Molly Devlin ascended the steps from the underground station at Hyde Park Corner and pulled the belt of her overcoat tightly around her waist before plunging her gloved hands as deep as possible into the coat’s pockets. She paused at the top of the steps, glancing up with a frown at the overcast gun-metal October sky and reminded herself just how much she absolutely hated London.

Passing through one of the stone arches which led into Hyde Park proper, she paused at a hot drink vendor’s cart.

“Cuppa tea, love?” the middle-aged man smiled warmly as she approached.

“Coffee please. Black,” said Molly in response.

“Right you are.” The man busied himself preparing the drink. “Irish are you, love?”

Molly managed to answer with a friendly smile rather than the instinctive eye roll. “Very perceptive of you,” she said without a hint of sarcasm.

“Thought so,” said the man with a knowing nod. “I’m good with accents, me.”

“You certainly are,” said Molly as she accepted the hot drink.

Continuing through into the park, Molly walked briskly along Serpentine Road towards the lake itself, passing the small bar and café where a group of twenty-something males sat drinking beer in the fading light of the autumnal afternoon. Each of them was wrapped up against the chill weather and Molly wondered why they didn’t just sit inside in the warmth.

“Alright darlin’?” one of them called out to her, seeing her look over towards them. There was always one, wasn’t there?

“Don’t be like that!” he called out again. “Come and join us! I’ll buy you a drink!”

Molly raised her hand holding the coffee cup and carried on walking. “I’ve got one thanks!”

The young man’s friends laughed in response to her dismissive comment and jeered at their companion. Molly continued on her way.

Soon she was approaching the small jetty where members of the public could hire rowing boats to take out for an hour or two on the water. The Serpentine stretched out expansively to her left, the dull blue-grey of the lake reflecting the low sun of the late afternoon. Just ahead, beyond a tall wrought-iron lamp post, sat a middle-aged woman on a matching wrought-iron park bench. She had short brown hair and was wrapped in a long, padded coat which looked to be too big for her. She looked up at Molly’s approach and gave a wide grin in greeting.

“Hello,” she said warmly, standing up. “Margaret?”

“Only my father calls me Margaret,” said Molly, returning the smile. “Everyone else calls me Molly.”

“Molly,” said the older woman as if considering the name. “That’s a lovely name. It suits you.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” said Molly.

The other woman waved one hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t bother with any of that nonsense while we’re off duty. It’s Ruth. Shall we walk?”

Without waiting for a reply, she set off along the pathway which edged The Serpentine and Molly fell into step beside her.

“I love London, don’t you?” said Ruth. “Especially at this time of year. The sky always looks so… foreboding.”

“Love it,” lied Molly. “I’ve always loved London.”

Ruth grinned back at her. “Me too. Always plenty to see or do in London I always say. Mister Marlowe hates London. He always finds some excuse not to come with me.”

Molly gave a polite smile and sipped her coffee. I don’t bloody blame him, she thought to herself.

“Anyway,” said Ruth. “Let’s talk business. Firstly, thank you for agreeing to meet me here today. Especially as I believe you’re on holiday at the moment.”

“I am,” nodded Molly. “The family are waiting for me back at the hotel.”

“In London?”

“Malé,” said Molly. “The Maldives.”

“Oh,” said Ruth in surprise. “Now that is a fair distance to come! Well, thank you again. Did you beam in?”

“Shuttle,” replied Molly. “It was a pretty quick journey.”

“Well, I suppose it could have been worse,” Ruth said knowingly. “You could have been on Risa! And then where would we be?”

Both women laughed at that, Ruth in genuine amusement at her own joke, Molly out of politeness.

“Do you like ducks?” Ruth asked.

“Ducks?” Molly replied, the question taking her by surprise. “Well, I like eating them…” she ventured.

Ruth laughed loudly in response. “Eating them! Ha! Yes, I like that! Very funny!” She pulled a small bag from one of the copious pockets of her oversized coat and opened it to reveal what looked to be bird seed.

“I love ducks,” she said as she began to toss handfuls of the seed across the ground at the edge of the water. “Not sure why,” she mused. “Just always have.”

The ducks in the vicinity began to close on the two women, their quacking getting louder as Ruth continued to scatter seed. Molly sipped her coffee.

“Do you consider yourself a pilot over and above anything else?” Ruth asked suddenly.

“Umm, no,” Molly replied slowly. “I consider myself to be an explorer who happens to be a pilot.’

Ruth grinned at her. “Excellent! Good answer!”

“Umm, thank you.” said Molly.

“And you were Donald Weller’s XO for four years aboard Redemption? Is that correct?”

“I was,” nodded Molly. As you well know.

“And how did you find Donald?”

“I have the utmost respect for Captain Weller. I learned a great deal from him.”

“Mmm,” mused Ruth. “What do you think he said about you when I asked him?”

“I dread to think,” said Molly with a laugh.

“He said that you were single-minded to the point of arrogance, dismissive of people you deemed to be your intellectual inferiors, rebellious, flirtatious, pugnacious, courageous, stubborn, argumentative and the best XO he’d ever had. What do you think about that?”

“I wouldn’t say that I’m pugnacious…”

Ruth laughed again. “His words, not mine. Then you spent a year at Starfleet Command School where you graduated second in your class. How did you feel about coming second?”

“Pissed off,” said Molly with honesty.

Ruth grinned at her once more. “Good. I like that. Then you were appointed your first command in Spitfire. What did you learn from running a Defiant for two years?”

“That they’re chunky, tough, fast, and their quarters are too small. And when they go too long between services, the water reclaim filter starts to fail and it makes deck four smell of sewage.”

“Did you like it?” Ruth asked.

“Loved it.”

“Then a bigger ship. You got promoted and they gave you an Intrepid?”

Molly nodded. “Tristan. I loved that too.”

“More than Spitfire?”

Molly nodded again.

“Three years of science and second contact missions,” continued Ruth. “And then you went back to school and took Advanced Tactical. This time you graduated first in your class. How did you feel this time?”

“Less pissed off,” Molly replied. “Pleased. Proud.”

“Good,” said Ruth. “And now you’re between assignments. Commodore Varen tells me that you’ve requested something a little… bigger. Is that right?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Molly replied immediately, her eyes blazing.

Ruth scattered the last handful of bird seed on the ground for the ducks to squabble over and stuffed the empty bag back into a pocket before pulling a padd from another one and handing it to Molly. “What about this? Is this big enough?”

Molly looked at the screen and her eyes widened. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m bloody serious,” Ruth admonished her good-naturedly. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I wasn’t. You’d be working for me. Do you want it?”

“Do I…? Yes. Yes, I do want it.”

“Not too big for you?”

“No, no. She’s perfect.”

Ruth took the padd and made it disappear back into her voluminous coat. “Good. Then we’re in agreement. When does your family holiday finish?”

“Another six days. Next Sunday.”

“Then you’ll report aboard on Monday morning 0800 Zulu. Any questions?”

“No, Ma’am,” said Molly.

“Very good. Now go back to your family, enjoy your time together in the sun and break the good – or bad – news to your husband.”

Molly left with a nod and a wide grin on her face and Ruth watched her go. After a while she looked down at the ducks which continued to waddle about in front of her, some of them occasionally pecking at a stray fragment of bird seed. She smiled with satisfaction and reached inside her coat to tap at the communicator concealed within.

“Fleet Captain Ruth Marlowe to Commodore Varen’s office.”

“Commander Hendrix here.”

“Commander, please let the commodore know that my conversation was successful, You may log Captain Margaret… Molly… Devlin as Commanding Officer USS Farragut. Effective immediately.”

“Understood, Fleet Captain.”

“Thank you. Marlowe out.”

Thrusting both hands into her deep coat pockets, she set off along the path once more, a contented smile on her face and a small group of ducks following hopefully behind her.

“I do love London,” she said out loud to nobody in particular.