As she considered the measure, her eyes drifted to the control console situated along one side of the bridge’s central hub, the single station that was coded for access only by herself and Ineti. She regarded the set of switches positioned there, her mind recalling the proper sequence needed to set the protocol into motion. It would take only seconds, and when it was over, there would be nothing left of her ship for an enemy to recover.
Duty demanded Sarith take that action—now.
She felt her jaw clench at the notion as she regarded the Klingon ship on the screen. The idea that she must commit suicide because of the chance wanderings of pitiful dregs such as those crewing the approaching vessel made her want to vomit. No,she decided, there is another way.
At the sensor console, Darjil called out, “Enemy vessel has altered its course, Commander, heading directly toward us. Eight hundred mat’drihand closing.”
Straightening her posture, Sarith turned to Jacius, who had come to the bridge to monitor shipboard systems from here rather than dwell in the depths of the ship’s engineering section. “Can we arm weapons without being detected?”
Jacius nodded. “Yes, though our power signature will become more noticeable if the Klingon ship comes any closer.”
“Let it be noticeable, then,” Sarith replied as she locked eyes with Ineti. “With the exception of the cloak, reroute all power to the weapons. On my command, channel that power to forward disruptors, as well.”
Ineti smiled. “One last triumphant battle for the Praetor?” he asked.
Unable to return the expression, Sarith nodded before turning her attention to the expectant faces of her officers. As one, they all looked to her, loyal to the end, ready to carry out whatever orders she gave them in service to the empire.
Then her eyes fell on the battle cruiser now dominating the viewer, its bulbous primary hull looming as though preparing to burst through the screen. She imagined she could almost see the faces of Klingons looking out through the ports peppering the hull, unprepared for what was to come next.
“One last duty to perform,” Sarith said after a moment, her reply punctuated by the proximity alert signal emitted by the sensor console, notifying everyone on the bridge that the Klingon ship had closed to prime weapons range and telling her it was time to issue her final order as commander of the Bloodied Talon,servant and protector of the Romulan Star Empire.
“Execute.”
46
Even with the added quiet, given the absence of the steady thrum of the Endeavour’s warp engines, which were deactivated while the ship was cradled in the embrace of Vanguard’s docking bay three, Khatami found that the solitude and serenity of her quarters did little to enable her concentration on the task at hand. Despite hours spent at her desk, perusing file after file from the ship’s personnel database, she seemed unable to make what was turning out to be one of the most difficult decisions of her still young captaincy.
“Captain’s Personal Log, supplemental,” she spoke to the computer. “So the question remains: Who’s my first officer?”
Once more—she had long since lost count of how many times she had repeated this process during the evening—her eyes scanned her desktop viewer, reviewing and comparing the service records of her top three candidates. She had stalled the decision long enough, she knew, waiting until after returning from Erilon, part of her feeling as though she still occupied the post herself. It could be delayed no longer.
“Lieutenant Commander Norton does a fine job leading beta shift,” she said. “He has experience and his record clearly makes him the strongest candidate, but he’s prickly and overly officious.” Shrugging to herself, she added, “There’s Lieutenant Stano from gamma shift. She’s very capable and very respected by her team, but she’s not the most efficient person in Starfleet. And I know she’s on the sciences track, but I can see some real leadership qualities in Lieutenant T’Pes….”
Khatami let her voice trail off as she wondered whether she would be able to build a quick confidence and rapport with any one of them, as she had done with Ensign Klisiewicz. Through their shared need to immerse themselves in the secret information about the meta-genome, they had begun to forge a bond of trust, and it was one she appreciated more than he might realize. Other than herself, there was no one on board who understood more about the meta-genome and Starfleet’s greater mission in the Taurus Reach than he did.
She had made a point soon after the Endeavour’s departure from Erilon to meet with the young ensign and express her thanks; not only for the assistance he had lent her on the bridge during that mind-numbing first attack, but also for his willingness to step quickly into a role of research and responsibility. He surely must be viewing his posting on the starship as a much greater job than he ever imagined, she remembered asking. And she knew she never would forget his reply.
“I’m only following your lead, Captain,”she heard Klisiewicz’s voice repeating in her thoughts. “We’re in the same boat, you know? And if you’re not getting out, neither am I.”
“Think Starfleet would approve a field promotion from ensign to lieutenant commander?” She smiled at the thought, ridiculous as it may have been. Khatami already had put in a request to promote Klisiewicz to full lieutenant, a rank commensurate with the level of responsibilities he currently held. While Starfleet had not yet responded to the request, she figured there was no need to push her luck. Releasing an amused sigh, she said, “Computer, delete that last remark.”
“Deleted,” the monotone, feminine voice replied.
Khatami regarded the follow-up mission to Erilon as a success save for the unfortunate loss of three more members of her crew, serving as a small measure of emotional closure for her transition to command and stating in no uncertain terms that it was time to move on. While Commodore Reyes had said as much during her post-mission debriefing even as the Endeavourwarped back to the station, Khatami herself still harbored no small amount of insecurity about her abilities, particularly as they stacked up to the challenges she knew lay ahead.
You got lucky this time, Tish. The next time won’t be so easy.
The tone of her door chime sounded, pulling her from her reverie and the pool of doubt into which she felt herself plunging. “Computer, end recording,” she said, relieved by the welcome distraction. “Please, come right in!”
Dr. Leone was standing at the threshold as the door slid aside, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes crushed into his characteristic squint. “Captain,” he said, his expression communicating his discomfort, “I was just passing by and I, well, didn’t know whether you’d had dinner yet.”
Shaking her head, Khatami replied, “Not yet, no.” She waited to see if the doctor would venture into the room on his own accord, and when he did not, she gestured to him with a smile. “You’re welcome to join me if you like.”
Leone nodded several times in quick succession as he entered, his lips pursed in a tight grin. “Well, I hadn’t had a chance to check in since we returned to Vanguard,” he said, hovering over the empty seat near her desk. “CMO protocol being what it is and all, it’s good form to check on the commanding officer’s emotional well-being from time to time, particularly after a stressful assignment. You know, make sure the burdens of command aren’t weighing too heavily, that sort of thing.”