware of my condition, believe me, I am the most acutely aware of how much of my bloodstream is contaminated."

"If you were, I believe we would not be having this conversation."

Vulcans and Andorians, out of the entire galaxy, were two species with a very long, and often violent, history of not getting along at the best of times. Even though the two planets had officially been allies for the better part of a decade, it hadn't been an easy partnership. For Lesmila, that alliance was being tested every hour, of every day, by the unshakeable presence of Doctor Selokra.

"If you had properly researched my condition before being assigned to me, we would not be having this conversation."

The scoff was minute, but unmistakable all the same.

Typical Vulcan superiority complex, Lesmila thought irritably.

"Regardless of what happened in the past, I am assigned to you now and, I believe, we are both well aware of what is dangerous and what is normal for Gareb's Syndrome. The current level of toxins in your bloodstream is well beyond the acceptable."

Lesmila's grip on the spanner had been tightening with increasing severity over the course of her shift, and this conversation in particular had caused her hold on the tool to become so relentless that zha could actively feel zhar bones whining in protest. The mere mention of zhar particular affliction, however, brought back a series of memories that almost, just almost, made zhar jam the spanner so deep in the Vulcan's cranial lobes that-

A breath. A deep, deliberate inhale that brought a refreshing rush of cool, recycled air into zhar lungs.

The memories quieted themselves into their respective corners, and zha replaced zhar tools in their workbox. Gingerly, but out of sight of Selokra, Lesmila massaged zhar fingers as zha stood up. Andorian emotions were… Intense things, even by the standards of the humans, and were not something many of them worked to control. Rising the ranks of the Imperial Guard over twenty years had required much tempering and patience, but after the Romulan War, after Pernaia Prime, after the Andorian generals considered zhar unfit for duty and unfit for a command zha had fought and bled for over countless sectors over a dozen years-

A breath. Deep, deliberate. Refresh, exhale, and process.

Lesmila zh'Gryph was not one to unleash zhar emotionalities on those undeserving of them, but the Vulcan doctor, Selokra, tested those boundaries zha had set for zharself.

"I am perfectly capable of finishing my shift without you, Doctor," Zha grunted as zha pushed past him, deliberately smacking the edge of zhar toolbox into the Vulcan's side as zha did so, "If you insist on accompanying me, you can do so silently."

"If you insist, Commander, then I shall prepare a hypospray with an antigen that should mitigate the more negative effects of increased toxins."

A curt nod was zhar only reply, and zha watched the Vulcan stroll away down the opposite corridor. Off to his lab, his second home away from home. Meanwhile, Lesmila couldn't even claim to have a home anymore, let alone a home away from it.

The cool blues and whites of Andoria only brought a steep measure of pain, one far more than the one that constantly stabbed the side of zhar head, and, for now, it was unavoidable. Thankfully, zha had persuaded Commander Monika Paige, the human Starfleet officer who had been placed in command of the shipyard, to allow zhar to spend most of her time aboard the ships themselves, rather than the station. Since the starships they were outfitting were highly susceptible to the changing tides of Andoria's polar rings, the windows were typically the last components to be installed. Which, for an Andorian who could not stand the sight of zhar homeworld, worked out rather well. For now.

But, deep inside, it was not something that Lesmila was satisfied with.

Lesmila was a zhen and, unlike many of zhar kind, preferred to use the zha/zhar pronouns associated with the unique gender even when it came to dealing with outsiders like Vulcans and humans. Zha was also a soldier, a spacer who was good with a phase pistol and even better on the bridge of a starship. It gave zhar peace, knowing zha was serving zhar homeworld proudly, and ensuring that the Imperial Guard remained a reverential and feared entity in the surrounding regions. Yet, when the time came, when zha needed them, and the limitless support that they could offer, the Imperial Guard turned their back on zhar. Zhar, Commander Lesmila zh'Gryph, hero of Pernaia Prime, the Andorian zhan who had single-handedly thwarted an entire Romulan-Orion task force with a handful of battlecruisers and saved a vital trading outpost from falling to the dastardly, nigh-unbeatable foes of the Coalition of Planets. To be forced to hide away from the stars, and from perhaps the most precious jewel in the entire cosmos, was a betrayal of the highest order.

Words, reports, faces of the admiralty, all flashing before zhar eyes as zha continued towards another section of the ship, each one further creasing zhar brow as zha attempted to hide zha true feelings. If anyone, anyone even had the slightest idea of the turmoil zha had been fighting ever since that day, zha'd be stripped of zhar rank and sent home for certain. And home, however much Lesmila didn't want it to be, was the last place in the galaxy zha could go.

They had honoured zhar, decorated zhar with awards, called zhar an 'Honoured Commander', told zhar that it was something to covet, given how rarely it was awarded.

They had also told zhar that the Imperial Guard would protect zhar, and that the finest medical care would be given to zhar and zhar crew.

Lies, built upon more lies, until it all came crashing down upon zhar head, crushing zhar, and forcing zhar down further and further until, finally, zhar fall from grace came to an end. The Andorian-Earth shipyards. A desk job. A job for an Aenar, isolated and worthless.

The honour, if it could be called that, was all zhar's.

Setting down zhar tools, Lesmila looked around the room. From the various cords, tubes, and thickly insulated wires strewn about, some dangling from the ceiling, others snaking along the floor or hastily strapped to walls, zha determined that zha was standing in the fore of the ship- where, on this particular design, the forward sensor arrays were installed. It was, for all intents and purposes, an interesting choice of design. On the other hand, of course, it appeared that someone had truly mucked up the otherwise simplistic and elegant design of the Andorian battlecruiser. Where there should have been the forward torpedo bays and the repeating-cannon emplacement, there were all sorts of advanced computer systems, a massive series of cooling units, and an endless amount of gain emitters, pattern enhancers, and imaging spectrometers.

Joining the throng of human and Andorian engineers, and the occasional Tellarite advisor, Lesmila made zhar way towards a coolant processor that appeared to only be halfway assembled. Setting down zhar tools, Lesmila began zhar work again, opting to lose zharself to the simplicity of engineering, and the long-lost joys of starship maintenance, instead of burying zhar head further in zhar past.

A few Andorian engineers, younger than even the human Paige, joined zhar, working in quiet cooperation and synchronization with zhar. They did not comment on the black scarring along the left side of zhar face, how it arced up like gnarled vines through one of zhar antennae and stopped just short of the prominent veins that every Andorian had on their cheeks, and they did not seem to even take note that zha outranked them by several decades. For a moment, just a fleeting one, zha felt normal, accepted, and zha forgot almost entirely that zha was anything but a valued member of the crew.

Then, zha felt it, and zhar illusions were shattered.

Somewhere, zha could feel the Vulcan doctor making his way through the starship, hypospray in hand, seeking zhar out. Another unwanted effect of Gareb's Syndrome, still lingering no matter how many treatments zha underwent, was the uncontrollable, and intrusive, telepathy, one that plagued zhar waking hours with their inconsistency and tore zhar once peaceful dreams asunder. Even worse, since the disease was degenerative, it was slowly, but certainly, throwing off zhar equilibrium as it continuously numbed the nerves in zhar left antennae.

All because zha had thrown zharself into harm's way, forced the Andorian defensive line to not buckle at the overwhelming odds, and had willingly took control of an unwinnable battle and turned it into a rout that preserved the Coalition's strained supply lines.

With a breath, deep and deliberate, Honoured Commander Lesmila zh'Gryph packed up zhar tools, forced the thoughts away again, and marched off into the endless crowd of crew and staff as the evening duty shift came into full swing, allowing it to swallow zhar, zhar pain, and zhar doubts completely.


Commander Monika Paige cast another glance at the chronometers upon the wall, each one displaying a different time zone's exact date and time, including the recently accepted 'Federation Standard Time'. The FST would be the standard that all starbases and starships would operate under, regardless of their current position in space or their distance from Earth and her primary allies. Her eyes instinctively went to the Andorian time first, before quickly correcting themselves to the FST.

It was a recent change, one that she was certain both her and her crew were still adjusting to.

Thankfully, the blazing red numbers signified that her twelve hour shift was coming to an end. For most of the station, this meant that Evening Shift was heading back to their quarters and Night Shift was making their way to their assigned duties. The only other people who would still have responsibilities to attend to for the next half hour before they could truly consider themselves 'off-duty' were herself, Lesmila, and the tireless efforts of their shipping coordinator Noih Eda, a Draylaxian who never seemed to sleep anyways. In truth, the twelve hour shifts for the station's senior staff seemed to work out quite well, given that none of their odd trio enjoyed their leisure time. For the moment, however, Monika availed herself of work and plucked a leather-bound book from its place in her desk drawer.

She had started and restarted it at least a dozen times now, sometimes finishing it, other times bored down to the bone by the sheer amount of repetition that was, unfortunately, a well-honed practice in its day. Still, the autobiography of Theodore Roosevelt wasn't something one started without being prepared for a ludicrous amount of sermonizing and making the same point four or five times. What probably helped keep her returning to it was the fact that this copy had been passed down from her grandmother to her father, and her father to her, when she had left to attend the-then recently opened Starfleet Academy. It had survived the dozens of trips from her home on Luna to San Francisco and back again, and it had been waiting there in her apartment when she had come back from the Nightseeker's near death above the Earth.

Plus, at this point, it was just one of a few actual, physical books she had managed to keep with her, and that made it all the more special.

Spending the next forty minutes alternating between the book and reviewing and signing off on requisition reports, Monika was just about to close up for the evening when the doors to her office slid open without so much as a warning chirp. Monika was halfway through her typical soft, but firm, rebuke of what she assumed was a careless ensign when she looked up long enough for her jaw to unwillingly drop.

There, standing before her, were two figures she never imagined meeting outside of news reports or documentaries.

"Hello, Commander Paige," Admiral Johnathan Archer said in a voice that was surprisingly as kind in real life as it appeared to be on screen, "I hope we're not disturbing you."

"We are, however, here on a special assignment," Admiral Qaletaqa Taylor followed up, the power of her voice resounding throughout the office despite her age, "One that you are already well ensconced in, though you are likely not aware of it."

The commander, who was already halfway out of her seat, slowly sat back down, quickly tucking the book back in her drawer. The inescapable curiosity of her youth, combined with the spiritual rush of having just finished Roosevelt's impassioned memoirs on social justice, began to creep back in again, especially at the authority with which Admiral Taylor told her that she was already involved in something that, given the presence of two revered Admirals, had to be of the highest priority. Quickly, she shoved her work padds to the side, organizing them in a hasty, but reasonably ordered, stack. Gesturing to the chairs before her, Monika motioned for the Admirals to sit down.

"As you are no doubt aware," Qaletaqa began as she sat down, pulling the multicoloured, and ornately hand-sewn, robe around herself, "The United Federation of Planets and, more specifically, Starfleet, is still devastated in terms of manpower and ships. We are stretched beyond thin, and our less scrupulous neighbors, such as the Orions, are beginning to take notice."

"Now, the home systems, such as Andor, Vulcan, and Earth, are still well protected," Admiral Archer continued when Taylor paused, "However, the trading and exploration region, as well as our newly formed border with the Romulan Star Empire, is growing exceedingly vulnerable. Unless we act soon, we could find ourselves in the middle of another crisis, one that no Federation planet, let alone Starfleet, is prepared to handle."

Monika Paige took the information in calm and composed on the surface, seeming to carefully evaluate what she had just been told as she formulated a response. However, internally, her mind had begun ringing off a dozen panic alarms and her body heat began to rise exponentially in response to the stress. A crisis, on this scale, would mean that, as one of the ranking officers in the Federation, she would be thrust forward to the front lines, and the front lines meant that, regardless of who was in charge, there would, sooner or later, be combat, which meant that-

Monika smiled politely at the admirals as she forced the train of thought to come to a screeching halt.

"I am aware that there has been some growing unrest in recent months, the merchant captains who bring us our supplies have informed me of that much. I know we are still rebuilding, but is Starfleet truly so unequipped to deal with what may be coming?"

Admiral Archer nodded gravely, and, for a moment, Monika could see all the years of war and loss etched into every corner and wrinkle of his face. It was a haunting picture, to see the equivalent of a living legend so beaten down by his experiences. Yet, the resolve in his eyes never faltered, and that gave her some measure of hope.

"If that is the case," Monika began diplomatically, "Then I am not certain of what use I can be to you. I can certainly increase production of new ships, or rotate in more Academy cadets so that they can gain some experience, but outside of that-"

"Your shipyards are only a small, but vital, piece of how you may help us, Commander Paige," Admiral Taylor said, holding her hand up for silence, "However, your continued presence here is not what will help solve our issues."

That pit of dread in Monika's stomach grew exponentially larger, and she steepled her fingers together to stop them from shaking. Part of her even began to fear that her body temperature was rising so fast that she'd begin inadvertently sweating.

"What is it that you are proposing, Admirals?"

Archer and Taylor shared a glance, communicated some untellable message, before Admiral Taylor reached inside of her robe and retrieved a padd, which she handed to Monika.

Without another word, Monika opened the padd and read off its contents.

It appeared to be a proposition, all legally filed and neatly organized into the typical templates she had seen thousands of times before on Starfleet requisition forms and Starfleet general orders. At the top, emblazoned with a light blue font that served to draw attention away from the mass of black text beneath it, were five simple words.

"The United Federation Patrol Fleet"

Sparing a look back up at the Admirals, Monika began to devour the contents of the document.

The United Federation Patrol Fleet… An initiative designed and approved by Admiral Qaletaqa Taylor, Admiral Johnathan Archer, Admiral Thy'lek Shran, and Minister T'Pau… Joint starbase operation to produce Patrol Fleet starships capable of performing the duties and requirements of multi-sector… Separated from Starfleet Command in structure and governance, the United Federation Patrol Fleet is overseen directly by Admiral Qaletaqa Taylor and Minister T'Pau, details of which are located at Section IX, sub-article two…

It could take hours to read the entire thing, but one thing was for sure, this had clearly been approved by the Federation Council months ago. The visit by the admirals was merely a formality, one that was extended only because they had a case to prove, and someone they knew would be hard to win over.

The rest of the details of that thought began to fall into place as Monika set the padd back on the desk.

Slowly, almost wanting to avert her eyes from their gaze, she lifted her head up to meet them.

"I assume," She began slowly, already knowing the answer, "That this unannounced visit isn't simply to inform me of this new development."

Admiral Archer, again, shook his head, offering her a warm smile.

"No, Commander, it isn't. We're here to inform you that the Andor-Earth shipyards are, officially, being placed under the direct command of the Patrol Fleet, and that you, Commander Paige, are our first choice to lead this new initiative."

There it was, the nail in the coffin of her hopes for a peaceful end to her day, and the final nail in the coffin of her Starfleet career being something she could live out in reasonable peace and quiet, far away from the frontiers and the borders and all the havoc and fighting that those things brought.

"You'll have to excuse me, Admirals, but I cannot accept the assignment," Monika responded, her voice firm and steady despite the righteous anger welling up inside, "Nor can I condone the further use of these shipyards for your project."

If Admiral Taylor was surprised, none of her well-weathered features seem to show it. Admiral Archer, on the other hand, found the smile disappearing from his face in an instant.

"Commander Paige," He began, replacing the surprise with a mirthless laugh, "This isn't exactly something that's open to debate. The Federation needs someone to protect the shipping lanes and keep the criminal element of the quadrant in check."

Taking extra care to keep the fires from her voice, Monika simply gripped the edge of her desk as she responded, "What is and isn't open to debate, Admiral Archer, is entirely contextual. What I see on my desk is a way for the corporate interests of Earth to willingly swing away at anyone they think could disrupt their precious lines of commerce, and that," She added with just a sprinkling of venom, "Is just a small reason why I could never support this venture."

"Commander, the corporate sector on Earth certainly has a vested interest in this operation, but they would in no way be able to influence ships or crews."

"Oh, wouldn't they? Yes, I'm sure they won't. They'll simply use their vast powers to petition the Council to 'redirect' some of this," She glanced briefly at the padd to remind herself of the project's official name, "United Patrol Fleet's ships to protect certain spacelanes while leaving others to the wolves. Or have you forgotten how they ran roughshod over the Martians in order to ensure that we'd have our precious Utopia Planitia Shipyards?" Monika targeted both that and the next comment directly at Admiral Archer, with both of them knowing full well just how large of a supporter his father had been of the Utopia Shipyard initiative decades ago, "Which, as we all know, worked out so well when the Romulans went and destroyed the bleeding thing anyways, leaving nothing but a firestorm of debris to rain down upon the Martians who never had a choice in the shipyards' construction in the first place."

So caught up in her vitriol, Monika didn't even realize she had stood up until she slowly began lowering herself back into her chair. Although her anger had, somewhat, gotten the best of her, she knew it was justified. There were too many issues that the Patrol Fleet's existence could bring about, and she was certain that neither of the Admirals, despite how highly she regarded them, had considered just how fraught with problems the actual reality of a project like this was.

Truthfully, Earth's corporations and shipping conglomerates were really a very small part of her actual concerns with the Patrol Fleet project. It was something her grandparents, and so many others, had struggled against for so long in their own time, but the unflagging greed of businessmen could not even begin to match her true issues with the Patrol Fleet.

Admiral Taylor spoke first, with no short measure of certainty undercutting each word, even as her tone remained genial.

"Commander Paige, while your concerns have merit, the Patrol Fleet is in no danger of becoming a pawn to greed. Minister T'Pau and I, specifically, have and will continue to see that that remains an unshakeable fact. The Admiral," She gestured to Archer, then to herself, "And I believe that there is only one person who is fit to lead and oversee the field work of the Patrol Fleet. Someone with morals so steady that she would never falter to hold her crews to the highest standards."

Ah, Monika thought, Flattery.

Before the Admiral could speak further, Monika interrupted.

"I'm sorry, Admiral Taylor, but flowery words and kind language will do nothing to convince me that this isn't still loaded with problems."

Admiral Taylor's features creased further into a look that Monika could best characterize as the same one she had seen her parents use time and time again: Disappointed acceptance.

Admiral Archer, however, clearly was not as willing to let her walk away. Signified by what she had heard through the rumour mill as a trademark of his behaviour when he was dissatisfied with something, Archer, without warning, stood up and paced around behind his chair before spinning on his heel to face her, grim determination in his eyes.

"Tell me this, Commander, why are you so against leading the Patrol Fleet? We've come to you because we respect you," Archer said as he began pacing about the chairs, "And we believe, wholeheartedly so," He added with emphasis, "That there is nobody else, in the whole galaxy, who could possibly fulfill every expectation we have for the project."

Coming to a stop beside her desk, Archer leaned in close and, with a slight wobble of his head, locked his eyes with hers, "So why not, Commander Paige? We would give you all the resources and control you could ever want. There would hardly be a detail so small as a gnat that wouldn't pass by your eyes, and yet you're still so sure that something as vital as the Patrol Fleet is a corrupt menace before it's even been given a chance."

"I'm sure," Monika replied without skipping a beat, the intensity of her gaze matching his, "That you believe the Patrol Fleet is a force for good, but we both know that I would never, never," She said with barely contained anger, resisting the temptation to stand and challenge him, "Put myself into a position, or allow myself to be forced into a position, where I would be capable, tempted, or required to attack another sentient being. And that, Admiral Archer, is something that has been so well documented for the past five years that I'm insulted that you would even consider me for this position," Her own righteous anger had built to a climax, but Monika managed to contain it, allowing it to, instead, form the unmistakable undercurrent of her words, the heat in her voice palpable as she did so, "I build ships of exploration, of peace, but I do not, and will not, ever build or command a ship that will bring harm, in any fashion, to someone else."

"Your pacifism is all well and good, Commander, but it doesn't mean a damn thing while the Federation is being fractured and crumbled by pirates like the Orions or the Nausicaans."

Monika turned away from Archer, taking in a sharp breath as she carefully formulated her next words. She had rarely done anything in her life, even when she was a child, without carefully considering every possible direction her actions could go, and now, especially, was to be no different.

"My pacifism," Monika began, assuaging the roiling feelings beneath her surface, "Is everything, Admiral Archer," She turned and looked to him, the certainty in her eyes as hard as stone, "I understand that there are times where it is necessary for others to break with diplomacy in order to either defend themselves or others, such as well-documented marches and riots of the oppressed classes in the 21st Century, or our own plight with the Romulans, but I know that there will never be a better path to peace, lasting peace, in all the galaxy, in all of existence, than straightforward communication and diplomacy.

To take command of what is, for all intents and purposes, just a reformation of one of the most horrific organizations of Earth's existence, is abhorrent to me, and is antithetical to the core of who I am, and what Starfleet should stand for. The United Earth council did away with police forces after we rebuilt for good reason, and we've been just fine delegating the vacuum of those responsibilities out since then. To bring it back under this superfluous banner of 'peace' and 'protection' is a gross misunderstanding of how Starfleet, to say nothing of the galaxy at large, operates."

Their gaze lingered for a few more moments, each second ticking away into an hour, before Admiral Archer relinquished the point and turned away from her, giving the stars outside his full attention as he cradled his chin in his hand in contemplation. Monika watched him, briefly, before returning to Admiral Taylor, who had sat quietly and watched the turbulent discussion unfold.

Monika softened her features slightly and favoured her with a thin, grim smile, "Admiral Taylor, while I do appreciate being considered for what is probably considered by most to be a prestigious position, you must understand that I can't accept this."

"Because of the Romulan War?" She asked simply.

"No. I mean, yes, but all I think it did was sharpen my focus on what was actually important. I've always done my best to rail against injustice, wherever I could make my voice heard. What I saw then, though? The killing, the war, what Starfleet was becoming? My time in active service as a part of the Starfleet military haunts me. Whether willingly or not, the changes I saw in Starfleet's modus operandi wasn't what I signed on for."

Admiral Taylor took a deep, slow breath. Her eyes turned to Admiral Archer for a moment before returning to Monika.

"You know that he's only angry because he believes, with his entire being, that you are the only person he could ever entrust the Patrol Fleet to, right?"

Monika sighed and clasped her hands together on her desk, staring at them, studying the details along her skin.

"I know, but unfortunately that doesn't change anything."

Qaletaqa reached over and took hold of the padd that contained the Patrol Fleet files on it, pausing just long enough to ask if she could take it for a moment, which Monika allowed. If it had been her choice, Monika would've thrown the blasted thing out an airlock and jettisoned it with all due speed to Andoria's distant sun. Unfortunately, all Monika could do was watch as the aging Admiral slowly scrolled through it until she found what she had been looking for.

"Here," Qaletaqa said, handing the padd back, "Please, look at the section on disciplinary actions. I made sure to highlight the pertinent areas."

Although Monika was certain it wouldn't change her mind, she still gave the Admiral the courtesy of at least reviewing the information before she began the process of moving them out of her office.

To herself, Monika began to read.

Disciplinary Codes of Conduct… Any officer who is found to be in acting against United Federation Patrol Fleet protocols and regulations shall be summarily dismissed from service in the United Federation Patrol Fleet. Officers found acting against protocols and regulations of the Patrol Fleet shall also be blacklisted and forbidden from serving in the following starfleets: United Federation of Planets Starfleet, United Federation Patrol Fleet, Andorian Empire Imperial Guard, Vulcan Confederacy Fleet, Tellarite Prime Fleet, Proxima Centauri Fleet, Denobulan Defense Fleet, Draylax Home Guard Fleet, and all United Earth and United Federation of Planets commercial and cargo fleets… United Federation Patrol Fleet regulations further specified in Section…

Monika read on, and on, and further still. A glance at the clocks on the wall, all still blazing a dozen different times, including Federation Standard, in their unwavering red haze, revealed that ten minutes had somehow passed since she'd started. When she finally sat the padd back down and looked back up, Admiral Archer was standing behind his chair, his hands casually resting on top of it, whilst it appeared that Admiral Taylor's watchful eyes had never wavered, only continued to observe her patiently.

Altogether, it was a comprehensive, and persuasive, set of regulations. It argued for what to do in cases that the commanding powers of the Patrol Fleet were considered corrupt, how to expand the coordinating and judicial commanders if the system was deemed insufficient in the future, how to handle Federation justice across national and internal borders. The Federation Council, and by extension Admiral Taylor and Admiral Archer, had clearly left little room for doubt about just how capable and flexible the Patrol Fleet would be- and how very clearly handicapped it would be compared to security and police forces of old. It was a tool for the people, for the law, and that greatly appealed to Monika.

There was one set of regulations, however, that served as the most persuasive to her: Patrol Fleet officers were explicitly instructed and trained to use force, in all physical forms, as the absolute last option. All Patrol Fleet ships would be staffed with mental health professionals, physicians, civil-service counselors, and, at the bottom of the intraship hierarchy, a tactical officer and security team, all of whom must have held at least five to ten years of experience.

Just as intriguing, too, was that the first generation of Patrol Fleet officers would be hand-picked by Qaletaqa Taylor, Minister T'Pau, and, most surprisingly, especially given that she had yet to agree to it, Monika Paige.

It was hard to argue that her earlier concerns still held weight, especially when one considered that there was another two hundred and fifty-four subsections in addition to the main Code of Conduct and Disciplinary Regulations which, from the hundred or so Monika had read, detailed such specific instances that could be charged as violations that it would keep any Patrol Fleet officer supremely vigilant about any and all of their actions- lest they wanted to be drummed out of every single friendly spacefleet in the quadrant. It would certainly, if nothing else, protect against corruption or any interest-rearing attempts, especially when Minister T'Pau, of all people, was currently the only one specified as having the ultimate decision making power on violations of the Patrol Fleet code.

While T'Pau had a bit of a reputation among the political class as a wildcard, Monika had seen her speak and had read her published research work, and she trusted her implicitly. If for no other reason than the fact that she was a Vulcan, the ultimate bastions of logic and even-handedness.

Plus, if the Federation Council or a majority of member worlds deemed it necessary, that power would be expanded and divided among others, so that even the slightest hint of corruption could, in theory, always be combatted.

It was a tempting offer, a most tempting offer indeed. But it wasn't enough, not quite yet.

"This is a most," Monika cleared her throat as she searched for the words, "Impressive achievement. Especially given that the Federation Council has already cleared it."

The Admirals did not respond, clearly giving her the entirety of the metaphorical floor.

"I need to know one thing, though, and one thing only."

Monika lifted her head, and looked first at Admiral Archer, then at Admiral Taylor.

"Why me? I'm, currently, Starfleet's only openly pacifist officer in service. Putting me in charge of spearheading this initiative isn't exactly the move most, even on the Council, would expect."

"Captain," She said, mischief in her voice, "And believe me, by the end of our meeting tonight, you will be a captain," Admiral Qaletaqa Taylor said, leaning forward, an excitement burning behind her deep brown eyes, "Your beliefs are what the Patrol Fleet needs as its first, best, guiding light. Your pacifism, Captain Paige, is precisely why we chose you."