CHAPTER ONE
“Hey folks, here’s a
story ‘bout Minnie the Moocher;
she was a lowdown
hoochie coocher.
“She was the roughest,
toughest frail…
but Minnie had a heart
as big as a whale.”
- Cab Calloway
Lieutenant (junior grade) Vaerth Parihn knew the entire idea of a
ship's very ambience changing merely because one person had left it was
unscientific—even a bit silly.
Nevertheless, to her it was apparent.
Then again, if it hadn't been Luciano Mantovanni who'd gone, she
probably wouldn't have noticed anything. When he'd still been present, the
sparsely peopled corridors had seemed quiet, even restful.
Now they were just empty.
There had been no change-of-command ceremony as yet, but it was
imminent, according to the scuttlebutt Parihn had heard. After all, Starfleet
Command wasn't about to give Liberty,
one of the most powerful and advanced vessels in the Federation Fleet, to any
of her current senior staff-level officers, for reasons that were readily
apparent to anyone objectively concerned.
In her mind, Parihn reviewed and rejected each candidate.
T'Laris was Rihannsu…
and that probably served as sufficient reason to disqualify her, in most
eyes—despite the fact that their X-O had proven herself to a man whose dislike
for, and distrust of, her people was notorious. Besides, she was still an
officer in the Romulan Star Navy. It was inappropriate for her to take the
center seat.
Erika Benteen, in light of her prison record, didn't warrant receipt
of such a plum assignment, especially newly re-promoted to full commander as
she'd recently been.
Sera MacLeod would almost certainly refuse. She was a researcher,
first and foremost, and had no desire to command a starship—even the
No one else aboard was even a remotely viable choice.
The crew, of course, would no doubt be shocked at their captain's
absence when they returned from their various diasporae… and the feeling would, in many cases, turn to anger and
resentment. There were those, Parihn knew, who had little or no interest in
serving under another commander. Mav, Tertius, T'Laris, Erika, and Sera were
five.
Truth be told, she herself was another…
…not that it had seemed to matter when last they'd spoken.
She'd been hesitant when approaching his quarters, especially
after having witnessed the departure, seconds before, of one Captain Kathryn
Janeway. Parihn had re-anticipated his mood being even darker than that for
which she'd already prepared. The commanders of
Once the door had slid open to admit her, Parihn had taken a brief
look at the once familiar room, now stripped of Mantovanni's eloquently Spartan
taste, and asked without preamble, “Where are you going?”
“Home,” he’d answered, and then clarified with, “I mean to Vulcan,
not
“…well, I have a lot to think about.”
Parihn hadn't previously considered, or even vaguely contemplated
the consequences of, what she'd found herself saying next… yet had offered it
without hesitation.
“Want some company? I've never seen Vulcan.” With a self-effacing
grin, she’d added, “No call for it in my previous travels, as you may have
guessed.
“I have almost eight months leave accumulated, and…”
Her voice had trailed off; over the years of their friendship,
Parihn had become adept at reading his expression—which was often, to others,
as secretive and illegible as emotional invisible ink.
In this case, it had been all too clear: The idea had made him
uncomfortable.
He’d managed a smile, and it even looked sincere.
“I need to be alone, Parihn. Thank you, anyway.”
He'd said it like I'd
just offered him potatoes in the Officers' Mess.
Then, for the second time in as many minutes, Parihn had spoken
without regard for propriety.
“You spend too damn much
time alone,
Of course, giving your candid opinion to Luciano Mantovanni
unsolicited was a dicey affair, and this time had proven especially
distressing.
“Parihn…” he'd gently replied, finally turning to face her fully, “…do you
really think coming with me is a good idea? You have a career to consider, and
I'm almost certainly no longer an officer with whom you'd want to be
associated. This is much more of an exile for me than it is a furlough, if I
read Necheyev correctly. I think the 'soon' she gave in response to my query
about another command will devolve into 'eventually'… and, perhaps, finally,
become 'never.'
“You're my friend. I won't have you jeopardizing your future by
remaining in proximity to me when I'm likely fading into irrelevance and
disgrace.
“Besides, extended leave will lose you your position here. You're
helmsman of a Sovereign-class
starship… and in your former captain's eyes, the best pilot he's ever seen.
You'll have your own command some day, Lieutenant, if you work hard and truly
want it.
“Not, however, if you
start making imprudent decisions like the one you proposed a few minutes ago.”
It had all sounded… reasonable. Parihn, though, had sensed there
might be something else behind his refusal. For the first time in a long time,
however, she'd lacked the wherewithal to push the issue.
For a moment, though, she'd been a bit angry—with him and herself.
“All right,
“I hope you find what you need on Vulcan: Peace; balance;
renascent logic…”
…love.
Parihn had wondered later if what she'd said next had sounded
pathetic, but at that point hadn't really cared.
“Will you at least stay in touch with me? I'll… miss you.”
Again, she'd searched his face for nuance… and had been, this
time, encouraged.
As if the idea of not doing so was patently absurd, he'd assured
her, “Of course.”
For an instant, he'd looked like he wanted to say something
else—something that seemed critically important—but had then reconsidered, and
finally, instead, announced, “I've got
to leave. USS Achilles is headed for
Vulcan within the half-hour. I told Captain L’Vrel I'd be aboard…” he'd glanced
at the wall chronometer, and grimaced, “…ten
minutes ago.”
“But…”
“
Then, he'd spoken three more times… and she was still attempting
to divine the subtleties of each comment, four days later.
“I'd better go now. You look upset, Parihn… and we both know what
occurred the last time we were alone,
and you looked upset.”
She'd felt herself blush, and had replied, “That's the first time
you've mentioned what happened between us, Cicero.”
He'd retrieved his lone carry bag, leaving the rest for Achilles' cargo transporters, and
stepped towards the door of what until minutes ago had been his quarters.
As he'd left it all behind, though—his ship, his comrades, the
life he'd known—he'd stopped before her. Almost against his will, it seemed,
his hand had found her cheek in a caress that Parihn swore she could still feel
now.
“Like I said: I have a lot
to think about.”
Without realizing it, she'd tilted her head up to him, and closed
her eyes… but he'd brushed that selfsame cheek with his lips instead of tasting
hers, and whispered, “I'm sorry, but… if I really
kissed you, I might never leave.”
For a few seconds, Parihn had felt dizzy…
…and when she'd recovered herself, he'd already gone.
Now, the Orion sat at her own quarters' terminal, and—figuratively
speaking, that is—leafed through her personal correspondence. It was
preposterous, she knew, to expect something from
…again, she didn't care.
Looking couldn't hurt.
The only new communiqué she had waiting for her, though, was not
from her former captain, cherished friend, and one-time lover. It had no ID
tag, but was a lengthy transmission—almost an hour-and-a-half, she judged, from
the stored data.
She ran it, watched… and learned, to her shock and horror, that in
some cases…
…looking could hurt.