Up Your Brass

"And you have no idea what this is about?" April said to the face on his screen, the inquiry still playing in his mind.  Getting a slap on the wrist would not make a lot of people happy, especially the families of those killed on Vor'ok Nir – some by his hands.  Admiral Williams he knew; Admiral Anastasia Carrera he did not.  Williams' son, MCPO Williams, was a member of the Arc security department.  Carrera might have had relatives on Vor'ok Nir; or this might simply be another matter.  T'Urla had promised a set of new orders forthcoming.  Perhaps this was the avenue for receiving them.

Lieutenant Rennab, attached to Admiral Williams' office, shook his head.  "That I do not, sir."  He'd just concluded relaying the admiral's request to meet with April... and 'request' was being kind.  Simply put, Williams wanted him in there yesterday.  The fact that his son was the unfortunate recipient of a poorly aimed phaser blast from a fellow crewmate recently might have had something to do with it.

"Inform the admiral I'll be there shortly.  April out."  Rennab gave a nod and the screen blanked.  He thought to check ship's status first – from reports, the crew was slacking and things had gotten severely out of hand, and April had yet to meet any of the new officers. But after T'Urla's warning, crossing Command right away by making them wait (with orders to come at once) would not look good.

He tapped the terminal intercom.  "Commander Wayne."  A moment later Wayne's face appeared.  He looked miserable.  "Headaches still bothering you, Andrew?"

"Nothing a little rest can't cure," Wayne replied.  "I hope."

April pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly.  "Go see Dr. Brisk; get it taken care of."

"I'm sure it's just stress, Captain."

"Maybe, but Tabatha knows how to relieve stress."  And without bedding a fellow officer, he thought, but didn't say it.  "Don't make it an order, Commander."

"Yes, sir."

"I have a meeting to attend in San Francisco.  I should return shortly.  If you aren't well enough, put Jallez in charge until I get back."

"Understood."

April nodded and closed the terminal.  Raising his hand to tap his com-badge, he was intercepted by a call from – speak of the devil...

"Sorry old man; bad timing.  Brass wants to see me a-sap.  I'll take a rain check.  Jal... Wayne seems a bit under the weather; he may need you to help oversee things for a bit.  Give him a hand."

"Thanks, Jal.  Oh, by the way, have you seen Chuckles?"

Jallez laughed, knowing he was referring to Carter Drake.  "No, I have not, Stephen."

April wanted to thank Drake for stepping in on his behalf at the inquiry, though it brought an appearance by yet another Q (April was quickly tiring of seeing Q on his ship lately).  He could have located him by computer-lock but there wasn't time.  He thanked Jallez for his own efforts.  "That's it for now.  April out."  Tap.  "Transporter room, Captain."

For once it wasn't CPO Tala who responded.

April materialized and felt the atmospheric tension right off the bat.  It blanketed the halls of Command thicker than targ-eye soup.  Everyone and everything moved with stiff, regulated precision, as if they had been drilling for days and were preparing for something.  It hadn't been this tight since after the Breen attacked Earth.  Something was up.

As he stepped into the turbolift taking him up to the admiral's office, another familiar admiral stepped into view, entering beside him.

None other than Admiral T'Urla... again.  April wasn't surprised to see her.  From the way she looked at him during the inquiry he knew he would, and soon.  It pertained to that strange brief meeting in Moscow, he was certain.

"Admiral," he said with acknowledgement as the doors closed.

"Lift hold and seal," T'Urla called out.  The lift would not open or move again without her voice authorization.  Admiral T'Urla was a powerful woman.  She never came to Stephen April before, instead making him come to her.  This was a first.  "You are no doubt curious how you managed to 'squeak by'," she said employing yet another human expression.

"A slap on the wrist for killing umpteen people in psychologically programmed self-defense?  Naturally, ma'am."

April wasn't sure why Williams wanted to meet in Admiral Carrera's office until speaking with T'Urla.  Her words still lingering fresh in his mind, he better understood the situation... and what was being expected of him, and Arcadia.  It was going to be a new kind of mission for them, from the angle that they were a ship of exploration primarily.  This one would be decidedly more militaristic in nature, as opposed to any previous mission.

When he marched out of the turbolift, boots clapping the polished floor of the hall leading to Carrera's office – T'Urla had gotten off at another level – he felt himself moving in time to the oiled precision of the Starfleet machine operating throughout the building.  T'Urla was right (of course)... this was grave.