I wrote this purely for my own entertainment, and that of Johnny and Alex, for whom I was already editing material. They were engaged at that point in writing "Proving Grounds" as an Argus/Liberator crossover.     

Both of them expressed an immediate desire to put the story on their site. For some reason, though, I decided against it. Perhaps I was already considering Star Trek: Liberty on some level, and wanted to save it for that.     

This, then is the one, that, as Dennis DeYoung would say, "…started this whole train a rollin'."

"Strategic Maneuvers"

By Joseph Manno

Luciano Mantovanni disliked starbases as much as he loved starships.

There were a number of reasons for this, but they were all secondary to the fact that starbases were the province of admirals… and of the dozens he’d met, there were perhaps five he could actually tolerate on a regular basis.     

Considering the peremptory nature of the summons he’d just received, he was fairly certain Alexander Pierce wasn’t going to suddenly become number six.     

Though Mantovanni’s vessel was nominally assigned to the 13th Fleet, the extent of Liberty’s battle damage had forced her to seek refuge at Starbase 88. Like the other members of the Sovereign-class, she was a tempting target for Cardassian and Jem’Hadar warships. None of them had yet been destroyed in combat, and the Dominion was as anxious to break that string of success as the Federation was to maintain it.     

She and her escorts, a pair of old Miranda-class destroyer escorts, had been attacked on the fringes of the Luminaire Sector by a mixed squadron of Galor-class cruisers and Jem’Hadar fighters. That in itself would have been bad enough, but they’d been flanking one of the relatively new Dominion battleships about which the Federation knew so little.     

The fight had been short, vicious… and nearly fatal for all the Starfleet ships concerned. Even the Liberty had been horribly outgunned, and speculation had run rampant about why she had escaped—while the Lafayette and Pulaski hadn’t.     

The low rumble at Mantovanni’s side told him that he wasn’t the only one who’d avoid this meeting if he could. "Patience, Bagheer," he chided gently. "Growling at a superior officer may not be a court martial offense, but it doesn’t exactly endear you, either."     

"I should be growli–... eh, speaking to the yard superintendent, making certain Liberty has priority on the repair docket… not heeling my captain for a meeting that we both know is unnecessary." The sable fur on the feline’s neck stood up straight, and Mantovanni noted the none-too-subtle flexion of his friend’s fore-talons.     

Though he’d been raised by his Felisian mother, his father’s influence was never too far from the surface.     

Like the rest of Starbase 88, the Admiral’s suite of offices was barely decorated and underlit—a Spartan’s idea of style, at best. To their credit, his staff managed for the most part to avoid double takes as the infamous captain and his half-Tzenkethi officer entered and made for the administrative assistant’s desk.     

"Captain Mantovanni and Commander Bagheer for Admiral Pierce," the latter announced.

The secretary nearly went for her phaser when she glanced up to find the great feline looming over her. 

Even now, decades after the last war, the Tzenkethi were extremely uncommon outside the borders of their Hegemony. Even potential Federation membership rarely made an antisocial species more agreeable… and the Tzenkethi were less agreeable than most.     

She recovered gamely; Mantovanni gave her that.     

"The admiral will see you immediately, gentlemen."     

The whispers started again just after the doors closed behind them.

***

The tone of the meeting was set immediately: Rather than grant them a prompt "At ease," as was customary, Vice Admiral Alexander Pierce waited as the pair entered and brought themselves to attention before his desk.     

"Reporting as requested, sir," Bagheer snarled. For a moment Pierce looked a bit displeased with the tone, then realized that for all he knew, that was the Tzenkethi’s normal voice.     

He left them there for almost a full minute, while he glanced at a view-screen mounted on his expansive desk. Finally, he addressed them.     

"As you were.

"I’m pleased to announce, Commander Bagheer, your promotion to captain effective as of 1500 hours local time."     

"Sir?" The feline's ears lay back on his head in shock.     

"Report to Spacedock Seven. Your orders will precede you there; you are to assume command of the newly commissioned USS Sacramento. She’s a Norway-class.     

"Congratulations. Welcome to the Seventh Fleet." Pierce held out his hand.     

Rather than taking it, though, Bagheer looked at Mantovanni.     

"Permission to depart the Liberty, sir?"

His captain nodded slowly. He, too, had been surprised by the announcement, but his smile was genuine.     

"By all means," Mantovanni agreed; his gaze then flicked towards the admiral. "Don’t keep the man waiting, Commander. He just promoted you."     

Bagheer’s nearly subsonic purr cut off abruptly, and he hurriedly but carefully took Pierce’s hand. "Sorry, sir," he rumbled. "Thank you."     

"Think nothing of it," the answer came. "You’ve earned this. Dismissed."

As the excited Tzenkethi reached the door, his former captain stopped him.     

"You’re to stay alive, Bagheer. That’s my last order for you."     

The feline’s voice was nearly inaudible.     

"Aye, aye, sir."

With that, he was gone.     

"Sit down, Captain." Pierce went back to scanning the report on his desk screen; without looking up again, he began, "I’m just finishing your account of the battle in Sector 513. That’s a rather interesting tactic you employed."     

"It shouldn’t have been necessary," Mantovanni answered quietly, obviously disgusted with himself. Pierce recognized the emotion as one all good captains experienced: the one that made everything that happened under your watch—whether a minor navigational error, an attack by an entire Dominion squadron, or the unpredictable explosion of a supernova—your fault.     

"Hmmmm. According to this, the Lafayatte was already destroyed, and the Pulaski nearly so; her shields and impulse power essentially gone, what was left of her crew headed for escape pods. A difficult situation, to say the least."

"They were good ships." Mantovanni swallowed with difficulty, remembering the moment again.     

"So you dropped your shields to transport her crew aboard the Liberty. Simultaneously, your helmsman used the Pulaski’s prefix code to tap into her console and bring the nearly crippled vessel around on thrusters. She then remotely rigged the warp core to explode while Liberty fired a massive spread of quantum torpedoes at the Dominion battleship.     

"They—and the shock wave from Pulaski—hit the enemy vessel simultaneously, and she exploded, taking three Galor-class warships and 15 Jem’Hadar fighters with her."     

"That’s pretty much the way it went," Mantovanni affirmed.     

"Why in God’s name did you drop your shields, man? The Liberty is one of the most powerful and valuable ships in the quadrant. If we’d lost her, the Dominion would have been trumpeting the fact all the way back to Cardassia Prime!"     

Without batting an eye, the younger man replied, "That’s what ablative armor's for."     

Pierce’s jaw tightened, but he went on anyway. "Then, despite your battle damage and an obvious escape vector, you stood and exchanged broadsides with the remaining pair of Galor-class warships and the... let’s see... ‘seven or eight’ fighters that were left."

"Correct."     

Pierce stroked his coal-black beard, and whispered, "You were damned lucky, Captain." The subject now exhausted as far as he was concerned, the admiral glanced down at one of the innumerable PADDs on his desk.     

"The Liberty’s battle damage is quite extensive. According to the dock superintendent, she’s going to be sidelined for a month to six weeks.     

"In the interim, you’ll be taking command of another Sovereign-class starship, the USS Argus.”     

His subordinate frowned.     

"As I recall, that’s Lex’s ship."     

Pierce corrected, "It was. Captain Lex and much of the Argus’ senior staff are being... temporarily reassigned, until a hearing can be convened on charges of violating the Prime Directive."     

Mantovanni shook his head, slowly.     

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Oh, Lord, here we go, the admiral thought. However, he nodded.     

"I know Jonozia Lex; or, rather, I knew Saren Lex 80 years ago. If he says there was justification for his actions, Starfleet would do well to give him the benefit of the doubt."     

"In your opinion, Captain!" Pierce’s glare was hard.     

Mantovanni rolled his eyes. "Well, I don’t come in here with anyone else’s opinion, Admiral. Assuming command of a starship is one thing. Taking command of another man’s starship is a different matter entirely.     

"I won’t do it."

Pierce’s voice lowered dangerously.     

"Are you telling me you’ll disobey a direct order, Captain?"     

Mantovanni was completely unmoved.     

"Are you planning on pushing me by issuing a direct order, knowing that I’ve already told you I’ll refuse it, Admiral?" The men matched steely glares; it wasn’t often Pierce had felt himself equaled in such a contest.     

This was one of those times.     

"You see, it’s up to you, now, sir," Mantovanni continued. "Make it an incident, if you want. I’m not bucking for a flag rank any time soon… or, for that matter, any time at all."     

Pierce sat back, simmering still, but no longer in danger of boiling over. He knew Mantovanni wasn’t kidding. The man had turned down three promotions in two years—including his own offer to assume command of the dreadnought USS Liberator.     

"You’re insubordinate, Captain."     

Mantovanni smiled slightly. "Agreed. You’re an overbearing bully, Admiral. Are we done with the name-calling now?"     

"I suppose we are," Pierce acknowledged after a moment, astonished at the man’s gall.     

Then again, I was stupid enough to give him permission to speak freely. After our encounter five years ago, I should have known better.

"Dismissed," he finally announced.     

Mantovanni came to attention. Before he turned away, though, he murmured something that startled Alexander Pierce as much as had anything he’d heard in the past ten years.     

"Sevek sends his regards, sir." At his superior's amazed look, he finished with three words.     

"We’ll talk later." He then spun on his heel and left.     

In the moments after Mantovanni had departed, Pierce gradually overcame his roiling emotions, and his matchless strategic mind came to one inevitable conclusion.     

I’ve got to get that man and his ship assigned to the Seventh Fleet...

…despite what it'll do to my nerves.