Command Destiny

The stars sang to him.  Standing on a dark mountaintop in the night, alone with the sky, he absorbed their flicker through the medium of air, space and distance, wind blowing cold into his eyes, delivering a sweet fragrance to his soul.  They twinkled, dancing pinpricks of beautiful promise.  The stars.  Nothing in the universe compared to just opening up and letting them in... the energy of thousands of suns, charging his soul, sharp and electric – the hint of other places, hives of activity he was missing.

The stars made him high.  They lifted him up – to a plateau no one in the world could feel and appreciate as uniquely he.  He was the only one of his self, in all of existence.  There was only one Stephen April... former captain of the United Federation Starship Arcadia – now a Starfleet command admiral.

He had traveled them.  To them.  Around them.  Between them.  He had touched the stars – closely and more intimately than another human mind could comprehend.  He had experienced the stars.  His body ached for them.  The heavens were his heaven.

And he was down here, on Earth, away from them.

The emotion was too powerful to contain.  Head back, face lifted to the kingdom of the universe, his body wept, pushing tears from the corners of his eyes.  Nothing else in this universe mattered to him, more than the stars.  They were all that mattered.  He was made to be out there, in the celestial firmament.  And there was only one way for him to return.

"Yes, Cadie," he whispered.  She had asked him a question on her last visit, by subspace transference.  He knew what she wanted him to say – what she wanted to hear him say.  He had refused to give her the answer she wanted, and knew he wanted to give.  He had to be responsible.  He had accepted the promotion to admiral.  That was his job now – being an admiral.  Not being in command of a starship, but being responsible for dozens of starships, and fleet operations.  It was a great responsibility, and he could not give it up.

...Just to be true to himself.

To be true to himself.

What was I thinking?  The question ran over and over in his mind.  What, indeed, had he been thinking, accepting promotion?  He tried to think of a sensible answer, and couldn't.  It seemed the right thing to do at the time.  Must have been a trick the mind played, as one got older.  He didn't know.  He had erred.  Strayed.  Everyone made mistakes.  Should he compound one mistake with another, trying to live a life which was the result of a wrong decision?

He knew where he belonged.  He knew what his answer had to be, and should have been, from the start.

"I never thought I'd be thanking someone for demoting me," Jordan Rampart started, "but—"

"You aren't being demoted," Stephen April said, causing Rampart to stop.  "You'll remain captain.  Just second in command."

Standing in the ready room – he couldn't bring himself to sit at the desk, in April's presence – Rampart blinked, and closed his mouth, unable to hide his surprise.  "I don't think is the first time someone's done something like this... in Starfleet, I mean... but it sure feels like it."

April shrugged.  "It's not so unusual.  I chief the Exploratory Division.  I get to choose my own personal flagship – one of the perks of being an admiral.  With modern communications, I don't have to stay on Earth or in Federation space.  I can still do the job.  I'll just do it here."  The former captain, and once again commanding officer of the Arcadia, crossed his arms, scrutinizing Rampart. "Jordan... are you sure you're okay with this?  I'm not trying to pull the rug from under your feet.  I can get you another ship."

"Absolutely, Admiral.  To be honest... I was happier being exec.  Just like heading the Cadre... I'm made for away team duty.  I think it's safe to say, you're made to command this ship.  I've never really felt cut out for it, on a permanent basis.  To me, I was simply keeping the center seat warm for you.  After getting to know the people here for the past two months, listening between the lines, I think they'd agree – and they'll feel better having you back."  Rampart grinned.  "I guess that's my first piece of first officer-ly advice."

April extended an arm.  The men shook hands.  "Splendid.  Thank you, Jordan."

Sinking into the Arcadia's command chair again... for the first time in what felt like eternity... Stephen April's eyes rolled back into his head.  His eyelids fell shut.  A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as a look of near ecstasy crossed his face.  He gripped the arms of the chair, and let out a long, slow sigh.  It felt luxurious.

"Home again," he whispered.  "At last..."

Opening his eyes, he noticed the bridge crew... his crew, again... faces turned, watching.  Some, who did not fathom the emotion, regarded him strangely.  Others grinned or smiled knowingly, and went back to their work.

April tugged on his uniform jacket and looked to the first officer's chair.  Simone Berkowitz, manning the bridge watch, sat there.  Rampart was on the off-duty shift.  Berkowitz had been Rampart's provisional XO.  Apparently she bared no ill will for being knocked down a peg, thanks to April making Rampart essentially the ship's XO instead.  Berkowitz, too, had gotten to know April before he left.  She regarded him for a moment, sharing in the pleasure of his private moment with a curious smile, then handed him a PADD.

April took it, looked at it.  It was blank.  He looked at Berkowitz.

"Normally there'd be mission orders on there," the woman said, "but since you're back in command, sir... and our orders come from you... maybe you'd like to fill it in."  She shifted in the chair, draping one leg over the other.  "Where would you like to go, sir?"

April looked at the viewscreen.  And smiled the biggest smile of his life.

"Mala."

Mala Hendriksson turned towards him, in the helm chair.