CAPT Richard Pullman entered the conference room. As in their first meeting a week ago, Commodore Uzoma Ekwueme sat at the head of the table. Unlike that first meeting, Ekwueme sat alone. “Have a seat, Captain.”
Pullman took the nearest chair, his nerves on end. There was being called to a meeting with a commodore, and then there was being called to a meeting with only a commodore.
“The general announcement will go out in about six hours, but it looks like the Displaced crisis is finally resolved. Using the technique your chief engineer discovered, we were able to identify about a dozen additional entangled realities and assign assets to reset them. As far as we can tell, the last reality was reset about three hours ago.”
The nagging dread and fear tugging at Pullman finally slipped free. “That is wonderful news, Commodore.”
“Indeed. LCDR Kaminsky will be receiving a classified commendation for her breakthrough.” The commodore paused, a hint of a frown turning his dark face into a stern visage. “We were researching one for you as well and discovered what you and your buddy Morrison did. Care to enlighten me?”
A searing wave of embarrassment and regret rolled through Pullman. Following the initial Glendale launch disaster at the beginning of the year, Pullman, as the ship yards’ deputy directory, was expected to resign. But before that request came down, his friend and Starfleet ship yards chief of staff, CAPT Michael Morrison, pulled some strings and got Pullman assigned to take command of Glendale during her repairs. Pullman was only supposed to be in charge for the remaining few months the ship remained in drydock. At that point he had planned to turn the ship over to a new commanding officer and quietly retire. No one anticipated that Glendale would be forced back into active service within a week of his taking command.
The consequences of his actions finally caught up with him. This time, it was solely due to his decisions, not the ill-considered actions of his superior. “It was a completely selfish and ill-considered decision on my behalf. You’ll have my resignation within the hour, Commodore.”
Ekwueme harrumphed. “Usually, that would be expected and sufficient. But there’s two problems with that. First, Lieutenant Commander Morrison has already accepted full responsibility….”
The words hit Pullman like a sucker punch to the gut. “No…,” he whispered, unable to control his surprise and regret. Unlike Pullman, an engineer at heart, Morrison was an ambitious officer, one with aspirations of flag rank. A drop of two ranks was an insurmountable setback. Morrison would be lucky to ever see full commander again; returning to captain was not mathematically impossible, but highly improbable. Anything above that would never materialize.
“That’s right,” continued Ekwueme, driving the knife deeper. “Morrison overplayed his hand and it cost him his career. It’s ironic how karma works: you don’t care about rank, but you get to keep yours. Since your selfish reason was personally ensuring Glendale got refitted correctly this time, I am not holding that against you. Do you understand?”
‘Do you understand?‘ That odd question and the commodore’s odd inflection threw Pullman for a loop. He processed the commodore’s words. Ekwueme undoubtedly knew that Pullman’s selfish motivation was to delay his firing long enough to prevent disrupting his wife Laura’s teaching schedule. Being able to repair and launch Glendale correctly this time was a convenient excuse, lagniappe, as it were. Pullman finally realized that Ekwueme was defining the narrative, and he was expected to toe the line. He nodded slowly. “I understand, Commodore.”
The Fourth Fleet Expeditionary Group’s commander stared intently at Pullman, gauging whether or not he got the full and correct message. Satisfied with Pullman’s pained, defeated look, he continued. “Good. And the second reason I can’t accept your resignation is that it benefits certain circles for you to remain in the service.”
“I understand, Sir.”
“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND A DAMNED THING!” erupted Ekwueme. Both palms slammed forcefully onto the table top. The commodore’s outburst was so unexpected, it caused Pullman to jump back in his seat.
Ekwueme continued, eyes like laser beams boring into Pullman’s. “You’re no hero, Captain. You’re just another selfish, unambitious nobody, an unworthy cog in a truly remarkable institution.”
Pullman internally acknowledged that Ekwueme’s assessment was spot on. It still stung a little hearing it spoken aloud. Unsure where this accusation was headed, he remained silent.
Ekwueme shook his head in frustration. “Morrison yanked you from the one credit table and threw you head first into the unlimited pot game. Make no mistake, careers, and sometimes lives, are made and lost here.”
Pullman’s blank stare and silence telegraphed his continued lack of understanding. Exasperated, the commodore spelled it out. “Your mission was intended to fail.”
That last statement jolted Pullman. The thought had never occurred to him. The impossible orders, the failure to provide a crew, the radio silence trying to get support, the deaf ears when he tried to explain how dangerous an endeavor Glendale‘s hurried launch was. He had chalked it up to typical fleet bureaucratic incompetence and the exigencies of the Displaced emergency.
Pullman’s slow realization showed on his face. Ekwueme recognized the change on the captain’s face. “That’s right. We could have transported more Displaced with two runabouts than Glendale, with no risk of blowing up your ship and crew.
“I have no problem with people wrecking careers. And believe me when I say that I would not have lost any sleep watching yours die.” Ekwueme’s face darked even further. “But I draw the line when those games put my assets and people’s lives at risk. Your success is something I can hold over those who crossed the line; your continued success gives me options on when and how to exact retribution.”
‘Your mission was intended to fail.‘ A simple statement, a quick summary of Pullman’s crash course into the complicated web of Starfleet politics. Not everything was perfectly clear, but the blinders had been removed. “I see. What do you need me to do, Commodore?”
“Now that’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said.” Ekwueme’s tone softened. “You’re not completely innocent, but I know your intentions were pure. So here’s what’s going to happen. Nothing changes. You return to Starbase Bravo and get your ship fixed properly. Take whatever time you need, but make sure she’s 100% ready.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“When the time comes for you to transfer command, there will be a highly placed request to retain you as CO, which I will reluctantly approve for the benefit of the mission.”
Pullman frowned at this revelation. None of the scenarios he considered before heading down this rabbit hole involved him retaining command when Glendale returned to service. This, apparently, would be his penance. ‘Laura is going to kill me.’ She had been furious when Pullman confessed what he and Morrison had done. ‘You shouldn’t have agreed, Richard. Despite what Mike says, this will come back to bite you.’ More prophetic words had never been spoken.
“Yes, Sir.”
“There’s a bunch of old colonies one sector spinward of Bajor. They found a stable passage through parts of the Badlands and the trade through there has exploded. Which, of course, brings pirates. The colonies want protection. Same story we’ve heard hundreds of times. The complication this time is that the Ferengi, Breen, and Cardassians want to provide that protection. So now high-level diplomacy is involved. Since she’s been refitted as a command support variant, Glendale‘s first mission will be to support that shit-show.
“I’ll arrange for the diplomatic corps to send someone right away, to help you get the diplomatic spaces on the ship properly prepared. I want you to immerse yourself in the negotiations so that when it’s time for you to turn over the reins, the diplos will beg me to keep you in the center seat. Do you understand your mission, Captain?”
The course Ekwueme had laid out was perfectly clear. “I understand, Commodore.”
Ekwueme nodded sternly. “Just so you’re clear, Captain. You are under a microscope. No gundecking, no engineering innovations, nothing that will draw any scrutiny and can be used to question your judgment. Clear?”
“Crystal clear, Commodore.”
“Then I won’t keep you further from your duties. Dismissed.”
