Promotions

Posted on Dec 29, 2017 @ 4:11pm by Captain Michael Turlogh Kane

Mission: Fear Itself

"PROMOTIONS"

(Continued from "My Curse And Companion")

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Captain's log, supplemental - we remain docked at Starbase 56, awaiting new orders from Starfleet...

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Location: USS Phoenix, docked at Starbase 56, edge of the Neutral Zone
Stardate: [2.17]1229.1200
Scene: Captain's ready room - Deck 1, saucer section


Michael Turlogh Kane gestured for Admiral Stiles to take a seat, and the bald black woman complied. Her visit to the Phoenix was somewhat of a surprise, given that she had simply turned up at the docking port and requested permission to come aboard. To be fair, Kane mused, he had managed to put as goodly dent into his PADD pile, and the ready room wasn't as much of a mess as it had been over the past few days.

He was anxious to find out why Admiral Stiles was visiting the ship, though, hoping that Starfleet had finally dispatched new orders. "Welcome aboard, Admiral," he said, sitting down opposite her. "You have news?"

Stiles smiled, and looked around his ready room like a real estate agent. "I wanted to get a look at the interior of the Phoenix before she ships out," she said, in a faux-coy manner.

Kane raised an eyebrow, keeping his expression straight while his heart jumped. "New orders?"

"Not quite yet, but I have a contact in Starfleet Command who says that they're imminent. Expect something in the next few days."

Kane nodded. It wasn't quite what he was looking for, but it was still something. "I'm sure the crew are ready for whatever Starfleet has in mind." He sighed. "And it will be good to for everyone to get out into the stars again. No offence, but the starbase is no pleasure planet."

Admiral Stiles chuckled. "Even starbase personnel take their shore leave on other shores." He looked at him sidelong. "My friend at Starfleet had other news. FedCom are making it public tonight, but word is spreading through the grapevine. The Federation has appointed its ambassador to Romulus."

Kane nodded. Praetor Radaik had issued the invitation at the conclusion of the Phoenix's mission to the Empire, asking the Federation to appoint an ambassador to negotiate a new peace treaty between the two powers. "Who is it?"

"Former President Sardak," Stiles said evenly. "They asked him last month. He thought about it, and accepted. He's organising his team, shipping out next week on the Demeter."

"Sardak." Kane nodded slowly. "He's an able politician."

"You've had prior contact with him, right?"

"Yes." Kane remembered that Sardak of Vulcan had been the former Federation Secretary of the Interior who was catapulted into the upper echelons of the Federation government when the Neo-Essentialists assassinated President Moray and most of his cabinet. As the last surviving legally-elected cabinet member of the old government, Sardak was hailed as President by the loyalist remnants of Starfleet that were massing at Elandipole. Following the defeat of the Neo-Essentialists and the restoration of the Federation, Sardak agreed to assume the office of President on a temporary basis only, given that the constitutionality of his accession was in question. He astonished the Federation by engineering a political move on the reconstituted Council to eject Earth from its permanent position on the Council - a move designed to curb Human political power in the Federation. Shortly after this act, Sardak resigned the Presidency, leaving the office vacant. Last Kane heard, Sardak had returned to Mount Seleya and resumed his studies of the kolinahr.

"As you say, he's an experienced and able politician," said Stiles. "I think his appointment will raise some eyebrows, given his attitude towards Humans, but that might be exactly why he was chosen. Shows the Romulans that we're not a Human-centric organisation."

"Let's hope that the Praetor sees that too," said Kane. "Delora Radaik is busy consolidating her power, and needs peace to do that. The Federation also needs to secure the Neutral Zone while you rebuild the fleet. It's win-win for both sides."

"Here's hoping." Admiral Stiles got to her feet. "Well, Captain Kane, how about a tour of your ship? I might not get another chance to have a look-see."

"Of course, Admiral." Kane put his game-face on and escorted her out onto the bridge. Now he was the one who felt like a real-estate agent.

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Scene: Exterior, space


The galaxy continued to turn, suns kept on birthing and dying. Starbase 56 hung in the void, the Federation's first defence along the Neutral Zone. The fleet that used the huge, mushroom-shaped structure was scattered among the stars.

The starship Columbia detached from the Starbase, angling on its axis and snapping into warp space, bound for picket duty along the Neutral Zone. A few minutes later, the starship Tempest arrived in a burst of light, moving at sublight to the docking port recently vacated by the Columbia.

The Phoenix remained at her own station, awaiting the word from on high.

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Scene: Captain's ready room, as before - deck 1, saucer section


Kane had given Admiral Stiles her tour and was back in his ready room, signing off on the various department reports. The ship was ready. All the senior officers reported a full complement of staff, everyone had their new duty shifts in place, and there was nothing to do now but wait.

He looked down the data stream of the PADD he was holding, grateful to have such a collection of officers under his command. Even when he ran over their reports with a critical eye, there was very little to complain about. All departments were being run to a very high standard of efficiency and professionalism, and every day that passed, those departments heads were gaining more and more experience at commanding others. One day, no doubt, they would all be commanding starships of their own. Maybe, he thought with a silent chuckle, he should start bragging to other fleet captains.

The door chimed. "Come in," he said.

When the doors hissed open, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was Ensign Stephanie Trimble, one of the two assistant chief science officers. Trimble was a tall, black-haired, pale-skinned Human woman in her forties. She hailed from the Pacific Northwest and had years of Starfleet experience. She had been on the Discovery under Kane's command when that ship had been on her exploration mission to the Beta Quadrant, back in - was it really fifteen years ago now? He realised it was, and he shuddered at the passage of time.

In all those years, though, neither he nor Trimble had ever been friends. She had always been one of those people in the background, a face and name that Kane recognised as he moved around the ship, but who he had very little contact with. She'd never come to his attention before.

He stood up. "Ensign Trimble," he said, realising that he was frowning and wondering why she was here.

"Captain Kane." Her tone of voice was curt, and her expression and body language indicated that she was unhappy about something.

Kane indicated the chair that Admiral Stiles had recently vacated. "Have a - "

"I'd prefer to stand, sir." Trimble stood rigidly. She was looking at the wall behind Kane, not at his face.

Trouble was brewing. "Alright." He pushed his seat into his desk, matching her stance. "What's this about?"

Trimble swallowed before speaking, like a gambler who was getting ready to roll the dice. "Captain, I would like to know why I was not considered for promotion to the position of Chief Science Officer aboard the Phoenix. I have almost twenty years of Starfleet experience, and almost four as assistant chief in the Science department. I was under the impression that either myself or Ensign Lahav would be chosen to become the next department head."

Kane frowned. "Where did you get that impression?"

Trimble seemed tongue-tied for a moment. "Standard procedure to promote one of the assistant chiefs, sir."

"Are you disputing the idea that Lieutenant Crow is a good choice for chief science officer?"

"No, Captain."

"And you are aware that Starfleet assigned Lieutenant Crow to the position, and that I did not choose her?"

"I am, Captain," she said evenly, "but you requested a new department head from Starfleet, and it was within your purview to override their selection and promote from within the crew, just as it was when Ensign Schad was assigned to the position."

Kane held up a hand. "Hold on a minute. It's also standard procedure to inform Starfleet of any department head vacancies. The fact that I chose not to promote from within the crew was not something that I deliberately chose not to do. I always just assumed that Starfleet would appoint - "

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Ensign Trimble, do not interrupt me when I am talking." Kane came around the desk to stand in front of her. He felt conflicted - he wanted to help her if he could, but he had never even considered promoting her or Lahav. Still, she had a point. "However, permission to speak freely is granted."

She finally turned her blue eyes on him. "Captain, our careers are stagnating aboard this ship. Have you realised that none of the department heads have been promoted in four years? People are talking below decks, sir. They say Starfleet isn't going to promote us, that they're going to send us on an exploration mission to get us out of the way. They say that the Phoenix is a political embarrassment now that the Neo-Essentialists have been defeated. That's why Malin-Argo and Crow were assigned here - Starfleet is curbing our careers and bringing in their own people. Eventually, we'll all be forced out."

Kane shook his head, a pained expression on his face. "That's nonsense. Lieutenants Von, Vukovic, and Yu were all assigned by Starfleet. Whoever you're listening to down there is talking shite." He held up a finger to her. "If you're disappointed about being passed over for promotion, then feel free to apply for a transfer off the ship. Furthermore, by even bringing this to me you're dangerously close to insubordination. Commander Crichton handles all personnel matters aboard the Phoenix - by going over his head, you've undermined his position in a way I'm not happy with."

"With respect, Captain, I'm not disappointed at being passed over, I'm disappointed at not being given the chance."

Kane was silent for a moment. He turned his back on her and walked over to the viewport, where the vast bulk of Starbase 56 hung in the long night. "I don't know what to tell you, Ensign. Lieutenant Crow's appointment as chief science officer stands. I'll give what you said some thought. That's the best I can do."

He heard her snap to attention, heard her voice laced with bitterness. "Understood, Captain. May I go?"

"Dismissed." Still looking out at the black, Kane heard her turn and go, heard the door hiss open and closed like a mischievous heckler.

Did Stephanie Trimble have a point? Surely not, he thought. He tried to burn the seed that she had planted, but it was difficult. Malin-Argo was known to be on the path to an admiral's rank pips, and Karrington Crow was a famous field researcher. He tried to see it from Stephanie's point of view, but for the life of him, he couldn't see what nefarious end could be gained by appointing either Malin-Argo or Crow - they were both exemplary officers simply doing their duty. Whatever rumblings that were going on below decks were surely just rumours, given legs by boredom and a lack of work. Still, what she had said was true - there had been no department head promotions aboard the Phoenix since she launched. Whether there someone at Starfleet who could give him an answer as to why that was so, he didn't know.

There wasn't anything he could do, at least for now. Kane turned back to his desk, grateful that he had a room to himself and didn't have to hear the rumour mill chattering in the background. He could only hope that morale would remain high through the upcoming mission, wherever and whatever it was - maybe work would throw a spanner in the works of the rumour mill, and everyone could get refocused.

He sighed and got back to work.

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NRPG: Moar developments...


Jerome McKee
the Soul of Captain Michael Turlogh Kane
Commanding Officer
USS PHOENIX


"He speaks an infinite deal of nothing!"
- Shakespeare's "The Merchant of Venice", Act 1, Scene 1.117

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