CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
To a limited extent, Susan Carter had
expected something of this sort: The
center seat simply meant less when there was another, more important one only
five meters away. Living with that was something a captain with a flag officer
aboard had to accept.
But it had been far worse, over these
first few hours, than she had envisioned. Rear Admiral March Patterson was not only
a ubiquitous presence, but a micro-manager, too. He wanted things—all things—just so… and was, in her opinion, none-too-circumspectly impinging on
her rights as captain of the
Susan would issue instructions… he'd
subtly override them with his own.
She'd give an order… he'd not countermand it, precisely, but would,
with his subsequent directives, make the declaration an empty one.
She'd offer suggestions as to
operations matters… he'd listen politely, and then disregard everything that
had been said, no matter how meritorious, in favor of what, clearly, he'd already decided to do.
In addition, it was obvious to her that
Liberty's senior staff was in a state
of perplexity that had only partly to do with the current situation: Not only
were they being given two sets of instructions, but were still obviously
reeling from the fact that their commanding officer of almost five years had
been replaced with no fanfare, and little regard for him or them.
Patterson was getting what he wanted, though. The great starship was being
readied for combat operations at a far swifter pace than would normally be
possible, thanks both to the efficiency of her crew, and his relentless drive
to make it so.
Though Susan hadn't been here for any
of it, things were obviously already far
different under this commander than they had been under the last.
Carter rested uneasily in her command chair; it already sat more like
a bed of nails. She felt like the British monarch: Well groomed; well dressed;
and completely impotent, as a good figurehead should be.
Stop that.
This is absurd, Susan. You're sitting here like a scared cadet,
instead of confronting the man about sharing responsibility. He's probably just
nervous, too; this is his first task force, after all… and he has far larger
concerns than just this vessel. Let him know you're here to help—that you can
shoulder the burden of
Finally resolved, she stood…
…even as the admiral was approached by
another officer who'd just entered the bridge, science specialist Sera MacLeod.
“You wished to see me, Admiral?” the
half-Vulcan inquired.
“Yes.
“Why aren't you at your post?”
Carter had wondered that, as well, and
perked her ears for MacLeod's reply.
“I am often engaged in research
projects at the behest of Vice Admiral T'Kara of Starfleet Research, sir. Thus,
my shift is often used to give younger officers an opportunity to experience a
bridge rotation at a critical station.”
It seemed eminently reasonable to
Carter—not so Patterson.
“So you're puttering around in one
of the science labs when you should be up here?”
Sera arched a brow.
“The current arrangement has been in
place since I returned from Surplus Depot
77-Alpha. Admiral T'Kara and Captain Mantovanni both found it an optimal
use of my time.”
Patterson gave her a slight grin—almost
a sneer.
“Well, I do not. As of this moment, you're standing a regular watch along
with the rest of
The environmental controls seemed
suddenly to have been nudged towards a decidedly cooler ambiance.
Sera stood her ground in the face of
his implied insult.
“I was not aware you possessed the
authority to override the orders of Vice Admiral T'Kara, sir. If I am not
mistaken, that is one star on your
lapel, and not three.”
Oh, boy.
Her challenge didn't go over well at
all.
“I'm in charge of this task force,
Commander. That gives me broad
discretionary latitude… including the power to override standing orders of a
non-military nature. I am so exercising that right. Now assume the science
console, and do your job… and if you ever
address me in that disrespectful manner again, I'll charge you with
insubordination and throw you in the brig.
“Am I clear?”
Sera, though, wasn't quite finished.
“Aye, aye, sir…
“…you are positively transparent.”
In what for some would have been an
expression of contempt, but was an uncertain gesture from the gentle Sera
MacLeod, she rather precisely turned her back on him and complied.
Oh, Lord.
Susan Carter realized that her
misgivings were obviously not unfounded. Whatever
had transpired in the days before she'd come aboard…
…this crew and this admiral were definitely at odds.
Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Four