Marcus entered the corrections to the calibration matrix into the maintenance console. The delicate operation required pin-point precision; any error risked sending the targeting system completely out of alignment. “Try it now.”
Eleanor initiated the calibration test from the command chair; a series of test frames cycled on the view screen, testing its accuracy against the targeting system. “Still off by five microns, lieutenant,” she sighed.
Marcus shrugged, “I guess this is what happens when someone orders a ship out of dry-dock before she’s fully ready.”
Eleanor glanced back over her shoulder, “Easy, lieutenant,” she cautioned. “You’ve got all the time you need now… Let’s just get it right.”
“Yeah, well. If the fabric of reality hadn’t nearly fallen apart four months ago, I’d be on a beach sipping margaritas now… Not still burying my head inside this maintenance console.” Marcus grumbled, dropping to his knees to reach into the circuitry.
Eleanor paused, letting Marcus vent. She’d heard the same complaint from half of the senior staff. She couldn’t blame them, but she also knew the nuances of command decisions, and how it often came down to choosing the lesser of two evils.
“I’m sure the decision to launch the Britannia early wasn’t taken lightly. Even with all the teething issues of this new saucer, we were still one of the most capable ships Starfleet had on hand in the crisis.”
Marcus sighed and set down his tools. “I get that, I’m just a firm believer that a starship shouldn’t be launched until It’s fully ready. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Well, sometimes duty calls for us to make do with the cards that we’re dealt,” Eleanor dipped her head, “Missing out on some shore leave is a pain in the bum, but I’m sure the Captain will give us the time now to properly install and test these new systems.”
As if summoned by her words, the turbo-lift doors hissed. Eleanor turned her head and immediately stood to attention. “Captain on deck!”
“As you were,” Armitage belayed as he strode into the command centre, still wearing his 18th-century Royal Navy uniform as if it were standard issue.
Eleanor didn’t want to admit it, but the Captain suited the look. He had the presence and bearing to pull it off convincingly, and every time she looked at him, she always imagined his ancestors giving orders aboard a tall ship. “Are we to issue a change of uniform, sir?” she smiled.
Edward was not amused, not because he wouldn’t have found his first officer’s joke amusing; he was simply too preoccupied to entertain humour. “Number one, I’ll see you and Commander Brennan in the observation lounge in twenty minutes, if you please.” He continued to the ready room without so much as a falter in his step.
“Aye, sir,” Eleanor could sense from his tone and posture that his mind was focused on a matter she was not yet privy to. The request to assemble herself and the second officer suggested that important business was forthcoming, though she seldom liked to speculate before being briefed.
“Oh no,” Marcus rolled his eyes, “You know what that means.”
“That the Captain wishes to have a private conference with his most senior officers?”
“Yeah, and that probably means we’re launching early again.”
“If that becomes our orders, then I’m sure you’ll be given ample notification, Lieutenant,” She shifted her tone, asserting her authority. “Until then, I’d suggest you remain focused on those calibrations.”
Marcus held his tongue, suddenly aware he might have spoken out of place. “Yes, Ma’am.”
***
Deck 2 – Captain’s Quarters – 2 hours later
Edward stepped into his quarters and exhaled a sigh of relief. His holodeck time might have been squandered, but an hour with his cello sounded very appealing. A starship Captain was technically never off-duty, but with a strong first officer he could afford to steal a moment for himself now and then.
The past few weeks had been filled with nothing but meetings and paperwork —dull tasks for a man of his calibre— and not what he joined the service to do. Still, it was important work.
He set his PADD on his desk and scanned over his orders again while unbuttoning his collar.
To: Commanding Officer, USS Britannia NCC-81544
You are hereby required and directed to proceed to and rendezvous with the Cardassian Union vessel Koranol and to take upon you the charge of negotiating the release of investigatory material pertaining to a suspected insurgent attack on Stardate 80623.7
You are duly authorised to exceed all warp speed limitations to reach your destination
Orders given, this Stardate: 80632.0
Captain Vincent De-sortis, Commanding Officer, Britannia Division, Fourth Fleet, Taskforce 93.
As he draped his jacket over the back of the chair, he could hear Captain De-sortis’s voice replay in his mind, “Don’t let the Cardassians control the situation; we’re there to co-operate and de-escalate. Not to be bullied into anything.”
The doorbell chimed, snapping him back to the present. “Enter.”
Eleanor stepped in, her hands together, resting neatly at her front. She carried herself with the uneasy posture of someone approaching a delicate subject. “You got a minute, Captain?”
“Please,” Edward gestured to his desk and made his way to be seated behind the mahogany surface. Eleanor remained standing; this wasn’t a social visit.
“I have concerns, and I didn’t want to mention it in front of Commander Brennan.” She explained.
Edward nodded, “You think he might find it difficult to keep an open mind during this mission?”
“Not just him, sir; there are a lot of Bajorans on board, some who remember the occupation… Peace treaty or not, they aren’t going to be too happy about seeing a Cardassian warship out the window.”
Edward leaned back in his chair, hands forming a neat triangle. “I understand your concerns, but they are all Starfleet officers. They are expected to carry out their duty, regardless of whether they agree with our orders.”
“Agreed, I just feel that this mission is going to open some old wounds. We should be ready for that.” Eleanor kept her tone humble.
“And what of Commander Brennan?” Edward asked.
Eleanor hesitated. “You know his father died during the war, and…” Another pause, as if her words felt as thick in her mouth. “He doesn’t keep it a secret what his ancestors were doing during The Troubles; I’m worried how he might interpret the situation.”
Edward sighed; there had never been a question of Brennan’s integrity in all the years he had known him, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t think their orders wouldn’t affect him. “Very well. I’ll speak to him. You’ll keep an eye on the rest of the crew. Link in with Mister Blackwood if you need to.”
“Aye Aye.” Eleanor gave a gentle salute; were she wearing a hat, she would have tipped the brow. Instead, her curled finger touched her brow in quiet respect.
As she left, Edward looked across the room to his cello, the strings silent and gathering dust. ‘Guess it won’t be today,’ he thought.
