Old Friends and Celebrations

Posted on Sun Jan 16th, 2022 @ 2:32am by Captain Temperance Harding

Mission: Shoreleave
Location: Starbase 48 | Club Nova

ON

The glass panelled double doors parted as Harding stepped into the main lounge of Club Nova - an off duty bar for those of Commander rank and above. She had changed out of the standard uniform, and opted for the leather flight jacket of her last squadron. The embroidered command wings badge were above her old call-sign - Panther.

The lounge was about half full, mostly sat around tables, a low-level background noise of conversation. Approaching the circular bar in the centre of the main room, Harding got the bartenders attention and ordered a beer. It was a rare occasion that she had anything more serious than tea, but spending the morning in the Intelligence department, then the rest of the day with the Operations staff planning for the mission ahead, Harding definitely wanted to relax with a drink.

She stayed at the bar, enjoying the atmosphere of the place - given the seniority of the clientele, it was subdued, but relaxed. The drink was almost half gone when her reverie was interrupted.

"Hey Temp."

The accent alone would have tipped her off, even if the nickname hadn't. Only one man who could be in the bar called her 'Temp'.

Turning, Harding came face to face with the man who had taught her everything about command. "Dmitri!" She threw her arms around the man in a quick, but sincere hug. Dmitri Markov, captain of the Ark Royal. He had seen her through a brief training cruise, letting her get a feel for starship command.

It had been more than that though, she knew. He had let her run the ship, give the orders. Watching everything she did, evaluating her. Always ready to step in if she fucked something up royally. Even then, anything that was "Eyes-Only" to the Captain was for her as well.

He had been the one to give her the news of her assessment. Give her the news of her promotion, and her assignment to the Endeavour. It was good to see him again.

With a fresh couple of drinks, the pair had headed to an empty table. Friends, colleagues. They sat and chatted. Catching up on the recent endeavours of their respective ships. Dmitri, as it turned out, had been pulled off the standard supply runs that the Steamrunner-class ships were known for, and was instead on more regular escort missions, relief operations, and patrol routes.

"Are things as bad as they seem, Temp?" Dmitri asked, after she had recounted her own recent activities.

"It definitely looks organised." She responded with a sigh, looking down into her drink. "Someone is behind this. I've been tasked to find out what exactly is going on. Captain Holbrook - the Admiral's Chief of Staff - has cut me loose from standard Fleet ops. I report directly to her."

His eyebrows went up at that. It took no small feat to take a cruiser - a Cruiser/Carrier combination - out of the regular formation. "And you have a plan?" He knew her well enough. She didn't dive into something head-first.

"I think... I suspect, that is, the Lembatta Nebula. I think they;re hold up in there. I wanna move in with the Squadron. I'm getting the birds set up with sensing equipment. Sweep in, with the Endurance coming in behind. I wanna hit the centre of the Nebula."

"Dangerous place." Dmitri countered. "I hear that cloud pumps out some serous radiation." He had always steered no less than 0.5 lightyears of the Nebula when his routing went past it.

"I got a meeting with my doc to figure that part out." Harding herself wasn't fond of the idea, but nobody said command was easy. Commanding Officers weren't picked for their skill at playing things safe. They were chosen to make the hard call.

Dmitri nodded. "You're covering your bases. Good." He would never fully be able to step out of the role of supervisor, instructor, evaluating officer. Sometimes it had its upside. "Met with the woman myself earlier." His voice was casual. Too casual.

Harding eyed him. She knew that voice. He was hiding something. He was a terrible card player. "Dmitri Markov. You never were good at keeping a secret when you wanted to spill. What's up?"

Shaking his head, he reached into the pocket of his pants. "I asked if I could do this myself. Took almost twenty miutes, but she finally relented." He pulled a small object out, and set it on the table, his hand covering it.

Harding gave him a confused expression. Even more so when he set a small box on the table. About the size of a ring box, she saw. The frown deepened. They were friends, sure, but not THAT close. Certainly not if Holbrook was involved. "What are you giving me?" She asked, a hand slowly reaching out for the box.

He just watched her. Waiting. Her fingers closed around the box, lifted it, and flicked the lid open. Her gasp was barely audible. Merely an intake of breath that caught in her throat.

"Paperwork is waiting for you on the ship." He said, answering her expression. "Signed and filed with personnel."

Harding didn't know what to say. In the black felt box, lined with velvet, a gold pip was set. An exact duplicate to the three she already had. Her eyes moved up to meet his. "I..." Her words failed her.

Dmitri grinned. "Yup, I know that feeling. You don't forget how it feels. Trust me." He waved for a passing waiter, "Time for some champagne."

---

"Zero-Seven-Hundred-Hours." The voice of the computer chimed, without any emotion whatsoever. That was even more perverse, Harding thought as she stirred. The soft music that begin playing - her own personal preference - to aid in preventing her from falling back to sleep.

The standard issue sheets thrown aside, Harding rolled ungainly into a sitting position. "Computer. One tea, regular. One black coffee."

The replicator built into the wall of her quarters came to live, and a tray was found there, with both drinks set atop it. Harding rose to her feet, padding her way across the carpet to retrieve the morning drinks. Even as Dmitri yawmed loudly, announcing his awakening. "What on earth are you listening to?" He asked, sitting up and taking the coffee.

"Dinner piano." Harding answered, sitting on the bed now dressed into a soft, navy blue robe. "Less obnoxious than any computer generated alarm. Besides, my cabin, my rules."

"Aye aye, Captain." Dmitri replied with a grin, raising his mug.

Captain. Harding thought to herself, and she took a sip of her tea. She had already been a captain for some time now. Master of a ship brought with it the title. The title was not the same as the rank. She was now, officially, a Starfleet Captain. On or off the ship, she held the O-6 grade.

Dmitri reached out a hand, brushing some of her hair back.

Harding looked at him, and smiled. A fellow Captain. Her friend. Her... lover? She let the smile linger for a moment, showing him her thoughts were not regret. She leaned towards him, giving him a quick, soft kiss. "You should get dressed. I have work to do." Even as she said that, Harding moved to the dressing table, pulling out a clean uniform. She had to see the doctor, and make sure that the Squadron was getting equipped properly.

OFF



CAPT Dmitri Markov
Commanding Officer
USS Ark Royal