For some time, I had no idea Luciano Mantovanni had served aboard USS Excelsior. It came to me only when I suddenly saw him in the smoldering labyrinth of my mind standing at the weapons console, ready and willing to carry out the orders of Ambassador Garth (who was, in that moment, disguised as Captain Sulu) during the emendations of my short story "Home Again."

Certainly Sulu and Mantovanni share certain personality traits: An intimidating demeanor; an unwavering resolve; and a notable lack of concern, at times, for the sensibilities of others.

Unfortunately, that last is a trait better suited to an experienced Starfleet captain than it is a brash lieutenant.

Of course, you and I both know what that will mean to Luciano Mantovanni: Nothing at all.

Additionally, it’ll be interesting to hear reactions to the opening scene; a much younger Mantovanni had a very different attitude about a great many things than the one with which we’re more familiar. I welcome your impressions at these newly revealed facets of his personality.

"Rank and Privilege"

By Joseph Manno

January 19^th, 2293

The pounding on the door was insistent... and the dorm room’s two current occupants looked at each other in concern.

The woman asked, in rather an annoyed tone, “If we’re being mustered out for some reason, why don’t they just use the comm system?”

“I don’t know,” her lover replied. “Perhaps it’s just one of your friends playing a prank. If you don’t want to get it, I can.” He made as if to stand.

“No!” she protested, laying a hand on his arm. Her sudden smile was suggestive, and full of promise.

“You stay in bed.

“I’ll be back to make it worth your while.”

She rose... then yelped and giggled, slapping at the hand that had just delivered a playful smack to her shapely, bare behind.

Quickly, she donned a robe and rushed into the next room, where the door was weathering the assault... but only just.

She opened it... and said the first thing that came to mind.

“D-Dad.”

Hikaru Sulu smiled broadly.

“Hello, Cadet. Considering how long it took you to answer, I guess you’re not getting much sleep lately.” He brushed enthusiastically past her into the dorm's common room.

“I’m only here for a few hours; Excelsior had some cargo to deliver.

“Since I know how much you like them,” he continued with a calculated offhandedness, even while examining the room with a father’s—and captain’s—critical eye, “I brought you a genuine Andorian blood-color... an original by Theven Sih’tarr. Cost me 6,200 credits, by the way... so I hope there’ll be no more comments about my 'penny-pinching.'”

He glanced around speculatively, even as he waved the largish cylinder at her. “Hmmm. No room in here. It’s really quite a striking scene... I’ll have to spread it out on your bunk so we can take a look at it together.”

He immediately headed for her bedroom.

His statement, or his movement, should have galvanized Demora Sulu into preventive action.

Instead, the disoriented cadet found herself paralyzed with fear.

“Awp,” she squawked...

...even as, in another striking scene, her father made the acquaintance of one Luciano Mantovanni.

“Oh, this is bad... this is very bad,” Demora repeated, over and again. She'd seemed nearly catatonic for a few moments, before beginning this cycle of remonstration.

Redundant, though, Mantovanni decided, was marginally better than non-reactive.

Only minutes ago, Hikaru Sulu had stopped short, gaping in astonishment, when he’d seen that his daughter’s bed wasn’t empty. Rather than apologizing, or simply withdrawing, though, he’d chosen—like many parents confronted with that situation would—to take the offensive.

“What the hell...?!” he'd yelled. “Explain yourself, Cadet!”

The bed’s current occupant had arched a brow.

“Actually, sir, it’s Lieutenant. And I would’ve thought you’d have had this talk years ago—especially considering you have a daughter.”

It wasn’t a statement precisely conducive to assuaging a father’s anger.

Sulu had then growled, “Get up.”

The bed’s inhabitant had grimaced slightly, and replied, “Respectfully, I don’t think so, sir...

"…not unless you want a more emphatic salute than I think you’re prepared to handle.”

It hadn’t gotten any better than that.

Moments later, after a few more... observations... from each side, Sulu had departed, red-faced and stiff-lipped, shoving the Andorian painting into his shell-shocked daughter’s hands even as he passed her again.

Now, as she slowly recovered, Mantovanni suddenly observed, “Well, that could have been worse.”

Demora wheeled on him.

“Oh really, smart guy? My father just caught us... caught us...” She hesitated, searching for a tactful term.

“...in flagrante delecto?” Mantovanni supplied.

She nodded, marveling again at how the Italian language could make even the most awkward situations sound wonderfully romantic.

“How could it have been worse?!”

Drolly, he told her, “He could have said, ‘Carry on’ when he left.”

Demora Sulu had never found herself laughing while appalled before. It was an interesting experience...

...but not one she cared to repeat.

May 17th, 2293

May 25^th, 2293

July 12^th, 2293

“Do I know you, Lieutenant?”

It was a question Luciano Mantovanni had been hoping to avoid.

Ever since receiving the news of his posting as weapons officer to the USS Excelsior—Hikaru Sulu’s USS Excelsior—he’d been speculating on precisely what would await him: He and the older man hadn’t been particularly kind with each other when they’d met in his daughter’s room two months ago.

I see only two likely reasons I’d find myself here, thought Mantovanni. Either my presence is a coincidence—that’s statistically possible, but unlikely in the extreme—or Captain Sulu asked for me specifically...

...which may not bode well for my future in Starfleet.

Now, as he stood at attention with Excelsior’s other newly assigned personnel, he considered, with deliberate care, exactly how to answer the question his captain had just asked.

Finally, he settled on the neutral, “We met briefly once, at Starfleet Academy, sir.”

Sulu studied Mantovanni far more carefully than he had the other newcomers, examining him with a thorough scrutiny—all too thoroughly, as it turned out.

The moment of recognition was... noticeable. The captain’s eyes widened slightly… then narrowed even more perceptibly.

“Yes... I recall now,” he acknowledged. Then, he smiled rather inscrutably. “I like the new beard, Lieutenant... it gives you a certain—how shall we say—rakish look?”

“Thank you, sir,” Mantovanni replied, with a lack of inflection that was nonetheless, somehow, interesting.

“Did you enjoy… your time at the Academy, Lieutenant?”

It must have seemed an odd question—except, of course, to the person at whom it was directed.

“It was... extraordinary, sir,” the younger man answered, as honestly as he could.

His captain seemed uncertain how to interpret that.

The conversation had now drawn on longer, and acquired, even for the bystanders, significantly more intriguing nuances than Sulu’s brief exchanges with the other new officers—both fresh faced, eager, and unremarkable young ensigns.

There was obviously something between these two.

Even Excelsior’s senior staff was curious.

Commander Nyota Uhura had traveled from Earth with the newcomers to take her place as Sulu’s executive officer, and had already fallen easily in with him, as old comrades are wont to do. Now she watched from a step behind and to his left as he continued fencing with his new weapons officer. It was a scene that seemed somehow out of place in a public forum: Though nothing overtly hostile had occurred, Uhura trusted her instincts… and watched carefully.

Unfortunately, there would be, for now, no further insights into what was happening between her captain and Mantovanni, because Sulu abruptly stepped back and snapped, “Dismissed.”

Lieutenant Commander Janice Rand, serving as their orientation officer, accompanied the trio as they withdrew. The two young men were stealing none-so-subtle glances at Mantovanni—who ignored them.

After they’d departed, Uhura turned back to her friend, and drawled, “You mind telling me what all that was about?”

Instead of answering her question, Sulu asked one himself.

“Please tell me,” he asked, after an explosive sigh, “that’s not the officer Captain Kirk recommended.”

She held up a data tape—clearly they were transfer orders—and smiled apologetically.

“Sorry, Hikaru; that’s exactly who it is: Lieutenant Luciano Mantovanni.”

He didn’t take it well.

“I’ll be in the gym,” he announced, “working off some stress.”

And with that, he was gone.

Uhura frowned. Sulu had obviously taken an intense dislike to this young man at some time in the past. That was unfortunate, disturbing, and somewhat curious: During their time aboard the courier Atalanta en route to their assignments aboard Excelsior, she had taken the time to interview all three of the young men. David Miller and Rafael Costa had both been quiet, deferential and a little star struck; they’d also seemed highly competent, and likely to do well.

Luciano Mantovanni, though, she’d liked—immediately. The young officer had impressed her with his prepossession and acumen—along with his droll, biting sense of humor—and they’d spent quite a few hours together, speaking the expressively blunt Sicilian dialect and amusing each other with stories about their own experiences of James Kirk.

She didn’t think he and Hikaru Sulu would be laughing together any time soon, though.

I wonder what he could have done?

August 9^th, 2293

“Well, Ensign Sulu! Your father will be so happy to see you!”

Uhura stepped backed from the embrace, and took a long look at the beautiful young woman who’d taken her place amongst the ranks of Starfleet’s officer corps. Demora blushed slightly at the beaming regard, but returned the smile happily.

“How long can you stay?” was Uhura’s first question; it was one that officers tended to ask quickly, the better to budget and schedule their limited time with each other on such occasions.

“Almost two months,” came the surprising answer. “Enterprise-B will be in dry-dock for nearly three, and they really don’t need a helmsman until she’s ready for launch.”

The horrible damage to her ship reminded Demora of other unpleasant memories, and her expression grew sorrowful.

“I’m sorry about Captain Kirk, Obasan. I know you, Janice and Dad were really close to him.”

The older woman’s expression grew wistful, but she maintained her bearing well.

She took a deep breath, and replied, “Captain Kirk died in exactly the manner he would have wanted: Quickly, saving lives. I know he’d tell me not to dwell on the end of his life, but instead to celebrate the beginning of your career.”

Then she whispered, “Besides... I did my crying the night I heard.”

Then, firmly, with an impressive control, Uhura put aside her grief, and changed the subject with, “Your father’s on shift, and so is Janice. They asked me to meet with you, and settle you into his quarters.”

Demora stopped short.

“I... don’t want to disturb him. He needs privacy in his off-duty time...”

Though the younger woman’s tone had given an inkling of her desires, Uhura continued blithely on as if she’d not understood, curious as to how Sulu’s daughter would handle it.

“Oh, nonsense,” she insisted, even as they entered the turbolift. “He wants you to stay with him...”

Demora put a hand on her arm, even as the door closed.

“Obasan...” she said, with a startling intensity, “I’d like to have my own quarters, if it’s possible. I know I’m an ensign, and that they’re usually assigned a roommate, but...”

Uhura grinned, and her charge realized she was being teased.

“Hikaru said something silly about you staying with him; I put you in the VIP quarters. A girl needs her space, after all.”

Demora looked a little scandalized at being afforded such spacious accomodations, but grinned mischievously and said, “Well, maybe for just a night or two.”

“Mmmm hmmm,” Uhura agreed… and then laughed.

“After two days, we’ll have to use a tractor beam to get you out of there. They’re nice... not that’s not the right word.” She leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “‘Luxurious’ would be a better description.

“So come on, VIP… let’s go see!”

***

Of course, there was a dinner planned: Hikaru Sulu was only too pleased to show off his newly commissioned daughter to Excelsior's officers. A few words to the chefs on the especial importance of the occasion were all that was needed: They outdid themselves, preparing a lavish meal that would have been impressive fare for an admiral or an ambassador.

When Demora entered, to the applause of the assembled guests, she was nearly overwhelmed.

Uhura noted the scandalized smile, the expression that said, “Daaadd...!” and the delightful blush and tilt of her head. Demora Sulu had been a wonderful girl, and she’d blossomed into a beautiful young woman; Excelsior’s X-O had no doubt she’d eventually be an excellent officer.

It was clear, after a brief moment’s study, though, that the younger Sulu was looking for someone among the gathered officers. Evidently she didn’t find him or her, because her expression lost much of its animation.

Her father didn’t notice—or, Uhura thought, on later reflection, didn’t choose to notice—and motioned to a seat at his right hand.

“We’d be honored if you joined us, Ensign Sulu.”

Wordlessly, she took her chair, and they all sat.

The elder Sulu was a powerful presence, and tended to dominate any gathering he attended; it was, of course, even more apparent when he was in his role as commanding officer—dressed to the gills in his Class A’s, fulfilling his role as host.

He also played the part of proud father extremely well, and remained standing to offer a toast.

“To old comrades…” he intoned solemnly.

Everyone’s thoughts, for a moment, ventured to the deceased James Kirk.

Then Sulu smiled, finishing, “…and new.”

His daughter and his officers echoed the sentiments, and drank.

The appetizers were served, and the small talk began... but Uhura was uneasy.

Something’s wrong, she thought. Demora looks unhappy.

After a few moments, Uhura caught Janice Rand’s eye... and, with a glance, knew that she, too, had seen something, and was also worried. They’d known Demora Sulu since soon after her birth, and each held the rank of “aunt.” It was far from honorary; both had been privy to some of the difficulties between single, often absentee father and daughter through the years, and had proven invaluable in helping them maintain what relationship they'd had.

It was rare when neither of them could pinpoint the difficulty immediately; this time, however, both were at a loss.

The two women could see the evening taking a turn for the worse: The elder Sulu was subtly pressing, unconsciously indicating with his demeanor that Demora should be having a better time.

When, during the main course, she suddenly professed to illness, her father practically demanded she get medical attention—like a father certain his child simply didn't want to go to school...

…or, in this case, stay where she was.

Uhura saw her opportunity.

"I'll take care of her, Hikaru; she'll be fine. Come on, Demora."

Instead of steering her towards sickbay, though, the older woman headed them for her own quarters.

"Janice will be only moments behind us…

"…and then the three of us will have the talk you obviously need to have."

***

Double duty shifts. Very subtle, Captain.

Lieutenant Luciano Mantovanni shifted in his chair, and conducted a somewhat leisurely diagnostic of the tactical systems. Usually, he was more focused and attentive during such a procedure. The fact that he'd performed these very actions 37 times in the past 15.52 hours tended, though, to invalidate their urgency: It was busy work, and he knew it.

When Rafael Costa appeared to relieve him, over 35 minutes early, Mantovanni raised a brow in slight surprise.

"You're not scheduled for duty until 0100 hours, Ensign."

"Es verdad, Cicero…" Costa conceded, smiling, "…but since I left you here 16 hours ago, I thought you might appreciate a little relief."

The turbolift door opened behind them, and a rather irritated looking Hikaru Sulu emerged. His gaze went immediately to weapons control, where he spotted the object of his ire.

"Captain on the bridge," Mantovanni—who'd fortunately been looking that way—announced promptly.

"As you were," Sulu grumbled, before Costa or the rest of the bridge's skeleton crew could react. He approached.

"You must be tired, Lieutenant… go directly to your quarters and get some sleep. I'll expect you back here at 0745 for your regular shift."

"Aye, sir," Mantovanni acknowledged, with careful crispness.

Sulu's eyes flashed to the ensign at his right, and the Sicilian momentarily feared for his young subordinate; but Costa—no one's fool—was careful to be caught only at examining the tactical display with great interest as the captain stormed past, fired his order, and banked down towards the center seat.

His friend mouthed the words, "Get away while you still can."

If only you knew, Rafael, Mantovanni thought. Unbidden, an image of Demora came to mind.

Too late.

***

"All right, young lady," Janice Rand said with mock severity, as the door to Uhura's quarters closed behind her. "What did you do?"

It was clear the older woman was joking, but Demora didn't even smile.

"If you'll pardon my vulgarity, obasan, I don't think it's so much what I've done—as who."

Rand gaped in confusion…

…but for Uhura, it all suddenly clicked into place: Demora's searching gaze at dinner; her desire for privacy; and, most telling, the fact that a certain young officer had been conspicuous by his absence, having suddenly been given consecutive duty shifts when he would normally have attended the celebratory dinner.

"So… how long have you been involved with Lieutenant Mantovanni?" she asked, rather matter-of-factly.

Janice and Demora both looked stunned—for different reasons.

"What the hell...?!" the former gasped, even as the latter blurted, "How did you…!?"

Uhura simply smiled, leaned forward, and said, "Tell us all about it."

And so, Demora Sulu did just that.

***

Mantovanni nodded to Costa, conceded the chair, and slipped into the turbolift without further incident.

An interesting choice of words, Captain, he thought. "Go directly to your quarters" is an order, after all...but, then, I'm certain you knew that.

He arched a brow, and folded his arms.

Of course, I have been known to sleepwalk—on occasion.

***

“Your father's very proud of you.”

Demora Sulu tried to reconcile that statement with Hikaru Sulu's expression of anger and disappointment—both an hour ago and on that night at the Academy—and wasn’t entirely successful.

“Well, he was, at any rate,” she answered.

Nyota Uhura and Janice Rand exchanged glances; Hikaru Sulu’s daughter wasn’t given to melodrama, and hadn’t been even as a child.

Love will do that, Uhura thought. She smiled slightly.

Janice was less subtle about it; she laughed aloud, and revealed, “All fathers think their daughters are virgins, Demora... even, on rare occasions, after they’ve had a few children, according to my sources. It simply sounds like Hikaru was confronted with your adulthood—your womanhood—in a most distressing way."

"And, from what you've said, our dashing young lieutenant didn't exactly handle it with tact," Uhura added. She struggled not to laugh aloud at the image of the attractive young Sicilian, dressed in little more than a sheet, facing down her oldest and dearest friend as he launched into indignant, protective father mode.

Poor Hikaru. Men just aren't equipped to handle these things.

"I know Cicero could have been nicer, but he was angry, in that scathingly droll way of his. As far as he was concerned, Dad nearly broke into my quarters, rushed into the bedroom without permission, and then proceeded to berate a fellow officer for little more than being involved in a relationship. It's not as if he were one of my instructors and taking advantage; he was there for courses, too—a fellow student, if not precisely your generic cadet. Fraternization didn't apply in the least."

Demora took a deep breath.

"And it doesn't help that he's not afraid of or intimidated by anyone—not Dad, not even Captain Kirk. You should have heard some of the things he said in Starship Tactics and Strategy, as well as after our Kobayashi Maru exam."

I can just imagine, Uhura thought, suppressing a grin, and remembering her own conversations with their weapons officer. Cicero doesn't seem to have a tremendous amount of tact, or difficulty in expressing himself with vicious eloquence. He and Captain Kirk in the same room must have been… interesting.

"A little deference with Dad might have gone a long way," Demora observed.

"Instead, he fired back."

"Great," Janice muttered. "It's become a big peepee contest."

Silly as it sounded, the three women looked at each other with real concern.

"All right," Uhura announced suddenly. "Go back to your quarters and get some sleep, young lady. Janice or I will address this with your father."

Demora seemed uncertain. "Obasan, maybe I should…"

"No," the Bantu woman interrupted. "It's clear that this is already a problem affecting the ship, and I'm the X-O." A look of steely determination crossed her lovely features.

"That makes this my job."

***

When Mantovanni answered his quarters' guest chime, he was already anticipating round two with his commanding officer over the subject of his daughter.

He wasn't expecting the daughter.

Demora slipped wordlessly into the room, gently pushing him back so the door would quickly seal behind them. Mantovanni had the presence of mind to lock it—and use a security code while so doing.

She moved into his arms, and kissed him. It was sweet and dizzying, and it took all his Vulcan-learned self-control not to sweep her out of her uniform and onto his bed.

"This is not a good idea, Demora," he told her firmly, attempting to fend her off, and finding it a difficult proposition: Hand-to-hand didn't prepare one for hands like these. "You're not making things easy for me."

"But I'm worth it, aren't I?" she inquired, grinning at his discomfiture; to rattle the unflappable Luciano Mantovanni was an achievement worth savoring.

He surrendered then, and gave her one of the few unrestrained smiles she'd even seen from him. He was startlingly handsome when he did.

Just before he kissed her, Mantovanni whispered, "'Worth it?'

"I can't even count that high."

***

"Lieutenant Mantovanni, you'll lead the landing party. Demora, I want you t–…"

"Countermand."

The assembled officers turned to where the former remained determinedly in the center seat. He took great pains, and little time, to clarify his position.

“Captain Sulu left the bridge to me; I’ll make the determination as to our course of action.”

His first one left them shocked.

"Prepare to break orbit."

Wordlessly, Demora Sulu complied after only a second's hesitation; that set the rest of them in motion to follow—all, that is, but Janice Rand.

She, instead, moved to confront Mantovanni immediately, in a manner that would probably be described colloquially as "getting in his face."

"You should relinquish the center seat to me, Lieutenant." Her emphasis on his rank was glaring. “I outrank you, and have vastly more experience.

“Step down.”

Mantovanni's voice remained far more even in timbre.

"Both of those statements are indisputably true, ma'am… however, I'm in command."

Despite the impending threat, the bridge crew—with the exception of Demora Sulu, who prepared the great starship for departure—was riveted to the exchange in their midst.

It wasn't surprising that Rand, at first, seemed to have no intention of backing down.

"The captain left you in charge so you could gain valuable experience in the big chair during ordinary situations," she insisted, "not to grandstand inappropriately; he didn't anticipate an emergency."

Mantovanni nodded.

"I'm sure he didn't, Commander… no doubt that's why they call it 'an emergency.'"

His voice then dropped a few degrees; it wasn't quite cold, but the chill was unmistakable.

"The fact, nevertheless, is this: Captain Sulu left me in command of Excelsior. I shall retain that position until relieved of it by either him or Commander Uhura. If you find that situation unacceptable, well…

"…too bad. Now assume your station.

"That's a lawful order, Commander."

Rand blushed a furious red, and practically stomped back to the communications console.

Though the crisis loomed before them, the Sicilian couldn't help but think back to the events had, all unexpectedly, left him in the center seat.

Luciano Mantovanni had had nary a clue what Commander Uhura had said to their captain, but it had seemed to have had an effect: Before, Captain Sulu had always been a bit curt, at best, with the younger man; whereas, this afternoon, he’d greeted him almost neutrally.

"Lieutenant."

"Sir?" Mantovanni had replied promptly.

"I've had it brought to my attention that perhaps you should be getting a little more conn time."

Mantovanni had struggled to keep his face expressionless: He'd already been startled by the presence of Demora on the bridge as his shift began; he'd been assuming that the captain would separate them for the few "unofficial" turns his daughter would take at the helm. Now, in addition to that surprise, Sulu had just told him there'd be a rather startling about face in bridge watch policy.

Considering that I've had precisely no watches since I've been aboard, he’d thought, I tend to agree.

What he’d said, though, was nothing.

"We'll see about implementing that at our earliest chance."

An opportunity had come far more quickly than either could have imagined.

The planet was Epsilon Delta IV; its system had been catalogued and, briefly, explored in the early days of the Federation, but had ended up just missing the A-list of worlds considered for potential colonial settlement. It was Class M, but its temperate zone was smaller than most; add to that the fact that it was a quite a bit off the more well-trodden space lanes, and you had an equation that equaled out to "still uninhabited." It had, occasionally, been some group of settlers' fourth, third, or even second choice—but never their first.

That's why the faint subspace radio signals emanating from the system had been particularly surprising.

It had been compelling enough for Excelsior's master to order a course change. He'd then, as was habitual with so many captains, begun gently prodding for more information than his staff could give him.

"Hmmm… can you be a little more specific? What exactly are you receiving, Commander Rand?"

"Uncertain, Captain," she'd replied, a little vexed. "I'm just not getting enough to positively identify it."

"Entering the Epsilon Delta System now, sir," Demora Sulu had announced.

"Full sensor sweep."

Ensign David Miller, standing only his third bridge watch, had initiated a series of scans with the deliberation of a young man desperate to avoid a glaring error.

As he’d finished them, though, he’d briefly hesitated. The delay, unfortunately, had been long enough for his captain to notice.

“Please, Ensign... a little something before the sun goes nova,” Sulu had told him. His ponderous delivery had left some of them uncertain as to how serious he was; when Uhura and Rand had grinned, though, the rest had realized it was in jest.

The young man had blushed, and then smiled.

“Sorry, sir... sensors don’t seem to be picking up very much at all: The vessel that first charted this area in 2194, the USS Meriwether Lewis, reported large concentrations of naturally occurring cavourite throughout the system. It wrought havoc with the old girl’s scanning equipment... and doesn’t seem to be doing ours any good either.”

That revelation had elicited an affronted scowl.

“Attempt to recalibrate those sensors, Mr. Miller. Hopefully our advances in the last century will be able to compensate.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m now able to receive the subspace radio signals more completely, sir,” Rand had announced. “Someone on the surface of the fourth planet is broadcasting.”

“Let’s hear it,” Sulu had said.

“Switching to speakers.”

“...days out of Darrin V. Our vessel developed engine problems and we were forced to put down on this ugly little planet and attempt repairs. No such luck. We require assistance.

“To any vessel within hearing range, this is the SS Maria Theresa, 29 days out of...”

Uhura had checked the library computer records.

“Twelve days ago, all Federation starships received notification that the SS Maria Theresa, a privately-owned warp yacht, had gone missing... she was reported headed from Earth to Antares—via Darren V.”

“Helm, put us on course for the planet, full impulse; geo-synchronous orbit over what appears to be the landing site when we arrive."

"Aye, sir," Demora had replied, nudging the great starship where its master willed it.

As Excelsior had settled into an easy path over Epsilon Delta IV, Miller had spoken again.

"The combination of cavourite and cloud cover is making our sensor sweeps and visual scans essentially useless, sir. We can barely read a metallic substance on the planet's surface, let alone life signs. Transporter locks would be impossible."

Uhura had smiled slightly.

"Every time you're amazed at the wonders of technology, you run across a place that isn't willing to concede to those wonders so easily."

The captain had nodded. "Open a channel, Commander Rand."

She'd complied, and informed him, "Hailing frequencies open, sir."

Mantovanni had noted Uhura's grimace at her fellow officer's choice of phrase, and had made a mental note to ask her about it later.

Then, though, Sulu's voice had boomed out, "Maria Theresa, this is the starship Excelsior. Do you read us?"

A relieved sounding voice had replied, "Thank God you're here, Excelsior. We were beginning to give up hope."

"We've monitored your distress call, and are preparing to assist. Stand by to receive a shuttle at your coordinates. How many in your party? Does anyone require medical attention?"

"Negative, Excelsior. We're all fine here, all seven of us… just eager to get off this rock. You surprised us… our scanners don't seem to be working, and our computers are down."

"The former is a consequence of the planet's nature. We'll see you in a few moments. Excelsior out."

Uhura had leaned over, and advised, "I recommend a medical officer, anyway… it can't hurt to check them out."

"Agreed," Sulu had said. "Assemble an appropriate landing party—medical officer, as you said, and diagnostic engineer to assess their damage—but allow room for seven people and their most intimate personal effects. I don't want anyone feeling like they have to leave something of real importance behind."

Then he'd really surprised Mantovanni.

"While Uhura and I shuttle down to the planet with the landing party, you'll be in charge, Lieutenant. Commander Rand will be here if there's a problem."

"Sir, wouldn't it be best if Ensign Sulu and I were to…" he'd begun.

Sulu had cut him off.

"Negative, Lieutenant. You wanted some conn time; you're about to get it. Besides, I do think I have sufficient experience as a shuttle pilot to land and then take off again, don't you?"

Mantovanni had immediately acquiesced.

"Of course, sir."

Something, though, had been bothering him even then.

When the shuttle Cartier had launched, and oriented itself for an approach to the landing site, that odd sense of wrongness had made him issue his first order.

"Commander Rand, hail the planet's surface."

Though he'd been rewarded with a questioning look, she'd complied.

"Maria Theresa, this is Excelsior. The shuttle Cartier is en route… stand by for pick-up."

Two things had then happened at once: Neither, in and of itself, was particularly noteworthy. Together, though…

Miller had said, "Interesting. There's an energy spike from the area of the landing site. Maybe they've got some power back."

Then, the voice from the planet had inquired, "Is Captain Sulu on his way down?"

And, suddenly, Luciano Mantovanni had known.

"Rafael, raise shields! Evasive maneuvers, Demora!" Before they could question, he roared, "Do it!"

Even as the ship had lurched to starboard in response to the younger Sulu's commands, a series of explosions had thrown the suddenly reeling Excelsior into a spin.

"Warn the captain, Rand… it's a trap!"

***

Hikaru Sulu, of course, had already figured that out.

While Uhura, always looking for a chance to evaluate a young officer, had been monitoring Mantovanni’s conversation with the Maria Theresa, Sulu’s concentration had focused immediately at the mention of his name.

How do they know who I am? Excelsior’s captain had thought.

The answer had followed almost immediately on the heels of his question: Because they’re expecting you.

If he’d suddenly been granted clairvoyant powers in that moment—and hadn’t been a little preoccupied with attempting to save his own life, as well as those of the other shuttle occupants—Hikaru Sulu would have been amused, and pleased, to see that his daughter’s reactions had been every bit as quick as his own. As one, they’d turned their separate charges away from what might have been immediate destruction.

Even his superlative reflexes, though, had been unable to spare the shuttle completely. The energy burst from the planet’s surface had struck them a glancing blow, and even as he labored to keep the suddenly unresponsive craft in the air, he’d heard the whistle of rushing wind and the voice of his friend and first officer.

“What did you say to Mantovanni about landing and taking off?”

Sulu hadn’t answered; the ground had been approaching at an unwelcome speed, and he hadn’t dared distract himself.

Despite that, he’d found his thoughts were of Excelsior, Demora, and Janice—not necessarily in that order—even as the Cartier arrived on the surface of Epsilon Delta IV somewhat sooner than he’d planned.

***

“The shuttle’s already off my scanners! She must have gone down!”

“Damn it!” Janice Rand had gritted.

Miller hadn't been finished, though.

"And there are two vessels emerging from a crater on Epsilon Delta IV's far moon. I can't be certain, because of the cavourite interference, but in my opinion their silhouette identifies them as Orion Blockade Runners.

"They're closing... three minutes away."

The young science officer had looked up then, gaze alternating between his two superiors.

As one, both had demanded, "Damage!"

The reports had still been coming in, but Costa had fielded some of them while Miller was occupied with the sensor readings, and had collated enough for a preliminary sketch of their operational readiness.

"Warp drive offline: Damage to starboard nacelle before our deflector screens fully energized. Our shields are down to 77%. Sickbay reports minor injuries, but no fatalities thus far."

"They were assuming they'd hit us dead on," Mantovanni had mused. "Nice moves, Demora.

"Try to raise Captain Sulu, Commander."

"Already doing so… no response," Rand had replied.

It had been in that moment things had started to get dicey. She'd pushed away from the communications console, stood... and had begun issuing orders.

In the aftermath of the exchange that had just ended—with a furious Rand back at her post and near rigid with indignation—Luciano Mantovanni found everyone on the bridge looking at him.

"Mr. Costa, decrease our shield power by 30%; Mr. Sulu, one tenth impulse. Break us out of orbit; give me a course leading towards the asteroid belt, away from the oncoming ships."

Demora frowned.

"That'll be a rough ride to escape velocity at only one-tenth impulse."

"You heard the lady, everyone. Grab hold of something," he advised.

"What about the captain and the landing party? We have to help them," Rand reminded him angrily.

"We have to help ourselves first. Excelsior is more important at the moment than even the captain, Commander Uhura and the rest of the landing party," Mantovanni replied steadily.

The low rumble briefly became a veritable tremor, before the great starship threw off the grasp of Epsilon Delta IV and fled for the asteroid field.

"According to my calculations," Miller pointed out, "even at full impulse, we wouldn't reach the belt before the Orions caught us."

"Thank you, Mr. Miller. Keep the weapons off line, Mr. Costa, and cut our shield power in half again. Mantovanni to engineering; open the starboard nacelle's plasma vent. Demora, increase to one-fifth impulse, and let's see our pursuers on screen."

It had been the shipwrights of the ancient Orion civilization who'd constructed the first vessels now known in Starfleet nomenclature as Rakesh-class blockade runners; and the fact that they were still produced in significant numbers today was a testament to the brilliance of their original design. They were fast, maneuverable, packed a surprising punch, and were versatile enough to be adapted for whatever business their masters preferred, whether malevolent or benign. All of this had been proven millennia before ancient humans had gone to war in galleys and triremes, and the long, sleek starships were a familiar sight to many a spacefarer.

No doubt, for more than a few, it had been the last thing they'd ever seen.

Now, they bore down on Excelsior, as no doubt they and their fellows had done countless times before.

"Pirates," Miller spat.

"That's not likely," Mantovanni replied, even as he rose, and moved to stand beside the helm. "Pirates don't take pokes at combat vessels, hoping to get lucky, David. Pirates like nice, rich, pathetic targets."

"Be that as it may," Commander Rand said pointedly, "They're going to catch us in less than two minutes… mind letting us in on your plan?"

Luciano Mantovanni glanced down at Demora Sulu, and then across the bridge.

"'Plan,' Commander?" He then smiled slightly.

"Hadn't you noticed? I'm panicking."

***

“It’s bad.”

Kambuuta M’Benga, Excelsior’s chief surgeon, closed his medical tricorder and turned to Sulu.

“Lieutenant Thomas has extensive internal injuries and what a layman would call ‘a cracked skull.’ I have no way to relieve the cranial pressure he’s experiencing. He needs the kind of attention I can only give him on Excelsior.” M’Benga glanced back at the injured man. “If we’re not aboard within the hour, he’ll die.”

Both knew that didn’t speak well of the young engineer’s chances.

Excelsior’s captain briefly remembered the old adage: “Any landing you can walk away from is a good one.”

Unfortunately, most pilots didn’t feel that way when fully half the people for whom they were responsible weren’t walking away… or even sitting up.

From the sound of things, it's clear Excelsior was under attack when our comm system blew out, Sulu thought. They’re not answering hails from the hand-held communicators, either, which could mean we’re being jammed, she’s out of range...

...or she’s not there to answer.

“Uhura?” he asked, turning a concerned gaze to his best friend.

“Bumps and bruises... bad laceration across her right thigh... she lost a lot of blood before I got to her. She’ll be fine in a few days, though.”

An optimistic appraisal, Doctor, Sulu thought. If whoever fired at us is now engaged in a search, or, worse, knows where we went down, I don’t think she’s going to get those “few days” you mentioned.

“The Cartier will obviously be the first place anyone will look for us,” he noted. “And, right now, I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

Even if they escaped, Sulu knew, the little shuttle wasn’t ever leaving Delta Epsilon IV: Between the torpedo hit and subsequent “landing”—if you could really call it that, he thought in disgust—the hull damage was far too extensive for her ever to be space-worthy again. Now, she played the dual role of simple shelter... and inviting, stationary target.

“We should consider getting away from here; is it feasible, with them?” Sulu inquired, hoping against hope.

The doctor’s expression was grim.

“Uhura? Sure. Thomas, however, I’ll concede to move only twice: Once into the shuttle that rescues us; and from there to sickbay. Otherwise, he’s not going anywhere.

“If you want to take Uhura, I’ll stay here with my patient.”

M’Benga possessed a doctor’s typical selflessness; his captain, though, wasn’t inclined to accept the offer.

“No. I managed to guide us into this canyon. Hopefully it and the cavourite will afford us some cover.

“Keep me apprised of their conditions. I’m going to see if there’s some way to boost the comm system’s reception and hear something through this interference.”

It wouldn’t be an easy job, he knew. The woman who could no doubt practically do it in her sleep, unfortunately, was: Loss of blood had left Uhura badly weakened. Briefly, he considered asking the doctor to wake her, but decided against it.

Hikaru Sulu hated feeling helpless. Again, he went over their viable options, but those had been reduced to only one.

So, they waited.

***

“Bring us about, Demora... slowly, but have us facing them well before the action starts.”

She clearly didn’t understand why her friend had done what he’d done... but complied anyway.

Mantovanni had placed Excelsior in what seemed to be an unfortunate position: Too far from the asteroids to gain shelter, and too distant to use the planet to protect the great starship’s flank.

“Are they still jamming subspace communications?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m unable to get a signal out beyond the interference,” Rand confirmed. “I can’t even reach the planet, now,” she added, somewhat resentfully.

He ignored her.

“We’ll be in their weapons range," Costa stated, "in 22 seconds.”

“Back us off, Demora... one quarter impulse. Increase our shield power by 3%, Rafael.”

“That’s not going to be enough against their weapons,” Rand insisted.

“You’re right,” Mantovanni agreed readily. “Hail them; tell them that we’d be willing to discuss surrender terms.”

“What?!” she gasped. “You can’t just...”

The Sicilian interrupted, enunciating carefully.

"Tell me what I can or can't do again, Commander, and I'll relieve you.

"Now send the message."

Gritting her teeth, she did.

"Revised weapons range, 17 seconds."

"Scan for a sudden drop in their shield power, Rafael," Mantovanni said.

"Scanning. Why would they…?" Costa began, stopped… then blurted, "…the screen strength on both ships just decreased significantly… but their weapons are at full!"

"Target the ship to port… lock phasers and photons on target. Don't wait for my order… fire when ready."

It was an order every weapons officer dreamed of hearing. Costa smiled with genuine relish as his fingers danced over the controls. A mere three seconds later, he announced, "Simultaneous barrage firing."

Costa unleashed Excelsior's wrath to awesome effect. The phaser strikes hit the oncoming blockade runner dead on. Even at their reduced power level, though, her screens weathered them.

The torpedoes, which struck instants later, were a different matter. The first was deflected, for the most part, but the other two punched through the already overstressed shields. Costa had known what he was doing; the assault had been staggered just enough. The second photon struck her almost dead-on, near her bridge, and punched a gaping hole in her forward dorsal.

Demora cringed; she could literally see debris—and people—blown into space.

The last hit was the most devastating of all. The torpedo slipped past much of the reeling Orion vessel's length, and touched at her aft section, very near to the starboard impulse engine.

It wasn't a direct hit on a critical area… but it was close enough. The subsequent explosions, while not sufficient to rip the vessel to pieces, left her a shattered mess.

"She's adrift… helpless," Miller said after a quick scan.

"You're almost certainly right… but let's not make the same assumptions about them they did about us, David," Mantovanni told him gently. "Forward shields to full."

"Their turn in four… three… two…"

"Hang on, everybody."

The Orion ship fired… but it wasn't as heavy a hit as they'd feared: Excelsior shook from the impact, but recovered swiftly.

"They transferred power back to their shields," Costa told them. "That was the worst moment they could have chosen!"

"Changing your mind in the middle of a maneuver isn't always a good thing… but it's hard to remain resolute when your sister ship is blasted out from beside you." Mantovanni gestured back to weapons control.

"Targets of opportunity, Rafael… show me you're a better shot than I am."

His subordinate chuckled, and then attempted to prove just that.

The remaining hostile put up a good fight, but she was facing a ship that outgunned her easily, and wasn't nearly so wounded as her commander had pretended.

Once it became clear that his blockade runner was going to neither win, nor win free, her captain did what all good Orions do when in a hopeless situation.

The explosion took what was left of her sister ship with her.

Mantovanni leaned over, and whispered, "Best speed back to the planet, Demora.

"Let's go get your father."

Now that the immediate threat had passed, a pall of negativity settled over the bridge. Janice Rand and Luciano Mantovanni weren't particularly happy with each other…

…and that didn't seem likely to change any time soon.

***

Hikaru Sulu examined his daughter with a scowl as she stood before his desk... and did not, at first, release her from the uncomfortable “at attention” stance she’d assumed when summoned into his ready room.

“All right,” he began. “I’ve heard from Commander Rand and the other bridge officers various interpretive accounts of our little confrontation with the Orions—as well as opinions on the dispute between her and Lieutenant Mantovanni.

“Now I want your perspective.” Then, as if noting her erect posture only now, he clipped, in an off-handedly irritated tone, “Stand at ease. I don’t want you fainting dead away while delivering a report, Ensign.”

She relaxed, visibly, if not completely, and replied, “Yes, sir.”

Demora wasn’t much of a storyteller—at least not in these circumstances—but she did her best, relaying to her father the events that had occurred after he and Uhura had left the bridge.

Hikaru Sulu’s face was cast in stone for the bulk of the narrative. It was only when she mentioned their return to the planet that he interrupted.

“How close were you to Delta Epsilon IV when you spotted the scout ship fleeing the surface?”

“Too far to lock weapons or make any attempt to stop them before they could leave the system at high warp—which is precisely what they did.”

Excelsior’s captain gave no reaction to that, but instead asked, “Did Lieutenant Mantovanni give any consideration to pursuing the departing vessel?”

“Not aloud, sir,” she answered promptly. “But I can’t speak to the lieutenant’s thought processes.”

If the statement flirted with the periphery of sarcasm, her father chose to ignore it.

“Go on.”

“Commander Rand’s reconfiguration of the comm system, coupled with Ensign Miller’s recalibration of the sensors, enabled us to find you far more quickly than we’d dared to hope, considering all the cavourite interference. We scanned the planet for any more surprises... then, when reasonably certain there were none, sent down the Cortes to retrieve you.

“All the rest you know.” Instead of sarcasm this time, there was, in her voice, just a hint of reproach.

He immediately knew to what she was referring with her subtle condemnation: Upon regaining contact with Excelsior, and learning that Mantovanni still held the center seat, his reaction had been immediate—decisive.

Demora had been a little startled at the vehemence and downright anger in his voice, as projected through the speakers of Janice Rand’s console.

“Lieutenant Mantovanni, stand down,” he’d declared. "Commander, take over immediately.”

“Aye, sir,” she’d answered, with what Demora had thought was a bit too much satisfaction.

“You heard the captain, Lieutenant.”

If Rand had been expecting some sort of resistance—or even resentment—she didn’t get it.

“Yes, ma’am.” Mantovanni had immediately vacated the center seat; as he was headed for weapons control, he suggested, “Perhaps the hostile environment shuttle should be our choice this time, Commander. Its hull is reinforced, and its shields particularly sturdy. If we missed something in our scans of the planet’s surface, and someone takes a potshot, it would probably weather the hit better than one of our standard shuttles.”

Rand had considered that, and then decided, “Agreed.” She’d chosen a second landing party—including, at M’Benga’s request, a team with a portable trauma surgical kit—and sent them off in a matter of seconds.

Then, she’d stewed in the center seat, with Mantovanni brooding at weapons control. While there’d been no further shooting—either in space or on the bridge—the tension in the air until Sulu’s return had, nevertheless, resembled that of an impending gunfight.

Upon coming aboard, he’d ordered an immediate departure from the system, so as to give pursuit and warn Starfleet: They’d found the Maria Theresa—unfortunately, in pieces—during Miller’s first unobstructed scan of the surface. That meant any survivors were aboard the now fleeing scout ship.

As they’d headed for the borders of Orion space in what would probably prove a vain attempt to overtake the swift little fugitive vessel, Sulu had immediately begun attempting to piece together precisely what had happened on the bridge during his absence.

Considering his grim facial cast, he wasn’t pleased with the answers he’d thus far gotten—especially, it seemed, from his daughter.

“Despite your rank, you set an example on this ship while you’re here, Demora. I can’t say I’m pleased with your conduct in this situation.”

"You'll excuse me, sir, if I trust my friend as much as you trust yours."

Hikaru Sulu was controlling his formidable anger only with difficulty.

"The difference," he informed her, with an effort at patience, "is that my friend has 37 years of Starfleet experience, and your friend has seven. That’s a significant difference in time served, I’m certain you’ll agree.”

The elder Sulu’s eyes narrowed, and he added, “I’m also not pleased that, according to Janice, you moved to support him immediately when he challenged her authority."

She refused to wilt, or even flag, under his relentless gaze. Instead, she countered, “That’s not correct, Captain.

“She challenged his authority.”

Sulu exhaled explosively.

“According to the letter of the law, that’s true. Insofar as my clearly implied intent, however, it’s another matter entirely. You know that, Demora.”

She was still unfazed.

"Then, with all due respect, don't leave him in command if you don’t want him to command, sir.

“Quite honestly, Dad, I don't see you relinquishing the center seat if, when you were a young lieutenant, Captain Kirk had left you there and an emergency had developed. You'd have chosen to assume he'd left you in charge because he had an instinct you could handle it if something came up… or went wrong."

"Then you don’t know your father as well as you think you do," the elder Sulu countered. “I would certainly, if the situation had warranted it, have immediately surrendered command to Spock, or even Scotty."

"But your first officer was with you," she pointed out. “And while I love and respect Commander Rand, she’s not a born starship captain, like James Kirk… or you.”

“And, evidently, your young friend is, according to you, Ensign?” he inquired, voice redolent with sarcasm.

“See? That’s part of the problem.” She then hesitated, realizing that speaking her mind in the next few moments could damage the often fragile rapport she had with her father if he chose to take offense at what she was about to tell him.

He formed his fingers into steeples, and intoned, “Continue.”

Demora sighed minutely.

“You don’t believe in your younger officers.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he asserted immediately. “I think quite a few of them have excellent potential...”

Demora interrupted him, knowing even as she did so that she was presuming on their personal relationship while attempting to make a point involving their professional one.

“I know you do, but it’s always just ‘potential’ with you. To you, they’re ‘young’ officers, not just officers... they have ‘raw talent that needs to be molded,’ ‘they need grooming,’ ‘they’re not quite ready for the responsibility.’ It’s my opinion, sir, that you’ve surrounded yourself with too many cronies from the old Enterprise…"

What she left unsaid, and instead implied, was, "…like Janice Rand."

But there was no question he'd inferred it.

Her father seemed almost tolerantly amused. Demora knew that assuming such would constitute a perilous miscalculation.

“And precisely why have I done that?” he inquired.

“Because,” she answered steadily, “you’re having trouble dealing with the fact that you’re all getting older.”

“Oh, really?” he replied; his anger wasn’t so carefully in check, now. “I have a different interpretation: Mine sees Lieutenant Mantovanni as just a little too self-assured and arrogant for his own good... and I’ll discipline him accordingly.” The last part of his statement was delivered in a “That’s the final word on this subject” tone that brooked no further debate.

She maintained her bearing, but refused to fall silent.

“You set him for up failure, Dad,” she accused. “You gave him responsibility and now you plan to chastise him for having exercised it.”

Excelsior’s captain was fed up.

“That’s enough, Ensign. If I decide he’s presumptuous, it means he is.”

But Demora was angry too, now, and threw caution to the wind.

“'Presumptuous'... for refusing to relinquish command... for having resolved the situation despite not deferring to Janice Rand...

“...or for having dared to sleep with your daughter?”

It was definitely a step too far.

Her father’s visage devolved into the “affronted nearly to bursting” expression only a Japanese man could truly display. He let loose with a torrent of his native tongue; the younger Sulu had only ever heard him do that once before. She flinched at his fury.

Abruptly, though, he cut himself off... and with a visible effort, pulled himself together.

“You’re dismissed.” While his tone seemed to confirm a sudden, remarkable recovery of composure, Demora wasn’t certain whether it would last long enough for her to leave the room.

To his credit, it did.

Unfortunately, his last words didn’t exactly speak of a particularly serene outlook.

“And send Lieutenant Mantovanni in here.”

***

It’s never going to happen.

Janice Rand examined herself in the mirror, and acknowledged harsh reality.

The first was the one which women had faced since the mirror was invented: The simple, inevitable effects of time on physical beauty.

You were damned good-looking once, Janice, she thought. It was all Jim Kirk could do to keep his hands off you.

Then, again, she reflected, somewhat more bitterly, considering all the women he didn’t keep his hands off...

She knew that wasn’t fair. Captain Kirk had been the consummate professional. Sleeping with a beautiful woman was one thing... sleeping with his beautiful yeoman would have been, for him, something else entirely. He would have still respected her, but would have lost regard for himself.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had plenty of lovers in her time; men had sought after, and fought over, her attentions with a satisfying regularity for a long time.

That time, though, had passed.

It didn’t really bother her as much as she thought it would. Passion was more for the young, after all... and she’d certain gotten her share of it.

No... what she looked like really didn’t bother her.

Who she was, though, did.

Fifty-four years old, Janice. A lieutenant commander, and second officer on one of the most powerful and advanced starships in the Federation Fleet.

Her career had been a successful one…but...

…she’d wanted more.

She’d wanted command.

And I’m never going to get it.

It was an agonizing admission, but an accurate one, she believed.

She had to know for certain, though… and there was only one person who could tell her.

Janice Rand set out to find him.

***

“You wanted to see me, sir.”

Hikaru Sulu regarded Luciano Mantovanni with what he hoped was an objective eye. For a moment, he debated dismissing him, and reconvening when his temper was better under control.

The briefest vision of his daughter entwined with Mantovanni, though, cast that idea to the four winds—though he set it aside as resolutely as he could.

“Why did you refuse to relinquish the center seat when reminded by Commander Rand of her superior rank and experience?”

“You left me in charge, sir,” he replied simply.

Sulu shook his head in curt dismissal of the point.

“So that you might gain valuable conn time... not so you’d attempt to command Excelsior in a crisis situation.”

Mantovanni seemed unrepentant.

“I did what I thought was right.”

“Despite Commander Rand’s opinion that it wasn’t right.”

The younger man had remained at attention. His tone was less rigid, however… and contained an acerbic bite.

“So, what you’re saying, sir, is that even though I thought I was the better person for the job and had the regs on my side, I should have relinquished command.”

Sulu snapped, “It’s not for you to decide who the better person for the job is, Lieutenant.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

The captain nodded.

Now Mantovanni locked gazes with him.

“Oh yes, it is,” he asserted. “The moment you put me in that center seat, whether you’d intended for it to be a ‘training tool’ or not, it became my decision.

"And my decision was that I’m a better commander than Janice Rand.”

Sulu’s smile was wintry and a bit derisive.

“An extremely bold and presumptuous statement from an officer yet to reach his 25^th birthday, in contrast with a woman who’s served Starfleet for almost 40 years. She’s been in the service more than a decade longer than you’ve been alive, Lieutenant. That earns her your respect."

Mantovanni replied, quietly, “The commander had my respect, sir; and she still does.”

"You had a hell of a way of showing it."

"My regard for her did affect my actions in those moments… I didn't have security remove her from the bridge for her defiance, now did I?"

Excelsior’s captain yelled, “Your arrogance is nothing short of astonishing, Lieutenant! Allow me to disabuse of your mistaken notion; you are most certainly not a better officer than Commander Janice Rand!”

For the first time, Mantovanni seemed irritated.

“Sir, respectfully... don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say I was a better officer than she was; that would be asinine. What I said was that I was a better commander—especially in a fight. There’s a tremendous difference. In many—even most—situations, I would have immediately deferred to Commander Rand. That scenario, though, wasn’t one of them.”

“If you’d stepped down, you would still have been there to make tactical and strategic recommendations,” Sulu reminded him firmly.

“But she might not have taken them,” Mantovanni parried. “I preferred to let her give her opinion and leave me the final decision—precisely because it was a tactical situation. Your choice to place me in command gave me that option, and I exercised it.

“Given similar circumstances, I’d do precisely the same thing again.”

Sulu glared hard at the younger man—who returned a steady gaze.

“Rest assured, Lieutenant... the same situation will not arise in the future.

“You’re dismissed.”

***

Kambuuta M'Benga performed the duty he most hated: He pulled a sheet over the head of a person who'd just died.

Even declaring someone dead didn't bother him as much as this final act; it was as if he himself was setting the veil between life and death in place, after having decided the effort to preserve the former just wasn't worth it anymore.

It was irrational, but it was still how he felt.

"We did everything we could for Lieutenant Thomas," Excelsior's CMO said, as much to himself as the trauma team that had labored so long… and so unsuccessfully. "He was just too far gone by the time we got him back here."

He leaned wearily against the wall of the surgical bay, and then glanced up at the gallery; there, M'Benga saw Nyota Uhura. Though she might have seemed unaffected or even impassive to some, the doctor had known her far too long to be fooled: She was grieving, but wouldn't allow it to show in a public forum such as sickbay.

Her expression suddenly full of intensity and purpose, she turned and left.

Wherever she's going, M'Benga decided, I don't believe I'd want to get in her way.

***

"We need to talk."

Janice Rand's expression told her captain that this wasn't going to be the conversation he'd anticipated.

"Of course," he acknowledged. He gestured to the seat in his quarters she'd long ago designated hers—and over which she and Uhura playfully, chronically fought—a form-fitting easy chair that they both enthused was "magically comfortable."

She took a place, instead, on one of the standard issue pieces.

Uh oh, he thought.

"Please let me just say this, Hikaru," she began immediately. When he didn't respond, she took it as tacit agreement, and continued, "I've thought about this for the last two days… and I think maybe Lieutenant Mantovanni did the right thing in retaining command."

Excelsior's captain blinked, almost stupefied.

"You… what?"

She averted her eyes.

"I know how that sounds… like I've got no confidence in myself. That's not what this is about; believe me, I have faith in my own capabilities. It's finally become obvious to me, though, that Starfleet doesn't."

"I don't see why you'd thin–…" Sulu tried.

She cut him off, brutally.

"Please don't patronize me. I'm two ranks beneath you… I've never been an executive officer… not only am I not on a fast track to command, I’m not even in the stadium."

Sulu's expression—one of sympathy and pity—was all the confirmation she needed.

"Not everyone can command a starship, Janice," he reminded her gently. "You're an excellent officer—a credit to the uniform—and I w–…"

Again she interrupted. "'A credit to the uniform.' Well, doesn't that sound like consolation." With an obvious effort, she squelched the bitterness in her tone.

"If I asked you as a personal favor, Hikaru, to recommend me for the command track—even at this late date—would you do it?"

He was taken aback.

"I'm… not certain my influence would have any effect on Starfl–…"

For a third time, she spoke over him.

"Would you do it?"

He didn't flinch from his response.

"No… I wouldn't.

"You are an excellent officer, Janice, and capable of commanding, even in an emergency… but you don't have it."

"'It,'" she echoed.

"Yes. 'It.' And if you have to ask what 'it' is, then my case is made for me.

"Why didn't you relieve Mantovanni?"

Rand protested, "The regs were against me…"

Now Sulu interrupted with, "But you thought you were right, and hesitated… no, more than hesitated—failed to find a way do what you thought was right... you didn't act when you thought you should.

"...But a part of command is about self-assurance… ego… the courage of your convictions… and you, ultimately, lack that type of resolve. It isn't in your nature." Whereas Mantovanni, for his age, has got too damned much of it.

"And that's why you'll never be given command of a starship."

For the first time in their long association, Hikaru Sulu couldn't read Janice Rand; and he knew there was a real danger he'd destroyed their friendship.

The truth will out.

"Then I submit to you, Captain Sulu, that your anger at Lieutenant Mantovanni is some odd outgrowth of protectiveness towards me—and your daughter—rather than any genuine indignation at the propriety of his actions.

"I'll leave you consider my statements, sir—even as I will yours."

"Janice, I d–…"

She never broke stride, though, as she left.

***

He heard the announcement en route to Uhura's quarters.

"This is the captain.

"It is with the greatest regret and sorrow that I announce the death of Lieutenant Gerald Thomas. He was a fine you–… he was a fine officer, and a skilled engineer. Be it noted by all he gave his life in the performance of his duty."

While he had been raised on Vulcan, and taught there by Sevek that emotions should be heeded, but not indulged, Mantovanni found himself suddenly angry; and it was not a feeling easily denied. With an effort, he quieted himself with techniques he'd learned long ago, and continued towards his goal.

He was startled when the door to Commander Uhura's quarters slid open as he approached, but managed to retain his recently reacquired composure.

"Come in."

The room was relatively dark; the only light seemed to be coming from a viewer at the desk where she sat. Mantovanni knew immediately that Uhura wanted him to take the chair next to her—where he too could observe whatever was displayed on the screen.

"For the duration of this conversation, we'll be dispensing with ranks, Cicero." She gestured to the chair, and, hesitantly, he complied.

His eyes widened slightly as what she was watching.

"That's the ship's bridge log recorder," he realized aloud. "I wasn't aware senior officers had access to it."

Mantovanni covertly glanced at her; she was waiting for that very action, and caught his eye immediately.

"They don't," she acknowledged. Then her tone hardened slightly. "I haven't been a communications expert for nearly 40 years without learning to get what I want in said arena, Cicero."

"Indeed," he answered. "Interesting."

"Not half so interesting," she replied, "as what I'm watching."

Her gaze flicked towards the screen.

"Let's go through it together, shall we?"

***

When the chime to his quarters went off, Hikaru Sulu was relieved.

Janice, thank goodness. At least I can further explain wh–…

The corridor, though, was empty when he answered the door.

For a moment, his eyes narrowed in confusion. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to ring his chime and disappear before he answered; he almost missed the info tape affixed at eye level to the threshold.

A brief, handwritten note—he recognized the lettering as Uhura's, though she'd certainly deny it—read:

You never saw this.

Sulu was curious, but already had an idea what the module would contain. He inserted it into the data port, and activated his desk's viewer.

It was precisely what he'd guessed.

***

"Did you have a plan from the moment things started to go wrong?" Uhura inquired.

"No. But when the blockade runners appeared, I decided that orbiting the planet was a bad place for us."

Uhura nodded. "You didn't want to be caught with your back to a river."

"Exactly."

"Why didn't you explicate those observations to your fellow officers?"

As he spoke now, Mantovanni could hear himself and Janice Rand in the background—debating over who should lead.

"I didn't feel it necessary."

"Why not?" Uhura prodded.

"I was in command. I shouldn't have had to explain myself."

"I see." She absorbed that for a moment. "Look at the expressions on various crew members' faces."

He'd been doing just that for some time. What he saw surprised him.

Demora had looked troubled—concerned for her father, no doubt—but had responded to each of his commands immediately, without hesitations. Costa, while questioning him once, had also been quick to obey each time. Miller, too, had worn an anxious, but not really frightened, expression.

The other officers present had been quite worried.

Lieutenant DeVries at life support had been gripping his console the whole time; and their bridge liaison to engineering, Lieutenant Jacobs, had kept glancing at Janice Rand, almost imploringly. Vasta, their navigator, seemed almost angry, and her coloring had progressed from a pleasant mauve to a near crimson as the crisis built.

Then, of course, there was Lieutenant Commander Janice Rand.

She'd remained frustrated—almost poised on the verge of doing something six or seven times—but had restrained herself on every occasion.

"You hadn't noticed how concerned many of them were, had you?"

"No," he admitted.

After allowing him a moment to absorb that, she asked, "Do you see the pattern here?"

He didn't hesitate for a second.

"Yes. The people who know me, who went to the Academy with me, trust me. The others don't."

Uhura sighed slightly. Remember, Nyota, he's brilliant… but young.

"That's not quite correct, Cicero.

"You didn't give them a chance to relax with you, to trust you… you said almost nothing. Now part of that is our fault… you should have had much more conn time before this… but that didn't prevent you from giving them some reassurance, some indication as to your intentions. Instead, you left them guessing, and wondering… and worrying."

Stiffly, he countered, "Captain Sulu doesn't always reveal his plans to the crew."

"But you're not Captain Sulu. You're a relatively untested, mostly untried lieutenant thrust into a critical situation. While God knows Janice didn't handle herself with as much grace as she could have, you chose to be the strong, silent type when precisely the opposite was called for. Even if you didn't want to give reassurance, Cicero, it was your job to do so. They were, in those moments, your crew. They needed to know you had a handle on it. By remaining mum, you left them uncertain. It worked out… but it might not have.

"You owe your success to Janice Rand."

"I… how so?" The Sicilian looked genuinely perplexed, and despite his control, a little angry.

"If she'd challenged you… I mean really challenged you… you would have had a major problem. The higher ranking officers would almost certainly have supported her, and knowing from our time together how inflexible you can be, the entire situation could have descended into a fist or firefight—with a pair of Orion blockade runners bearing down on you."

His expression, for just a moment, was grim.

"I hadn't considered any of that."

I know… but you will, now. I can see your wheels turning even as we speak, young man.

"There may come a day when officers will simply think, 'That's Captain Mantovanni… he's got a plan, and his plans always work. I don't have to know what he's doing. He does.' But, right now, you've got to be a little more forthcoming."

He acknowledged her points with a somewhat chagrined, "Aye, aye, Commander."

She wasn't done, though.

"Why didn't you launch the shuttle when Janice suggested it?"

Mantovanni seemed confident of his response here.

"At that point, I didn't know what was on the planet. I thought it possible another small craft would simply be hit by weapons fire, and then we'd have either two dead crews, or two crews to rescue."

Uhura leaned back, and folded her arms.

"Prudent," she allowed.

"Of course, from what we know now, that was the wrong decision. That little scout we're chasing couldn't have been carrying more that three or four torpedoes… and they'd used them trying to ambush Excelsior and take out the captain's shuttle. Launching a second would almost certainly have saved Lieutenant Thomas' life, according to Dr. M'Benga."

"I couldn't have known that." Mantovanni's tone, while not defensive, was certainly not acquiescent.

"True. But you made the decision; you were, at your own insistence, in charge.

Uhura was implacable.

"That makes Thomas' death your fault.

"It's not fair… it's not pretty… but it's true.

"And it's also true that if Janice had been in the center seat, Thomas might be alive now… and you would still have been there to fight off the Orions… because she would have deferred to you in combat. Perhaps she had an instinct about the shuttle you should have heeded… we'll never know. You were too busy asserting your authority.

"You didn’t, technically, make a single wrong choice, Cicero, according to the sum of your knowledge.

"Gerald Thomas is, however, still dead … and it's still, ultimately, because of your decisions.

She leaned forward, and her voice was like ice.

"That's command."

***

Sulu, of course, saw everything.

Impressive, innovative tactics…

Look at his manner with the younger officers… excellent.

You're not exactly forthcoming, though, are you, young man? Well, we'll take care of that.

Excelsior's captain had seen things he'd liked, and things he hadn't.

Something in the midst of the crisis, though, caught his attention.

Demora had flashed a worried, frustrated look. It was only fleeting; and, at first it seemed no one but the ship's log recorder had seen it.

Luciano Mantovanni though, had, as well.

It had been in that moment he'd arisen from the center seat, and moved to stand by the helm. It was a fairly common mannerism from a commander: Jim Kirk had often spent time in a battle standing next to a much younger Sulu.

That's not why Mantovanni had done it, though. He'd known she was in distress, and though he couldn't reassure her in any intimate fashion, he'd let her know that he was there, and that he was going to make it right, in the only way he could—with his presence.

He really cares for her… as a commander, and as a man.

He shook his head in self-recrimination. How much of this might have been avoided if, for the last few months, he'd been the teacher he should have been? Now they'd all have to live with their mistakes—everyone but Gerald Thomas, that is.

You've been quite the unreasonable ass, haven't you, Hikaru?… to Mantovanni and Demora.

Well, we'll take care of that, too.

It hadn't gone quite as smoothly as Sulu had hoped.

When he'd summoned Mantovanni to his ready room again, he'd begun with, "Concerning the last conversation we had, Lieutenant…"

His weapons officer had taken his momentary hesitation as a chance to counterattack.

Rather than interrupt, Sulu had listened… and taken it.

“Respectfully, Captain... I am neither arrogant nor insolent—or, at least, haven’t been with you—unless provoked.

“I was raised on Vulcan, sir. If, like my adopted people, I am relentlessly candid and opinionated, I make no apologies for that. If I have occasion to express genuine affection for your daughter, then perhaps you should salute me for my taste rather than condemning me for my actions—which were, and remain, none of your damned business.”

“I agree, on all counts, Lieutenant.”

Mantovanni stopped mid-monologue. “You do?” he asked, arching a brow.

“Yes,” Sulu cocked an eye at him in turn. “I’d called you in here to apologize.”

The younger man frowned. He’d run with a presumption, and was now paying the price for it.

“I see, sir. Well, then... permission to dismount the Arabian charger I rode in here on, and then to remove my head from my ass?”

Sulu grinned, ever so slightly.

“Granted, Lieutenant.

“Now, what was I about to say?” It was obvious he was tormenting Mantovanni slightly; for the first time, he had the upper hand, and was savoring it perhaps a bit more than he should.

Mantovanni, to his credit, bore it with the same droll humor he did most everything else.

“I think you became the personification of the ‘younger generation’ to me, Lieutenant—entirely too full of yourselves and, perhaps, lacking proper respect for those who’d come before you.

“No doubt it didn’t help your case that you’ve been... involved with Demora.”

“No doubt, sir,” he echoed.

Sulu examined the younger man's face for traces of sarcasm, and was surprised to find none.

"At any rate, I've decided that your actions during the incident were justified… but that your methodology could use a quite a bit of… seasoning."

A careful silence was the only reply.

"That's a senior officer's job," the captain continued, "and, in Commanders Uhura and Rand, you have two of the best to guide you in that regard."

"I never doubted that, sir."

Sulu nodded. "No… perhaps you really didn't.

"Go about your business, Lieutenant."

He studied his captain for a moment. Did that statement carry the connotation he thought it might?

Sulu's next statement confirmed it.

"We all have our own lives to live.

"Now get out," the older man declared, "before I change my mind."

Mantovanni risked a salute, and a forthrightly stated, "Thank you, sir."

As he reached the door, a final comment stopped him.

"Oh, and Lieutenant…?

"…you have the bridge."

***

When Mantovanni emerged from the ready room, Demora Sulu's anxious eyes strained to catch his; as he passed, he did something she'd never seen before.

In a gesture undetectable to anyone else, her lover winked at her.

In that moment, Demora knew that he and her father had come to some sort of accord.

Thank God.

"Relieving you, Commander."

She turned… just in time to see something pass between him and a woman who'd always been like a mother to her. It wasn't affection, or even reconciliation, but Janice Rand and Luciano Mantovanni seemed to have just begun mending the fences they'd both worked to tear down.

Surrounded by people she loved, Demora Sulu went back to work.