I stand ramrod-straight at attention before the desk, fighting nerves. Even so, my tail switches, every so often, as the adrenaline rushes into my blood.
Admiral Quinn looks at me, then looks down at his PADD, then raises his eyes to me again. "Understand," he says, "my doubts have nothing to do with you, personally. Your service record is... exemplary."
"Thank you, sir!" I can't restrain myself from saying it.
"And you have Admiral T'Pia's recommendation... and what I've seen of you, myself, makes me sure it's justified. I just wish -" Starfleet's Director of Operations leans back in his chair and sighs.
"It's been bothering me for a long time," he says. "The pace of things.... We bring you on so fast, all of you. I know, you're the best, and the situations we face need people like you, but..." He shakes his head. "I just wish you had more time. For your own sake, not ours."
He straightens up and sits erect in his chair, dominating his office, his burly body framed by the star map behind him on the wall. "We face multiple challenges on many fronts. We need talented, effective people to meet those challenges - and they need the authority, the rank, to command the resources they must use. You will be operating in the Delta Quadrant, a very long way from Starfleet Command. You will be, not just a Starfleet officer, but an emissary of the Federation itself. You will need to rely on your own judgment, to make decisions on the fly that could affect policy at high levels for decades to come." His face turns sombre. "And even the best of us don't always get those decisions right. We're still dealing with some of the consequences of Voyager's journey home...."
"I will do the best I can, sir," I say. "I promise you that."
"I know," Quinn says, almost gently, "I know." He puts his hand to the PADD, types in a code, presses his thumb down for a biometric confirmation. "Very well. Congratulations, Admiral M'eioi."
"Thank you, sir!" Once, there would have been ceremonies, speeches. Now, it's just a matter of a code on Quinn's PADD. But the ceremonies don't matter. What counts is -
I will be out there. In the Delta Quadrant, at the cutting edge of Starfleet. I will have my ship, my crew, and together we will meet those challenges Quinn speaks of. In the old days, a ship's captain had that level of authority, of autonomy. Now, you need flag rank. And I have it. And that's what counts.
"Will you be taking your current ship?" Quinn asks.
"The Timor is one of the newest and best in Starfleet, sir," I say. "She's up to the job."
Quinn nods. His mood is pensive again. "Those Dauntless-class ships - well, Starfleet Corps of Engineers and the Experimental Engineering Division have both given them the all-clear. But they don't have a long service record, yet." His gaze sharpens, lights on me. "But, then, you'll fix that, won't you? Carry on, Admiral."
I salute again. "Yes, sir!"
---
Outside Quinn's office, Rraak is working on a data terminal. He grins at me and waves a friendly paw. "Hey, there, farm girl."
"That's Admiral farm girl now." I grin back at him. A humble ensign probably shouldn't be that familiar with a full Admiral - but Rraak and I were contemporaries at the Academy, both of us Caitian, both from low-class backgrounds, struggling to cope with new cultures, new lives -
Rraak always wanted a quiet life. It's why he's still an ensign. I wanted excitement. Of course, I got what I wanted, and he didn't, because, well, we live in those sorts of times....
"Congratulations." He means it. Rraak is a nice guy. "So, heading out into the big black?"
"Soon as I can." I smile slyly. "Want to come along? I can fix it."
Rraak's tail switches nervously. "Well, you know, I would, but there's, like, energy output figures for the auxiliary powerplants, and those won't process themselves, so -"
"Aww. OK, buddy. I won't take you away from the important work." And we both laugh. "I'd better get going, though. There's a million and one things to do. See you, next time I'm this side of the galaxy?"
"I'll look forward to that. Good luck, Admiral!"
And I head off round the curving corridor at a brisk trot, looking back to give Rraak a last cheery wave -
- and almost colliding with someone heading in the other direction. "Whoops!" I say. "Sorry -"
"'s OK," says a rasping voice. "They reckon it's good luck if a black cat crosses your path, anyway."
The person I've just barely missed is a human woman, very thin, very pale, with dark spiky hair and a patch over her left eye. She is wearing the uniform of a full Admiral in Tactical division, and leaning on a cane. Her one brown eye studies me intently. There are scars on her head, her face, and there are other things - Borg implants, fused with her skull -
"Admiral Grau!" And I snap to attention and salute again.
"Oh, hell, call me Ronnie, everyone does." She continues to study me. "I know you, don't I? Don't remind me... I've got a head like a sieve since they took my implants out." She taps the side of her head. "Not, y'know, literally. They filled in all the holes. With cement, I think. Got it. M'eioi. You were at Andoria, right? Riding shotgun with T'Pia's science flotilla."
"Yes, sir. I -" I stop. I can't think of what to say next. We were both there, at the desperate defence of Andoria against the renegades from the Hegemony of Bresar. And I saw how she fought, there.
"Well," she says, "T'Pia obviously rates you, and after what happened to me, I rate T'Pia, so, hey, welcome to the put-upon flag officers' club, furball." She snaps the skeletal fingers of her free hand. "Actually, come to think of it, I was supposed to look for you anyway. You're heading out to the Delta Quadrant, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Call me Ronnie. Hell, I can make that an order. I got seniority. I've always got seniority." Ronnie Grau's career in Starfleet started nearly two and a half centuries ago, thanks to the temporal anomaly called the Stygmalian Rift. "Anyway, yeah. Let me grab a terminal -" She shuffles over to a wall terminal, leaning heavily on her cane. She has clearly not fully recovered from her injuries during the Siohonin invasion.
"Damn scut work. Sooner the docs clear me, and I get off ESD, the better.... Delta Quadrant," she mutters, as the virtual display engages. "M'eioi... right. It's wild and woolly territory out there, you need all the help you can get. I'm clearing you for some friendly contacts. Like, we've got what they call an irregular asset in place...."
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