Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, 2236
It took quite a lot for the Admiralty Board to come together for a single person. But, as Admiral Uchtdorf mused as he adjusted his newly issued uniform (how many was this one now? Four? Five? He couldn't wait for Starfleet's tailors to make up their damn minds), the one person in question had raised quite some hell over the latest starship design. He was lodging what Bertram dearly hoped to be his last, most stringent protest today.
His uniform thus in order (or so he hoped with this one), he made his way to the hearing chamber, finding himself joined by the now venerable Admiral Speyer.
"Afternoon, Bert," Speyer said. "Ready to put this to bed?"
Bertram sighed as he rolled his eyes. "I hope we do. Trying to talk some sort of sense into the man has only seemed to embolden his claims. It's like trying to put out a fire with kerosene."
"When he couches his complaints like he does," Speyer said, "it's no wonder he has as many supporters as he does."
"He is also young for his position," another voice said, the men looking over to see Admiral T'Irroth join their walk. "His age, alongside his remarkable amount of commendations, lends credence to his position, and makes him popular amongst his peers."
"Popular or not," Bertram said, "we've had enough trouble getting the project through because of him. The lieutenant that leaked the torpedo loadout not only cost Starfleet Intelligence a lot of sleep, but we had to spend a week putting out brushfires started by junior idealists."
With that, they entered the hearing chamber. In total, 16 Admirals sat at a long table, its long edge facing another door and a singular chair in which the man of the hour would sit.
A few moments later, the door opened, allowing a tall, rather thin man with a sharp face, rosy complexion, and green eyes framed by a mane of fiery hair, to walk in and take his seat.
"Commander Hennefer," Speyer said. "Far be it from me to tell any man who's saved as many lives as you have that you've been a naughty boy, but your continued actions, and the actions of those inspired by you, are placing the Federation in potentially critical danger."
Commander Alfred Hennefer, XO of the UFS Resplendent for the last 4 years, regarded the Board with a steadfast gaze. "The United Federation is already in peril," he said firmly. "Its very ideals are under attack, and have been since the conception of the Constitution Project. Are we not a polity of peace, of understanding and cooperation? Can we not resolve the tensions we have with the Klingons without standing at the precipice of potential imperial intentions?"
The room was silent for a moment. "We stand at a crossroads," Hennefer continued. "Either we find a way to show that there is no need for further conflict with the Klingons and make our peace with them, or we begin to make our way down the road of base imperialism. And this ship, your Constitution, will lead the way, one way or another."
"Commander," T'Irroth said, "you seem to consistently underestimate the martial nature of Klingon culture. They are only interested in shows of strength and glory. Even without a clear picture of their culture, their raiding parties are evidence enough of this fact."
"And we have the chance to show them there are other ways to have strength!" Hennefer said sternly. "We can show them how we stand together, how we've left behind needing to… to thump our chests at every stranger we meet and instead extend them a hand to lift both of us up further than we could ever go alone."
The members of the Board glanced at each other, then most eyes landed on one of two members of the board. One was Admiral Sukuda. The other was Admiral Shevchuk.
"Alfred," Taisa said gently, "do you have family in Nova Brasilia?"
Alfred blinked at the question. "No, I don't," he said.
"Did you have family who served in the Romulan War?"
Alfred shook his head. "No, ma'am. The closest my family ever got to the war was a grandfather serving on one of the Zheng Hes."
Taisa sighed quietly. "You're an idealist. I can't help but admire that. You champion the best parts of the Federation. We always need people like that, or the whole damn thing will fall apart because no one cares."
Taisa's mouth drew into a grimace. "But sometimes, we have to be willing to defend ourselves, and our ideals. We would never have gotten this far if we weren't willing to look the people sizing us up in the eye and throw a punch if needed. The Romulans learned that lesson the hard way. Is it imperialism to want to defend the Federation?"
Alfred's jaw clenched. "No. But it's always been the first step towards a variety of dark paths. An enemy at the gates that we must focus our attention on at the cost of freedoms, dignities. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. But it never takes as long as anyone thinks it does."
The room fell silent, and Taisa… smiled slightly. "Then I think you're the perfect man for the job."
Alfred's eyes went wide. "What?"
"I must remind you, Admiral," T'Irroth said, "your proposition seems highly illogical."
"Does it?" Admiral Sukuda said. "The best warrior is the one who knows when to put away his ax and extend his hand in peace, after all."
"Wait a a minute," Alfred said, beginning to stand from his chair. "You can't possibly be telling me…"
"We are, Captain," Taisa said pointedly. "You make for the perfect balance for any war dogs that might end up as part of the initial contingent of the Excalibur-class. You understand the consequences of what might happen, likely far more than anyone besides Admiral Sukuda here. And your service thus far has been exemplary, with no small amount of action on the borders against pirates. I see no reason not to trust you with one of these vessels."
She paused almost dramatically. "If you'll accept it, of course. You want to show the rest of the Federation what the best of us looks like in that chair? You've got the perfect opportunity right here."
Alfred was silent for long moments, clearly at war with himself, before he slowly nodded. "Very well," he said, pausing again. "Thank you, Admiral. I'm thankful for your trust in me."
"And I'm sure that you'll prove that trust many times over," Taisa said. "You're dismissed, Alfred. Your orders will be processed once the ship we've chosen for you is completed. Until then, rest easy. You've got some time before the first vessel gets out from the slip."
Alfred came to attention. "Again, thank you," he said, almost sounding genuine before he turned to exit the room, the Admiralty Board remaining where it was as they found themselves alone.
"I still can't see why you'd put a pacifist in charge of a warship, Taisa," Admiral Kuhlohr, a stout Tellarite, said with narrowed eyes aimed directly at his subject. "He seems like he'd rather make more overtures to the Xindi than actually decide to power up his phasers and photon torpedoes."
"An idealist, not a pacifist," Taisa replied. "There's a definite difference, and Hennefer there falls into the former. I've gone and done the legwork beyond simply looking at his dossier and his… recent annoyances. The people he's served with know he's a man willing to defend what he cares for. His friends, their friends, the Federation… they all mean something to him. He loves deeply, and without pretension."
Taisa sighed heavily. "But what he's been missing is a dose of reality. Of what it really means to defend what you love when life and death are what's on the line. And I hate that this is how he gets it."
. . .
Somewhere in Federation Space, 2242
The Klingons were getting desperate. Not that they'd likely show it, based on what Commander Xavier had seen of them, but with how things were going, there were signs on the strategic level.
The XO of the UFS Curtana considered the readout on his screen with intent brown eyes set in a square-jawed, terra-cotta colored face framed by a simple bun of jet-black hair. The latest intel was that a battle wing of D6s and D7s had broken through the perimeters and was blazing a path towards Axanar, a crossroads that served as a vital refueling point for going just about anywhere outside of the Sol Sector of the Federation. If Axanar was subdued, then the seat of Federation power would be in danger, all manner of founding worlds vulnerable to Klingon attack.
Which was why Curtana, along with the UFS Tizona, Kusanagi, and Joyeuse, followed behind by six Newton-class ships running at full tilt, was on their way to secure the system.
"Captain," the helmsman of the ship, one Lieutenant Cortez, called out. "5 minutes until we reach Axanar."
"Very good, Cortez," Captain Hennefer said. "Yellow Alert, shields at the ready."
As the alarm for Yellow Alert went up, Xavier rose from his station and made his way over to the captain's chair. He still hadn't quite shaken that odd feeling about the captain since they'd met. Even with the action over Adular VI, there seemed to be some… reservation in the man about the whole war.
"Xavier," Hennefer said, looking up to the man in question. "Any news on Axanar?"
"Nothing so far," Xavier replied. "Not even the usual traffic. That worries me. There's a complement of Keas and Saladins on station, to say nothing of the Seleya and the Denali that should have sent us some sort of distress call if something was wrong. The fact that all I've heard is static…"
Hennefer grimaced. "Then it looks like we might be warping into an active battle. Red Alert! All hands to battle stations and sound general quarters."
Xavier looked over to their tactical officer as the lights on the bridge dimmed, a Korusmian male named Luc'shukumni, Lucky for most of the crew, as he worked to bring the ship to full combat readiness. In addition to the brilliant scarlet of his operations uniform that went strikingly with his deep blue, red, and white feathers, at his side was a scabbard a little over 70 centimeters in length, within which was a weapon that the universal translator rendered into the 'honor claws', a gauntlet with blades that exaggerated the natural claws to a length that only the above-human strength and slightly above-average dexterity of the Korusmian people could leverage to wield the weapon effectively.
Xavier had wondered at the beginning of the war why he seemed so intent to wear it beyond even the current standards of cultural expectation. After having heard the stories of Klingon boarders trying to counter the strength of the Excaliburs by striking at their weakest component, he'd stopped wondering.
"All stations signal readiness, Captain," Lucky said. "Phasers and torpedoes prepared for combat."
"1 minute to Axanar," Cortez called out.
"I'm getting preliminary readings from the… system…" their science officer said, her voice slowly going quieter before a long, dreadful silence.
"What is it, Sheridan?" Hennefer asked.
"The Klingons are bombarding Axanar," Lieutenant Sheridan said, her voice an almost choked whisper.
A chill settled over the bridge, and Xavier saw Hennefer's hand clench. "Signal Captains Garth, Mayfield, and Hux that we're going to disrupt the bombardment of the planet. They're free to join us or to pick up any survivors in distress."
"Aye, sir," the comms officer said, turning to his task as, at last, they dropped out of warp and Axanar came into sight.
It was worse than anyone could have dreaded. The orbit above Axanar was a wreckage field of ships, far too many of them Starfleet vessels, though Klingon D6s, along with smaller craft, intermingled their parts as well. The Pharos station, Axanar Starport, was a gutted hulk, and Seleya and Denali fared little better, though they at least were still largely whole, hopefully salvageable as they tumbled through the debris field.
Above Axanar, 8 D7s, accompanied by 8 wounded D6s, sent disruptor shots and torpedoes lancing down to Axanar's surface, the planet now streaked with oranges and reds where the choking smoke allowed the flames to show through.
As the battle line of Excaliburs bored down on the massacring fleet, Kusanagi signaling that it would break off and begin rescue efforts on the most obvious lifesigns, they stopped firing on the planet, the D6s accelerating away from the D7s towards the oncoming ships. A pitiful attempt at shielding the more valuable cruisers.
"Fire a full spread of torpedoes, targeting two of the D6s," Hennefer said. "Full sweep of phasers as we fly past, then begin targeting the D7s."
The orders were followed even as the Klingons began to fire on them, the weight of a fleet nearly 6 times their number only able to do so much as the Excaliburs began to dance through the oncoming storm of torpedoes and disruptors, their torpedoes spilling out into the void and roaring towards their targets.
Four of the D6s immediately buckled under the weight of fire from the torpedoes, going up as their shields failed and the torpedoes struck reactors and main bodies. The others that managed to survive the torpedoes not standing up for long against the lances of phaser fire that burned through them.
The Excaliburs sped through the blooming fires of the D6s, but not without cost. The Curtana rocked from those shots that managed to connect. "Captain, shields at 45% functionality!" Sheridan shouted. "We can't take much more of this bombardment."
"Break the D7s apart!" Hennefer said. "We'll defeat them in detail!"
"Sir, signal from Captain Garth!" the comms officer said. "He's drawing off four of the D7s towards Kusanagi's position."
All on the bridge looked out at the sight of Garth's plan getting to work, the Tizona deftly halving the battle group and leading one portion slowly away from the planet. That left four to Curtana and Joyeuse. Not the hardest fight to win, but they had to be careful.
And so the battle began in earnest for them, a series of sweeping, deft maneuvers that the hardy, but slower vessels struggled to keep up with. But the D7s managed to get in their licks too, a pair of torpedoes on a lucky vector catching the Curtana amidships, the blow sending her crew nearly sprawling as alarms blared.
"Captain!" Sinclair said even as the ship's retribution cut one of the D7s she engaged in half, snapping its 'head' off its body. "Shields are down!"
"Pull back to a defensive position!" Hennefer said. "We'll dispatch this last one from range."
Before anyone else could speak, another alarm went off, this time from Lucky's station. "Transporter signals from the disabled D7!" Lucky said. "We have boarders on the ship!"
The word were punctuated by a thump coming from the lift doors onto the bridge. Phasers were pulled and aimed at the door, most crew backing away as a blade pierced the seam of the lift doors. Xavier stood beside Lucky as the man slipped his free hand into his scabbard and pulled out his honor claws, tightening a series of straps connected to his fingers and wrist as best he could with the phaser in his hand.
"How many of them are in there?" Hennefer asked, glancing over at Sheridan.
Sheridan dared a glance at her station. "It seems like… 6 of them?" she said. "I'm seeing others appear one by one. They're really starting to-"
Before she could finish, the doors were forced apart, black armored warriors with disruptors and blades of various shapes spilling onto the bridge with guttural shouts. In an instant, phaser pistols hissed and growled, laying low the first rank of Klingon warriors before disruptor fire forced them into whatever cover they could find.
The ship continued on as best it could, firing into the disabled ship with phasers to try and stop the tide of warriors that transported onto the ship. Xavier fired over and over into a group of warriors, seemingly only armed with melee weapons, trying to keep distance between them as one of the warriors he and Lucky shot at fell.
Unfortunately, he found himself backed against a wall as his mind began to rebel against him in the face of impending death. His time in xenolinguistics class kicked in as he noticed a particular word being said, over and over.
Sto'vo'kor.
Sto'vo'kor.
Was it the name of a general? An admiral? A god? A planet of some kind? Something of religious significance? If so, to aspire to or damn others with?
He didn't know. And an overwhelming amount of him braced for the possibility of finding out as he focused on a warrior seemingly utterly focused on him, raising a crescent-shaped blade high.
Then, an almost deafening roar snapped him back into focus as metal claws the length of swords buried themselves into the Klingon warrior's neck, nearly decapitating the being as he fell back with bright red, almost pink blood spilling out.
Lucky roared again, more warriors turning their attention to the sapient dinosaur that seemed to challenge them as Xavier slumped to a seat on the floor.
He couldn't help but watch for a moment as Lucky continued to duel with the Klingon warriors, the weapons-fire on the bridge dying down as these warriors began to flock to the brilliant Korusmian that seemed ready to engage then in close combat. Another class, this one from his high school days, meant that due to Mr. Kelsy's media literacy class being as… eccentric as it was, Lucky reminded him of a legend from old Earth monster films.
They had Godzilla on the bridge with them. And the Klingons seemed to love every second of it.
If nothing else, it allowed Cortez to get back to his station, the ship jumping back to life as the disabled D7 was finally destroyed, leaving the other D7 that had been their target, now with its aft turned to them as it harried the Joyeuse with the D7 that remained.
"Open fire!" Hennefer said as he shot the last of the Klingon boarders that had held back, Lucky dispatching the two that remained. "Let's give the bastard one last surprise."
Xavier could barely pay attention, his heart continuing to pound in his ears as everything seemed to assault his senses all at once. The blaring alarms, the stench of dead Klingons… the sight of Starfleet officers with great gaping wounds in them…
"Hey. Hey, Simon. Simon!"
Xavier blinked as he focused on Hennefer and Lucky. "Are… are we doing alright?"
"We have won the battle," Lucky said. "Are you harmed at all?"
Simon looked down at himself, and the Klingon blood that splattered across his uniform. "No," he said. "No, no, I'm fine. I'm fine. I guess… I should have expected the Klingons to do something like that."
"Breathe, Simon," Hennefer said. "You'll need to take a minute, probably."
He paused, his face becoming ashen. "We'll all need that, I think," he whispered.
Simon took a deep breath as he stood. "What about the rest of the ship?" he asked. "Sheridan…"
He faltered for a moment as he saw the sizzling stump of an arm she nursed. "Sheridan, any other boarders here?"
Sheridan turned to her station and started typing on it as best she could. "No more Klingon boarders aboard, sir," she said. "We're still getting death counts."
"Contact the medbay and have them start processing our ship's wounded and casualties," Hennefer said, walking past the bodies and his captains' chair to look at the burning planet.
"I have a feeling they're going to be much, much busier, soon," he said quietly.
. . .
Alfred Hennefer sat in his quarters, silent as he stared at the subspace comms screen, a drink in his hand. He hated how good it tasted. And how well it worked. And the fact that he hadn't even needed it before the war started.
The screen lit up, and Admiral Shevchuk, as it seemed to be every time he made a report, appeared on the screen.
"Captain Hennefer," she said. "We've gotten word on the battle at Axanar. I'm sorry for your losses."
"We stopped the Klingons from wiping out the planet," Hennefer replied with a sip of his drink. "How much that mattered…"
"I'm sorry you had to find out this way."
Hennefer blinked, his eyes narrowed at the stoic face on the other side of the screen. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"The price we pay to defend what we love," Shevchuk replied. "I wish I could have preserved your idealism. Your willingness to defend the Federation from itself. But we have to stay alive in order to do that."
It was silent for long moments, Hennefer taking a pull of his drink. "And you waited this long to… to what? Teach me?"
"You're an intelligent, capable young man," Shevchuk said sternly. "If I had to teach you this lesson, I would have drummed you out the moment I met you. But I don't need to. Because I know you can grow past this war. Channel it into becoming the best captain you can be."
"And how do you know that?"
Shevchuk smiled grimly. "Because I needed to do the same thing when we went through the Romulan War. And if a stubborn old bitch like me can manage it, you're going to do leagues better than I did."
Hennefer finally chuckled darkly. "Thank you for the vote of confidence."
"There is one thing that I want you to remember from me," Shevchuk said.
"That is?" Hennefer said with an arched brow.
"That it can get better," Shevchuk replied, her voice… strangely motherly. "No war lasts forever. And when it does end… we'll need idealists like you to keep us on the right course. People who believe in the Federation more than it sometimes believes in itself."
It was silent between them for the space of minutes, then Hennefer smiled slightly. "We'll see where my idealism is at by war's end, how about?"
Shevchuk returned the smile. "Probably in a better place than you might think."
Edit: Temporal Ripple J7-40-Sigma-Phi stabilized and accounted for.
