Johnny R. Call’s has done some work on
a series of vignettes surrounding the launch of the Federation’s very own
“last, best hope for victory.” The story
arc is entitled “Bon Voyage, Liberator,”
and is some of his most interesting work, in my opinion. These pieces have
helped give substance to a pair of characters that would otherwise have
remained one-dimensional: Alynna Nechayev
and Edward Jellico.
One of Johnny’s real strengths, in my
opinion, is to remind the Trek reader that the Admiralty isn’t composed
(at least not exclusively, that is) of ethically bankrupt,
agenda-hauling martinets. Each of the three flag officers we see with any
consistency in his prose—the aforementioned two and his own Alexander
Pierce—are committed to the ideals of Starfleet and, especially, the defense of
the Federation. They also, at times, encounter a real problem in reconciling
the two with their own ambitions and desires.
Welcome to the human condition.
To fully appreciate this story in
context, I suggest availing yourself of the entire “Bon Voyage, Liberator”
collection. Barring that, read the one entitled “Alynna
Nechayev,” and then return here. This is, in a way, a
continuation of that piece: Johnny wasn’t certain he wanted to include it, in
no small part because it’s a bit more of a
“Den Mother”
By Joseph Manno
Alynna Nechayev had a sudden epiphany.
"Commander Meadows," she
called, "send a subspace message to the USS Liberty. She's in dry
dock at Utopia Planitia.
"Tell Captain Mantovanni I want to
see him in my
Meadows, one of her yeomen, clucked
disapprovingly.
"Two hours would be 0225.
You need your rest, Admiral," the younger woman reproved.
Nechayev suppressed a smile. A trio of "mother hens" nominated
by Starfleet Personnel saw to her every need, even the ones she forgot she
had—like eating and, occasionally, sleeping. Audrey Meadows was her secret
favorite, though Alynna was fond of them all.
"It'll be a brief meeting, I
promise," she responded soothingly.
There'd been something in the
other woman's tone…
Ahhhh… of course.
"Audrey,
would you like to accompany me to my office and briefly meet the
captain?" she inquired incisively.
There was a pause… then Commander
Meadows' enthusiastic, "Yes, ma'am!" practically resounded
through the runabout's specially designed VIP pod.
***
“What I don’t understand, sir, is why
she didn’t just come aboard
Luciano Mantovanni arched a brow; his pilot’s question was a valid one.
He answered it with one of his own.
“Tell me, Sito...
why would you do such a thing?”
For a long moment, the Bajoran considered it, even as she banked the runabout
Then, she grinned slyly.
“Well, I wouldn’t, sir... but
she might have because she didn’t want to meet you on your home ground.”
Her captain smiled slightly at her
endorsement of his ability to intimidate.
“Thank you for the compliment...
however, that’s almost definitely not the case. I have a certain reputation,
granted, but Admiral Nechayev’s the most powerful
person in Starfleet. Compared to some of the things she’s no doubt had to do
and say, coming aboard Liberty to speak with me—even about something she
thinks I might dislike—doesn’t even register on her emotional long range
sensors.”
Sito nodded. Rather than interrupt their conversation, she sent a
text-only request for clearance to land; evidently the officer receiving it was
on the ball, for permission to do so was promptly granted in the same silent
format.
She motioned to the controls.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to do the
honors, sir?”
Her captain’s tone was droll.
“No, thank you. Piloting is for
impertinent young hotshot lieutenants, not barely-qualified captains.”
The entire subject was a running joke
among his crew; few of them had ever seen him helm any type of space vehicle,
and Mantovanni's own self-effacing commentary on his abilities to actually do
so had led to some interesting speculations.
Sito, who’d once shared a mind meld of profound intensity with her
commander, didn’t have to speculate: Unlike most Starfleet officers, who
loved the sense of power and freedom the pilot’s seat afforded them, her
captain was one of the rare individuals who simply found it a chore.
There were other, more personal
reasons, as well... but those she left for him to address, if he so chose.
Though she’d recently relinquished the
role of
She turned to face him. “You were
right, sir... I am a hotshot,” she declared proudly, then giggled when
shook his head in mock disapproval.
There were guards in evidence
everywhere: While no one precisely pointed a weapon at the two, there was a certain
tension in the air until blood samples had confirmed them as true “solids.”
The inter-facility transporter whisked
them across the complex to the suite of offices, briefing rooms, and ancillary
chambers reserved for the use of Starfleet’s Commanding Admiral.
A quartet of Starfleet marines flanked
the main reception desk, at which sat a Bolian woman
of stern countenance. Her visage reminded Sito of her
old nurse, Keras, whose idea of a bedtime story had
been a recitation from the writings of Vedek Ereval. It was only years later that Jaxa
had realized the method to the crabby old woman’s madness: The blessed Ereval’s work was so profoundly stultifying that young Jaxa—if only to escape listening—had invariably nodded off
in mere minutes.
This woman
seemed as humorless.
“Names?” she inquired.
“Captain Luciano Mantovanni to see Fleet Admiral Nechayev,”
Sito announced.
Before the receptionist could respond,
a crisp, almost sharp voice issued from the display on her desk.
“Send the captain, through, Mev...
“...and have Lieutenant Sito accompany him.”
***
I thought he’d be taller.
Alynna Nechayev smiled inwardly at her
thought, as Luciano Mantovanni and his officer
presented themselves.
That’s because he was taller, she reminded herself, when you were nine.
A slight clearing of someone’s throat
caught her attention, and brought the admiral back from her brief reverie; none
too subtly, Audrey Meadows had reminded her that she did have guests…
and that the two were still at attention.
She nodded to Mantovanni, and offered,
“At ease, Captain.” Then, she turned her attention to the young woman with him.
“As for you, Lieutenant...” She allowed the statement to balance on the precipice of intent
for a few seconds, and examined the girl’s reaction.
Her expression changed infinitesimally;
it wasn’t precisely defiant, Nechayev decided… but,
rather, determined.
“...I’m pleased to see that Starfleet’s
decision to give you a second chance has worked out so well.”
That earned the admiral the wide-eyed
surprise for which she’d been aiming.
The older woman smiled. “You needn’t
have looked so worried, Lieutenant... I’ve already eaten my share of children
for today.
“Dismissed.”
If the now retreating young officer
moved a shade too eagerly in her desire to escape, Alynna
wouldn’t hold it against her.
“Captain, this is one of my attaches,
Commander Audrey Meadows.”
Three-to-one she says it, Nechayev silently wagered.
The slender brunette offered her hand,
and the two officers shook.
“It’s really a thrill to meet you,
sir,” she gushed. “I remember reading about your adventures when I was growing
up.”
Thought the admiral, I win again.
She noted that Mantovanni managed to
look neither ungracious nor uncomfortable, as he and Meadows exchanged a few
brief comments. Before the conversation could become too interesting for
either, though, Nechayev interjected, “Audrey, keep
Lieutenant Sito company.”
When she’d regretfully departed, the
admiral rose, and moved from the expansive desk into the more
cordially-decorated portion of her office, motioning for Mantovanni to follow.
“Make yourself comfortable, Captain.
Would you like something to drink?”
His response was a careful, “No thank
you, Admiral.” He seated himself with almost as much caution as he’d taken when
replying.
Intimidated, or evaluating, Captain? she wondered. I’d guess the latter.
“Eventually, I’ll want to speak with
you about some of the events which transpired during your tenure as commander
of what the Federation press took to calling ‘The 13th Fleet.’ As you can
imagine, I received some interesting communiqués from both the Klingon and
Tzenkethi governments subsequent to your little flotilla’s return.” She hadn’t
intended it, but her tone had become somewhat stern while delivering that
declaration.
Damn it. I’m beginning to think I’ve
forgotten how to be pleasant.
“But that’s a matter for another time,
and not why I’ve called you here today.”
He was attentive, but offered no
comment.
“I have a special assignment for
you—one suited to your unique position and, I’ve been told, perspective.”
Nothing she’d said thus far had
precisely required a response, but it was rare that someone could listen
so readily without feeling a need to supply her with a steady diet of “Yes, ma’ams,” and, “Understood, Admirals.”
It was disconcertingly refreshing.
The discussion, at first, seemed to
have little direction, but Luciano Mantovanni knew
that Alynna Nechayev was
fishing—for what, though, he hadn't a clue, at first.
Suddenly, though, her purpose came into
sharper focus.
“I know," she said, "that
then-Commander Sa’lanna was your X-O aboard the Alexios Komnenos
for some time, and that you found yourself in a survival situation with both
her and her father, Vice Admiral Pierce.
“What was your impression of the
admiral, by the way?” she asked, almost breezily, as she poured herself more
tea.
Ahhhhh, here we go, he thought.
After a moment, he answered,
“Formidable intellect... direct... a surprisingly good
sense of humor... courageous and clever.”
Nechayev cocked an eye at him.
“Yes, that’s all well and good,
Captain... you earn an ‘A’ for restraint. Did you note anything about him that
bothered you? You have my permission to speak candidly.”
Mantovanni seemed to consider this a
bit longer.
Finally, he answered, “No.”
Now Nechayev
looked somewhat exasperated. “You didn’t find him a bit pushy?”
“More than a
bit.”
“Abrasive?”
“Somewhat.”
“Arrogant?”
“Rather.”
The admiral was incredulous. “Don’t you
consider those personality flaws?”
Now Mantovanni smiled slightly.
“I suppose they are, Admiral... but
that’s not what you asked me; you inquired as to whether there was something
about the man that bothered me.
“None of those things do.”
She took a different tack. “You saw him
interact with his daughter in a crisis situation. What was your evaluation of
that?”
Nechayev seemed to know she was pressing, but didn’t relent.
“This is important. I've heard you’re
not one to air your difficulties with a fellow officer, but Sa’lanna’s
been chosen to command the Liberator.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
He arched a brow, and inquired, “What
jackass made that decision?”
Now there’s
the Luciano Mantovanni about which I’ve heard, Alynna Nechayev thought.
She snapped, “That’s not your
concern, Captain; suffice it to say that I’m attending to it. What I
need to know is whether or not she and her father can function together.”
“I don’t know,” he answered frankly.
“I’m not an expert on Alexander Pierce.”
“But you are the closest thing I
have to an expert on his daughter: She was your X-O. You recommended she
receive her own command. Were you being disingenuous?”
He arched a brow.
“No... I wasn’t,” he declared
matter-of-factly. “Believing her ready for the center seat of a Miranda-
or even a Saber-class starship is entirely different from saying, ‘I
wholeheartedly endorse the idea of this relatively inexperienced officer taking
command of Starfleet’s lone dreadnought.’”
“Agreed. I’ll have to ask you to speculate, then, Captain; I want your
opinion. Will they work it out, or will I have more of a problem on my hands in
a few months than I do right now?”
She watched him working it out for
himself.
He knows his is not the only opinion
that’ll be weighed. That will help his candor.
At last he gave her an answer.
“It’ll be difficult for both of them, especially
her—and it shouldn’t be done this way—but if he can learn to let her be
captain of the Liberator, she can definitely become captain of
the Liberator.
“If he can’t...” he left the intimation
of disaster in what was left unsaid to her imagination.
She nodded, satisfied, and stood.
“I’m sending
Nechayev lowered her voice.
"Keep them from each other’s
throats, Captain... help them if you can.”
He grimaced slightly. “I don’t suppose
you have an easier assignment... like another suicide assault on Cardassia Prime?”
She smiled. “No, Captain... you’ve
drawn the real plum, this time.”
For a moment they regarded each other.
“May I ask you a personal question,
Captain?”
He seemed a bit surprised. “Yes, Admiral?”
She leaned forward slightly, and
searched his face. “Does it wear on your nerves at all?”
Mantovanni knew immediately what “it” was:
Being a hero, a living legend.
“Sometimes,” he replied quietly. “It
doesn’t have much to do with me; I had 68 years in which I never screwed up
anything... it’s immaterial that I couldn’t. Everyone just decides
you're infallible.”
Nechayev chuckled. “People need something, Captain... it’s in their
nature.”
He inclined his head, acknowledging the
accuracy of her statement. “I just try to take care and make sure I don’t do
anything stupid enough to really disillusion them.”
And that’s when you feel it most, isn’t
it? With a start, she realized—not
intellectually, but emotionally—that the man she’d read about as a child was
now, due to the vagaries of time and fate, over a decade younger than her.
“Good luck, Captain. It was an honor
meeting you.”
They shook hands. Then, he surprised
her, taking hers and bringing it to his lips, but not quite touching, in the
manner of a true European gentleman. “And you, Admiral.”
It was chivalrous, without being
brazen.
Alynna found, strangely enough, that she approved.
She gently reclaimed her hand, and with
a sternness they both knew was affected, told him, “You’re dismissed.”
As he was leaving, she threw him a last
curve.
“You addressed me as ‘Admiral’ every
time, Captain. Never ‘Ma’am,’ or even ‘Sir.’ Why is
that?”
Mantovannni stopped in the door’s threshold, just short of activating its
opening sensor.
“Because
you’re too young to be a ‘Ma'am,’ and too attractive to be a ‘Sir.’"
He glanced back, and with merest touch
of a roguish smile, whispered, “I decided ‘Admiral’ was the safest route.”
After he was gone, she belatedly
realized that he was the first person in years to have the last word with her
in a conversation.
She chuckled again.
Charming, and knows it, thought Alynna Nechayev.
The worst kind of man.
And, she
admitted, the best.
She turned back to her desk.