CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
“Oh Lord, with your wisdom endow the king,
and with your justice, the king’s son.”
- Psalm 72:1
What Susan Carter had hoped would become a prevailing calm proved
anything but.
Instead, it had simply been a lull in the tempest.
She’d thought having a Roman officer on board during what she’d
known would eventually be revealed as a military exercise designed to
discourage that very people was an astonishingly
bad idea. When she’d brought this to Admiral Patterson’s attention, though,
he’d mildly told her the situation would be attended to when it became
problematic.
Coupled with his, in her opinion, unnecessarily harsh treatment of
Sera MacLeod, it had made Susan wonder if he were actually seeking confrontation with
Now, as the young centurion, Tertius Galenius, emerged from the
turbolift, and determinedly headed towards where Patterson sat reviewing one of
the innumerable reports that had been incoming for hours, Carter didn’t have to
be a genius to know that whatever was going to happen, was going to happen now.
She hadn’t a clue how it would play out.
Tertius’ voice was low, but audible to most on the bridge.
“Admiral, I must speak with you in the captain’s ready room,
please.”
Carter kept her expression impassive, but was disturbed at the
statement. The admiral had essentially appropriated the sanctum sanctorum as his own—not that Susan had needed it thus far,
considering the non-existent influence she had on her own ship.
My own ship. What a
joke.
Patterson, at first, didn't even spare him a glance, continuing to
study the readouts on a PADD he'd just been handed.
“I'm sorry, Centurion, but now is not the time.”
Surprisingly, the young Roman did not withdraw… and instead, spoke
again, his tone infinitesimally more insistent.
“Respectfully, sir… I think the moment opportune, and renew my request for a
private conversation. It is of the utmost
urgency.”
It was then that Patterson glared at him, suddenly angry, and
snarled, “I don't care how your
previous commander indulged you and
your fellows, Centurion. None of you have any privileged status with me.
“When I say no, it's no.
“Go to your station—right
now.”
The younger man, however, didn't move.
All eyes were now on the pair at the heart of the bridge.
Tertius reached carefully, first to his breast and then his
collar, to remove in succession his badge and rank insignia. He offered them to
a startled Sub-commander T'Laris, who accepted silently. Only then did he speak
again.
“Since you will not grant me the respect due a fellow soldier,
Admiral, my time in Starfleet service is at an end... and considering the turn
of events that have been revealed to me, it is just as well.”
“Fine. I accept your
resignation,” Patterson replied, almost breezily—as if perhaps that had been
his goal. “Now get off my bridge, Roman.
“You no longer have any business here.”
Those who knew Tertius, and thought this exchange was finished,
though, were astonished at what happened next. Instead of moving for the
turbolift, he took what seemed carefully measured steps towards the ready room,
stopped at its doorway, turned halfway back, and inclined his chin with what
could only be described as regal contempt.
“What I say now is spoken with the full diplomatic authority I
gained upon my father's accession to the
Imperial Purple an hour ago: I grant you
an audience.
“Unless you wish to hold a Roman prince of the blood in
disrespect, Admiral… do not mistake my declaration for a request. It is not.”
He then disappeared through the portal, leaving a final phrase
behind.
“You may now attend me.”
A shocked silence filled the room.
In response to what had just occurred, Patterson tapped his comm
badge.
“Security team to the bridge. We have a situation up here.”
“Security… aye.”
In the interim before their arrival, T'Laris noted, with a tone
that was almost, but not quite,
delighted, “I must remind the admiral that our former chief of security—if his
statement about Emperor Aerus is true—now possesses full ambassadorial rank, and is royalty as well. Disregarding, let
alone manhandling, him would not be
recommendable at this point in time.
“I suggest the admiral reconsider his options—since, in my
experience, the centurion is no
liar.”
Patterson's fury warred with the realization that, through no real
fault of his own, he'd badly misjudged the situation. Eventually, the guards
arrived and stepped forward; one announced, “You sent for us, sir?”
Curtly, he muttered, “Stand
by.”
Then, he disappeared into the ready room, as well.
***
As soon as the door slid shut behind him, March Patterson came
face-to-face with Tertius Galenius, and addressed him with an iron-tinged
voice.
“Make it quick,
Centurion…
“…or should I say, ‘Your Highness’?”
Tertius smiled. It was completely lacking in warmth, mirth or
sincerity… and turned the handsome young face into a mask of disdain.
“I made this conversation a private one out of regard for the fact
your rank commands respect, Admiral.”
Whether it was the knowledge of his elevated status, or simply the
fire of unjustified indignation, Patterson noted the change in the Roman. He
seemed greater than he had, as if a mantle of both maturity and might had been
laid across his shoulders.
It impressed him not at all.
“I do not know why you have made Liberty your flagship… why you rushed this great lady from dry-dock
when she was clearly unready… why you have harangued and harassed her crew
since you boarded… why you have reduced her new captain to uncertainty and
impotence in the face of your minimalistic tyranny.”
“How dare you…!”
Before he could continue, Patterson reconsidered…
…when he suddenly found the tip of a gladius at his throat.
The blade’s touch and Tertius’ now whispered continuation divided
his attention almost evenly.
“Silence, Celtic dog. Do not
dare to interrupt your betters… and
consider yourself fortunate that I do not force you to your knees, as befits
your worthiness in the presence of a Caesar!”
Then his voice moderated back to a normal volume, and he casually
added, “If you continue to reach for your phaser, Admiral, I shall rightly call
my action self-defense…
“…and lop off your arm.”
That stopped the older man in mid-movement.
“As I was saying before your blustering interjection…
“…until a few moments ago, all
these questions troubled me greatly. Now, they are the problems for those
officers who have the misfortune to still be serving under you.
“But there is a final point of decorum and propriety I must
address with you, here and now. I shall do as my father taught me a gentleman
should, and warn you, only once: do
not think to ever again publicly
insult Captain Mantovanni in my presence, as you have done twice now. He is one
whose laurels are beyond your grasp, whose honor is beyond your capability, and
whose subtlety is beyond your comprehension.
“If you feel I have insulted your
honor by drawing blade against you, remember that your very presence has proven to be an insult to Libertas bella, and I am only answering
now. I am at your disposal for personal combat, though, if you work up
sufficient courage to settle the affair like a man.
“I doubt you will.
“Other than the toadies you brought aboard, you would find few
mourners, I think, on this ship.
“We now see you for what
you are.”
Interlude Eight Chapter Thirty-Seven