The Continuing Missions I: The Mission Continues

All Star Trek references, except where I have created them from whole cloth, are the property of Paramount/Viacom. All rights are reserved to them. However, this particular story is (c)2005 by Josh Cohen, and may not be reprinted except for personal use.

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Part Two

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The bioscan and baseline physical was completed very quickly – A’klen finished it faster than Iovino ever had, back on his old ship, which was good; it’s practically a course of instruction in command training to avoid sickbay for routine physicals – and the captain sat back up, sliding off the bed. A’klen folded her tricorder and put it back into her pocket, then moved to the chair behind Alforth and sat down, annotating the data in the captain’s file.

“Is that all, Doctor?” he asked her, having followed her to her seat.

She peered up at him. “Yes, captain.”

He shook his head; as he did so, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Doctor Atridena in her office, thoroughly engrossed in her computer. He crossed the open floor of sickbay to the office door and pressed the call button; she looked up and released the door.

“A word, Doctor?”

She cleared her computer screen. “I’m actually rather busy at the moment, Captain.” Her voice was tight, and he was struck again, as he had been in the initial staff meeting, at how much of a contrast her cold demeanor was with her warm appearance. “Can we speak later?”

“This will just take a moment.”

“Captain…”

Frost was not as dim as he sometimes appeared; he could take a hint. “Very well, Doctor. I’ll be along tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He took a step backward and she jabbed a button on her desk; the door slid shut with no small amount of finality. The captain turned back to where Doctor A’klen and Alforth were sitting, looking rather amazed that he’d even tried to bother the CMO. A’klen actually smiled. “She’s been… what is the human word? Moody? Alforth?”

“That’s about the long and short of it, Doctor.” He grinned. “She’s been moody ever since I met her. Moody and demanding of everyone in sickbay. It’s kind of annoying, but she’s a great doctor, and besides, I don’t mind. Doctor A’klen is plenty friendly enough for me.”

“Really?” The captain went back to the duty station, leaning against Alforth’s console. “Why were you so standoffish with me, Doctor?”

“It is… nothing personal, captain.” A’klen tried a small smile; Frost noted that while she was severe of face and stance, she was not unattractive. “Doctor Atridena pulled me away from an experiment to run your physical. I dislike being interrupted.”

“I’ll remember that, Doctor A’klen,” he said, his head tilted to one side. “You both have a good day.”

“Thank you, captain,” A’klen said, and Alforth nodded his assent.



Frost had replicated a small meal – chopped and sautéed vegetables mixed with chicken – and set it under a stasis field to sit – and was working quietly at his desk when Commander Lessener walked into his quarters. The captain watched as she unsealed her uniform top and tossed it onto one of the chairs in the “living room” area. Then she ran her fingers down the front of her tunic, unsealing it a couple of inches, before falling into one of the chairs at the dining table.

“Long day, Jen?”

“Do me a favor, Kyle?” she said as she watched him get up from behind the desk and walk toward her. “Next time we change ships, can we have a little time to get acquainted with everyone first?”

The captain stopped behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension there. She pushed back into his hands like a cat, and he dug his fingers into her muscles, trying to force some of the tension out of them. “It wasn’t my fault, Jen. They needed us for the evacuation” – Frost was referring to their last mission on the Palo-Alto, the emergency evacuation of the Norpin V colony – “and we couldn’t get here in time. But that’s the way it has to be.”

“Satan got here in time.”

The captain sighed as he finished massaging Lessener’s shoulders and slid into the chair next to hers, deactivating the stasis field so they could eat. “Yes, that’s true,” he said, spooning some of the food onto her plate and some of it onto his. Then he got back up and went to the replicator, producing two glasses of club soda, bringing them back to the table. “But Satan was transferred here three months ago, working with the refit officers. You should remember that – you were doing alpha-shift ops while he was gone.”

“Yes, I realize that. But it’s irritating to not know anyone, to get here two hours before the launch, to have to integrate with an already-established crew… it’s frustrating.”

Frost set his fork down and reached over to lay his palm over her hand. “Jen, it’s just something we have to deal with. We’re Starfleet. We’re trained to adapt.”

Her blue eyes tried to find some sort of hidden meaning in his face, but there was none. “All right, all right.” A sigh. “So when are we supposed to get to Cardassia?”

“Three more days. Admiral Sharp” – this was Minerva Sharp, who was in charge of several starships on inter-Federation duty, one of which was the Katana – “wanted to compensate for being away until the last minute. So she gave us three days on the journey.”

“I see.”

They ate for a few minutes. “Heard any rumors up on the bridge?”

“Excuse me?” He had never asked her about rumors before, on either the Palo-Alto or the ship on which they were first posted, the Sabre – although they didn’t get along all that well back in those days.

“You heard me. Satan mentioned this, and Admiral Sharp also cautioned me that those who survived would have trouble integrating. I was hoping you might’ve heard something up on the bridge. Are they talking about me?”

She leaned back in her chair, thinking. “Not that I can recall. But then, I’m an outsider, too. Satan’s a little more known to them – he worked with them – but everyone else on the bridge crew is from before the attack.”

The captain shrugged. “I’ll find out, I suppose.”

They finished their dinner and Lessener cleared the dishes, tucking them into the replicator for recycling, and they moved to the sofa under the main room window. The captain took the corner seat, and the exec laid down on the sofa, her head resting on his thigh. He idly stroked her cheek and her neck and her hair, an action that most anyone who knew him would consider completely incongruous because of its tenderness.

“Are we going to the crew mixer?” she asked him softly, her voice vibrating against his fingers as he stroked her throat. “We probably should put in an appearance.”

“It’s been a really long day, Jen.”

She sat up and turned, running her palm across his chest to hug him, her cheek against his body. “I know. I want to go to bed too. But if we don’t show up, people are going to talk.”

Her eyes tilted up to his, and he leaned down to kiss her, their lips touching gently, then not-so-gently, then passionately. Lessener’s body pressed against his.

But the captain broke the kiss. “You’re right. We should go.”



The recreation deck was four decks high, with huge windows looking out onto the stars as the ship warped through space. It took up the front half of Decks Ten through Thirteen, filled with gaming tables, smaller lounges, restaurant-type rooms, and so forth. There was a portion of the bottom half that was given over to what looked like a poolside resort, complete with swimming pool (naturally), restaurant, and dance hall. It was actually rather charming, and a much better use than quarters for the Starfleet Marine Corps officers that had previously been quartered there – the Katana had been a front-line marine vessel before being reassigned after the attack.

Lessener and Frost entered through the doors on Deck Twelve. By now, 2115, the party was in full swing. The captain knew how crew mixers worked – everyone managed to get at least an hour in, through judicious trading of shifts that officially unofficially went on under command’s nose. There had to be at least 500 people crammed into these four decks, he figured, including W’Hoof, Thenow, Briarcliff, Atridena, and Melimora keeping resolutely to themselves in one of the balconies up on Deck Ten. They were the tough ones, Frost knew, the nexus of the command crew that had survived the attack. The rest of the crew was mingling pretty well together on the rest of the decks, but most of them were in the main open area of Deck Thirteen.

“I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” Frost whispered into Lessener’s ear, and then separated. She began walking through the crowd, ostensibly trying to find a bar, while the captain sought out someone he knew from the Katana’s old crew. It only took a minute to find him, lording over the party like a benevolent patriarch. He was milling around, greeting people, being gregarious, and smiling. A PADD was in his hand, and he would occasionally issue orders to it.

The captain managed to sneak up behind the man and rest a hand on his shoulder. He spun around, saying, “yes, I know, we’re out of—Captain!”

“Yes, Mr. Daigonji, it’s me.” The captain smiled broadly, matching the smile on Lieutenant Commander Jiro Daigonji’s sharp Asian features – Daigonji was from Ganjitsu, a colony populated mostly by Earth’s Asian racial group, and he often told yarns about his great-great-grandfather Hikaru and his great-great-aunt Demora. “How’s everything going?”

“Great!” He dipped his head and said something in the Ganjitsuji language to his PADD, and a transporter effect manifested itself between the two of them. Daigonji reached out and, at the first possible moment, took the glass that appeared and handed it to the captain. “Try this.”

“Jiro…”

“Just try it, Captain.” Daigonji had been like this when they were in secondary school, too, concocting drinks and such – although they were from different planets, Daigonji’s family had spent a couple of summers on Earth at the inn Frost’s grandmother owned, and they had become friends in their early teens. “It won’t bite.”

Frost shook his head and knocked back the drink – it was the size of a large shot – in one gulp. Then he froze, to coin a phrase.

“You like it?” The captain barely nodded, frozen in place. “I call it a ‘Frosty.’ Just don’t ask me what’s in it.”

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I won’t. Damn, but that’s strong.”

“I know. I wanted to run it past you before I put it into the main drinks bank.”

The captain swallowed once more. “Change the name. Otherwise it’s fine.”

“Wonderful! Anything else I can do for you, sir?”

Frost draped an arm around Daigonji’s shoulders. “I need to ask you about something. Got somewhere more private?”

“Come to my office.”

Commander Daigonji’s office was a pocket-sized room on Deck Ten. The only thing it had to recommend it was the wall of viewscreens keeping an eye on all the major hot spots of the rec deck and another wall that was transparent aluminum, allowing him to look out over what was going on in his domain. He slipped behind his desk, absentmindedly clearing PADDs and plans off its surface, saving only the one he continuously spoke into. The captain took the other chair.

“Do you want Ruri to listen in?”

“If she wants.”

A voice came from the speakers hidden in the ceiling. “Of course I want to listen.” The voice was quiet, very subdued.

“Good to see you again, Ruri,” the captain said, “so to speak.”

“Thank you, captain. How may Jiro and I be of service?”

Frost folded his hands on the desk. “Jiro, you were here during the attack, yes?”

The color drained from Daigonji’s face, and his voice became several degrees less effusive. “Yes. I was.”

“And you were here for the refit?”

“Yeah. I helped design most of the new crew lounges, from a personnel standpoint.”

The captain leaned forward just a little. “Most of the bridge crew seems a little stiff. Any thoughts?”

Daigonji thought for a moment. “Well, captain, I think it’s because you’re an outsider.” Frost’s brows rose. “It’s nothing personal, sir, and you’re not that way to me, but most of the command crew was killed – Captain Zohar, Commander Donaldson, second officer Halliwell… and more than half of the rest of the crew, including a crop of promising cadets, one of whom worked in my department.”

“Jiro, I know, and I’m sorry. I told you that when we talked, right after it happened.”

“I know,” Daigonji said, swallowing, composing himself. “But the rest of the command crew solidified under Commander W’Hoof when Admiral Sharp made him the first officer. He’s really been their ‘spiritual leader,’ as it were. And I know he wants the new crew, especially you, to fit in with the old crew, but he’s walking a fine line here.”

“I see.” The captain’s voice was quiet and reflective. “Any recommendations?”

“Not that I can think of.” Daigonji looked up. “Ruri: thoughts?”

There was a moment of silence, and then she said, “None that I can think of. Social interaction usually helps matters. However, the conversations from the Deck Ten balcony lounge where Commanders W’Hoof, Thenow, and Briarcliff, Doctor Atridena, and Lieutenant Melimora indicate that the latter four are in solidarity against the new crew. Commander W’Hoof appears to be standing up for you, captain.”

Frost’s face remained carefully neutral. “I didn’t know she could eavesdrop.”

“She can,” Ruri said, indignant.

“Sorry.”

Daigonji input a string of commands into the computer console on his desk. One of the monitors zoomed in on their conversation, but Frost turned away from the screen. “I don’t want to intrude. Let them talk. Hopefully they’ll work it out.”

The viewscreen in question went dark and reset itself to the standard view of the conversation balconies on Deck Ten. “Good luck, Captain.”

Ruri chimed in. “Indeed, sir.”

“Thanks.” The captain stood and stepped out of the office. Daigonji leaned back in his chair. “I hope it all does work out, Ruri.”

The rec deck computer sighed. “I agree, Jiro. However, we know how they are. And how Captain Zohar forged them into a coherent unit, one that will not react well to change.”

“They’ll have to.”

The captain milled around the party, introducing himself to the crewmembers he hadn’t yet met. Most of them knew who he was, if from nothing else than the introductory dossier Satan had circulated for him when he realized he’d be too late to meet them all before the mission began. He ran into Lieutenant Tennet again, although this time she was wearing her uniform, instead of just a towel, and she favored him with a devastatingly lovely smile. He also spoke briefly with Lieutenant Farr, a Bolian who he knew from his time on the Nova Scotia, when he was the second officer and she was a security cadet – she was now the assistant chief of security. He even had a moment to say hello to Chief Kenel, the Bajoran beta-shift officer he’d met once at one of Commander Daigonji’s birthday parties – hard to miss him when he’s hanging all over the guest of honor, Frost had joked at the time; Daigonji took it in stride, happy with his lover. They were still together, Frost learned.

Then he ran into Doctor Atridena. Not literally, as with Lieutenant Tennet, but he managed to catch her and pull her aside into one of the meditation booths. “Doctor, we have to talk.”

“Captain, I’ve got to go in early and work on shift scheduling for my doctors and nurses. I really need to go.”

Frost noticed something a little strange. “Doctor, look at me.”

“Sir?” She kept her eyes downcast.

“Look up at me, Doctor.”

Atridena turned her face upwards, and he could see the traces of tears on her face.

“What’s wrong, Doctor?”

She sniffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Look, captain, you’re in charge of the ship. I can understand that you didn’t want to approve my transfer, and I understand why. I know you think I’m good at my job. But I don’t want to be on this ship anymore. There are too many memories, and I really don’t want to stay here under a new captain on my old ship. Commander Arthur was willing to take me on as Chief of Trauma on his hospital ship. Yeah, it’s a demotion, but I don’t care!”

“Doctor, I need you here.”

She stamped her foot, a somewhat-childish gesture, he thought, for a woman two years into her thirties. “Captain, you really should have let me go. You’re not going to replace Captain Zohar, and that’s what bothers me most of all.” She released the door and slipped out of the meditation room, leaving Frost in there, in the dim light.

He stayed there, the doorway open, until Commander Lessener came around and noticed him. She stepped through the crowd and stood close to him. He idly pulled her closer into a hug, resting his chin in her hair.

“You okay?”

He kissed the top of her head. “I just talked to Doctor Atridena.”

“You’re one up on me,” she told him, sliding around to the side to lean against the wall, tucked under his arm as it rested across her shoulders. “She wouldn’t even look at me in the meeting.”

“If the rest of the command crew is as upset with me as she is, this is going to be a very difficult mission.”

Lessener smiled up at him. “They won’t be. They can’t be.” She kissed his cheek. “Want to go home?”

He nodded, and they quietly departed through the nearest exit doorway, meeting very few crewmembers as they went up to Deck Four, to their quarters – really, they were his, and she had her own, but all of her things were in his quarters, where she lived with him. Silently they undressed and slid into bed, the synthetic satin of her nightshirt cool and slippery against his side as she snuggled up against him, her head heavy on his chest as she drifted off.

He stayed awake longer, though.

“You’re not going to replace Captain Zohar.” That flat, final statement from Doctor Atridena kept running through his mind.

He didn’t want to replace her. He just wanted to do as good a job as she had done.

But if everyone was like Atridena, he doubted that was possible.

The computer pinged. “The time is now 0900,” came the mechanical voice. Then it pinged again, louder. And louder still.

“You going to shut that off?” Lessener asked him as she turned over in bed to kiss his cheek. He opened his eyes and searched around the side of the bed until he found the control pad, which he activated by means of waving his hand around until he hit the right button. When the noise finally ceased, she mumbled a thanks and turned over, ensconcing herself into the covers again. She could do that, the captain mused; her shift isn’t until 1200. But that was how Captain Murphy had run things on the Palo-Alto, and it seemed to work. He and W’Hoof had shifts from 1000-1800, slightly overlapping the gamma shift, which was 0400-1200 and the alpha shift, which was 1200-2000 – that was Lessener’s shift.

Eventually – or five minutes later, which felt like an eventually, anyway – he managed to roll out of bed and pad over to the bathroom. It took him about twenty minutes to shower, clean his teeth, and pull on a shipboard uniform.

He liked this new innovation in the Starfleet Uniform Bureau. It had the same trousers and boots as the normal uniform, but the top was more abbreviated, a short-sleeved shirt that could be either white, gray, or black – the captain chose black – with a collar stripe and chest stripe, both horizontal, that matched the wearer’s departmental color. The rank pips were embroidered over the left side of the chest, above where the combadge attached, and under the right side of the lower stripe, the name of the starship. It was much more comfortable than the full tunic-and-jacket affair that had come into play in the mid-sixties.

Not being a morning person, Frost wasn’t much for breakfast. He ordered up what Fleet dietitians called a “breakfast bar,” which was a smallish brick of matter that provided enough energy and nutrients to last five hours or so, depending upon the size of the person eating it. This ship, apparently, was using strawberry as its generic flavor, which was at least inoffensive, if nothing else. He also retrieved a glass of water and went back across the room to his desk.

“Computer, log entry.”

“Ready.”

Anyone walking into the captain’s quarters at this point would only hear the patter of sharp, carefully-arranged syllables; Frost had always recorded his log entries in Japanese, to keep himself fluent in the language he’d grown up with.

Captain’s log, Stardate 67585.39:

The ship proceeds on course to Cardassia Prime. Once there, I have been ordered to meet with Cardassian Premier Pythas Lok. This will be a check-up mission, as well as one to resupply our rebuilding and restructuring efforts as we assist the Cardassians. Admiral Sharp has ordered us to move at Warp Four, even though the Katana is capable of Warp 9.7, possibly even higher in emergency situations, so that I can get acquainted with the new crew.

Supplemental:

Tuesday. Hm. Today will be my first day as the actual commander of this vessel. I mean, yesterday I did manage to work my way through the relaunch of the ship and get us on course, and I did a couple of things that needed doing, but it really didn’t count. Today I’ll actually spend some time on the bridge, watching the stars go by.

I was really creeped out by what Doctor Atridena said yesterday night. I know I’ll never replace Irit Zohar – I don’t want to replace Irit Zohar – but if everyone shares Atridena’s opinions, I’m in no small amount of trouble. Jiro and Ruri – that I even allow him to have a sentient computer in his thrall is a frightening prospect, but Ruri’s got safeguards built in – don’t seem overly worried. Ruri suggests we have some sort of social gathering, but at the crew mixer last night, it seemed to be Atridena, Melimora, Briarcliff, Thenow, and to a lesser extent, W’Hoof against the entire new crew.

The new crew. I pulled about 20 people away from the Palo-Alto, and while Captain Murphy wasn’t happy about losing some of them, she understands what a first command is like. She had one, once upon a time. Mixing that with the crew that, between myself, W’Hoof, and Admiral Sharp pulled in, we’ve got about 320 people who have never been on this ship before. Add that to another 300 or so left over from the attack, and we’ve got a hell of a situation on our hands.

The attack. My God, I hate to even think about it. What must it have been like for them? Irit Zohar and Brandon Donaldson, her first officer, wiped out in the first blast. They tried to fight back, but it was pointless. I’ve seen the sensor logs of the attack, and I hope that whoever they were, they don’t come back. They decimated this ship and this crew, and could have easily destroyed it. I guess I’m lucky I didn’t accept Zohar’s offer of first officer last year – I feel horrible that Donaldson had to die; he was a great officer even in the days when I knew him on the Nova Scotia, and his loss was a great blow to the fleet.

Maybe I should have taken it, though. Maybe I would’ve survived. Maybe it would’ve made me stronger.

It seems to have made everyone else stronger.

In any case, I’m due up on the bridge in a few minutes. Let’s see what happens.

Frost keyed off the log entry and checked his chronometer: 0935. “Computer, access Federation News Channel 58-DB-0.”

There was a brief twinkle, and then the mellifluous voice of his brother, Kevin, came over the speakers. He listened for a moment, but it didn’t seem as though his brother the news anchor was going to broadcast any breaking news – a look at his desktop screen showed no major alerts today – so he keyed the system off. He tried to listen to Kevin for at least a couple of minutes each day, but he was a little restless.

Time to go to the bridge.

Lieutenant Winters – January Winters, a rail-thin human woman from Mars, she had short, spiky white hair and very light, almost clear green eyes – was in the center seat when the lift arrived on Deck One. She turned to the side and saw the captain, immediately jumping to her feet. “Good morning, sir,” she said in a high-pitched, reedy voice.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he said softly as he stepped down the portside stairs and moved to his chair. She went forward to the operations station, and the officer there – if Frost remembered right, it was Ensign Inuro, a Ullian man who had come to Starfleet because, as his file put it, he “wasn’t telepathic enough” to suit his parents, Senators on Ullia – transferred the station to her, heading to the back of the bridge, where he set up shop at the presently-unmanned auxiliary control station. Meanwhile, the captain was getting comfortable in his seat, attaching his PADD to the console to his right as it slid out from its receptacle behind him.

He spent about ten minutes customizing the console and saving his preferences for screen settings and so forth until heavy footfalls coming from behind him and to the right – evidently the source had chosen to take the back way up onto the bridge – announced the arrival of Commander W’Hoof, who slowly and deliberately made his way down to his seat at the captain’s left. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Commander.” He paused. “Do you mind if I call you W’Hoof?”

“If you wish, sir. Your accent is tolerable.”

Frost chuckled. “Thanks.” Then, “actually, I was wondering if I could bend your ear for a few minutes, before alpha shift officially starts.”

“Of course, captain.” They both stood, and W’Hoof tilted his head. The captain tilted his back, so W’Hoof gave the order. “Lieutenant Winters, take the bridge.”

She assented, and together the captain and first officer stepped to the back of the bridge and into the ready room. Frost sat behind his desk and W’Hoof took, out of the three seats at the captain’s desk, the one farthest from the door.

“W’Hoof, I’m concerned.”

The Kanid tilted his head, looking for all the world like a Labrador Retriever with an IQ of over 130. “Could you elaborate, sir?”

“Well,” the captain said, trying to be cautious – this was, after all, a delicate topic, and one with which he had no previous experience upon which to draw – “it’s about the senior staff. Have you noticed anything odd about them?”

“Odd?” Evidently W’Hoof was equally concerned about the propriety of this discussion.

“Yes. Odd. As in, the officers who survived the attack banding against myself and the new crew, as if we’re not wanted.”

W’Hoof’s voice was dark – darker than usual, at any rate. “I do not believe it is you, captain. You or Commander Lessener, to a smaller extent, or even the new crewmembers. I believe it is the fact that there are new crewmembers to begin with.”

“How do you mean?”

“Most of us were displaced after the skirmish with the Romulans in 2387.” W’Hoof was referring to a battle with a renegade faction of Romulans – not enough to start a war, but enough to destroy several starships. The Katana had been in that battle and, in fact, had been the deciding factor in the defeat of the Romulans, and Captain Zohar, as the captain of the Katana and the task force on the Romulan frontier, had pulled together as many crewmembers from the lost starships as she could. “Captain Zohar took myself and Commander, then Lieutenant, Briarcliff under her wing, along with many of the other chiefs, section heads, officers, and crewpeople, and forged us into a coherent, strong crew. She was like a mother figure to us in many ways, even to the point that she fought against Commander Taber” – this was Captain Ashley Taber, who Frost had been tapped to replace before the attack when she was promoted to captain of the Nova Scotia, one of the captain’s previous postings – “being transferred. When Captain Zohar died, it was like something in many of the crew died as well.”

Frost leaned back, folding his hands over his chest and cracking his knuckles abruptly before his hands dropped to the chair’s armrests. “I can understand how you – all of you – feel. If something had happened to Captain Murphy, back on the Palo-Alto, I’m sure something in me would have died too. She taught me what I needed to know to be a good captain.”

“It is not just that, sir.”

“How do you mean?”

W’Hoof had the decency to look embarrassed. “We were a very undisciplined, very ragged group. A lot of us were ambivalent about Federation policy surrounding the conflict” – it surprised the captain how much distaste W’Hoof managed to cram into those eight letters – “and really didn’t want to stay in Starfleet. Some of us, myself included, actually tried to get ourselves discharged. But Captain Zohar wouldn’t let us waste what she called ‘potential.’ She kept us around, made us change our ways, and made us into better officers. If you knew some of the trouble I got up to in the weeks following the conflict, you would probably doubt my worthiness as your first officer.”

“Indeed.” Frost leaned forward. “Well, since Captain Zohar chose to keep it off the record, I’m not going to concern myself. Besides, Irit Zohar was one of the best captains in the fleet, and she did survive the Dominion War.” Not as a captain, he thought privately, even though she was a heroine of the front lines, a lieutenant on one of the many ships in the final thrust of the war. “I trust her judgement.”

W’Hoof instinctively knew that was not all.

“But listen to me,” and here the captain leaned forward, his hands folded on his desk, his determination almost a palpable thing that pushed against W’Hoof’s personal space, “I am the captain now. You all have pledged to uphold the rules and laws of Starfleet and the Federation. In this case, that’s me. I realize that you’re trying to be a bridge between the old crew and the new crew, and I respect that. I’ll even go as far as I can to meet the old crew halfway.

“However, this walling off of the new crew must end, and if it ends by transferring some of you off this ship, I will not hesitate to make those transfers. Believe me, there are plenty of people who’d be thrilled to be on this ship.”

“I… I understand,” the first officer said softly. “I will talk to them, and do what I can.”

“See that you do.” The captain paused. “Anything else we should talk about before alpha shift begins?”

“Just one thing.” W’Hoof relaxed at the captain’s last comment – he felt the tension in the room disappear. “Please tell me you won’t be like Captain Zohar and try to lead every away team. That quite upset Commander Donaldson.”

“Don’t you worry, Commander,” Frost said. “I have no desire to get myself killed.”

“That’s very morbid, sir.”

The captain’s face broke into a sinister, but still teasing, smile. “That it is.” Then he extended his hand across the desk. W’Hoof leaned forward, putting his paw – for that’s what it was, a paw that evolution on his home planet had made as versatile, if not more so, than human hands – out.

The two senior officers of the Katana shook hands.

“Now,” said the captain, “maybe we should go back out to the bridge.”

“An excellent idea, sir.”

So they went.

There were only two alpha-shift members of the old crew’s senior staff on the bridge – Lieutenant Melimora and Commander Briarcliff. And even then, Briarcliff, as security chief, only spent four hours on bridge watch – the other four, he spent in the security department, an arrangement that Frost personally thought was a good idea, for it gave other security officers a chance to take the bridge tactical station, a good training tool. But while Briarcliff was stoic and reserved as he took his seat behind the captain’s chair, it was obvious to the captain – and to Lessener, who text-messaged the captain about it; the captain told her not to worry – that Melimora had aimed a very pointed look at W’Hoof, who simply tilted his head toward Melimora’s chair.

The first part of the watch was uneventful, all things considered. The captain and Commander W’Hoof mostly spent the time immersed in their computer consoles, catching up on the minutiae that piled up daily for a command officer. When the captain went to his ready room for lunch, though, things changed considerably.

The moment the captain’s ready room door slid shut, Melimora turned in her chair to face the command area and said, in a tight voice, “Commander, may I see you in the conference lounge?”

W’Hoof nodded and stood, climbing the steps on the starboard side of the bridge, Melimora close behind him. “Commander Lessener, if you would?” he said as he passed the mission ops console, and she nodded as well, sliding around the bulk of the first officer and the sheer unhappiness radiating from the helmswoman to take the captain’s chair – she noted that, even after only a day of sitting in it, it already had the faint scent of Frost’s cologne clinging to it – and the officer at the environmental station, Ensign Shin’ta, an unusually-short but archetypically dark-eyed and dark-haired example of the Vulcans, took the helm. Not that he had much to do, with the course capably set by Melimora the day before, but a bridge position could not be left unattended.

Immediately, Lessener text-messaged the captain in his ready room.

Kyle? I think there’s going to be trouble.

Sorry? he typed back.

W’Hoof and Melimora just disappeared into the conference lounge. Thought you should know.

If something’s up, W’Hoof will tell me. He and I had… a chat, I suppose you’d call it… before the shift started.

You’re the captain.

She could see the smile through the walls of the bridge. You know it.


***

End of Part Two