Noonday Sun 8

Dan Fallon sat, very stiff and formal, in the command chair, reviewing the Tempest's status on the tactical display. The science vessel was riding at station-keeping some kilometres below the bulk of the Joint Command spire; two kilometres to starboard, the Tapiola was floating freely, and beyond her, the bright-gleaming shape of the Timor. Fallon checked his ship's systems, but it was purely a formality. Tempest was fully fuelled and provisioned, all readouts were green... ready to go.

"Commander Brinkman," he said, "signal to flag: ready to proceed at your order."

"Aye, aye, sir." John Brinkman turned to the comms console. He looked rather like an older version of Fallon himself; tall, craggy-featured, balding. "Transmitting to Tapiola and Joint Command now... acknowledgements received."

"Very well," said Fallon. "Maintain readiness."

"So," Tom Kowalski spoke up from the helm, "are we just waiting on prissy kitty now, or what?"

Fallon's mouth twitched. "Admiral M'eioi remains a senior officer," he said mildly.

"Science division," Kurt Hoffman chimed in from the ops station. The two younger men always seemed to take each others' part, Fallon reflected. "Probably spent her career analysing gas clouds and counting asteroids."

"I reviewed her personnel file," Fallon said in the same mild tones. "She's seen action. She was promoted after the Undine incursion, and she was plenty busy before that. She and Admiral T'Pia were both at the defence of Andoria against the Hegemony."

"Running tachyon readings for cloaked Roms," said Hoffman dismissively. "I've read all the files on that action."

"Which reminds me," said Fallon. "Get me the latest meteorology readings from Joint Command, will you, Mr. Hoffman?"

Hoffman raised his eyebrows, but complied at once. He stood, crossed the bridge to an unmanned console, and reached for the control panel to tap in commands -

A bolt of golden light seared past him, striking the panel, and he jumped back. "Hey!" Another phaser beam streaked past his head, close enough that his fine blond hair lifted in the static discharge. "What the -?" He turned to face Fallon, his fair-skinned face flushing red.

Fallon slipped the phaser back into his belt. "Not so easy, is it," he said, "taking readings under fire?"

Hoffman gaped at him for a moment. Then his expression changed to a rueful, awkward smile. "Point taken, sir." He hesitated for a moment, hovering by the console. "Do you... um... still need those met reports...?"

"Take your station, Mr. Hoffman," said Fallon. "We'll worry about the weather later." The door to the bridge hissed open, and a security team burst in, weapons ready. "Stand down," said Fallon. "Just a little... exercise, that's all."

The security lieutenant stared for an instant, then holstered his weapon, saluted smartly, and led his team back through the door. Fallon swept the bridge with his gaze. "Admirals T'Pia and M'eioi," he said, "may have the wrong ideas about fighting the Voth. But they are still Starfleet officers, and senior, experienced officers at that, and you will accord them the same respect that you do me. Are we clear on this?"

There was a muttered chorus of assent. Fallon unbent slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. "However, if we get a chance to show them how it's done, properly, we'll take it. Mr. MacAndrew. Any more details on our destination?"

"Joint Command has nothing we don't already know, sir." Allan MacAndrew, Fallon's exec, was a slightly-built man with a sharp foxy face and tightly curling dark hair. "I'm concerned about this, sir. It's pretty much certain that the spire we're investigating is the source of the readings we've been tracking -"

"Well," said Fallon, "someone else was bound to notice it, eventually."

"We'll lose our ace in the hole, sir."

"Then we'll just have to find ourselves a new one," said Fallon. "We can do that."

"Technically, sir," a new voice spoke up, "the anomalous readings and the correlations with sphere activity should have been reported to Joint Command as soon as we detected them."

Fallon turned his head to look at the speaker. She was shaped like a woman, but the too-smooth skin, the impossibly white hair, the blank metal eyeballs, all betrayed her artificial origin. "Technically, you're correct, Pearl," said Fallon. "Duly noted." He turned back to the main screen.

The android looked for a moment as if she were going to say some more, but just then Brinkman spoke. "Sir, I'm receiving data transmissions from Tapiola - departure vector and course details, transferring to helm now - and Admiral T'Pia has obtained clearances from traffic control, we have an immediate outbound slot -"

Fallon allowed himself another thin smile. "The one good thing about this situation," he said, "is that T'Pia has to do all the wrangling with the bureaucrats. Mr. Kowalski. Course details check out?" Kowalski nodded. "Very well, then. Engage."