accident, and two of the vessels collided, killing the
pilots. Tom had risked his ship to prevent the mishap, but
to no avail. Admiral Paris was pale and grave the next day
when she entered the conference room where the review was
to be held. She went immediately to him. "I'm so sorry
about the accident, sir," she said. "It must have been hard
on Tom."
Paris nodded. "It's always difficult to lose people under
your commandI'm afraid you'll find that out eventually-but
it's one of the risks. Tom did his best, but sometimes
these things happen. He'll have to work through it, but in
the long run it will toughen him."
Kathryn nodded and then turned to stand at attention as
two other admirals entered. She was pleased to see that one
was Admiral Finnegan, whom she'd met so long ago on her
first trip to Mars, and with whom she'd had dinner the
night before her father and Justin were killed. "Good to
see you, Captain Janeway,"
said Finnegan. "Of course you know Admiral Paris, and this
is Admiral Necheyev."
Kathryn nodded to a trim, blond woman with sharp features
and piercing eyes. The woman exuded authority without
effort, a fact Kathryn found herself admiring; she wondered
if she projected that same easy confidence, and feared she
didn't. On this, her first command, she'd often felt she
had to work at being authoritative.
"We're just waiting for the tactical officer,"
continued Finnegan. He was going over some last-minute
figures." This remark puzzled Kathryn. Last-minute figures?
Regarding tactical operations? Why would there be any issue
with that part of the mission?
As her mind raced with these questions, the door opened
and a man walked in. He was a dark Vulcan, and didn't
appear to be a young person; yet he held the rank of
ensign. Admiral Finnegan turned to him genially. "Captain
Janeway, may I present Ensign Tuvok."
Kathryn extended her hand and felt it taken firmly by the
Vulcan. His eyes were dark, and seemed to Kathryn to be
opaque: they were not a window to his soul so much as a
barrier to it. He was erect and formal, his voice a deep
and fulsome baritone.
"Captain," he acknowledged simply, then set a stack of
padds on the table.
Admiral Finnegan called the review to order, made a few
complimentary remarks about Kathryn, then turned to Tuvok.
"The bulk of the review involves Mr. Tuvok's area of
expertise, so I'll turn the proceedings over to him."
Kathryn was puzzled-what was going on here?
Tuvok began to speak, and in a few minutes her cheeks were
flaming and her heart thudding in her chest: she was
furious. She worked to control her temper as the Vulcan's
rich voice droned on and on. "dis . . and tactical logs
indicate that there were no test firings, no battle drills,
and only two weapons reviews during the mission. All told,
there are exactly forty-three violations of tactical
procedures, ranging from the minor to those I would
consider significant."
With that pronouncement he set down his last padd and
folded his hands in front of him, solemnly regarding her. A
deep hush had fallen on the room, and Kathryn realized she
was going to have to defend herself. Admiral Finnegan
turned to her, and though his voice was quiet, it held no
hint of pliability. "You may feel free to answer the
charges, Captain." Kathryn took a moment to compose
herself, then stood. "Sir, I was raised in the traditions
of Starfleet. I learned the precepts of this organization
at an early age; I admire and honor them." She paused,
looking from one to the other, but studiously ignoring
Tuvok the Vulcan. "It has always been clear to me that
Starfleet is first and foremost an institution which is
dedicated to exploration and investigation. Its primary
responsibilities are the acquisition of knowledge, the
seeking out of new worlds, and the establishment of cordial
relations with other species.
"Those tasks represent the mandate we have created-a
mandate which is both positive and powerful." She looked
directly at Admiral Finnegan. "This is not, strictly
speaking, a military organization. It functions as such
only when there is a need for self-defense. The military
aspects of Starfleet-its command structure and
nomenclature, for example-are in place primarily as a
framework within which its members can function according
to clearly established guidelines."
Now she turned directly to Tuvok, looked him square in
those shielded eyes of his, and drilled into him. "Tactical
functions, weapons checks, battle drills-those are
activities I consider low-priority. As long as I am assured
that we are at the ready in case of attack, I see no need
to spend large amounts of time drilling the crew in the
mechanics of war. I am satisfied that the weapons systems
and the crew were ready for any eventuality, and as such,
that I fulfilled the tactical requirements adequately."
She and the Vulcan held a look for a long, quiet beat, and
then she turned to Admiral Finnegan. His face was devoid of
expression. He turned to Tuvok. "Any comment, Ensign?" he
asked mildly.
Now Tuvok stood, but Kathryn didn't sit back down. They
faced each other at opposite ends of a table, like
combatants squaring off in a gladiatorial ring. Kathryn's
heart was still hammering, but Tuvok was utterly composed.
He might as well have been ordering dinner. She'd never
understood Vulcans, never comprehended their icy reserve,
never really trusted the capacities of those who eschewed
emotion. Her humiliating tennis defeat years ago at the
hands of Shalarik suddenly enveloped her, reopening old
wounds. She was gripped with the determination that she
mustn't fail this time; this Vulcan could not best her.
"The captain's idealism is admirable, of course," he
intoned. "However, that very structure of which she speaks
is an absolutely essential component of a smoothly
functioning organization.
Regulations do not exist in a vacuum; they are in place for
specific and legitimate purposes.
Starfleet Command has set the rules and I am certain they
did not do so frivolously. We must assume that regulations
are established for the most definitive of reasons."
And now it was his turn to look Kathryn in the eye. "If it
is left to the individual to decide which rules are to be
followed, and on what schedule, then the rules cease to
have meaning. The only possible result is anarchy. The
smooth functioning that Captain Janeway speaks of so
eloquently does not come spontaneously; it comes at a cost
and that cost must be paid." Kathryn felt the eyes of the
three admirals on her. "Anything else, Captain?" queried
Finnegan. She took a breath and, still staring at Tuvok,
rebutted. "By its nature, the captaincy of a ship on a
deep-space mission requires flexible discretionary powers.
A captain must be able to confront unexpected circumstances
and have enough leeway to respond appropriately. Slavish
adherence to rules can undermine the very individuality
that has made the finest of Starfleet officers so
outstanding. Again-if the safety of the ship and crew is
not compromised, surely I have the latitude to apportion
time as I see fit." There was a long silence which neither
Kathryn nor Tuvok tried to fill. Admiral Finnegan sat back
in his chair. "If neither of you has anything more, you're
excused while we confer. Please wait in the corridor."
Kathryn and Tuvok nodded, then turned to exit. She could
feel her adrenaline pumping, fueled by anger and
determination. They took seats on opposite sides of the
corridor; Kathryn felt a lock of hair fall across her eye
and she jerked it back.
Damn her hair! She had to find a style that wouldn't betray
her, something that was neat, and professional. The
irrationality of worrying about her hair at a time like
this suddenly struck her, and she heard herself chuckle
aloud. Tuvok looked up at her. "Captain?" he queried
politely.
"Nothing," she retorted. She wasn't about to tell this
arrogant Vulcan about her problems with her hair. She was
sure he would find it utterly capricious that the subject
would enter her mind at this moment. But apparently he
didn't need her help in commenting on the human condition.
"It is intriguing to me," he intoned, "that humans so often
use that term to indicate its exact opposite."
"I beg your pardon?"
"At the very moment when there is clearly "something'
of some import affecting the individual, he or she will say
that "nothing' is bothering them. I am curious as to why
that would be."
Irritation was added to the other emotions Kathryn was
experiencing. "It's a way of protecting our privacy. I
don't necessarily want to share my innermost thoughts just
because someone wants to know what they are." Her voice
sounded harsh, even to herself.
But Tuvok merely reflected on her statement, then finally
nodded. "I see. Thank you, Captain.
That does clarify the matter." His manner was mild and
thoughtful, and Kathryn thought she had never encountered
anyone so annoying.
The door opened and Admiral Paris stood there, beckoning
to them. "You can come in now," he said. They returned to
their seats, not making eye contact as Admiral Finnegan
spoke.
"You are both eloquent and persuasive speakers," he began.
"We all thought we'd enjoy hearing you engaged in formal
debate." He smiled slightly at the prospect and the other
admirals followed suit. "However, our purpose today is not
to assess debating skills." He turned to Kathryn. "Captain,
you completed your first mission in fine style, and I'm
entering a commendation from Admiral Paris into your
record; he feels the pulsar data you compiled is of extreme
value."
"Thank you, sir."
"You show all the potential to become an able captain,
indeed. However, Mr. Tuvok here is quite right in his
insistence that tactical regulations not be ignored because
of your interpretation of Starfleet's charter. From now on,
you're to stick to the rules."
"Yes, sir." Kathryn was stung by the rebuke, but swallowed
her feelings. "However, we had a thought which might serve
everyone's best interests. We've been looking for a
suitable post for Ensign Tuvok, who is eager to return to
deep space. We've decided to assign him to your ship to
serve as tactical officer on your next mission."
Kathryn couldn't believe what she was hearing. This
imperious, condescending man on her bridge? This
stickler for rules on her senior stall? What could Admiral
Finnegan be thinking?
"We think you might balance each other well."
He looked at Kathryn and his merry eyes crinkled at the
edges. "And you'd be sure your tactical drills would never
go undone." He paused, then looked at them both.
"Well? What do you think?"
"I would be honored to accept such a post," said Tuvok
immediately. Kathryn felt Finnegan's gaze shift to her.
"I'd like some time to think it over, sir," she replied.
The admiral nodded genially. "Take all the time you'd
like, Captain. But realize-this decision has been made."
The three admirals gazed implacably at her and she felt
the blood rise to her face. "I see. Yes, sir. Thank you,
sir. May we be excused now?" Finnegan nodded, and she
turned on her heel and walked out of the room, back erect.
They could force this annoying officer on her, but they
couldn't make her like him, or treat him with anything
other than the disdain with which he treated her. With any
luck, after this one mission everyone would realize the
pairing was a dreadful mistake and Tuvok would be sent off
to serve on a ship that was commanded by a Vulcan-someone
who would believe his imperiousness to be an asset. Because
she certainly never would.
ALL THE BRIDGE CREW STARED IN
ASTONISHMENT AT THE viewscreen, watching as the brown cloud
rose from the planet, all but obscuring it from view. It
was densely thick, a solid mass of undulating matter that
spread relentlessly from the planet's surface, through the
atmosphere, and into space, toward the two ships now poised
in anticipation, their own conflict forgotten for the
moment.
"Captain," whispered Trakis, voice hoarse with anxiety,
"you must go. Now. Quickly. They'll overwhelm the ship.
They emit a caustic substance which will gradually
neutralize your shields and then eat through your hull.
They'll be inside the ship in an hour and they'll kill
everything that moves."
As she watched the approach of the brown sludge, Janeway
was tempted to agree. There was something almost unbearably
ominous about this vast aggregate. Her ship was in peril.